Chapter 125

Madness boiled beneath the floor of the arena. The truest of insanities was roiling before the eyes of poor Barnabas, who only wanted to watch a fight.

Meanwhile, many yards above Barnabas and the nightmare unfolding before him, my own dark dream was developing.

Lance’s jaw seemed to set as he faced me. To the onlookers, the match was all but decided. I stood masterful, strong. My posture was decidedly dominant, my swordplay confident without recklessness, and my power exceeded his in every aspect. This had been less of a match than a carefully executed piece of business. To the eyes of the crowd, the only way I could lose would be if I beat myself—and for once, I had been careful not to let that happen. Lance was cowed, exhausted, outmatched, and desperate. You might think the crowd would be displeased with such a poor competition, but quite the opposite—there was little the common man could enjoy more than watching an elite be brought low, and by one of their own no less.

But the set of Lance’s jaw caught my eye. Not the strained clenching of a man panicked and ready to fall on his sword or make a last suicidal charge. No, it was a resolved grimness that spread across the lips I could see below the half-helm. The voice's words echoed through my mind: Oh no.

What could make the voice fearful at that moment?

I was swiftly to discover that something was wrong. As the voice had said, there was indeed something different about Lance.

The visor of Lance’s helm suddenly lit up with an internal fire. A noticeable glow suddenly surged from inside the helm. I felt that I could suddenly see his eyes blazing like those of a demon. It shocked me.

He launched himself at me again, and something was utterly, indescribably different. He moved too fast. Too fast to be plausible. He was suddenly like a different species. His CUT came at me, and this time it was only by the faintest twitch that I parried. Though my CUT was stronger, he delivered another blow before I could ready myself. This second CUT I deflected with the edge of my sword, not fully escaping the blow, and some of the searing kinetic impact caught my shoulder. My SHIELD was strong, dampening the damage, but I still felt the shock course through my body, turning me. This impact to my stance, coupled with the blinding quickness of his next attack, left me exposed.

I need you to understand: the quickness with which he attacked was not just fast. It was supernaturally fast. It was impossibly fast. That speed had simply not been there until this point in the fight. Up until now, my attributes far exceeded his, but our physical abilities had been somewhat similar. Suddenly, Lance was fighting with the speed of a Griidlord.

His blade took me in the gut. My suit protected me, my SHIELD absorbed some of the blow, but the full kinetic impact of his CUT lifted me from the floor of the platform. I felt the air painfully forced out of my lungs, the searing, gasping pain in my abdomen, the dull, critical agony radiating through my torso.

While hanging in the air, I had just enough time to wonder—what the hell was happening?

Then I was rolling across the boards, thumping and crashing, barely keeping a grip on my sword. I came to a rough halt only a few feet from the edge of the upper platform. The tiers below me were fair game to fight on as well, but better avoided, as each one was closer to the floor of the arena and disqualification.

Lance didn’t follow up on what might have been an opportunity to finish me. Instead, he stood where he had been when he delivered the terrible blow, looking down at his hands. There are no other words to describe his posture and expression—he was amazed by something. He was amazed by himself. A smile, one that might only have been partly sane, spread across his lips as he stared at his hands.

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The voice came to me, saying, You need to get away from him.

I replied, What? No! This is my fight, I’m winning.

The voice said, You were winning. Do you really feel like you’re winning now? Can you fight that?

I was confused. But… but… I’m better than him now, more powerful. I don’t understand what’s happening.

The voice urged, Just get moving. I’ll explain, but I need you moving now. If you’re still here when he finishes congratulating himself, you’re toast, and I want you in the suit, not him. Just trust me for once, and move—drop to the next level!

The urgency in its tone pierced through my confusion, and I rolled from the top tier, landing lightly on the platform below.

What now? I asked.

Just keep moving, the voice said. Try not to be seen. He’s got too much on the line to blindly charge after you. He’s too smart for that. If you keep moving and stay out of sight, it’ll force him to be cautious—buy us a little time.

Keeping low, I scurried around the second tier. The top tier overhung it slightly, so as I moved, staying close to the wall, it would be very difficult for Lance to peer down without exposing himself.

What’s happening? I thought to the voice, urgency and impatience clear in my mind.

The voice answered, He’s cheating. They’re all cheating. How did they manage this without my knowing?

How can he be cheating? I asked, bewildered.

The voice said, He has a relic. They’ve given him a relic. I knew I felt something strange in him when he stepped into the suit, but I didn’t know what it was. He didn’t activate it at first. I think he wanted to give himself a chance to beat you fair and square, but once he saw that was impossible, he turned it on.

I said, A relic? What relic? What does it do? How can he… this isn’t fair!

The voice replied, It’s not only unfair, it’s illegal. But he didn’t do this alone. That bastard bishop is behind it. The relic must have come from one of the monasteries. It’s a type I’m familiar with. Many cities give their newest Griidlord a relic that boosts a level, something to help them be competitive while they’re green and still gaining levels of their own—a head start.

I could hear Lance moving again, his footsteps fast and heavy on the platform above me, like a rapid drumbeat. He was hunting me. But the voice was right—he wasn’t about to let his newfound power make him reckless.

The voice continued, Such relics are not allowed in the Choosing.

I said, Then we’ll expose him.

The voice was scornful. Tiberius, grow up, please. If they gave him the relic, they can slip it from him again once you’re defeated. Exposing him won’t help.

I paused, pressing my back against the wall, trying to make myself invisible from above. My eyes darted left and right, ready to defend if Lance dropped to this tier and attacked from the side. Familiar, unwelcome emotions returned: doom, inadequacy. But they came hand in hand with rage and frustration. I was being cheated out of what was rightfully mine. I couldn’t let this happen. My heart pounded as I thought about it. They had no right to take this from me!

I asked, What exactly is the relic doing?

The voice was grave. The relic he’s using has given him a full level in one attribute. The one attribute you don’t possess from the COMBAT menu.

A weight dropped into the pit of my stomach as the voice said that. The one attribute I hadn’t yet gained a level in was the one the voice had told me would effectively end the Choosing. It had said that if I gained that attribute, I’d be so astronomically ahead of my peers that the competition would be over.

My task had changed. I needed to find a way to compensate, and fast.

Lance had gained a level in POWER.