After being led through a coiled path that slanted upwards, and witnessing some fungi whose basidiomes had an upper end that resembled the face of a certain Marcelo that may or may not have a nickname related to Toy Story, we emerged back to the world of clear skies, moonshine and dry air. It wasn’t the last place on Planet where I would have expected to find a full stadium built like the roman colosseum, but, eh, maybe a close third.
“I present to you, El Dosnumental!” Del Poodlón announced, arms wide open.
“Wow, you are as creative as a convention of matter, antimatter and Royal Road users.”
“Royal Road?” he asked.
“A website where people write about virgins getting along with females of dubious mental capabilities in fantasy worlds… and make money out of it.”
“Like you and the Golden?”
“No, her idiocy is beyond reasonable doubt.”
“Hey! I am an average Golden Retriever!”
“See? Scientifically confirmed stupidity.”
We began walking towards the stadium, side by side. Why he had picked a roman style for the architecture was as much of a mystery as where the fuck he had gotten the materials and labor necessary to erect it.
Grey, well-cared-for grass conformed the field of play, and between it white lines had been painted. The goals were made out of wooden logs. As for the gallery, it was populated by cardboard cutouts of dogs of various breeds.
“You fucked up the Weimaraner.”
“It’s a silver Labrador.” Del Poodlón clarified.
“No such thing!”
We dropped the subject, not out of shame or lack of belief in our positions, but because there was a match to play and we would not settle the most contentious and long-lasting debate about labbies.
“So, what is your position on abortion?” he asked to break the rising tension and disperse the awkwardness.
“Depends on who I’m debating.”
“He isn’t any more contrarian because that would mean having a second deep held belief,” chipped in Mariana.
“Third,” I scolded her.
“Right, I had forgot the second one: ‘Darkness from hit Isekai anime and light novel Kono Subarashii Sekai ni Shukufuku o! should exist and be my wife’.”
I could see it in the stare of our rival: due to reasons related to self-preservation of the mind, he would refrain from inquiring about the subject.
“Well, I’ll… go and bring a ball, then we can start our footbattle.”
I nodded and then hugged Mariana. Soon, our future would be decided, and it all depended only on my skill: as a player, and as a soldier.
----------------------------------------
Mariana waved the flag that indicated that the match had begun. Del poodlón had given me a crash course on the rules. We would play periods of 10 minutes each, with an equal time for rest between each one. Only natural regeneration was allowed as a healing method during the rests. The match would end after one side had scored twenty goals, had an advantage of seven goals over the adversary, or couldn’t play anymore. Hands could not be used to grab or hit the ball most of the time, but any other body part was fair play. Killing the adversary was almost encouraged.
We started each on our goal, and the ball on the middle of the field, next to Mariana. I decided to play it safe, let him have the ball at first. I had my web of belts to aid me. And, as long as I were in the area of my own goal, I could use the hands.
He was fast as a thunder dashing to the bathroom after eating spicy food. In less than three seconds he covered half of the field, reaching the ball.
“Catch this!” he yelled, and then gave a savage kick to the ball. The projectile hit straight in my stomach, throwing me against the wooden grating in the back of the goal, and, naturally, scoring.
Just as if it were your dad, 15% of my hp was gone.
I fell to my knees, not grabbing the ball. Del poodlón was striding towards me with a step drenched in smugness. I gazed at the moon. She was healthier than I. More alethic, probably. Only slightly more round.
My hatred for the natural satellite pulled me up by imaginary strings, my body only a puppet for my mission. I casted my new spell and the strength, agility, and intelligence of each belt flowed into my battered form. How to solve integrals by substituting the variable became mundane knowledge, when before I considered such acts mathematical wizardry. I was thinking faster, I was moving faster, I was weaving parasocial relationships with eastern dames of bountiful lines and areas —but no depth— faster.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
And the best part about it is that there had been no visual cue about the whole affair. That bunch of cotton would never know what had hit him. I tossed the ball towards the corner of the field and then dashed for it. Del Poodlón reacted quickly, homing on me with rabid anger. A bearly swing aimed for my head, but I just bob and weaved through the mauling, running backwards to approach the ball.
“So you can dodge!”
“You can thank Team Four Star for that.”
He snatched my wrist and hammered the ground with all of me. As I described curves in the air, I relived the events that had led to that very moment. The pain was now a friend of mine, my collaboration in the killing of uncountable innocents could only be understated, I was getting pummeled by a designer dog, necromancing belts back to life and, as if that wasn’t enough, forced to play football.
The blades of grass were beautiful. They were natural, none of that synthetic sin. Their silver hue reflected the moonlight in ways that were hard to describe while being thrashed around. I tried to imagine why they presented that middle-toned grey. It was a pretty bad color for absorbing sunlight, could even be called decent at deflecting it. It was a little annoying to consider this while the Poodle insisted about “showing me my place”.
