Gods of the Game #3, Chapter 13

The game against the Platinum Suns was held in Buenos Aires. They rode a massive flutterline ship across the globe, everybody strapped in and absorbed with their own thoughts or Neural Link entertainments. Charoen had felt an all-encompassing clarity of thought since beginning his tutelage under Silence, and managed to sleep for the duration of the flight.

The scene awaiting them at their destination was unlike anything the dead Charoen had experienced before. This was the Premiere League. Every past game, from the bandit-leagues to the Scandinavian Minors, paled in comparison.

The Buenos Aires arena was huge. Admittance to the upper two thirds of the stadium seating were free, and it was as if the krieg chess game had inhaled humanity from the sixty square miles of slums that surrounded the modern downtown core into the stands.

Emerging onto the field, Charoen couldn’t help but marvel at the density of humanity. There had to be almost five hundred thousand people gathered around them in stands that rose, and rose, and rose, so that it felt as if the glowing green rectangle was enveloped by a wall of living, screaming, cheering humanity.

Only the sky above remained open, and even that was cluttered with a mess of holographic ads.

Charoen inhaled deeply and swung his arms in huggers, trying to retain the cool detachment of the past few days. The pressure of the spectators was a physical force. A weight he felt in his chest. The sound was dampened by his helmet, but he could almost feel it playing across his skin. A great blur of humanity, waving scarves, holding up huge banners that blanketed the people beneath them, rising and falling in great waves.

Now that’s a crowd, said Lars, tone soft with wonder.

I think that’s more people than have ever seen me play before, ever, agreed Clovinn.

Fun, right? Hammer’s tone was genial. So many people are excited to see us play.

See us lose, said Fireball, tone crisp. They’re not rooting for us.

Win, lose, we’ll have a good time, replied Hammer, tone upbeat.

Charoen couldn’t help himself. He glanced back at where Jessie stood, head lowered, arms crossed. She’d not spoken a word to him since her initial outburst.

He couldn’t help it. A twist of remorse flexed inside his chest. She’d had it so hard. As far as he could remember, she’d not been at peace or truly happy since they’d left Camp Defiance.

If anything, her mental health had only grown more precarious.

But she wasn’t his sister. He had no obligation to her. Her pain was… lamentable. But if anybody had to shoulder that responsibility, it was Virgil.

Not that the könig ever would.

Limping, waving, their könig moved to the fore and turned slowly to greet the vast crowd, gazing up at the mass of humanity with obvious delight.

They love me, said Virgil over the team channel.

Several people only snorted in response.

How are feeling, Charoen? Sindre over a private channel.

Fine.

Fine? This is your first big game. That’s all you got to share?

Yeah. Charoen considered. Reflected on his state of being. His biometrics popped up in his vision.

Heart rate: 63 bpm

Neuro-chem Index: 1.1

SpO₂: 99%

Core Temp: 98.78 °F

Yeah, I feel fine.

Well, that’s good. Sindre’s suspicion was evident. There’s been a noticeable downward trend in your cortisol and—never mind. I’m just doing my due diligence here. You going to hold to the plan?

Royal Opening. I’m on hellseherin hunting duty alongside Catori. Clean and simple.

Yeah. Yeah. A pause. Clean and simple. All right. Good luck out there.

Charoen resisted the urge to smirk. Coach had been spending too much time with Virgil. Had started seeing angles and subtleties where there weren’t any. Sure Charoen’s performance two weeks back in the VMU had been a blur of violence, but Silence had straightened him out.

He glanced sidelong to where the svelte opfern was going through a series of stretches, moving with ballerina grace from position to position. She never acknowledged their relationship in public. The intensity of what they did in the showers when left alone, or when she slipped into his bunk.

The extreme, strange, but ultimately clarifying lessons she taught him in the dark.

But he didn’t need her public affection.

He didn’t even think she liked him. Not in the way that most people would expect. No. He was… an experiment. A diversion. A means to refine her own philosophy by teaching it to him.

Charoen stared down at the fake turf. Which was fine. The very premise of her teachings was to not form attachments. It left him at times uneasy, but that was his… that was his weakness, his insecurity rearing its head.

No. He was fine.

Charoen inhaled deeply and summoned his gamma rating.

117 hz.

Now that was a source of pride. No wonder Virgil hadn’t stepped in to halt his relationship with Silence. A 30+ jump in his gamma rating in just two weeks would be considered by most as miraculous.

Silence, when he told her, had only smiled. You’re learning to let go, she’d said, cupping his cheek. And in doing so, coming into your own.

Let go.

Charoen closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

The dull roar of the crowd felt like a rushing river, like ocean waves.

