Calix Nephus licked the front of his silver teeth and took a sip of what the NPC servant called a ‘mint julep’. He cut a delicate and rake-thin figure, sitting in the velvet chair in the library of Belmont Mansion. His card gauntlet pulsed with a silver light, resting on the baroque arm of the throne-like chair.
One of his patrons provided him with geographical and sociological intel concerning the area he had landed in twenty-four hours ago. This Nashville wasn’t the most populous city in the southeast corner of the landmass he had found himself on, but it was right in the center of the eastern network of state governments.
If he learned anything from last year’s tournament, it was that he had to start establishing his territory on day one. And since was the largest city closest to him, he chose to stake out his claim.
He chose Belmont Mansion as his base of operations out of a list his patrons had prepared for him. There was something about the style of the place that attracted him. And the history of the locale in the media files seemed appropriate for him. It was built by wealthy landowners who had impeccable taste in the arts. The nebbish NPC servant, George, had explained that the architectural design was called ‘antebellum’.
When Calix arrived, it was being used as a university. Yesterday, his servant, George, had been a student. But he wanted to live. So here he was, answering Calix’s questions and fetching him refreshments.
Calix’s latest album blasted over the speakers, and some of the boys were having fun with one of the many NPC girls on the furniture. George said they had been students and members of a sorority. Their cries and the laughter of his boys didn’t bother him, as he focused on the trio of slingers who had been escorted into the library by Jason, his Steelclad muscle, bodyguard and friend.
The Steelclad came from lower nobility, the Brando family, who owned some stock in Death Grip records. They had been friends ever since Calix signed a record deal with the corporation. That bond was only made stronger when they both helped each other survive last year’s tournament. Jason’s success had gained his father a Viscount title, upgrading the family’s fortune. Since then, they’ve been inseparable.
“It’s Lexani, PredatorVisage and Rosecrux,” Jason said. The Steelclad walked over to the rosewood table and poured himself a drink.
The three Psycho Slingers stood in the center of the library. Lexani, the Voidlock, didn’t seem bothered by Calix’s crew fondling the sorority girls, spread out on the furniture around the room. But the other two, the Silentblade and the Cardcleric, were sweating bullets.
The Songslinger enjoyed seeing people’s unease.
“What do you have for me?” Calix said.
Lexani stepped forward, swinging a bag off her shoulder. She tossed it on the floor. A Starter Deck and a card gauntlet slid out of the bag. The Voidlock’s voice was a whisper.
“I’m sorry,” Calix said. “I can’t hear you over my music. Come again?”
“From last night’s farming of NPCs,” Lexani said, but louder this time. Her voice was a rasp.
Calix thought he should get her in the studio, get her to do some lines. Her voice could be worth sampling for some tracks. He heard potential in it.
Jason tossed back a slug of whiskey, grunting at the burn of the alcohol. He set down his glass and walked over to the bag. He picked it up, opening it. Revealing more gauntlets and starter decks. He looked at Calix.
The Songslinger nodded and Jason picked the stray gauntlet and deck off the floor and put them in the bag. He turned his attention back to the three slingers. “Jason will arrange the exchange of Slaynami credits. And you have the protection of The Silver Tongue.”
Lexani nodded and stepped back. “Thank you.”
The three were about to leave when the doors behind them burst open, startling them with a new commotion. Calix’s other lieutenant, Castor, a short but loud Steelclad, was dragging an obese Thaumaturgist across the floor by his hair. The caster was clawing at Castor’s hand, clenching his mop of hair in a vise grip.
“Please!” The Thaumaturgist cried. “Give me another chance! It was just cold feet!”
Castor turned and stomped on the caster’s fat stomach. “Shut the fuck up!”
The Thaumaturgist groaned and Castor dragged him past the startled trio of slingers who came to pay homage to the center of the room. The caster rolled onto his knees, whimpering. “This is unnecessary! Send me back out there and I’ll do it! I promise! Please! Just give me another chance!”
