Sola and I worked our way to the front of the crowd. She stayed close to me, holding my arm, leaning in to speak, “That announcer said we won’t be around long enough for this to matter.”
“Yeah. To them, Earth is just a game map. And what do you do before a new game? You clear the board.”
As if on cue, several dropships lowered toward the ground. Their rear cargo gates hissed open like the mouths of expectant gators. People panicked, screaming, fleeing for their lives. Soldiers fanned out, guns raised as a squadron of Abrams tanks and Black Hawks angled into attack positions. Sola and I held steady with others who were staring at the Skybotron, mesmerized.
Blink smiled, elated, “Looks like our champions are about to make their grand entrance! Let’s take it down to the field with Zylthia Revelfore. Zylthia?”
The Skybotron cut to a female alien sportscaster with pronounced duck lips and glowing locks of hair that cycled through colors like an LED gaming keyboard. She excitedly raised her microphone.
“Thanks so much, Blink and Gil. Our favorite warriors will soon take the field. Now, before their system jump, I got an opportunity to sit down with Dom Blady and crew to hear what they had to say about this year’s Slayer Bowl.”
The Skybotron cut to a pre-recorded video of Zylthia, seated across from Dom, Rod, and Jess, in a comfortable studio setting.
“Well, I am excited to be here with the Slaytriots! Thank you all for sitting down with me today. Dom, this is your 30th Slayer Bowl! A lot of viewers call you greatest warrior to ever play the game. I would have to agree. Your thoughts?”
“Well, you’re too kind,” Dom waved it off with a laugh and a wink. “But, we could discuss it… privately… after the match.”
Zylthia blushed, shifting in her chair.
Dom continued, “No. To be honest, we just love to play the game.”
Zylthia recomposed herself. “Well, why don’t you tell the galaxies—what’s your secret? How do you and your team constantly dominate such a brutal sport?”
Dom thought about it for a moment, then leaned forward in his chair. “Well, the answer is quite simple, really…”
He stared deep in Zylthia’s eyes, with hypnotic effect.
“We’re complete badasses. And we’re better than everyone.”
Rod and Jess gave each other high fives.
“And it’s more than that,” Dom said. “We also think of the little people.”
A pre-recorded clip played of Dom visiting the youth ward of an alien hospital. Dom waved to robed younglings and took time to both palm and autograph the bald heads of sick children.
“You see, there are so many folks out there that just aren’t as fortunate as us. They haven’t had the opportunities we’ve had. And so, when we get a chance to go out there and kick some monster and warrior ass—well, it’s like we’re showing these sick kids that they can get off their asses and fight the good fight—just like we fight ours.”
A video clip showed Dom throwing one of his Blady Bombs and celebrating as a gelatinous pile of entrails rained down. The video cut back to the alien youths and hospital staff, who were all cheering.
He continued, “I feel as though if I can just make one of those pale, weak, little buggers smile… well, then it’s all worth it.”
Zylthia wiped away a tear and turned. “And what about you, Rod? What’s it like working with the legend, Dom Blady?”
Rod tapped his head as if there were some loose screws inside. He grunted, trying to get the words out. A moment later, he slapped his face a few times and hung his head, frustrated.
Dom put a hand on Rod’s shoulder and said, “He ain’t much for talking. Couple concussions too many. But you’ll see him do his talking on the field.”
After a confused look, Rod just grunted and nodded in agreement.
Zylthia turned her head, “And, what about you, Jess?”
Jess spoke in an unintelligible alien dialect, and a stiff AI voice translated as subtitles appeared, “Dom leader. He call play. We execute.”
Zylthia waited for more, but Jess simply stared ahead, silent, like a dog awaiting a command. After an awkward moment, Zylthia swiveled back to Dom. “So tell me, how is it, in a single-winner game, filled with backstabbing and betrayal, that the three of you have continued working as a team?”
Dom looked at Jess and Rod. They both stiffened. I thought I picked up on an unspoken threat in his gaze. I could see Zylthia squint. Perhaps she was picking up on the energy change in the studio as well.
Dom flashed his brilliant smile and said, “Unity.”
Zylthia cleared her throat, as if she was summoning the resolve to press further. “There are some that say you only keep Rod and Jess around to help pad your stats. Then, they intentionally shave points to miss qualifying for the Sudden Death Final. This allows you to make it there alone. How do you respond to these allegations? What would you say to your critics?”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Dom broke into an uncomfortably long and loud laugh. Then, he lurched forward, with red-faced rage, pointing at the camera. “Screw you!”
Back to her live shot, Zylthia clutched her mic and smiled nervously. “Well, Blink and Gil, there you have it from the man himself. Dom and his team are ready. Back to you!”
“There he is!” Gill exclaimed on the Skybotron.
I watched as Dom Blady appeared atop the cargo ramp on one ship. The Skybotron cut to several shots of alien watch parties across the multiverse, where creatures clapped and cheered with delight. They chanted “MVP” in their respective languages—their cheers subtitled on the screen.
Dom sauntered down the ramp, waving like a triumphant war hero returning home. Rod and Jess shuffled behind him like obedient minions. The three of them were clad in ISL-branded warrior gear, consisting of interlocking armor plates. The suits were angular, with the aggressive lines of stealth fighters. Reinforced joints whined with what appeared to be servos and hydraulic mechanisms. Glowing power lines snaked between their armor plates to back-mounted power supplies. Their shoulders were protected by oversized pauldrons that nearly rose to the level of their visored helmets. Each of them wore forearm gauntlets, featuring touchscreens. Dom, Rod, and Jess took their helmets off and mugged for the camera drones.
