Match 6

#46 Nimia Altamirano

vs

#45 Cleon “The Red Lion” Joumari

Current Inventory:

1 Katana - "Darling"

1 .44 Semi-Automatic Magnum

1 9mm Semi-Automatic Pistol

47.6 million dollars; Note: "Donated by Lawton"

The Rolling Storm Raceway, or whatever that would translate to in Darija based on the subtitle under the signs, was ludicrously huge. Most racetracks, for cars and the like, tended to go around a mile to two miles, or 1.6 to 3.2 kilometers, if you were a heretic. Longer ones would be over two miles, in the 2.6 mile ballpark kinda way.

The Rolling Storm, however, went about twenty times that. And was probably squared, because distance is weird. It wasn’t exactly an even track either, more so a massive course stretching in twists and turns that weaved around obstacles both natural and artificial, ranging from sandpits and oil traps to full on spinning blades, acid pits, and massive flamethrowers, all set around, over, and through a city pretty much outfitted for racing and spectating.

And why exactly was the huge track so outfitted? Well, that was for a very simple reason: The Rolling Storm Raceway was the frequent host to the high-speed bloodsport known simply as “Death Race”.

Which was actually kind of a misnomer, weirdly enough. Sure, people definitely died during the races, but it wasn’t the outright assumed result of any race. It was hard to have racers fans loved to root for if nobody lived long enough to get fans. Same went for sponsors and all that.

So, really, the “death” part of Death Races came from they decent chance that someone could die if they were unprepared or just had really shit luck. Oh, and there was also the fact that destroying an opponent’s car was completely legal for the races.

Hell, a valid way of winning was just by destroying every other car on the track before they could finish the last lap, which was why a whole lot of racers modified their vehicles with weapons or just outright carried guns in their cars. There were even tracks out there that had artificial biomes specifically for mixing things up.

Point was, it would probably be a sport Nimia would be into if she wasn’t currently trying to be the best damn killer in the entire world. Luckily for the 46th ranked, the current 45 had no such compunctions about staying out of other bloodsports, so she was actually getting a little time to just enjoy the crazy sights while she figured out what was up with one Cleon Jourmari, the 45th ranked and the ‘Red Lion of the Rolling Storm’.

The 46th herself was currently relaxing in a nice little penthouse she just so happened to be able to buy now that she “repossessed” a whole hell of a lot of wealth from Lawton. “You kill the owner, you get their stuff” wasn’t exactly anywhere in the rules of the rankings, but hey, she’d had that other penthouse back in Albadan to herself for a full week before she decided to continue on her way and that gave her plenty of time to access at least a couple bank accounts the old lady owned. Somebody would probably wind up getting pissed about that, but what the hell were they gonna do?

Anyway, that led to her current situation, which was lounging on a couch and eating chips as she watched the current race on a big plasma screen. There was some commentary, but she was mostly tuning it out in favor of just watching the racers go. People from all over the world, most so full of cybernetics or outright robotic just to survive, going up against each other huge, loud, deathtraps, screaming their rage out for the joy of all onlookers…

Heh. She really needed to get out more. That almost sounded philosophical–Wait, what was happening on screen? That was her penthouse.

“-that’s right, it’s a fantastic showin’ here, everyone and everythin’ here to watch the steel carnage of a good race!” And that was a very familiar voice. “And it’s gonna get bloodier and nastier in just a few seconds, so hold onto those umbrellas and put up those shields if you’re in the splash zone! Ah, but not you Nimmy!”

And the grinning, shadowed face of Nero suddenly formed up on her screen. “You’re playing today, baby, and the price is righter than right for your fucked up head! That’s right that’s right that’s right, we have, here and today, not only an automatic victory against the goddamn champ to anyone who kills the Forty-Six here today–thanks again to our sponsors at Koroshi Entertainment and Giochi Sanguinosi–but all the fun stuff of getting to enter the rankings! Namely, immortality, and an even BETTER chance at killing that smug prick Jourmari! Yeah we see you down there! You and that hotrod of–Awww, nice’a you to wave, you know we love ya!”

...Well shit, that probably wasn’t good.

And Nimia’s concerns were immediately founded when a car smashed straight into her penthouse.