He exhaled fully, willed the subtle tension in his shoulders to fade.

Doing OK, amigo? Clovinn’s tone was wary, faux-friendly, curious.

Doing fine, thanks.

Yeah, you sound blissed out. Not nervous at all?

Nope.

Huh. He could feel her staring at him from the opfern group, but ignored it. You really aren’t Charoen, are you?

That caught his attention. He turned then to meet her stare. She was facing him, completely still.

He’d be amped up, excited, ready for action. Trading jokes, ready for violence. Felt… he felt alive in a way you don’t. She was talking to herself, he realized. Sharing a realization over the comms with him almost by accident. Huh.

I’m not him, he agreed, though the words felt… strange. True, but… it was as if he were admitting to more than he understood. Letting go of something that he hadn’t even realized he’d possessed.

Guess not. Luck.

And Clovinn turned away.

That was good. That was good. One less attachment. Silence had said, Only in solitude can you be free. Every relationship is a chain binding you to existence. Break your chains. Revel in freedom. Be your truest self. Burn bright, burn alone, and when you die, drag nobody down with you.

“Burn bright,” he whispered to himself, voice strangely shaky. His heart rate had risen slightly, his gamma dropped a few points. He centered, focused on stillness, and waited for the attack of nerves or whatever it was to fade. “Burn alone.”

The Platinum Suns entered the field. Their armor and gear was burnished to a bright chrome gleam, unnaturally reflective so that each was a glittering star as they jogged into view, arms raised to accept the crowd’s adulation.

There they are, the sweet sunnuvabitches, rumbled Sindre over the team comm. Remember, most of ‘em have Radiant as their Apex Zone Armor power. They’ll blind you if you get close, then hit you with Thundering to stun you further. Either weather the first assault, or take them down before they can strike back.

Thanks Coach, said Virgil. Listen up, folks. They’ll have studied our previous plays and know our preference for tricksy, unorthodox strategies. Which is why we’re playing this straight. Royal Opening, as old-fashioned as it gets. They’ll be so gob smacked they won’t know what hit them. And remember: their mörderin’s a new hire, only A-rank, so we’re not as worried about her being released as we’d normally be. If their opferns busy themselves getting into the end zone, let them go.

Rumbles of assent from the team.

It took another half hour for the game to begin. Half an hour of ceremonies, dignitaries standing and waving as their holographic simulacra were projected into the sky, of flags being marched out by dozens of children, then anthems, then profiles of each player, and then finally the field was cleared, officials retreating to the sidelines, and the moment finally, finally arrived.

Charoen stared dispassionately at the distant enemy players. They’d arrayed themselves in a Royal Opening as well.

Huge numerals appeared in the sky, counting down from ten.

Nice and easy, murmured Vigil over the comm. They won’t know what hit them.

Charoen’s gamma was at 112 hz. Acceptable. His lightning lance was weeping ribbons of brilliant white. It thrummed in his hands.

Deep breaths.

3.

2.

1.

A huge buzzer rang out across the field, and the game had begun.

Charoen willed himself to rise and move forward calmly. The opferns began to march ahead, their line staggered, power halberds leveled.

Across the field, the Platinum Suns did the same, though they moved calmly into a Tight Royal, where the opferns constricted their skirmishing line to hold most of the center, inviting flanking maneuvers, while their jägers remained positioned at each end of their line.

Eyes on the hellseherins, murmured Catori, cruising forward smoothly some thirty or so yards abreast from Charoen. Looks like they’re not bothering to hide.

And they’re staying together, added Charoen. Looks like it’s time for a tag team.

They know we’re both A-ranked. They’re both S-ranked. We’ll be outmatched if we just head straight for them.

Charoen considered, still gliding calmly through the air. Despite the pressure and tension of this game, everybody was moving calmly, gauging each other.

All right opferns, came Virgil over the team comm. Let’s form an oblique line and push to the left of the field. Hammer, Samira and I will bring up the right, catching any opferns that slide off your flank.

The opferns picked up the pace, drifting to the left and arraying themselves in a diagonal line, Silence at the tip and almost at the field’s far side.

The Platinum Sun opferns performed a tidy pivot, their opfern on the far left slowing almost to a stop, the one on the far right breaking into a fast run, so that their whole front swung to charge as one toward the Brutal Deluxe oblique line.

The opferns were no doubt discussing what to do on their private channel, and Charoen was surprised to find himself missing that camaraderie. No doubt Silence was proving true to her name other than giving terse orders.

