Sola steered through the destruction as I kept my eyes on the skyline. More ships arced overhead, gliding over the city, descending in the distance.
“They look like dropships,” I shouted.
“What?”
“Landing vehicles. Used to drop equipment or troops.”
More fighter jets screamed overhead, racing to intercept the alien craft. As they neared, they bounced haplessly off some sort of invisible barrier, corkscrewing downward in flames.
My eyes widened as a falling jet spiraled right at us.
“Watch out!”
Sola banked hard left and narrowly avoided the craft as it erupted into a hellish firestorm behind us. I tightened my grip on her waist and shouted above the wind, “Close one!”
The middle of the city was congested as a mass exodus of survivors made their way on foot, pouring through every thoroughfare like a stampede of frenzied insects.
“Where will they go?” Sola asked.
“If this same thing is happening around the world… nowhere.”
As we rode through the crowd, arms jutted out—batting and clawing—accompanied by desperate, pleading voices.
“Help us!”
“Please! Take us with you!”
“Give us that bike!”
Sola sped up, tearing away from the crowd. She looked over her shoulder and shook her head. “There’s nothing we can do for them.”
One of the dropships buzzed by close overhead. Its low altitude offered the most detailed look we had gotten at one of the crafts. The ship’s rear engine crackled a neon blue. Its cargo bay was cracked open, allowing me to see silhouettes pacing inside. Defying physics, the craft veered vertically, at an impossible climb angle. It cleared a skyscraper and zipped out of sight.
I pressed my lips tight. As I thought about mom, my sorrow turned to fury. The skittering heartbeat in my chest morphed into the strong, thumping rhythm of a war drum.
We made it to the Philadelphia International Airport. There, we passed the wreckage of numerous crashed planes and jets, smoke still rising from their burning husks. Soldiers, firefighters, police, and emergency responders weren’t busy attending to the downed aircraft. Nor were they attempting crowd control. Instead, they were further out, past the runways, staring at the spectacle in the sky. They were surrounded by thousands of civilian gawkers. Firetrucks and police cruisers were parked, lights swirling. As we rode towards the crowd, no one attempted to stop us. Everyone was staring at the fleet of dropships pooling in the airspace above.
Sola parked the bike and we dismounted.
“There’s so many of them,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said, grasping the game charm on my necklace. “And they weren’t invited.”
We slipped into the crowd, stunned at the size of the multitude. Desperate families huddled together. Reporters aimed cameras and rambled into digital recorders. Curious onlookers scoped the scene. Religious zealots shouted, announcing the end of the world. Cops and soldiers yelled into walkie-talkies—guns drawn, aimed with shaky hands. Firefighters stared, mouths agape in drenched, soot-stained uniforms.
Suddenly, a sonic note blasted throughout the atmosphere. It was so loud, its force so startling, the shockwave knocked everyone off their feet. It sounded like some sort of galactic brass instrument, heralding the beginning of a regal event.
The central dropship, which was different in shape and color from the rest, descended towards the ground, its rear hatch opening.
“Look,” Sola pointed.
Thousands of shiny, metallic spheres flew out of the rear hatch. They zipped across the sky, spreading out in a circular formation across the horizon. Some of the younger cops and soldiers instinctively fired their guns.
This was met by multiple screams of “Hold your fire! Hold your fire!”
There was a collective gasp among the thousands of people watching. In a coordinated effort, the spheres all projected holographic beams in various angles and directions. Collectively, the beams united to form the “Skybotron”—a giant, circular display that spanned the hemisphere of the planet. It reminded me of the animated scoreboards that encircled sports arenas.
Again, a sonic fanfare blasted through the air. This time, people managed to stay on their feet. The Skybotron filled with the image of two alien creatures. One was blue—its face constructed from nothing more than a cluster of eyes. The other was orange and amphibious in nature. It had pronounced gills and the angular lips of a fish.
Eye-Face started speaking—a formerly imperceptible mouth opening between eyeball lips. At first, his language was a series of wet, guttural smacks and hisses. However, that was quickly replaced by an automated translation I could understand.
