Twenty-Nine
We end up about a third of the way around the arena, near the edge of the stands.
The doorways are spaced far enough apart that I can see only my immediate neighbors.
On the left is the tiger, accompanied by the green-haired girl; she gives me a cheery wave as we move past. On my right, a stuffy-looking middle-aged man walks beside a trundling construct shaped like a giant beetle.
“The doors will open at the sound of the bell,” Hisham’s amplified voice tells us. “Proceed through immediately. Fighting on the, um, outside of the arena will be grounds for immediate disqualification.”
[Query: ready?]
Shouldn’t I be asking you that?
[Boast: I am always ready. Advantage of not being made of meat.]
How lovely for you. I glance from the tiger to the beetle, wondering if I’ll end up fighting them first. Remember that we can retreat if you feel overmatched. We don’t have to beat everyone, just get enough points to continue.
[Analysis: there are twenty-six runics and eight spots in the next round. Two points will likely be sufficient to advance. Three points makes advancement a near-certainty.]
Three points, then. It doesn’t seem so hard, put that way. Then again, if Vripiai is a fair sample of what these Hod runics are like, even one point might be a stretch.
I shake my head to clear that thought. Star is far stronger now than he was on Malkuth, and I’ve got new tricks up my sleeve—or more accurately hidden beneath his armor. If we come up against the snake, we can beat it.
Boooooong. The door in front of us swings open on silent sigwork. Instead of the wide-open space I was expecting, there’s a corridor a couple meters wide, with a flight of wooden stairs immediately leading up to a bridge.
Go! No time for careful analysis. Being trapped at the bottom of those steps would be a catastrophe. I’m right behind you!
[Acknowledged.]
Star clatters forward, nimble legs taking the stairs two at a time. I pound after him. We gain the top before spotting any other runics, and I take a moment to look around.
The arena is a maze, divided by wooden walls into branching corridors and rooms. Stairs like the ones we just came up lead to bridges and platforms, with no rails to keep you from falling over the edges.
I immediately understand the trade-off—it’s a lot easier to see where you’re going up here, but in return everybody can see you.
We have more immediate problems. Our bridge leads to a platform, which leads off to two more bridges.
One of those is occupied by a six-legged runic with three doglike heads, and it’s already coming our way.
A wiry man in a flapping coat runs along behind it, looking over his shoulders for new threats.
[Query: engage?]
We won’t get any points for running away. But stay careful. Try to evade until we know what we’re dealing with. I glance over my own shoulder and spot movement in the corridors below. I’ll watch your back.
The dog-thing skitters across the platform, aims itself down our bridge, and charges.
Its legs move oddly, more pushing than running, and I realize it’s lowered a central wheel to roll along the wooden planks at breakneck speed.
The momentum it builds is terrifying, and the three heads let it reach out to its left and right, covering the whole width of the bridge.
It makes me wonder if the design of the arena was leaked, because this thing seems purpose-built to fight in a narrow space. Dodging its rush seems impossible.
Fortunately, Star has options. As the snarling dog’s heads come on, he flattens himself and shifts his body to one side, hanging well over the side of the bridge.
BIND sigils in his feet keep him stuck tight to the wood.
I wouldn’t want him to try hanging from the ceiling in the body, heavy as he is, but a little stickiness goes a long way.
The dog-runic thunders past, jaws gnashing empty air.
Belatedly I realize this leaves the enemy runic heading right at me and hastily backpedal toward the stairs.
But the other master is mouthing commands, and the dog-thing screeches to a halt on its single wheel, legs scrabbling to get it turned around to face Star.
It starts moving again, just the same as it did before.
I think of the Malkuth fighting runics trying their predetermined maneuvers over and over; for all their size and expensive design, these Hod runics may not be so different.
Jump the charge, then go after it before it can turn.
[Naturally.]
This time, when the dog-thing comes in, Star leaps.
The upgraded orange and yellow MOVEs in his limbs make the Mark 6 nearly as springy as his little thief body, and he clears the top of the dog’s three heads with a half meter to spare.
I see the other master shouting something, eyes wide with surprise, and smoke rises from the dog-thing as it applies an emergency brake.