The dark blue and heavily armored race car lit the room up with machine gun fire, the guns right under its headlights, as Nimia leapt straight on top of it. Her new boots crunched into the glass– and spikes formed from their outsoles for a better grip–as she easily formed her new magnum–a pitch-black semi-automatic–out of the digital cloud the ‘inventory’ turned out to be.

It wasn’t a physical thing, just all digitized whatevers doing the thingamabobs to store things in ways that should’ve been impossible, but hey, it kept her gear safe, and as she pressed the tip against the glass, she couldn’t keep herself from grinning.

Though then the prick smashed out of the penthouse and back onto the track and she had to quickly reevaluate some shit as they landed back on the track. Damn, there were a lot of cars out and about, and Blue Boy landed them straight back into the fucking fray of it.

Hm. And now the prick was deliberately swerving to try to shake her off. Sucked for him that nobody in the association really accounted for people being reckless enough to jump from their cars. At least in this circuit, where that kind of shit was suicidal at best. Well, fuck it, if he was going to be a prick, she’d find a better ride.

And it was with that thought she casually shot straight through the glass and into Blue Boy’s skull, his head slamming back in a spray of blue blood. They were going down a straight, sloped path at that moment, one lined with buzzsaws spinning from the road and the slightly higher walls, so she focused on spotting a good route among all the other cars. Hm. Teal one would work.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

She waited until the Blue Boy hit a decently-sized saw, sending it crashing and used the momentum to launch her up and onto the car in question. This time, she kept out of the view of the windshield, so hopefully the racer inside would–

The first shot was her only warning as she darted to the side, narrowly missing submachine gun fire from inside the car, and she took that warning to grip the side, kick straight through the window, and slam her feet into the side of the driver’s helmeted head, sending them crashing straight through that door and onto the track for about three seconds before a saw split them in half.

So yep, now she was in a car without a driver and fuck she really should’ve thought this through more. Could’ve brought a rifle up to the penthouse, took some shots, but nope, now she was driving a car she had no idea how to drive amongst a bunch of racers who knew exactly what they were doing and she–Waaaaaait.

Races had laps.

Nimia slammed straight on the breaks and did her damndest to get the car to stop–

A few seconds later, she climbed out of the only slightly mangled car and frowned at the pole its front was now wrapped around in the middle of a rather wide stretch of the track.

“...You served me well in our short time together,” she said, and then saluted her fallen carmrade.

...God, that was bad.

Puns aside, she turned and looked towards the rest of the track, which traced up and around the buildings everywhere. Seemed she picked somewhere in the middle of the road, elevation-wise, to set herself up in.

Decent ground that was both free of traps and at the end of the buzzsaw slope, so it was totally flat. The road was a little wide though, so there was a decent chance Jourmari could just swerve around her…

Speaking of, her current location also provided her with a decent view of the racers up on the massive screens set around the race track. She almost wanted to sit back to watch, but standing was smarter. Still, it was cool to see Jourmari at work.

His red and gold car stood out amid the crowd, and not just because it had some really cool golden lion decals emblazoned across its sides, with a roaring face taking up its hood. No, it mostly stood out because Jourmari was a damn scary racer.

He didn’t have any fancy crap like the purple fucker with a full on scorpion tail extending from his car or the orange bitch with the flamethrowers. No, he was just fast and efficient, weaving around obstacle after obstacle even as every single racer tried their damndest to kill the bastard at the head of their pack.

For a brief moment, Nimia wondered if he even had any weapons in there with him. And then she immediately got an answer as the cocky fuck actually took the time to roll down his window before leaning out and pointing a red-and-gold magnum out at the strack. Though, he was pointing straight ahead of himself for some reason–

Jourmari’s car did a suddenly full turn, twisting around on the track without even drifting, before he fired one shot straight into the front right tire of the yellow car right behind him on the track. In seconds, the racer right behind him went flying, twisting, and crashing hard, smashing and rolling and absolutely shattering into pieces as it flew apart from the ruined momentum alone. And every single one of those pieces flew with astounding speed and impressive brutality into the other cars right behind the second place.

Nimia watched in outright awe at the devastation on-screen. Somehow, nearly every piece of the Yellow 2nd had smashed into its competition behind it. Tires crashed through windows, chunks of metal impaled engines, and even shards of glass pierced into those who’d been dumb enough to be leaning out to try to score an easy shot on Jourmari. She even briefly saw a broken body crash straight into the orange pyro in 4th, right before that one went up in a ball of flames and smashed the purple scorpion in 5th, sending its tail flying forward and impaling the poor unfortunate green bastard who’d tried to take the moment to slip into 3rd.

