Chapter 37

As I rose from the dirt, the bitter taste of sweat in my mouth, the sounds of the crowd felt mocking now. The music and colorful assembly of nobles and commoners blurred together. I wanted their adoration; it was my turn. Damn it, I'd worked so hard, and I knew it meant little. I was not in danger of losing this round, of exiting the competition, but I wanted first place.

I caught a glimpse of Lance, standing apart from the crowd, paying no attention to the race. He was using every moment he had in the suit to practice and improve. His CUT and BEAM were surging now, brighter and more powerful as he danced with shadows. Some onlookers were unable to take their eyes from him despite the climax of the race crashing just behind them. Despair gripped me at the sight.

Pushing forward, I measured the distance. Gideon was already uncatchable. My feet wouldn't take me past him. Even if I were able to outrun him, there wasn't enough distance left. He was already less than a half mile from the finish.

The voice said, "You're thinking about it."

I thought, so what if I am.

The voice, teasing, enticing, said, "You could kill a lot of people, and yourself if you do it wrong."

I thought, not if I'm careful.

The voice goaded me, "Is it really worth it? Second place is basically as good. It will get you to the next round. That's why you're here, isn't it, Tiberius? To win the suit, not some petty glory and attention."

I faltered, knowing it was playing me, but the words rang true. Then it said, "I wonder what Blondie would have to say if you did something so impressive? Or that exotic little creature who pays so much attention to you? I'm sure they'd be swooning at the sight of you employing the Footfield so daringly... but it's not about long legs and mysterious eyes, is it, Tiberius? It's about family, honor..."

In a snap decision, I opened myself to the suit, flexing the Footfield muscle in my mind. Time seemed to dilate, and I streaked past Gideon as he moved in slow motion, giving him a wide berth, unsure how close would be too close to cause the field to collapse and kill us both.

The world slowed around me as I raced forward, the crowd a distant blur. Each step was a calculated risk, the stakes impossibly high. Faces in the crowd went from cheering to expressions of fear and terror in slow motion. I focused, wrestling with the field, trying to deactivate it.

The field switched off just in time. The world snapped back to normal speed, and the abrupt change sent me tumbling across the ground. My momentum carried me in a wild, uncontrolled roll. The impact jarred every bone in my body, but I managed to hold onto the flag.

As I rolled to a stop, I saw Lord Baltizar hurriedly step aside, his movements fluid and composed. He pushed the Bishop out of the way with the same effortless grace, never losing his cool or his composure. He looked down at me, an eyebrow raised in amused approval.

The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and gasps, the entire arena buzzing with excitement and disbelief. I lay there for a moment, panting, the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I had done it. I had pulled off the impossible.

Baltizar extended a hand to help me up, his expression unreadable but his eyes twinkling with a hint of pride. "Well done, Tiberius," he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine admiration. "You've certainly made your mark today."

I looked back and saw Gideon, his spirit visibly crushed. The determination that had driven him was now replaced by a look of defeat. Some of the pace had gone from him, but he still pushed forward, his suit propelling him with mechanical efficiency. The last few hundred yards were a formality; he knew he had lost.

The crowd roared, an immense wave of sound washing over the arena. The commoner had won. Flushed with excitement from the near miss and my daring maneuver, I basked in the adulation. The cheers were almost deafening, a symphony of approval that made my heart soar.

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I caught my father’s eye in the throng. His expression was a mix of pride and astonishment, a rare emotion on his typically stern face. We shared a moment of connection, a silent exchange that spoke volumes. Despite everything, despite the pressure and the trials, I had made him proud.

Scanning the crowd, I noticed Lance. For the first time, he had paused from his exercises, his attention drawn to the commotion. His face was a mask of anger and frustration, his eyes burning with jealousy as he glowered at me. But his focus soon returned to his practice, his energy weapon pulsing in ways I had yet to even approach.

The stark difference between us was evident. He was training, relentlessly honing his skills, preparing for the next challenge. But for now, this victory was mine. I had achieved something remarkable, something that would be talked about long after this day was over.

Mario rushed towards me, his face livid, rage and strange satisfaction playing on his features, white robes billowing. The bishop marched alongside him, similarly enraged. I’ve been talking about these priests for pages now, and you may need me to do another of my little asides to break down how they figure into the game.

I know through history there have been religions. In my latter years, I have read many histories, explored many pasts that few can access. There were Gods in the time before, conflicting faiths, and many of these gods were served by priests, clergy, druids, rabbis. In this time, there was very little of that. It was said that in the wilds, there were communities with strange worships, but on the main, there was only one higher power in our land: the Oracle. The Oracle controlled reality, the Towers, Order, Entropy, gave us the Griid, the Griidlords, everything. And unlike the Gods of older times—and if you have Gods again in your time, then probably unlike them too—there was no need to have faith in the Oracle. The Oracle showed itself to us every day; there was no denying the very real effects it had on our world daily.

The priests were the ones that interacted with the Oracle, high in the Tower of each City. When a ruler decided that an Order field be employed within his realms, he passed that instruction to the priests, and they to the Oracle. Not that the priests were subordinate exactly. They served a role, but it was complicated. Only they understood the rituals that needed to be employed; only they had that knowledge. Their arcane knowledge was everything to the city, from maintaining the Griid-suits to manipulating Order Fields to handling sacred and powerful relics. Without them, the city could not function, could not compete, could not survive, and so the leaders of any city had to give them fear and respect in turn.

Baltizar could have the Bishop and every Priest in the city killed in an instant if he so wished, but they could withdraw their services just as easily. It led to bargaining and stalemates. What the priests truly were was something I didn’t understand that day. That understanding would come much later, and I will share that with you too in good time. For now, this little briefing may help the next hours make more sense.

From the moment I had entered the competition, Mario had been a vengeful pissant, and his rage bothered me very little. The bishop, though, was a figure whose power and authority rivaled Baltizar's. To this point, he had been a little disdainful of me but had largely seemed distant and unattached to my role in events. To see him storming towards me gave a strange quaking confused dread. As Mario prodded at the suit beneath my helmet, the voice spoke in my ear, "You'll need to demand the Oracle be consulted."

As the suit began to melt from me under Mario's tapping, I thought, "What?" The voice said again, fading and becoming distant as the suit evaporated back into black particles, "You'll need to demand that they consult the Oracle. You'll see. It won't be relevant for a little while, but you'll see what I mean when it happens." With that, the particles rushed away from me to join the precious cylinders of Mystorium.

The sensory inadequacy of my human body hit me hard. The loss of the power, the distance from the suit, left me hollow and wanting more. Mario roared in my face, spittle flying, "You've gone too far now, commoner! That was insanity! You could have killed us, you could have killed people... dear Oracle, you could have killed the Bishop." His face grew red, his mind churning. He stuttered, "For all that's sacred in the world, you could have destroyed the Mystorium!"

The bishop shoved him aside, his rage just as palpable but more controlled, scarier for that. "Employing the Footfield like that was beyond the pale, beyond the concept of this competition. We can't allow a madman like you to continue, risking the integrity of the contest, risking the lives of onlookers, the Mystorium. In my wildest dreams, I could not let one such as you take up the mantle of Griidlord."

I stared back, confused, not understanding. I had just won; this was my moment of triumph. The crowd became subdued, the music stopping, the very wind seeming to leave the banners hanging limp. Lance watched, interested, smug, satisfied.

The Bishop could see my lack of understanding and very cruelly, very plainly said, "We have no choice but to eject you from the contest."