Because Sola and I were at the front of the crowd, Dom and his crew were close as they walked by. I kept my eyes trained on him. Whatever Slayer Bowl was, Dom was its star and was partially responsible for my mother’s death. I balled my hands into fists, formulating a plan.
“They won’t think it’s such a game if we take out their MVP.”
“Who? That guy?!” Sola pointed. “Are you crazy?! He’s their top warrior. We don’t even have a handgun!”
Dom surveyed the terrain and grumbled to his crew. Staring at his lips, I could barely make out some of his words, over the din of the crowd.
“Commish is desperate… this place stinks… like ass.”
Other warriors descended from nearby dropships. They all wore the same ISL armor and helmets. Many of them cast eyes in Dom’s direction. One warrior yanked his helmet off. He had a deep scar running straight down the middle of his face. Furious, he stomped straight towards Dom.
“Oh, it’s getting real now!” Blink delighted on the Skybotron. “Looks like Zipper and his crew are trying to intimidate early.”
As Zipper and his teammates approached, Rod and Jess stepped forward to intercept them. A scuffle ensued.
“It’s the Slaytriots and Zippers!” Gil shouted, “Gettin’ chippy already!”
I used the distraction as an opening and tapped Sola on the arm.
“Hey. Let’s go.”
“What?”
I moved fast, angling along the fringe of the crowd. Sola followed close behind, huffing, “Where are we going?”
The nearest dropship was only twenty yards away—its cargo bay wide open. We broke from the crowd, sprinting across empty ground to reach it.
“In there!” I shouted.
“Oh my God! This is crazy!”
We reached the ship, scrambled up the ramp, and took cover inside, flattening ourselves against the wall. I looked around. Red beacon lights rotated, bathing the metallic chamber in a swirling, eerie glow. We exhaled, realizing the craft was unmanned.
I peeked back outside. On the tarmac, the Zippers and Slaytriots remained in a standoff, aiming drawn blades and blasters. Dom and Zipper stood nose-to-nose. Zipper pointed at his scar and yelled at Dom, as if he were blaming him for it. Dom flashed a smug smile, muttered something, then head-butted Zipper in the nose and kneed him in the crotch. Zipper hit the deck hard as a full-blown scuffle broke out between the two teams.
“Ooooh! I felt that one!” Gil shouted.
“Okay,” I said to Sola. “Look for weapons.”
Sola and I fanned out across the cargo bay, pulling open compartments and checking inside boxes. She inspected a bank of cryogenic chambers. Their egg-shaped viewing ports were elevated, steam leaking, as if they’d just released fresh hatchlings. I set my rucksack down and rummaged through a stack of crates along the wall.
“Here! Take this!” I shouted, tossing Sola a metallic bat.
She gripped the handle and, sensing her touch—
KASHINK!!!
—razor-sharp spikes jutted out across the barrel.
“Now we’re talking!” she grinned as she took a few swings.
“You play sports?” I asked.
“Softball champ. Las Águilas High. You?”
“Cross Country.”
“Pssh! Come on. Cross Country isn’t a sport.”
“Say that again when you need to outrun a monster.”
I noticed several pieces of battle-damaged gear on a shelf. One was a strange metallic bracelet. It gleamed like chrome and had an adhesive tag on it with some alien writing. I peeled the tag off and stuck my left hand through it. The bracelet immediately clamped around my wrist, conforming in size, while extending all the way to the elbow, forming a perfectly-fitted forearm gauntlet with a touchscreen.
“Sweet,” I marveled at the device. “The warriors all had one of these.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. Kinda reminds me of those play sheet wristbands that quarterbacks wear. But, who knows… maybe it shoots lasers or something.”
I tapped the screen.
SPLOOF!
A puff of smoke and sparks spat from the device.
“Or maybe it’s a glorified party sparkler,” Sola chuckled.
“Aww come on! Don’t tell me it’s defective.”
The gauntlet’s screen flashed and a pixelated boot sequence ticked across it. Lines of alien glyphs flashed as the device worked to come online. I frowned.
“Really? All of this advanced technology and they still haven’t improved boot up.”
I peeked back outside. The scuffle was over. Zipper’s crew dragged his limp body away. Dom and his team strolled past a gaggle of intergalactic reporters—Zylthia nestled among them. She hopped up and down, waving to get Dom’s attention. He looked at her, shook his head, then kept on walking.
The Skybotron glitched with digital waves of static interference as a new signal cut through. President Warfield’s face appeared, flanked by armed guards in an emergency bunker. I stopped my rummaging and walked towards the rear of the cargo bay.
“What are you doing?!” Sola asked.
I couldn’t look away. President Warfield’s solemn expression betrayed any confidence he tried to project with his voice.
“My fellow citizens, we are facing an unprecedented threat… a global crisis, the likes of which we have never seen before. I have spoken with the UN Security Council and other top world leaders and our assessment of the situation is dire. However, it is not without hope. While initial military efforts have not yielded the results we had hoped for, we currently have a contingency plan to deal with this threat—“
The Skybotron suddenly cut to a split screen of President Warfield and the ISL logo, comprised of alien glyphs over a bloodied, metal shield. Warfield continued speaking, but was muted. The ISL logo dissolved to reveal a shadowy, masculine figure. He was tall, green, and flashed needle-point teeth. He spoke with a dark voice—smooth and calculated. His translated words echoed across the air field.
“Inhabitants of Earth. I am Commissioner Krivlax. The ISL thanks you for your generous donation of our playing field. No doubt, a few of you have been fortunate and have found items that will temporarily spare you from annihilation. Use those fleeting minutes to witness the supreme power of our league. As for the rest of this futile population—your time is up. You won’t be mourned. You won’t be missed. It shall be as if you never existed.”