“Greetings to our octillions of viewers across the multiverse. I’m Blink Cornopticus.”
“And I’m Gill Flippord,” the orange Fish-Face chimed in.
“Welcome to Slayer Bowl 342!”
Sola looked at me with disbelief.
“The Intergalactic Slayer League is proud to present the most visceral combat sports event in the multiverse,” Blink continued.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“That’s right, Blink,” Gil chimed. “This season was absolutely electrifying—filled with some of the most spectacular and gruesome kills you’d ever want to see.”
“You said it,” Blink nodded. “So gather the family to watch the best of bloodshed, the apex of annihilation! Slayer Bowl! The ISL’s top warriors will face off against some of the most ruthless monsters imaginable in a winner-take-all championship for the ages.”
“Oooh, I can’t wait for this one!” Gil chortled like a giddy kid.
“You got that right, buddy. Better strap in,” Blink added, “because today—rivalries are renewed and grudges turn gory.”
“Oh yes!” Gil added, “And, of course, fans around the galaxy will be excited to see the ISL’s reigning MVP, Dom Blady, who should be making his triumphant entrance shortly.”
Blink nodded, “Winner of the past fifteen Slayer Bowls, Dom Blady and the Slaytriots have absolutely dominated the field. Together, with his teammates, Rod Gorekrushki and Jess Smelter, I’m sure they’re raring to go in an all-too-cluttered field of six million warriors. Should be a bloody good time.”
As the two alien commentators spoke, the Skybotron filled with graphic video replays of past Slayer Bowl contests. Dom Blady, Rod, and Jess were prominently featured. They were humanoid aliens, suited up in gleaming, futuristic, full-body armor, using all manner of weapons to slice, batter, and blast monsters of various kinds. It was barbaric and primal.
Dom Blady was tall and muscled. He was older, with salt-and-pepper hair, a square, rugged jaw, and a dimpled chin that looked like it could wink at you.
Rod Gorekrushki was less on the eyes. He was a grunt—a brute with a hooked nose that looked like it had been broken a thousand times.
Jess was a weathered warrior. She was tall and lean, with a muscular frame that was covered in marks of battle. Her eyes twinkled with ferocity.
“Of course, we all know how good Dom is with those patented Blady Bombs,” Blink commented.
“Absolutely lethal,” Gil agreed.
In the Skybotron clips, Dom threw several Blady Bombs. Each spiraled perfectly through the air, like steel footballs. As they flew, razor-sharp blades jutted out from their gleaming, metallic surfaces. The bombs struck two gargantuan creatures, slicing through them, exploding—immediately vaporizing them into piles of green goo. Dom grabbed a glowing orb and ran it into a flashing scoring zone. The montage intercut shots of alien viewers erupting with glee.
Blink and Gil’s faces took back over the screen.
“And tell our fans where we are, Gil?” Blink asked, turning to his co-commentator.
“An absolute dump, if you ask me.” Gil joked. He referenced a holographic chart. “Let’s see… it says this is… planet Earth.”
“Earth, huh? Sounds like something my Zarkth coughed up. Well, if it’s as bad as it looks, I can see why Commissioner Krivlax chose it.”
The Skybotron cycled through more clips of previous Slayer Bowls. The montage showed calm, tranquil planets prior to the games. Then, the video dissolved to show the same planets, completely decimated afterwards.
“Well, whatever this hellhole is…” Gil said, “just wait till we’re done with it!”
“Okay, for those fans who are new to Slayer League—“ Blink began.
“How is that even possible?!” Gil chuckled.
“Slayer Bowl works like this,” Blink continued. “A random planet…”
“Random dump,” Gil corrected.
“…is chosen to host the death-match. This world serves as the playing field. Now, unfortunately for the inhabitants, they don’t get a say, nor any forewarning. But, don’t worry. They won’t be around long enough for any of that to matter.”
“If you ask me,” Gil said, “It’s an honor your planet was chosen.”
Sola turned to me, livid, “What is this?! Real people are dying down here and we got, what… alien sportscasters… cracking jokes?”
“It’s all a big joke to them,” I seethed.
