14 #2
Tiger ducks to avoid a luminous crimson blade but is launched backwards with a cry when Ezla’s unforgiving kick connects with his chest instead. “We’re trying!” he bellows from where he’s landed harshly a handful of feet away, grimacing as he struggles to get back up.
“Well, try harder!”
“Two minutes remaining.”
“Shit— Wait!” Scotty’s eyes are wide with realisation. “The chains! Use your chains!”
“Kinky, I like it.” Player 4 grins salaciously as one of his armoury sticks’ Avri reforms from a blade into a long chain that dangles from the six-inch baton. “You’ll look so pretty all bound and ready for me.”
Trying to ignore his lewd comments, I copy his actions, relieved when a lime-coloured chain clanks against the ground.
And after a vicious swipe of Ezla’s blade that splits Scotty’s abdomen open, revealing hordes of dark green Avri pixels that hurry to close the wound after he yells out, the moment strikes:
The Bonding Games Champion, who’s never messed up, not once, in any of her previous Games over the years . . . she staggers.
And we move.
Player 4’s chain meets her first, the force swinging the length of it around her chest and upper arms, just below the ‘100’ on each.
Then Tiger’s is wrapping around her waist, grabbing onto her forearms in the process and crushing them tightly to her sides.
But she doesn’t give up that easily. And I almost start to think that this is it, that it’s over and we’ve lost our chance, when she uses Player 4’s barrel chest as a board to lean her back on while her feet kick out savagely.
Until my hand arcs down of its own accord, and my chain captures those long legs with a finalising clang before they can meet their mark and do Scotty any more damage.
A robotically modified scream of pure, destructive rage shakes The Dome.
“One minute remaining.”
My heart pounds in my ears.
“GRAB IT!”
Scotty’s reaching for the pouch hanging from Ezla’s hip before Player 17’s words have even fully burst into the thick air, and the world slows to a crawl.
THUMP-THUMP.
His hand envelopes the netting.
THUMP-THUMP.
He tears it from her hip.
THUMP-THUMP.
The black-tinted crimson cube tumbles out.
THUMP-THUMP.
Scotty catches it deftly, and his other hand has already yanked his own pouch apart, one fist emitting that bloody glow, the other a deep emerald.
THUMP-THUMP.
He slams the cubes together.
Speed returns to normal in a whoosh, and I vaguely recognise the crowd’s outraged cries as their beloved Champion, the notoriously Unbonded Exot . . . becomes Bonded.
My breath hitches as the crimson cube is gradually infected more and more by the green of Scotty’s Avri, the splotch growing larger and larger every second.
All the while, Ezla bellows and threatens manically, thrashing about in Player 4’s unrelenting grip and the even stronger chains snaked around her lithe form.
I beg the universe to please keep her contained, pure terror crashing through me every time she looks like she might escape.
One second . . .
two . . .
three . . .
four . . .
five.
Scotty sucks in a sharp gasp as the cubes break apart, Ezla’s reverting to its original colour as he quickly passes it off to his brother.
Then his freed hand goes to his chest, pressing over his heart like he’s in pain, his blue eyes stretched wide and filled with a thousand combating emotions as he stares at the Champion.
Another five seconds, and Tiger has an almost identical expression on his face as he hands the used crimson cube to Player 17 beside him; his mouth drops open, and he has no words for once.
My breath shudders as I glance at the countdown, seeing only twenty-six seconds remaining, and my gloved hand fumbles with the pouch at my hip, tearing it open and strangling my bonding cube in my fist in preparation.
Player 17’s green takes over the other cube . . .
Then releases.
He hurriedly passes it to Player 4 as a harsh exhale leaves him, intense gaze flicking to Ezla’s sleek, glinting helmet as she’s passed with a maximum security that’s never been more needed to the Gold brothers, who both wrap their arms tightly around her viciously struggling body.
Tiger makes sure the chains stay on by gripping them and the armoury sticks they’re connected to tightly to free up mine and Player 4’s hands, while Scotty keeps her as still as possible in his arms, muscles stark in them from the strength needed.
My legs shake uncontrollably as the numbers on the viewing box tick down.
00:16
00:15
00:14
My head snaps Player 4’s way.
He’s done.
I dart out my trembling hand, palm up for the cube.
He doesn’t give it to me.
Panic envelopes every cell in my body.
Those feral eyes are glued to Ezla’s bonding cube, overpowered by a dangerous reverence . . . a deadly, obsessive worship . . . a lethal hunger . . .
00:11
“Give it to him, 4,” Tiger urges, alarm leaking into his tone.
He looks up.
A blink.
00:09
No recognition.
“He helped you! He’s part of the reason you have her! GIVE IT TO HIM!”
That gets to him.
00:06
In a flash, he slaps the Champion’s bonding cube into my hand, and faster than I’ve ever done anything in my life, I slam it against my own with exactly five seconds remaining on the clock.