5 Days until Falling

Subject: Tiberius Bloodsword

Status: Chosen Sword

Level: 16

Combat Attributes

Cut: 10

Shield: 11

Power: 5

Beam: 9

Agility: 4

Passive Attributes

Sight: 1.9

Scent: 1.4

Spectra: 0

Strength: 1.8

Hearing: 1.6

Unique Attributes

Boost: 1.0

Special Attributes

Assess: 1.3

It had been too long since I’d taken stock of my progression. It was all still a mess to me, something I was still trying to figure out. It was easy to determine that the overriding factors that would determine my success were my overall level and my gained skills. That’s what the other Griidlords spoke about. That’s what Balthazar concerned himself with. I didn’t understand the calculus. Would another Sword with a lower level but a higher CUT be able to best me in close-quarters combat? Would a level 9 BEAM be useless against a level 30 Axe suit?

I stood on the grassy hillock staring at the numbers on my HUD. What was more than obvious to me was that the 16 was not enough. Despite the reassurances of everyone, from Katya and Lauren to Balthazar himself, I could not be satisfied. I felt a pressure to achieve the level 20 that had been so vaunted. I felt a pressure to show the world that I was the Sword Boston needed. My mind lingered on the poor of Boston, so much worse off than the other cities I had seen. I dwelled on the lords who had sent Emilia to eliminate me from the competition, all so they could retain their comfortable perch at the top of the social structure, even if it meant limiting the potential of our city to advance itself.

I felt my armored hands clenching into fists. My knuckles popped.

I thought about Racquel and her comment. It had been a joke, I was sure, when she said I was unimpressive. She had tried to cover it, assuring me afterward what a feat it was to reach the level I had in such a short time. But still, the joke stung me.

What had been done to me that I felt such an urge to show them? Who was “them”? I couldn’t define it, but I was consumed by the desire to prove that I was worthy. Worthy of the suit, of course, but worthy of more.

The wind ran up the hillock, parting the dark green grass in rippling waves. Before me rose something I would nearly call a mountain, a gigantic upheaval in the earth that reached toward the sky, sparsely dotted with pines. Beyond it rose higher slopes. But the hill before me was my focus. At its top was a protrusion of rock and a dark hollow so deep that it was pure blackness.

I turned and looked down the hill behind me. My party was amassed below.

Claw Jaxwulf stood there. He had been a necessary inclusion. Jacob would never have revealed the precise details. If Jacob had known what I planned, he would have told Chowwick, who was back on his feet, and Chowwick would probably have bear-hugged me into submission. Jacob would certainly never have given me the precise details I needed.

But I had figured correctly that Claw would have the information I needed. He had provided it—but on condition. “If yinz gonna do this, I’m not gonna miss it. The boys will want to see as well. I’ll tell yinz, but yinz’ll have to bring us along for the show.”

Olaf stood near Claw. When I had arrived with my Griid-train in Pittsburgh, Olaf had been waiting at the gate. He was seeking a train that would carry him to Houston, or at least to a closer city that could act as a stepping stone. I had made the mistake of telling him my plan. His reaction had exceeded anything I could have predicted. He pleaded with me to change my mind. He begged me to consider the risk I was taking. He rose to a point where he was threatening me, the ludicrous nature of the gesture lost on both of us in the moment. I was a Griidlord; he was a mortal man. But, when he understood he couldn’t stop me, he asked to accompany me. I don’t know what he hoped to achieve by being here. There was some base instinct in him, something tied to his affinity for the Shield, that drove him to protect. He couldn’t protect me from what was about to come, but he felt a need to be here.

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I took a deep breath as I turned my head back to the small mountain before me. My eyes focused on the black hollow in the rocky outcrop. Try though I might, SIGHT could do nothing to penetrate it. The cave was too deep and too dark. From here it looked tiny, but by my understanding, it was a monstrous pit into the bowels of the earth.

