Chapter Thirteen Arturo #2
“Grander,” I said. “Like to rise up out of the ashes or…ascend to a higher plane.” You weren’t supposed to use a word in its own definition, but I didn’t know how else to explain it.
I looked around, but I couldn’t identify the loudspeakers, though they clearly had a sound system in here somewhere—likely hidden in the decorative stone.
Ivy, the voice of the Superiority forces that watched this planet, was also the announcer for these humans’…
sports league? That didn’t make any sense.
And yet the crisp, mechanical, feminine voice called over the loudspeaker again.
“Welcome to the End Times Tournament! The war for humanity’s future is nearing its end.
Every able body must stand and fight. Today before you, three unascended champions will fight, proving themselves worthy to join those who protect humanity’s interests across the galaxy. ”
“Huh,” Nedd said beside me, and I echoed his sentiment.
These people were fighting to join the armies protecting humanity—but we had beaten the enemy that threatened humanity, and the voice making these promises had openly admitted to being part of the security team in place to keep these humans from fighting back.
Something very strange was going on here.
On the surface, it was great news that they were building a fighting force—one we could hopefully enlist to help us get off this planet. But if the army was recruited by Ivy…would they really be on our side?
On the other hand, if Ivy was helping the humans fight the Superiority, maybe we were all on the same side, and the attack on our arrival was a misunderstanding. That “misunderstanding” had led to five deaths, though, so I wasn’t ready to assume that was the case.
“Are you ready to greet your champions?” Ivy’s voice shouted, and the crowd went wild.
On the opposite side of the arena, three humans ran down a ramp. One at a time, they climbed up on a platform at the edge of the sandpit, waving at the audience as Ivy introduced them over the loudspeaker.
The first was a woman with long black hair braided from the top of her head to her waist in one thick rope.
She wore a tight pair of pants tucked into black boots and a breast band.
“Kalia Killcot holds the record for most killing blows in a single season. She’s got the best defensive record in the Ascension League, and the highest score of any competitor in the Ascension Games! ”
“So, money’s on her then,” Nedd said.
“We don’t have any, remember?” Sadie said.
“These people are all champions,” I said. “What makes you think she’s the best?”
Gilaf whispered something to Alanik, who translated so those around us wouldn’t hear him speak UrDail. “Gilaf says never to discount desperation. He is right. The person at the bottom can claw their way to the top.”
“Always root for the underdog,” Sadie said. “I can get behind that.”
I wasn’t sure any of these people were underdogs.
The next competitor—a man wearing a pair of knee-length shorts, sandals laced up his legs, and not much else—was introduced. “Give it up for Timon Trenchcoat!” Ivy said. “He is the leader for number of branches severed, and has the most second-place records of any living competitor!”
“I don’t think that’s a trench coat he’s wearing,” I said.
“Is it good to be in second place most often?” Alanik asked. “That seems like announcing he loses the most.”
“Second place isn’t losing,” Sadie said. “It’s like winning but second.”
“If there are only three fighters,” I said, “it’s as close to losing as to winning.”
“Are they really going to fight a scion without armor?” Sadie asked.
“They don’t need it,” Nedd said, pointing at the competitors. “See that guy? He’s protected by his paint.”
Indeed, instead of armor, Timon had paint smeared across his chest in a striped pattern. That didn’t resemble a trench coat much either.
“We’ll see how that goes for him,” Alanik said.
“Keep your voices down,” I said. We were all sounding more clueless than we ought to for people supposedly from this city. Maybe if we claimed to be from the outlying farms, it would be plausible that we’d never seen a tournament before.
Ivy introduced the final fighter. “Dayan Dayright holds the records for most climbing achievements and fewest hits taken. They also hold the record for most fan-favorite votes in their first year of competition!”
I didn’t think the cheering could get any louder, but for Dayan, it noticeably did.
Dayan was tall and thin, with short black hair streaked with blue and purple, some of which matched Sadie’s. Sadie’s was natural, while Dayan’s looked bleached and dyed. It was longer on top, similar to many of the haircuts I’d noticed in the crowd.
I noted the ungendered pronoun in their announcement.
I’d known some kids in school who preferred terms like that, but our teachers had sometimes refused to use them.
The DDF wasn’t incredibly accepting about that sort of stuff.
My mom said that our relatively small population numbers, combined with the constant Krell attacks, meant we needed to focus on procreation and the survival of the species at the expense of personal expression.
These humans might have an even smaller population than Detritus—it was hard to tell without knowing how many lived out in the forest—but apparently they’d dealt with it differently than we had, so maybe those two priorities weren’t as opposed to each other as I’d been raised to believe.
“Do you think this is staged?” Nedd asked.
“The match?” Alanik asked across me. “Why would they stage it?”
“Like a play,” Nedd suggested. “Like Sadie said. Maybe the winners are already decided.”
Alanik looked offended by this concept.
I hadn’t considered that, but it made as much sense as anything.
If there was no army, no war, no fight against humanity, then maybe this was all a ploy to keep the humans here occupied so they didn’t try to escape from the planet.
The whole thing did seem overblown. Unless their society was more warlike than I supposed, the fighters weren’t using their real last names.
“All the contestants have nearly accrued enough points to ascend to Elysium!” Ivy said, her voice growing more intense, sending a shiver down my spine.
The crowd cheered even louder, so much that I worried they were going to damage our hearing.
“One or more may very well ascend today—but only if they give the performances of their lives! The remaining fighters will join the other gladiators in championship games tomorrow and the day after. Three games. Three battles. Three chances to prove themselves and join the last stand for humanity’s future! Let the games begin!”
The roar of the crowd was deafening. Alanik said something to me, but I couldn’t hear it over the screaming. The rest of our team was cheering along with the crowd, which was good for our cover, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to cheer when I didn’t know what I was cheering for.
What the scud was Elysium?
The three fighters ran a loop around the rim following the flag bearer, waving their arms to the stands, their images broadcast on the screens above.
Dayan stopped about a third of the way around, Timon after two-thirds, while Kalia ran the full lap and stopped at the edge of the arena where they’d begun.
The woman with the flags did another lap, handing weapons to each of the competitors. Kalia’s was an electric shock spear, a larger model of the replica I’d seen at the shop. She turned the spear on, and the tip of it glowed blue, bright enough to be visible even from the stands.
The flag bearer brought Timon a sword nearly as tall as he was, which he held aloft to the cheers of the crowd, and something small, barely longer than his forearm, which he held at his side.
Enlarged on the screen, it looked like a weapon handle, not the weapon itself.
I wasn’t entirely sure how that would be useful, but the crowd was excited about the sword.
To Dayan, the flag bearer handed only a staff no longer than my arm.
“What is that?” Alanik asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I hope for Dayan’s sake it’s more dangerous than it looks.”
The crowd continued to cheer as all three competitors held their weapons up, facing the scion, which had settled in the center of the stadium, whipping its branches around angrily like giant wooden fan blades.
Kalia and Timon both appeared to relish the crowd’s attention, while Dayan seemed quieter, more focused, less expressive—though it was hard to tell anything truly meaningful about their personalities from this distance.
“Competitors, enter the arena!” Ivy shouted.
All together, the three fighters dropped to the sandy floor, surrounding the scion.