As I cruised towards my goal at an illegal speed, I arrived at the conclusion that the grey color had to be an adaptation to reduce the irradiation intake, thus diminishing the amount of oxygen-fixing activity of RuBisCo in that low-carbon-pressure environment.
Now, as for how it had attained that color…
The ball interrupted my reveries by casually rolling into the goal. I noticed I was at a little more than half my total hp.
“Are you winning, Walter?” asked Mariana, that was watching the whole affair from the gallery.
“No, I am losing.”
“Yay.”
“That’s bad for us, you dumb hybristophiliac bimbo!”
Del Poodlón stood before me, a worried expression on all of his eyes.
“This is getting boring. Come on man, score at least once. Otherwise, it’s like beating a disabled kid,” he said, as if that didn’t sound like a hell of a good time.
I considered for a second that perhaps my murderhobo ways were taking too much of a toll on my mind and soul. A literal second.
I stood, grabbed the ball and launched it with all my might against his goal. He did nothing to prevent it from scoring.
“Aw man, you cannot half-ass this. Where is your spirit?”
“Below Int.”
“I don’t mean in the stat sheet! Your… competitiveness, your humanity! I don’t believe you are all bark and no bite.”
I channeled my inner pit bull and bit off the finger he was using to point at me.
“I needed that,” he said, slightly displeased by my reaction.
I started chewing. Something cracked, and it was not one of my teeth.
Juicy.
He licked his wound a couple times.
I swallowed. Loudly.
I noticed his HP had dropped to 99.8%. Nice, I just needed to bite him five hundred more times.
“Score like a man, come on.”
“I did it. Like a lazy man.”
I kicked him in the balls to an amazingly null effect. Then I faked a smile.
“You didn’t read the warning in the door, did you?” he said, crossing his arms and clicking his tongue.
“So… only yellow or blue things can hurt you?”
“That’s as right as it comes.”
I screamed out of frustration. Of course he would be weak to Boca Juniors. Of fucking course. It couldn’t be any other way.
“Go fuck yourselves, gods. Go fuck yourselves with the four-meter cactus Mariana fetched last—” I remained in silence as indignation slowly dawned on my face. “What does this say about my dental health?”
“Too much mate does that to a motherfucker,” Del Poodlón tried to console me. He even hugged me.
“Especially when you make tereré with Monster,” I mumbled.
After he heard that I got, as it is only natural, suplexed. My face got intimate with the grass, and I was thankful for that brief, emotional moment with my moon-skinned loved ones. It hurt a bit but that was just a collateral consequence unrelated to the poodle’s objective, so, it’s not worth elaborating on it. Sky and ground twirled around after the kick that sent me rolling to the midfield. I landed on my back, and the world was still spinning when I managed to achieve what could be called a sitting position. My HP was at about one third of its original value.
It appeared that I would be unable to asshole my way out of this particular situation.
My adversary ran across the field on all fours, tongue out, until he reached his goal and the ball. Ball that, after a few seconds, hit me in the face, shaving another 3% off of my health.
“Now, abject momma’s boy, score like a man!” said the abomination that was now foaming at the mouth.
I looked for Mariana amongst the cardboard cutouts, and I found her snoring her worries away.
“Do you want me to score? Do you really want me to score?”
“Yes!”
I laughed like a madman and touched the ball briefly as I stood to my feet. Even if the exterior seemed to be synthetic, the interior had a rubber chamber. And what is rubber if not tree remains?
I started the race for the goal normally, pretending the ball was still an inanimate object and not my newest slave. I manifested three gold coins from my inventory and concealed them between my fingers.
My life started flashing before my eyes. So many discussions in forums, so many hours waiting in lines. Lord, did I waste that much time in elf porn? I remembered my family, mom’s and dad disappointment when they looked at me. My sister and her boyfriend sneering at my superior, culture-rich habits. I remembered my friends: They were simply offline or ignoring me.
“Dude, why are you running in circles with the ball?”
“I am having a Captain Tsubasa moment and the field is not long enough!”
“Oh, understandable. But hurry up, there is only one minute left.”
“Whatever.”
I imprinted all my strength on the ball with a single kick, and aimed for the upper left corner of the goal. As soon as Del Poodlón jumped to catch it, I used my necromancy to change the trajectory of the ball, securing the point.
Del Poodlón got on his feet, bearing a surprised expression that soon turned into anger. Then he took the ball with both hands and started tearing out parts of it with his teeth.
While he was distracted, I rushed and landed a punch in his face, using the coins as an improvised set of knuckles. That shaved off about the same HP as the bite.
The bell marked the end of the first period.
He slapped my fist out of the way with a cold movement.
“I despise your kind, cheater. You should have brought something yellow or blue with an attack stat. Enjoy the last ten minutes of your life, because without the ball, this is a deathmatch.”