The twin enemy hellseherins were flying forward slowly, paired up and no doubt offering themselves as bait to Catori and him. Their jägers? Both coming in fast down the far right, maybe to engage Virgil’s schlosses, maybe just to come in from behind the opferns, or seeking out Aadhya and Langley.

Impatience and nervousness began to eat at Charoen’s composure.

Something deep within him wanted carnage.

Calm and patience were all well and good, but as the moments dragged out, as the players below maneuvered and ran, Charoen found the wolf within him beginning to slaver.

He realized he was scowling and without meaning to, changed his vector to intercept the hellseherins.

Charoen? Concern from Catori.

He didn’t answer.

Their opferns were digging in for the charge. Schlosses moving up their königs. It was going to degenerate into a flashy melee.

Charoen put on speed.

Charoen, what are you doing? We should help the opferns.

Charoen’s lightning lance trailed behind him, weeping white fire. Higher he flew, arrowing toward the hellseherins who’d changed their direction to meet him full on, their whips crackling as they split so he couldn’t charge them both simultaneously.

The danger was obvious.

As soon as he hopped into place to attack one, the other would attack his rear.

This wasn’t rational.

But he hadn’t chosen Berserk to be rational.

Sorry, Silence, he thought. There was a time and place for beautiful deaths. But at her heart, she had an abnegation that he couldn’t countenance. Perhaps he was still too much of the old Charoen. Perhaps he was too wounded, too bitter, to angry to truly let go.

Faster.

Faster.

One of the hellseherins cracked their whip, sending arcs of power searing through the air. He could practically feel their anticipatory grin.

Twin Solar-ranked hellseherins. Normally they’d flee a jäger, but here, now, they felt confident enough to take him on.

The fledgling Echo. The baby A-rank.

Charoen grinned, his body leveling out to horizontal so that he sped toward them recklessly like a shaft loosed from a god’s bow.

At the last second, he tapped Speed.

The world blurred as his boots slammed him forward, his knees flexing to take the thrust, and with a scream he activated the hopper pack and hit Berserk.

The world swayed, rays of chromatic distortion filling his vision, then everything swirled and collapsed.

They’d expect him to hop to the outside of their duo, putting his target between him and the second hellseherin. The moment he hopped, they’d move to the center, bunch up again so that he’d appear far from his target and open to both attacks.

That’s what any rational jäger would do.

But a delirious hunger rose up, like a slumbering kraken awakened by the storm, by the passage of a ship across turbulent waters above, and its arms strained for the surface, to envelop, to crush, to break and drag the ship down into the dark depths.

Charoen appeared right in the middle of where both hellseherins would have been if they’d remained wide.

The world came flashing back into view, the stands a blur in the distance, the wall of human screaming a tidal wave of dampened stimulus, and there were both hellseherins bunched together, eyes going wide in shock at the stupidity of his play, their whips drawn back, their chrome-bright armor scintillating in the sun.

Charoen screamed as he slammed into the pair, his lance too long and unwieldy to be of use in such close quarters, so he simply held it across his chest.

Several things happened at once.

Both hellseherins activated their Radiance Ability so that it felt as if he slid into the heart of the sun. Even with his eyes closed the red brightness was blinding. His visor polarized, but the wattage of the output overwhelmed his helm.

Charoen’s gamma began to oscillate even more wildly than Berserker could account for. Some Ability of theirs. A force gripped him from behind and tried to pry him away.

Pain. Disorientation. Blindness.

You don’t just fucking hug Solar-ranked hellseherins.

But Charoen’s lance was between their bodies. With a laugh that was part laugh, Charoen activated Shock.

Lightning erupted from his lance to play of the three of them. Conductive caused the lightning to flow through him, over him, doubling the output and sinking it into the hellseherins.

Berserker made the pain delightful. Some of the weirder shit Silence had been spouting in bed suddenly made more sense.

The hellseherins screamed.

They jerked, tried to bring their whips around. But electricity caused their limbs to lock up.

All three of them stalled and began to fall.

Still Charoen discharged the lightning, its power doubled by Berserker, then doubled again by Shock, and amplified yet again by Conductive.

He might be hugging a blinding sun, but they were embraced by an ever-living lightning storm.

They slammed into the turf. Charoen held both hellseherins close, crushing them to his chest. Sindre’s voice came back to him, unbidden, officious, severe: that’s a Voltaic Armory Type-7 Lightning Lance, thirty-megajoule discharge potential.

Charoen hugged the hellseherins tighter, heard their flimsy armor creak, heard their screams rise in pitch, Speed making every second feel like an hour, and then abruptly their Radiance cut out and the world went dark.

Dazed, laughing, Charoen released them both and rolled onto his back.