Blink pointed at a graphic on the Skybotron. It showed a team of armed warriors and a cluster of monsters facing each other, ready to battle. In between them, there was a pulsing, glowing sphere.
“Slayer Bowl is a four quarter championship that lasts 168 hours, the equivalent of one Earth week. Each quarter is 36 hours long with two 6 hour time-outs in between, and a 12 hour halftime. And trust me, our warriors, will need every moment of those breaks to rest and heal, because Slayer Bowl is brutal and ruthless.”
“There are no resets or respawns here,” Gil added. “If you die, you’re dead.”
“That’s right. And the goal is to survive and score enough points to top the scoreboard. And how are those points awarded? First, by killing monsters. Lots of them.”
“They don’t call it Slayer Bowl for no reason.” Gil chirped. “Our warriors must deal creative kills and spectacular slaughters if they hope to gain fans and woo a little help from sponsors.”
“And we loooove our sponsors,” Blink smiled as the Skybotron flashed an insta-ad of Blink holding up a tube of SlickzSee Eye Lube.
The ad dissolved and Blink continued, “The second way to gain points is with Slayer Orbs.” The Skybotron showed a series of glowing spheres populating across the world. Blink pointed at the graphic.
“Each quarter, Slayer Orbs will randomly spawn across the game map. The warriors must locate them, maintain possession, and advance them into scoring zones to score ‘Orb-Downs.’ These yield big points and are essential for warriors to advance to the next quarter. Any warrior who hasn’t scored an Orb-Down before time expires on the quarter, is eliminated.”
“Yes, and it won’t be easy.” Gil cracked his knuckles or flippers or whatever the hell they were. “The field is filled with traps, hazards, distracting side-quests, and monsters who love to play defense.”
“Right,” Blink nodded. “The real stars of the show are the monsters. These are some of the most ferocious creatures in the multiverse. Each quarter will introduce new and more dangerous beasts, escalating in class and threat. So, our warriors, better keep their eyes open.”
“And speaking of eyes open,” Gil said, “our combatants must watch their backs. While warriors aren’t allowed to kill one another until the Sudden Death Final, there’s nothing in the rulebook against treachery or sabotage. Alliances are key to surviving longer in the game, but can you ever really trust anyone?”
“Indeed,” Blink grinned. “And if a warrior is badly injured or just can’t handle the pressure, they do have the option to tap out. Although, receiving a DNF is widely considered a badge of shame.”
“Cowards!” Gill pounded his fist. “It grinds my gills! They push a button, get a lousy ‘DID NOT FINISH’ and a chance to compete next year. It shouldn’t be allowed!”
“Easy there, champ… don’t get your fins in a bunch,” Blink touched Gil’s shoulder.
“Sorry,” Gill smoothed his scales. “I lost it there for a minute.”
Blink continued, “At the conclusion of the fourth quarter, only the top 2 warriors on the scoreboard can compete in the Sudden Death Final! There, they must combat one another in a no-rules deathmatch for the right to face the Final Boss.“
Gil’s scales fluttered with excitement. “A surprise creature so big and powerful—that even we don’t know what it can do.”
“The last warrior standing will take on the Final Boss, and if they are victorious, they shall be crowned Slayer Bowl Champion and receive the coveted Golden Slayer Orb!”
“Now, we’re not savages,” Gil smiled. “To help the warriors, the ISL has seeded this world with hidden items, equipment upgrades, and in-game enhancements, which will prove critical as warriors fight for survival and for each and every point.”
“There is one final, delicious twist,” Blink grinned. “After each successful Orb Down, and at other random times during play, warriors will be randomly teleported to new parts of the global game map. This keeps the playing field unpredictable and really shakes things up!”
“You just gotta love the element of surprise!” Gil nodded.
Another dropship released an army of floating robots with striped paint jobs.
“Ah, here come the refbots.” Blink laughed.
“Everyone’s favorite,” Gil quipped, sarcastically.
The Skybotron flashed fan reactions to the refbots. Many made obscene gestures with their hands, fins, and claws.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing or hearing. Slayer Bowl? Were they for real? I tapped Sola on the arm and said, “Come on. Let’s get a closer look.”