I walked slowly down the hill, returning to Claw and Olaf. Behind them were dozens of ranking Jaxwulfs. They had brought kegs of ale and were drinking their fill. This was a special day for them. There was going to be a show. They had no better a sense of how things would unfold than I did, and that was the source of their excitement.

Olaf said, “Is there any point in me telling you that this is crazy?”

Even Claw seemed nervous. Despite his excitement at what I had proposed, the imminent reality seemed to have dulled his enthusiasm. He said, “If yinz changed yinz mind, none’d know. We’d not tell, the boys wouldn’t tell. You don’t have to do this.”

I was surprised by the steely determination in my voice. I said, “I would know. I have to do this.”

Claw held my gaze for a moment. He was staring into the visor of a Griidlord. If I so chose, I could probably slay every man here. It was an odd thought, but one that came to me often enough. It was hard to reconcile the reality of my simple person with the power I wielded now. Claw didn’t flinch in the slightest at holding the gaze of a Griidlord. He just said, “Well then… I wish yinz luck if nothing else. Yinz are gonna win this and be a legend, or yinz will have nothing to worry about ever again.”

Olaf said, “They’ll hold another Choosing if you die. Lance will get the suit for sure this time. Is that what you want?”

I said, “You know what I want. That’s just the risk I’m willing to take.”

Olaf shook his head and turned away from me, his head tilted toward the sky.

I said, “Tell them my rationale if I don’t make it. Let them understand that this was something I decided to do on my own.”

Claw nodded his head, no more words.

I moved away from the group. Claw, for all his concern and solemnity, had moved to fill his own cup with ale. Olaf stood like a sentinel, arms folded.

When I was suitably far from them, I embraced the Footfield and let it cast me forth. The opposite slope was hundreds of yards away from the clustered men. I wasn’t convinced the distance was great enough to ensure their safety, but Claw had insisted on finding a point with a sufficient view of the scene.

I rushed down the slope, into the cleft between the rises. Then I was surging up the next, toward the top. There was a reasonable enough path for me to continue using the Footfield until I neared the rocky outcropping and the cave. The trees on this slope had been mauled over and over, for long years.

When I was within 200 yards of the cave, I let go of the Footfield. I was, at this point, well accustomed to the experience of leaving the Footfield. As reality snapped back from the distortion of the field, I was unperturbed and continued walking without breaking stride.

I needed to keep walking. I knew that if I stopped or paused, even for the slightest moment, I would turn around and abandon my plan.

I walked on until I was less than fifty yards from the cave.

This was it. The point of no return.

I drew my sword and lowered the tip until it was pointing at the cave entrance.

I was vaguely aware of the disease in me that drove me to this point. I had been given an objective, and my horror at the notion of failing had pushed me here. My own need to impress, my need to prove myself, had brought me to this point.

The voice had used a phrase once. Something like: if you succeed, you’re a genius; if you fail, you’re an idiot.

Thinking of the entity seemed to summon it. It was in my ear, “What’s going on, kiddo, what’re we up to now?”

I said, “I’m going to fight a fiend.”

It said, “Oh goodie. Onwards and upwards, like I always say. Well, not always—I say other things, like the words I’m saying now. Actually, I’m not sure I ever used that phrase before, but what the heck, I’m with you, kiddo. Let’s get some levels. What kind of fiend is on the menu today?”

I kept my eyes fixed on the cave. Holding my voice even, I said, “A Class 9.”

The voice was suddenly panicked and urgent, “What? Oh, no, we’re not ready for a Class 9. Hey, listen, don’t get me wrong, I want you growing and leveling, kiddo. No doubt about that. What I don’t want you doing is growing daisies out of your rotting corpse. What say we turn about and go back? Nothing ventured, nothing lost, like I always say…”

I fired my BEAM at the lip of the cave. It carved off a chunk of rock that fell with a resounding crash. At first, nothing happened.

Then there was the sound of movement—a vibration as much as noise. Soon I could see the contorting mass of flesh that was moving just beyond the reach of light, beyond the entrance of the cave.

I stood firm.

Today I would fight the fiend known as Doom.

Today I would live, or else today I would die.