Chapter Thirteen #2
Bel adjusts himself through his sweatpants, eyes hot on my hard dick.
Would it be so bad if I … didn’t play today?
Yes. No less because I’d lose my contract and be unable to pay for Bel’s safety.
But I’d also look like a coward to my old team.
I grab my boxers next to the suit—did he iron these, too? Gods—and tug them on as Bel’s hungry look fades.
“You’re going to kick the Chimeras’ asses today,” he tells me. “Like, an embarrassing win. They’re going to cry.”
As long as we’re speaking today into existence: “And my parents will not be at all overbearing in pushing Urzoth’s doctrine on you.”
“Mm. Then we’ll come home, and you’ll rail me so deep I’ll feel you in my throat.”
A cough, a laugh, and a bark try to come out of me all at once.
Bel flutters his fingers and skips out of the room.
Fuck, he is a demon, isn’t he? Sent straight from hell to drag me down.
And I’m so eager for it.
The Chimeras chose a cityscape for their rawball field layout.
Skyscrapers, alleyways, even subway tunnels under the street.
Levitated cameras fly all around to catch every piece of the action and broadcast it to the screens over the stadium and the fans at home, feeding the energy of the crowd, a constant dull roar of cheering and applause and noise.
One screen pans across the cheerleaders, and I spot Bel thrusting his hips and flurrying black pom-poms, and it settles me.
This is any other game. I have my role to play, and I’ll do it, and I’m good at it.
Marlow’s glowering next to me where the two of us stand on a rooftop midfield, waiting for the game to start. She’s not a fan of any field configuration that requires climbing, and I nudge her, giving her an encouraging smile when she looks at me.
“We got this,” I sign. I’ve been learning.
Marlow gives me a horrified look. “Of course we got this. We’re going to decimate them. I won’t accept anything less.”
Surprise has my brows popping up, and Marlow rolls her eyes.
“Seriously?” She punches my shoulder. “What’d you think I was upset about? These assholes are your rivals, so they’re our rivals. We told you.”
She nods to a building across the road, where Aaron and one of our team’s wizards crouch in a rooftop garden. They see us looking and do a Hellhounds bark, which gets picked up by other teammates here, there, farther out; a chorus of hooting and growling.
They don’t even know how bad things got with the Chimeras, just that I’ve been roiling in nerves over the game. And they’re still this eager to throw down for me.
Really inconvenient time to get mushy. But damn.
Marlow jostles my arm. “See? We’re out for blood.”
The ref blows a whistle. The game ball drops, and it’s go time.
I shake off the emotions and focus. No room for distractions; if my team’s this zealous for me, the best way I can pay them back is to crush this game.
Marlow darts forward, propelling herself off the building; I follow suit.
Aaron’s wizard hits us with slow-fall spells so we drop to the sidewalk easily, then both of us take off, zipping through the city streets toward where the ball fell.
I keep my eyes sharp for any movement in alleys or from above while Marlow ducks her head and runs, her singular objective to get that ball, get it across the field, and score in the Chimeras’ goal.
Meanwhile, my singular objective is to let her be able to do that.
Somewhere downfield, an explosion goes up, smoke billowing with tinges of crackling blue—a lightning spell? I know my team holds back on anything so violent until later in the game, so it’s gotta be the Chimeras, which has me gritting my teeth.
They’re the ones coming into this game like they’ve got something to prove?
Marlow reaches an intersection and lets me gain on her so I can go out first and take whatever might be waiting for us.
Above, Aaron and his wizard should be leaping rooftops, keeping pace with us—unless the Chimeras got to them.
But no ref has called the play yet, so the ball’s still active, and we have to trust that our unit of the team is functional.
More explosions come from a distant part of the field and the crowd cheers, the screens above reflecting other parts of the game and stadium.
Muscles loose, I barrel into the intersection, angling left, up a wider road. I have one beat of thinking the road’s clear before a body smashes into me, so solid it feels like a spell, but no—hands grab me as I’m dazed and lift me in the air.
Few people can lift someone of my size. One, actually, that I’ve met:
A minotaur defensive tank on the Chimeras.
I lurch against his grip, looking down at Naell’s winded, cruel smirk. His massive horns poke out of his helmet and he scuffs his feet, his tail twitching in aggravation.
“Weakling,” he bellows before hurling me across the road.
Marlow might be close by, but she doesn’t have magic to soften my fall; and Aaron and his wizard clearly aren’t close enough, because I go down hard.