Calix looked at Castor for an explanation. The stocky Steelclad wiped the grease of the Thaumaturge off his fingers with a white cloth. “Caught him letting an NPC who found a Starter Deck go free.”
“You saw wrong!” The Thaumaturgist said. Spittle flew out of his mouth. He was slick with sweat. His eyes were full of desperation. “The native refused the duel! What was I suppose to do?”
“You were supposed to motivate him to duel you,” Castor said. “You fat sack of shit.”
“I’m sorry,” Calix said, focusing on the Thaumaturge. “What did you call him?”
The room got silent, save for the sounds of debauchery between Calix’s crew and the NPC sorority girls.
The Thaumaturgist swallowed. His eyes flickered with fear but then disappeared as he tried to compose himself. “Call who?”
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Calix stood up and finished his mint julep, the ice clinking in the glass. He walked over to the center table and set his glass down. He picked up the bottle of bourbon used to make the cocktail and read over the Four Roses label. “The NPC who found the Starter Deck. What did you call him?”
The Thaumaturgist eyes flickered back and forth, searching for an answer. The caster’s face said it all. He knew he had made an error and was in trouble, but was trying to play dumb. “I dunno, I don’t remember.”
“But it was just a moment ago.”
“What you said, an NPC.”
“No. I believe you used the word native.”
The Thaumaturgist closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them he said, “No. Couldn’t be. I said NPC.”
Calix held the bottle of bourbon and began walking towards the caster, who was still on his knees on the floor. “So you’re saying I heard wrong?”
He was toying with the fat Thaumaturgist. He had caught the scared caster in a trap.
The caster’s face had grown pale. One of the sorority girls in the background screamed in pain. The Thaumaturgist flinched. When he spoke again, he was speaking rapidly. “No. It’s whatever you say. Yeah, I called him a native. But it must have been a slip of the tongue.”
Calix stood before the kneeling caster, the bourbon dangling in his hand. “A slip of the tongue?”
The tension seemed about to burst the Thaumaturgist. He couldn’t take his eyes off the bottle in the Songslinger’s hand. His voice softened, pleading. “C’mon, Calix.”
But Calix just stared at him. His eyes went to the other three slingers, who were standing off to the side, frozen in the moment, waiting for this to play out.
“Killing another duelist outside of a duel is against the rules,” the Thaumaturgist said.
Calix felt the irritation flicker through his face. He flinched. “Is it now?”
“Yeah, it’s in the files. You can check for yourself.”
“Oh! It’s in the files!” Calix turned to Jason and Castor, holding his arms out. He chuckled. “How convenient! So I can just check if I forget! Well, let me see! Maybe I need a reminder!”
Calix looked to his interface and pulled up the tournament rules, making a show of it. He found the rule and read it aloud to everyone in the library. Then he turned to the Thaumaturge. “It looks like you’re right.”
The caster lowered his head, expecting the worst.
Calix turned his back to him. “Now get up and get out of here.”
All the tension released out of the Thaumaturgist. He seemed to deflate. But he looked up, hopeful. “Really?”
“Yeah, go,” Calix said. “But on one condition.”
“Anything Calix! I’ll do anything!”
“Find that NPC. The next time you come back here, I’ll be expecting his gauntlet.”
The fat fellow climbed to his feet, smiling at his second chance. He began to turn to back out of the room.
“One more thing.”
The Thaumaturgist paused. He turned around and Calix spun, swinging the bourbon bottle into the side of the caster’s head. The bottle burst, glass shattering. The duelist screamed and fell back to his knees, clutching his head. Calix kicked him in the chest, knocking him on his back.
“You don’t think I know the fucking rules?!” Calix said. He waved the glass bottle menacingly at the Thaumaturge. “Of course I fucking know the rules!”
Then he drove the sharp end of the broken bottle into the floor next to the poor caster’s face. He let out a yelp of terror.
“Now get the fuck out of here!” Calix said.
