Chapter 3
So I found myself back on the sands of the Wytchwar course the next afternoon, the stands filled with curious onlookers as I stared across at Cora, who stood in her red and yellow avatar.
“Ready?” Vesta asked.
“Yeah. I’m excited.”
“Yes, because you expect a challenge. But you need to be ready for a beatdown. She’s been playing this longer than I have. She grew up with it too and her team is unbeaten.”
“You don’t believe me, but I’m not afraid of getting smacked around. Best way to learn… right?”
She just raised one brow.
“Duelists, it’s time,” Tessa called out. Rumor had it she had fought hard to be the referee for this fight. “The challenge starts now.”
“Remember… she’s tricky,” Vesta said. She hadn’t given me about any inside information on how Cora fought or what tricks her avatar had up its sleeve. I also hadn’t asked.
As I walked my avatar forward, foresight or intent suddenly told me that there was a point in the sand where if I kept going, the fight would end suddenly. A gravity trap. When had she planted that? Was that legal? I decided I didn’t care. It was cool.
To the left of us was empty sand and then the edge of the course, then open space and bleachers filled with the massive fuzzy forms of the audience. To the right was a steep and relatively short cliff and then behind that, the first mountain range of the course.
I dropped a jumper rock, which by the way was quickly becoming one of my favorite devices. It launched me up and to my right, landing me atop the cliff.
I jabbed a metal hand into the dirt an avatar’s arm’s length back from the edge and dug a hole. Into the hole went two bomb rocks.
The blast brought the whole face of the cliff down onto the course, triggering the gravity trap, which pulverized the dirt and rocks hard into the sand, spending its entire energy on the cliff debris.
I jumped down and trotted up to little Miss Red and Yellow. Brightest colors she could get. Hey, here I am… come and get me if you dare!
“Nice,” she said with a nod. “I would have been disappointed if I didn’t get to smack you around firsthand.”
“Right? Who wants to get squashed in a stupid trap?” I said, moving up into her attack zone. “What’s next? Guns? Gravity grenades?”
“How about a good old-fashioned whupping?” she said and then she attacked with a front kick.
I saw it coming and stepped to the side. She didn’t overextend, didn’t falter, as if she expected me to do what I did. Instead, she turned smoothly and attacked again, roundhouse kick, but much faster.
I blocked the kick, but the power behind it was insane. It knocked me sideways two body lengths.
My avatar was a standard-issue model. I hadn’t modified it because I didn’t know what I wanted to do to it yet. Hers was obviously much improved.
The thing about Wytchwar was it removed the vastly different physical abilities that, say, werewolves have over humans, and didn’t allow for witches to cast spells. But it did allow for augmentations to the avatars. Cora had done stuff to hers.
She studied me, and it was a little unsettling. All of my interactions with Cora had shown her to have a very volatile and passionate range of emotions. This was cold and calculated. She was studying me like a scientist, measuring responses, weighing results.
It was one thing to know she was the child of superpeople, but another thing to realize just how much training and experience she already had from the most dangerous people on Earth.
She slid forward and I went on the offensive, slipping sideways at an angle and launching a low roundhouse at her leg.
Her other foot was up in the air as she moved, all of her weight on the leg I kicked.
I hit her a perfect strike at the knee joint, angled behind the crease to bend her leg and take her down.
She didn’t even quiver. Like kicking that rock cliff I had just blown up.
Then she spun into her own kick, and it was the fastest move I had seen yet.
My dirt guy flew through the air to land in a heap, chunks of adobe-like clay falling off its body.
She jumped, again far too fast for an avatar, but I rolled out of the way.
Good thing, because when she hit the sand, it exploded like an armored tank had dropped into it.
“You modified your frame,” I said, flipping to my feet. “You can lighten your mass or increase it with a thought.”
“Wow. You figured that out quick,” she said, then shot across the ground to punch me in the chest. I foresaw the attack but I couldn’t do anything to stop it; it came at me too fast. I flew backward five body lengths, the clay on my chest mostly shattered.
Lose enough clay and your avatar drops to the ground. It’s the equivalent of a damage meter in a video game. I was already in serious trouble.
I already thought of a possible solution for future fights, but I was still in the fight here and now.
I had two more bomb rocks and I armed both, then threw them at the same time. Only I faked the throw, watching the immediate futures. Her avatar flew upward, light as a feather, as I knew it would. Once she was in the air, I threw one bomb at her and one under her.
She must have increased mass because her avatar dropped suddenly, but the under bomb went off and blew her ass over elbows.
I was on her as she hit, throwing my last jumper under her and then activating it.
Her avatar was at maximum mass, so she didn’t hardly move off the ground, coming up just a few milimeters, but the energy of the jumper rock had to go somewhere, and it did. Clay, loosened by the explosion, fell off. Nothing like what I had lost, but I had damaged her. And I had learned.