Stars were dancing in his vision. He could barely makes sense of the world. And yet.

Were both hellseherins rising into the air.

Concern cut through his ebullience.

What the hell?

Charoen activated the turbine boots so that they shoved him back along the turf, skimming and bumping over the grass, but the hellseherins gave chase, their whips crackling.

Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, he saw that their heads hung limp and they moved strangely, akin to marionettes.

Oh shit.

They both had the S-rank Ability Animated. Their armor had autopilot, which had kicked in when they’d both fallen unconscious. And the way their whips were crackling still? They’d both taken Dancing, which meant they could attack on their own.

He was being hunted by zombies.

Medical drones were honing in to claim the hellseherins, but their animated gear kept them coming.

Charoen laughed shakily, scrambled up, and with the last of Speed flew straight into the air.

The Animated armor couldn’t keep up. Higher and higher he flew, corkscrewing as he went, his control minimal, the pain of whatever the hellseherins had done to him ravaging him still, only barely kept at bay by Berserker.

He reached the apex of the field. Voices had been blaring in his mind via Neural Link, and only now did he discern their meaning:

—schloss shields are down, I’m sending Samira and Hammer forward to engage, Catori, loop around behind, I want a rear strike on the könig. Charoen? Charoen, you there?

Here, he said, voice thick and slurred.

Fall back to me. Virgil, tone firm and authoritative. You’re banged up, but you’ll be my shield while our schlosses finish the job.

The enemy hellseherin Abilities finally failed and both crashed back to the turf. Blinking away the last of the sunspots, Charoen saw a hellish scrap engulfing the center of the field where opferns were going at it, while Samira and Hammer were powering up the center of the field, ignoring the melee. The Platinum Sun könig and his schlosses were falling back, Catori speeding overhead, and the enemy jägers…?

Both were closing on Virgil.

Charoen’s eyes widened. What the hell was he thinking?

Speed gave out.

Charoen turned and flew back as best he could, but there was no way he’d reach Virgil before the lead enemy jäger.

But there were other means to travel. Charoen tried to gauge trajectory, speed, and then activated the hopper pack.

Appeared a dozen yards ahead, then tapped Blink.

To fly straight into the enemy jäger, colliding with him like a runaway flutterliner. Armor crunched and both spun away, only for the jäger to abruptly drop away as if yanked by an invisible hand. Momentum Shift?

Charoen tapped his own boots, fought for stability, lance rising up, but then a concussive wave of sound washed over him like a star going nova, rattling his innards and causing the whole world to go white.

Thundering and Radiance.

Hell of a thematic combo.

Charoen became lost within a maelstrom of chaos. His jaw was clenched so hard his teeth creaked. Which way was the ground? He fell, righted himself, sought some sense of the horizon.

This helm could negate the damage in an instant, but he didn’t have the gamma for it. Thus he could only struggle blindly, dazed and bewildered, to interpret what little of the world he could sense.

Laughter and shouting via the Neural Link.

The ground slammed into his side like a runaway wall, and everything went still.

Charoen gasped, tried to lever himself up, felt his body scream in protest.

Blinking, ears ringing, he saw a fight taking place above him.

Aadhya and Langley were fighting the twin jägers.

And losing.

But they weren’t alone.

Virgil was just ten yards away and hobbling toward Charoen.

Who looked around, saw his lightning lance just out of reach, and crawled over. Grasped it, levered it up, aimed it just right, and engaged Shock and Conductive as he unleashed a blast.

Lightning as thick as his thigh zapped up to engulf the four clustered figures.

Lips writhing back from his teeth, Charoen kept channeling power into the lance, overpowering their defenses, till at last three of them fell to crash to the ground.

A jäger and their hellseherins.

The second jäger was protected by some combination of Abilities. The lightning played around and over them, but to little effect.

They floated overhead, lance aimed at Virgil, but before they could loose their attack, a great buzzer sounded and the sky filled with patterns indicating the match was over.

Dazed, Charoen looked upfield.

Samira and Hammer stood over the fallen enemy könig.

“What a stunning upset! Brutal Deluxe has conquered the Platinum Suns with an incredibly unorthodox finish after beginning with a classic Royal Opening, an incredible introduction of the new Charoen Echo to the world, a brutal play that saw an A-ranked jäger take on two Solar-ranked hellseherin and somehow defeat them both in a move we haven’t seen since the Bone Crusher thirty-three years ago—”

Virgil dropped into a crouch beside Charoen, took off his helm, and grinned.

“Now that’s how you do it,” he said. “Good work, Charoen.”

Who just let his head fall back to the turf and closed his eyes, the medical drones descending all around him.