Chapter 75

Lance was startled at first, as though he had forgotten I was there. I stalked towards him as though there was nothing else in the universe except Lance, and I went after him as though I was seeing through him, as though he himself was barely part of the universe. I could barely see him or his glowing sword. My sword was in my hand. Lance took a step back. For the rest of that day, I would wonder about that backward step. Was it fear? Was it just him finding better footing to deal with me?

Yeah, I know. Now, I know at least. Lance wasn't responsible for this. Up to this point, there's very little you could say to criticize Lance's conduct during the competition. Outside of the arena, yes, he was a small-minded, superior, arrogant bastard who liked to look down his nose at the common man. But the worst that Lance had done during the contests so far was to push his advantages as far as he conceivably could.

The fact was simple: he was probably the best of us. It was within the framework of the competition for him to use his superior firepower to try and keep us all from the top of the tower or keep all of our orbs out of the pots. He wasn't actually a bastard for that. And, in truth, looking back after all this time, the move he'd made at the top of the tower, knocking off all those climbing pipes without our noticing, that was genius. And shame on us.

The truth was actually very simple. Only one person in the contest that day had a reason to be ashamed. It was the people's champion, the one who had very nearly killed Lauren. The one who had seen his two "friends" (yes, friends is a strong word for the tenuous relationship I had formed with the girls, but in my constellation of trainers, servants, and business contacts, they were the closest I had ever come) exit the competition as a result of his own actions. I was the only real bastard there that day. And I felt it. I knew it. The shame, the regret, they burned hot within me.

But it goes back to that question of ambition, doesn't it? I was angst-ridden with my shame, but I was still on top of the tower and Lauren and Katya were finished. It's funny how, in my life, things like that had a way of happening.

I took another step towards Lance, my rage boiling over. His eyes narrowed, and he steadied his stance, readying for my assault. I could see the determination in his eyes

Lance spoke with a swagger I wasn't sure he was feeling as he stared at me. "You going to make my day, shopkeeper? You were such a big help with the two ladies there. I didn't hear any thuds or crowd screaming, so I guess you didn't quite manage to kill Lauren, but I must thank you all the same. Gideon's basically done, there must be what, five minutes left? You've arranged things even better than I had. Once I deal with you, the competition's over. I should thank you; you've made me into a Griidlord."

I boiled, like a glob of spit on the surface of the sun. I roared, "I'll fucking end you, Lance! I'm sick of your games, of your fucking words!" I rushed at him, sword held high. His face was patronizing disdain, but mark this—his eyes were filled with fear.

I didn't have time or interest enough to check my stats, but they must have been:

BEAM: 2.0

SHIELD: 2.2

POWER: 0.1

CUT: 2.0

AGILITY: 1.5

He didn't understand what was coming at him. He thought he still had the edge.

We clashed with a force and sound like thunder. Our leveled CUTs smashed into each other. Flames erupted at the point of contact as the kinetics became a heat strong enough to ignite the air.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

My feet shattered the boards beneath my feet as I planted and swung again. Lance, already reeling, his arms shaking from the previous impact, staggering back. He stepped back from my CUT, but he was reeling. His mouth was hanging open. I came again, and he parried, but it was barely enough. And it wouldn't continue to be enough.

The structure beneath my feet trembled and swayed from the forces we employed against each other.

Lance had at least a level 3 CUT and a level 3 BEAM. My blade was deflected by the force of his impact. I should have been afraid, and he should have been confident, not the other way around. That was how it had always been. But I was the bully now. His thrust was panicked and desperate. His follow-through glanced off my level 2 shield as I stepped aside. I was sure his shield was only level 1. He had invested everything he had in offense. I had some balance.

The voice said, "Oh my god, it's happening again, this is exciting and infuriatingly confusing."

As it spoke, CUT 2.0 flashed and faded. The numbers reappeared, only now the 0 had become a 2. My CUT was 2.2. My shield flashed and became a 2.4. Lance could see I was distracted. His panicked mouth closed and he steeled himself, reached down into his well of assholeness to find something he could hold on to.

Lance spoke with a confidence that I knew he didn't feel. He said. "What's the matter, shopkeeper? Feeling out of your depth?"

He swung again, his sword blazing with energy. But I met his strike with my own, the force of our blades clashing sending sparks flying, and his arms flailed from the contact of steel.

"You're pathetic, Lance," I growled. By the Oracle, this felt good. My chest surged with confidence.

I swung out, CUT make my sword flare with light and power. He skipped back again. My sword contacted the cone we stood on. The explosion of energy, heat, fire, and debris was enough to draw a collective gasp from the crowd. Lance looked shocked at first, maybe imagining what would have happened had he been on the receiving end of that blow. But he drew the threads again, his face adopting the old look of smug confidence.

"Is that all you've got?" Lance jeered. We clashed again and again, his blows coming slower and weaker with each strike.

His voice started to take on a strain he couldn't conceal. He roared, "You think you can beat me? A commoner like you?"

I bared me teeth with a new and satisfying savagery. I said, "I'll end you, Lance! I'll show you what a commoner can do!"

Lance's mocking smile faltered as he struggled to keep up. He parried my blows, but he was constantly backpedaling now, barely getting his blade up in time to meet the next attack.

My CUT flashed and faded again, first to a 2.4, then a 2.6.

"You're nothing!" Lance spat. It sounded like nothing but a desperate plea. I was in control now. I directed his retreat, my CUTs coming with purpose. I was driving him toward the edge of the cone.

"You're finished, Lance!" I roared. CUT 2.8 blinked into existence before me.

Lance's screamed, petulant and powerless. "You're nothing, a peasant! You shouldn't even be trying! Griidlords are born, it's in our blood! You're an affront to generations, to tradition! Know your fucking place!"

His rage, his outrage, his desperation, something drove him, and the next CUT he made drove me back. He didn't hesitate, driving forward to press this tiny opening.

My blade suddenly blazed with a new light. The intensity made him pause, his lips parting in confusion. He stepped back. This time, there was no question about the emotion that drove his retreat. It was fear.

The light blazed in my sword. CUT 2.8 flickered away, replaced by 3.0.

My god, I felt powerful.

The voice quietly breather, "Incredible..."

Lance nearly choked. His words ghosted out of him. "Impossible..."

I lunged again, murder in my heart.