And then I learned about a mad Cora. Her intent flared to massive rage and she came at me in a blur, hands striking too fast to dodge or block. I think she hit me six times; not sure. It was enough to remove all the rest of the clay from my torso.
“Match to Cora,” Tessa yelled.
She was still hitting my avatar, her intent flooded with berserk anger. My avatar came apart.
“I said stop!” Tessa yelled and Cora froze in mid-strike. So did my arm, which had detached but now hung suspended in midair.
“You won the match, but I swear to goddess, Cora, I will disqualify you if you fail to heed my commands on this course,” Tessa said in a sharp, cold tone.
Then the telekinetic lock on our avatars was gone and my arm fell to the ground as I came back into my real body.
I opened my eyes to find Cora standing across at the opposing team bench, in a fighting stance like she was going to continue the action. Only Vesta was standing between us.
“What the hell, Demidova?” Vesta asked.
“I’m just ready for his temper,” Cora said, frowning.
Vesta turned and looked at me. “How’s your temper?”
“That was freaking cool as shit,” I said. “Like, that was the best fight I’ve had in forever!”
“You lost, moron,” Cora said.
“Oh, but I learned soooo much, oh ninja sensei,” I said. “Vesta, I know what I want to do to my avatar now.”
“Yeah? You mean your new avatar, cause this one is so beat to shit that it’s shot,” she said.
“Yeah. Good. Better to start ground up for this anyway,” I said.
Cora had dropped her stance and was frowning at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Why are you so weird?” she asked.
“Why are you so invested in me being your archenemy?” I countered, glancing at the remains of my avatar. “I’m going to start with a whole new frame,” I said, not waiting for Cora to respond.
“Let’s draw up a diagram of what you think you want first and go from there,” Vesta suggested.
"Cool. You can tell me if it’s possible or not.”
The onlookers were crowding around us now, with plenty of ass-kissers praising Cora. Her brother Wulf came over to Vesta and me.
“You fought well,” he said. It almost sounded like a question.
“Thanks. I didn’t realize what was possible as far as avatar mods. I thought it was all guns, bombs, and weapons. Spellwork built into the frames that change capabilities is genius.”
“And not at all new,” he said, tone edging toward snide or at least condescending.
Vesta snorted. “He’s an offworlder, Wulf; he knows nothing about Wytchwar.”
He opened his mouth to say something, which my intent reading suggested would be snotty, but instead froze. His intent changed from a grudging and moderate amount of impressed to sudden realization and potential worry.
“Yeah, he learns really quickly,” Vesta said, reading Wulf’s expression. “At least about fighting. And food. Slow in other stuff.”
“Not everything,” I said. “I’ve learned what makes you tick,” I said, arching one brow suggestively.
She pulled back but then nodded, conceding the point. “Okay, three things.” She turned back to Wulf. “Remind you of anyone? Like my dad? Your dad?”
Who’s your daddy popped into my head but Vesta whipped around and held up one finger. “Don’t you dare.”
I held up both hands in the universal I come in peace mode but was unable to stop a grin.
“Punk,” she accused.
“Actually, it would have been more of a dad joke…” I said, arching a brow again.
She wanted to be disgusted at that, but a glimmer of a smile ruined the effect. Then she turned back to Wulf.
“Anyway, it’s better for the two of them to beat on each other in the pits than for real, right?” she asked.
“Fair point,” Wulf said with a nod. He looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. “I thought you were some kind of ladies’ man who fooled our dear little Vesta. My apologies.”
Vesta snorted, which I manfully ignored. “Thanks,” I said. “Clearly, I’m not, but I appreciate the apology. Oh, and speaking of dads,” I said, nodding toward the stairwell door.
Two famous dads were just coming through, his and hers.
“Ah, how did it go?” Chris Gordon asked as they both stopped by us.
“She beat on me, sir. Very educational,” I said.
“That’s the outlook,” he said with a nod, wrapping one muscular arm around his son and moving them both toward Cora, who was still holding court.
Vesta’s dad looked at me with a little smile. “He’s right. That’s a healthy attitude.”
“What other attitude would I take?” I asked. “I know almost nothing about the game. Vesta wants me to have an open mind, so she won’t tell me much, and Cora’s been playing it her whole life.”
“Well, a lot of people, both young and old, might get all bent out of shape at losing,” Declan said.
“It wasn’t anywhere near as one-sided as you might think, Dad,” Vesta said. “He really pissed her off at the end. Totally lost her shit.”
“Well, her temper has always been a weak point for our dear Cora,” her dad said. “Craig, I need a word with my daughter.”
“Right. I’ll be in the cafeteria,” I said and headed for the stairs, considering his intent. He was anxious and dreading something. Something he needed to tell his daughter. That left me a lot to worry about.