My pads and helmet absorb most of the impact, but I still crash to the street and skid across the pavement, only coming to a stop when I slam against the curb.
Pain streaks out from my shoulder, radiates in dizzying flares up my neck.
For the briefest of seconds, I’m at a different game. A different field layout. But the same assholes are targeting me, only they were on my team then. They saw the opposition readying an attack, and instead of defending me, they grinned and walked away.
No.
Not this time.
Trembling, my shoulder on fire, I drag myself to my feet.
By the time I’m standing, another Chimera has Marlow pinned to a wall. Aaron and his wizard are on the ground, held at bay by Naell and four more Chimera defensive tanks—too many to make sense for any play.
A camera’s on us. Did it catch what Naell did?
Will the refs see? Not that it matters; he didn’t do anything illegal.
Just wasteful since Marlow and I didn’t even have the fucking ball, but I can see our standoff on one of the screens.
Can see me holding my useless arm to my chest, jaw thrust forward, face red and furious behind my face mask.
The camera cuts to Bel with the cheerleaders. His focus is lifted, presumably looking at a screen, seeing me, injured. He has a hand to his mouth and his eyes are wide with fear.
I linger on that shot of him. I should be looking at Naell and the Chimeras.
Bel, on the screen, is talking with another cheerleader, who wraps her arm around him and tries to comfort him, but he’s shaking his head and clearly asking, What happened? What happened?
A whistle trills. Somewhere on the field, the ball’s gone out of play.
At the edge of my awareness, most of the Chimeras file off the street to reset for the next play, casting smug glowers back at us.
Marlow heaves after them, retribution on her face, but Aaron catches her around the waist.
“Stop, Marlow!” I shout and sign—or try to, with one good arm. “They’re not worth it.”
Marlow scowls, and Naell, who lingered, barks a disgusted laugh.
“Stopping your teammate from getting revenge?” he snarls. “How far you’ve fallen. You’re a gods-damned embarrassment, Monroe. Can’t believe they’re using you as my god’s poster child. You’re a coward.”
Naell taps the emblem on his uniform. The one that matches mine, an axe in a stone.
His shoulders lift to his ears and his hands are fisted like he expects me to attack. Like all this was to get me to redeem myself somehow, or maybe to prove I’m weak.
Months ago—hell, weeks ago—this confrontation would’ve been shattering. Yes, I am weak; because no, I’m not going to attack, so everything that’s said about me is true. Weak, traitor, embarrassment, coward—it’s all true.
But now?
Naell’s right to be offended that I claim to represent his god, because I don’t. Urzoth’s a tool I’m using to secure the thing in my life that makes me truly strong.
The pain in my shoulder is intensifying, stars speckling across my vision, but I smile at Naell almost pleasantly. Exhaustedly, more like; I was done with this attitude, this prejudice, with Urzoth a long time ago.
A barrage of whistles blow. Refs descend on us, forcing us off the field.
Aaron comes over and helps me away while Marlow signs violently at Naell, enough cursing that a ref calls a penalty on her. She reels it in with a frustrated groan and marches off, fuming.
Naell watches me go, his wound spring of challenge releasing in confusion when I don’t react.
The pain from my shoulder sinks into nausea and dizziness, but I fight to stay coherent as Aaron helps me to the sidelines. Phei fusses over me, making me down healing potions that take the edge off, casting spells to find broken bones or torn muscle.
“Dislocated?” Coach Riprak clarifies.
Phei’s flower-petal form flickers in a pantomime of a nod.
Riprak curses. I’d echo the sentiment but I’m suddenly locked in this weird amorphous numb state, all emotion dulled. Am I in shock? Maybe.
“My fault, coach,” I say. Riprak’s busy scratching notes on his game plan clipboard.
Phei should be able to heal me, but no way will I be recovered enough to make the rest of the game.
Riprak scowls down at me. “Huh?”
“I should’ve been ready for them to pull something like that,” I say, eyes on the field. My teammates are getting into position for the next play. “I should’ve known they’d go dirty.”
Riprak’s anger deepens. “Don’t blame yourself, Monroe. I should’ve known and put more people on you. Fucking Chimeras. They’ve always been vindictive bastards.”
I nod stiffly and he pulls away to talk to the other coaches.
The shitty thing is—it wasn’t anyone’s fault.
There was nothing anyone could’ve done to prevent the Chimeras from wanting one last bit of reprisal, especially Naell.
More defenses, better plays; hell, even if I had managed to renounce Urzoth before the season, they would’ve piled that onto the list of reasons they hate me.