Chapter 123

There was no hesitation. The bishop was still descending into the platform when we moved. I felt the boards beneath my feet flex and nearly buckle as I propelled myself forward. Such was the force of my charge that I seemed to fly in a flat trajectory toward my opponent, my feet barely touching the floor after that first powerful thrust of my legs.

Lance met me with no less fury. His entire body became a projectile as he surged toward me. The sheer momentum with which he moved was truly awesome. Somewhere inside, I felt a twinge of something like guilt. Lance was an arrogant bigot, but he was undeniably gifted. He had earned his skills. In any other Choosing, it would be a near certainty that the suit would be his, and he could look forward to life as the Sword of Boston. As we converged on each other, I had a flicker of empathy. He must feel robbed. What were the odds that in his lifetime, during his opportunity, someone like me would emerge—someone touched by the Oracle, with an unfair advantage, the ability to absorb attributes unnaturally quickly, a brain perfectly adapted to grow into the suit?

I met his cut with mine. The crowd inhaled collectively as we moved toward each other, the arena falling silent for the first time that day. The sudden hush was noticeable. The hollow thump of Lance’s feet on the boards echoed with an odd clarity, the mortal snarl of a human voice ringing too clear. When our swords met, glowing and blinding with energy, the impact was sonically overwhelming. There was the clear ring of steel on steel, but equally, there was a cracking, surging, explosive resonance that spoke to the true power of our weapons.

The force of my cut smashed Lance’s sword aside. I followed up conservatively, cutting again at his midsection, my footing careful, not overextending, not exposing myself. As I made my second strike, the crowd found its voice. There was an exultant roar, a swelling of jubilant voices that was both deafening and exhilarating. The people were ecstatic as they watched their champion—the commoner—comfortably push back the nobleman.

Lance leapt back, arching his body to pull his abdomen clear of my cut. I didn’t rush in with abandon. I had made that mistake too many times before. My attributes might be greater, and my comfort with the suit might even exceed his at this point, but Lance was the more experienced fighter. He had feinted and fooled me too many times. Though I had trained long in the practice yard, I had learned that it was no substitute for the real fighting and killing Lance must have seen as a defender of his father’s lands.

Lance tried to circle to my right, and I slashed out to eliminate the option. His posture and movements were clearly defensive. He was where I had been before—on the back foot, in a desperate position of inferiority, searching for a slim advantage or a roll of the dice that might turn the fight in his favor.

As for me? I wanted so badly to dominate him, to crush him, to show everyone—Mario, the bishop, Katya, Lauren—all of them, just how far I had come. But I wanted and needed the suit more. So instead of unleashing the full fury of my power and risking walking into one of his traps, I used my strength and swordplay to manage him, to contain him.

Lance spun on his feet, nimble and sure, lashing out with his sword as he moved. He was trying to push me back, to give himself room to move to the left. He could tell I was trying to corral him, pushing him toward the edge of the platform, leaving him in a defenseless position where he could be felled by my cut or simply by slipping off the edge. Again, I interrupted his attempted escape. I let his nimble strike contact me. It was an attack meant to make me step away, not carrying the full force of his suit’s power. I flexed shield. The blow still jerked my body, but it did no harm. As his sword glanced off my shoulder, I swung mine up, the blade blazing with the light and heat of my cut. Lance had to step back, parry.

He surprised me slightly then, coming at me suddenly and with complete abandon. I had spent so long in this competition just trying to keep my footing, backing away from stronger opponents, that the moment of his attack was dishearteningly familiar. The fury and recklessness with which he came at me left me with no recourse but to raise my sword in defense and back away. His cut blinded me with its light as the blows hammered down. My blade was trapped in front of me for a few heartbeats, fending off the rain of fury.

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But I was in control this time. In control of myself, in control of the battle. I pulsed CUT, repelling his blade, and his arm jerked outside the corridor of attacks. Instead of closing the gap and gambling on a crushing strike, I swept my leg out, stepping outside the narrow avenue of battle he had created. Lance’s mouth gaped slightly in surprise. Perhaps he had counted on me exposing myself again, like so many times before. As I stepped outside and around him, he tottered. He had been ready to step into me as I countered, expecting me to fall for another feint. Instead, the maneuver left me on solid footing, while he was unsteady.

Now was as fine a moment as any to let him feel my power. I swung my sword in a horizontal arc, even amazing myself with the surging energy that radiated from the blade. My CUT struck him squarely, the kinetic energy crackling like lightning. Lance’s feet were lifted by the force of the impact, and he was sent spinning through the air. I hadn’t aimed with enough consideration. If I had been more thoughtful, I might have sent him tumbling from the platform to the arena floor, ending the contest then and there.

It hardly seemed to matter—the impact must have hurt, might have broken ribs, and certainly expelled all the air from his lungs. The boards splintered and screeched under the force of his body as he crashed back to the platform. He rolled, and despite his situational awareness, he couldn’t seem to stop his body from curling in pain, like a wounded insect contracting in on itself. I could have finished him then, but I had grown too wary. The pain was real, probably intense, but he had been too devious too many times before. And maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t done yet. Maybe I wanted to play the bully for once.

So I stood, waiting. I didn’t need to wait for long. He quickly rolled, expecting a finishing blow to descend, and flipped to his feet.

There was space between us now. We regarded each other for a moment. The crowd was quite literally losing its mind as we stood there. Their screams and shouts flowed over us like a roaring tide.

I stood, dominant, confident but careful. Lance stood ragged, slightly hunched with pain, his posture twitching with anxiety and uncertainty.

He said, "You bastarding upstart, this isn’t fair."

I said, "What’s not fair about this, Lance?"

He snarled, "I earned this. I was born for this. I’m better than you."

I replied, "If you’re better than me, then come show me."

His lips curled back, baring his teeth in savagery. "I am better. I know I’m better. But you have something—something I don’t fucking understand. It’s not you that’s beating me; it’s some stupid little gift, some quirk. I can’t let you take my birthright from me just because of some chance wrinkle in your brain that lets you do this."

Again, sword leveled, calm, I said, "Then come show me how you can best me."

Lance seemed to deflate then, his sword dropping to his side. "I can’t…"

My eyebrows shot up. Was he conceding? He was right—there was no way I could imagine him besting me, especially not after the lessons he had taught me during our contests, honing the rough edges of my swordplay with each defeat he had dealt me.

He continued, "I can’t beat you like this. I wanted to… I wanted to show the people that there was more to this than simply having the most attributes and the greatest power. But your advantage is too great, I can see that now…"

They were words of surrender. My emotions were mixed. Of course, there was excitement at the thought that it was about to be over—that he was about to concede, end the fight to spare himself, and grant me the suit for all time. But there was an animalistic disappointment in me too. I wasn’t finished.

Then the voice was in my ear again. It actually trembled with something akin to fear, and that, more than anything, made my blood pulse faster. The voice simply said, oh no...