It was easily the most destructive chain reaction she’d ever seen, and then there was Jourmari, still driving backwards the entire time.

“...Heh. Well alright then, I can dig it.” A giggle bubbled up in her as let both her katana and her own magnum slip into her hands. Sword in the left, gun in the right. Cybernetics held the gun steadier, while her left just felt more natural for the blade. “C’mon then, Red Lion. I wanna see you roar.”

And, to her immense joy, he didn’t take long at all to show up. In fact, he only stopped driving backwards once he made it to the end of the slope, a ways away from where she stood.

Directly facing Nimia, Jourmari suddenly put on his breaks and leaned out again, staring at her through his crimson helmet, which had gold spikes on it tracing back to give him his “mane”. Funny thing was, from the pictures she’d seen of the admittedly handsome dark-skinned man, he kept both his head and face completely shaved.

“I was almost disappointed when I saw you leave your new-claimed car.” He had a good voice. Strong and rich with an obvious accent that lent a nice flair to his words. “I thought you try your best to match me in my own arena. But we both have different talents, don’t we?”

“That we do! Sorry to disappoint though!” she replied, honestly grinning, “It’s just that I realized I don’t know shit about driving cars! I’m more a motorcycle girl!”

“Ahh. So, you want to try the motorcycle then?”

“Hm...no, sorry, didn’t think of putting in my inventory so it’s still parked.”

“Eh. It is no trouble. Really, I like this better. We hold an even field by playing to our talents, and I have always liked a challenge.” Jourmari moved back into his seat, and revved his engine. “Now, it is only a matter of whose strength overwhelms.”

Nimia nodded with an eager grin, her eyes alight with the drive for battle. “Exactly.”

And then he drove.

The space was too small, honestly. That’s why she didn’t mind when he drove straight past her. After all, races had laps.

It was a patience game. One of focus and reaction time. Jourmari knew where she was. Nimia knew where he was coming from.

Her fingers itched. There was an eagerness in her, a need to have it end.

Jourmari had to know that. It’s why he had this build-up, this anticipation, this rising action.

He knew, with no one left to interfere, with the board intentionally cleared, it was only a matter of who flinched first.

The rest of the track meant nothing. The jumps and traps were easily cleared. The debris was no obstacle.

She was the Lion’s last obstacle. The living wall in front of his victory. The last hurdle to his happy ending. And he would not be deterred.

She raised her gun as the roar of his engine approached. The slope of saws was nothing to him, and it was a true delight to see him dance and weave around every blade. It was artistry in motion, and in that moment, Nimia knew who her favorite racer would always be.

There was no turning for him. There was no moving for her. To do either would be to disgrace their duel, and God damn them if they did.

A simple squeeze of the trigger fired the first of eight bullets, shot in rapid succession, her aim adjusting as he sped straight for her. The question was, would he reach her before the bullets reached him?

One shattered his windshield. Two clipped his helmet. Three crashed out the back and four slammed home in his chest. Blood burst from his mouth as the fifth joined, and the sixth shattered his shoulder.

The seventh landed hard as well, but by that point, it was decided, and Nimia smiled kindly at her worthy adversary as his car sailed past her by inches, a last twist of the wheel conceding his defeat and sparing her of empty vengeance. Though, she did admittedly feel some satisfaction when the eighth perfectly pierced the center of his visor right as the car flipped, her neck burning as the 46–

46 -> 45

–changed to 45.

“AND WE HAVE A WINNER!” Nero’s voice suddenly boomed out over the area and confetti rained down over the track. Up on screen, he was visibly standing behind his desk, his arms spread wide as he beamed, his teeth bright and white “CONGRATULATIONS NIMIA ALTAMIRANO! YOU ARE NOW RANKED 45TH! KEEP IT UP!” He wide smile dropped into a small smirk as his red eyes stared straight out of the screens, staring down at her from a dozen angles. “We’re really lookin’ forward to seein’ how far you get.”

“Thanks for the encouragement!” she shouted in reply, grinning up at the nearest screen as she walked over to the wrecked lion.

To her immediate satisfaction, the gold magnum, engraved with gorgeous markings and set with a red leather handle, matched her black one. So now she could do the two guns thing again.

And that was clearly the most important thing here.