But it’s not fast enough—Star lands before it can turn and tears into its hindquarters with a shriek of metal and a spray of colored shards.
As I expected given its front-facing design, the thing’s core is toward its rear, and Star’s blades quickly tear up vital wiring.
The dog-runic collapses in a twitching, smoking heap, its master still shouting desperately.
[Victory: that’s one.]
Let’s find another. I can feel my confidence returning. Just like on Malkuth, Star’s ability to think gives him an edge. We can do this.
I look around for another opponent. From the bridge, I can see down into the corridors of the maze, where several fights are in progress.
To my left, the armored beetle has passed below me and run into the tiger; it’s raised its hindquarters, presenting a nearly vertical wall of steel to its adversary.
From behind this curved shield, wickedly sharp limbs dart out like spears.
The tiger strikes and retreats, pouncing with a fluid grace that nearly matches Star’s, its claws tearing long furrows in the shield while insectoid limbs scar its flanks.
On the other side, I spot a stranger creation: a runic curled into a solid metal ball, rolling past below the bridge. Limbs dart out to push it along, while a large woman jogs to keep up, coat flapping. For an instant, they don’t notice us.
Drop on the ball and see if you can tear it open.
[Query: the ball, and not the woman?]
I hesitate. The way we’re positioned, Star could get ahold of the ball’s master with no trouble, and Alzimyth had said a disabled master would count as a point.
But Ky had claimed it wasn’t done, and I don’t want to transgress some unwritten rule and ruin our chances.
Besides, it feels wrong. We aren’t desperate yet.
The ball. They pass directly beneath us. Now! I’ll follow.
Star leaps, landing neatly atop the ball-shaped runic with all the weight of his metal body.
Sparks fly from shattering RESIST sigils, but for the moment the thing’s armor holds.
Star skitters like a circus act to avoid falling as the ball rolls wildly underneath him.
It speeds away, caroming off the walls, its master running after it.
I swear and grab the edge of the bridge, lowering myself before dropping.
The fighting runics are approaching a corner, about to veer out of sight.
Star!
[Assurance: I’ve got it.] His limbs slam down into the ball’s surface over and over as he runs to stay on top. More sparks shower out as sigils shatter, yellow and orange. [A few more hits.]
Don’t get too far, I can’t keep up! I sprint in pursuit, but the ball is moving too fast, and in another instant I can’t see them anymore.
I keep running anyway, rounding a corner, and then skid to a halt as one of the wooden walls in front of me explodes in a shower of splinters.
Through the gaping hole, not a meter away, winds the long metallic shape of Vripiai.
The snake’s head snaps around, spotting me instantly.
As in the Malkuth arena, the contrast between human and runic scales suddenly overwhelms me; Vripiai’s not that much bigger than Star, but it towers over my tiny flesh-and-blood body like a mountain of steel.
Almost lazily, its tail swings toward me, a casual backhand blow intended to splatter me against the closest wall.
But unlike these Hod masters, I have spent my life fighting Twisted, and it’s instilled very powerful instincts around when to duck and when to run. Or, in this case, when to throw myself flat. The tail passes overhead with a shivering hum. I jump back up and roll away, trying to get out of range.
Star! Get back here!
[Analysis: trying. This thing has ahold of my leg. It is proving more stubborn than expected.]
Quech strolls through the hole in the wall, hands shoved nonchalantly in the pockets of his asymmetric coat. When he spots me, his face brightens.
“My friend from Malkuth! You made it!” He gives an impressed whistle. “But where’s your little spider? Still a smear on the arena floor?”
Star! I need help!
[Panic: I am trying!]
“He’s around,” I say, trying to give the impression that Star will leap from behind a corner at any moment. “Coming up short of points, are you?”
“I’ve got…” Quech ticks off fingers up to four, then shrugs. “Doesn’t really matter. I’m enjoying myself.” He glances up at Vripiai. “Shall we try for five?”
The snake launches itself forward, a mass of steel barreling toward me. Pick a side to dodge, left or right; get it wrong and I’m shredded meat. Terror makes me hesitate for a moment, just a moment too long—