As the injured and shocked Thaumaturgist was dragged out of the library by Castor, Calix dropped the bottle on the floor and grabbed a white cloth, wiping his hands. “Has there been any word on Shae?” Calix said. “She should have returned by now.”
“Not yet,” Jason said. “But I put out the word to keep an eye out.”
Calix gestured at his nebbish NPC servant. “Let’s get some breakfast in here. I’m starving.” He looked at the other three slingers who were inching towards the door. “Stay with us and eat. You’re hungry aren’t you?”
#
After breakfast, Calix loaded the vial of rage9 into the syringe gun. The Winternath chemical was a translucent red. He watched the particles float in the liquid mesmerized. Then he pressed the barrel to his neck and pulled the trigger. With a pneumatic hiss, the needle punched his skin and he felt the stimulant entering his veins.
He had been up for over forty-eight hours. First it was the anticipation of the tournament and the thrill of traveling to another earth. Then it was the rush and obsession to duel and start establishing his territory. Whenever he could feel the dredge of sleep trying to pull him into a bed, he took a hit of rage9, one of the popular stimulants duelists used for the tournament when they couldn’t lose time sleeping. The eventual crash was a bitch, but he could sleep later.
As the stimulant took hold, his pupils dilated. He looked out a window at the brick and stone bell tower that was on the campus property. Flies swarmed around the body of the SWAT team that had tried to save the students on campus from him and his men. They were hanging from the bell tower, staked out there as a warning for any other authorities of this world that tried to make a move on him.
On the lawn, several monstrous minions patrolled the grounds and stealthed creatures had been placed in the five gazebos as a sort of alarm system. If someone was going to come for Calix, they would have to be a considerable force of Psycho Slingers.
#
It was mid-afternoon when they had arrived at the Music Hall of Fame and Museum and there was still no sign of Shae. He had wanted to tour the facility with her, but she had never returned from performing her objectives. Her absence nagged at his mind as he stared at the guitar.
When of the favorite parts of a Slaynami tournament for Calix was going to a new world and learning about their music, and their musicians. He found it fascinating and he liked to collect relics.
Jason and Castor accompanied him. They weren’t so interested in the music but they were more interested in exploring the food options of this world. Currently they strolled the hallway, moseying about, chewing on something called ‘hot chicken’ they had gotten off a street vendor. They liked the food so much the street vendor would now be relocating to Belmont Mansion as their personal chef.
The guitar inside the glass case belonged to a former musician of this world named Johnny Cash. The label said it was a Martin D-35S model. He studied the photo of the musician and concluded the man had an interesting and lived-in face. He punched the glass with his card gauntlet, freeing the guitar.
He reached through the broken glass and grabbed the instrument. He held it in his hands, in awe. He strummed it, liking the sound. It was out of tune. He set about tuning in it when he heard Jason and Castor arguing behind him.
“What is it?” Calix said.
“It’s Shae,” Jason said.
“Where’s she been?”
There was silence.
Calix looked up from the guitar and turned around to face the Steelclads.
Jason was looking at his interface. Then he met Calix’s gaze. “The Slaycast.”
“What about it?” Calix said.
“Turn it on.”
Calix was irritated. He looked at his interface and accessed his media files. Sure enough, there was a new Slaycast stream that had just gone live. He tuned in and immediately felt his heart sink into his stomach.
The host, LimeKiwi, was commentating as Shae was dueling someone. “To everyone’s surprise, Walt Harmon, the Voidlock NPC who had managed to complete his trials and become Earth X2.9’s first Psycho Slinger, continued his win streak in an absolutely devastating display of power against Shae Jordan, the Thaumuturgist also known as the The Flame of the Silver Tongue, one of the enforcers in league with The Silver Tongue himself, Calix Nephus.”
“But she wasn’t just an enforcer of his,” the co-host Mister Zero chimed in. “She was also his girlfriend. That’s right, to the shock of the viewers back home, one half of the fan favorite celebrity couple has been defeated and killed by a particularly skilled native Voidlock.”