Chapter Six
There is a very obvious glowing magical dome above me. If I keep flying I will hit it and, I assume, something bad will happen. Likely an incapacitating electrical shock.
I’m not generally magical in nature, but my dark wings have been a gift from the archangels, and the ice sword was a gift from a mountain mage when I helped eradicate a yeti problem.
Yes, a yeti problem.
How the magic works, I don’t know, but whenever there’s water nearby and I’m in need of a weapon, an ice sword somehow forms and finds its way into my hand.
All I need is intention. Not a spell. And yeah, I’m pretty handy with it, if I do say so myself.
Add in a year or two of training from a vampire swordmaster named Sebastian, a brief but unforgettable lesson in swordplay from the archangel Michael himself, then add in my heightened reflexes and coordination, and, well...
I’ve become a force to be reckoned with.
Whether or not the whole “head catching fire” thing was real, I don’t know, and I am not about to test it by summoning my teleportation flame. For now, I believe Baltazar. Or at least I believe the horrifying image he showed me of the man whose head had indeed burned to a stump.
Then again, AI back on Earth could fake just about anything these days. A magical civilization probably could, too.
Of course, to most of the world, AI might as well be magic, too.
I continue up, up, up, the arena and crowd spread before me.
I can feel the heat of the magic barrier approaching.
I don’t want to test it either, especially since I can actually see the magical barrier overhead, draped over the arena like a shifting opaque tent.
Above it, I see the flying creatures, affectionately known as “beasties.” Well, if something comes at me with ill intent, my inner alarm will warn me.
I can only place my attention on so many things at once.
That helps me focus on the foe in front of me: a cute little hellcat hanging docilely upside down from my grip.
I have absolutely no intention of hurting her, of course, nor would I allow harm to come to her from those who run these games.
And I sure as hell am not going to let another warrior hurt her, either.
Weirdly, I sense her aggression isn’t truly a part of her nature. She fights like this because she is being forced to... and wants to live.
Well, it is time somebody changed the rules of these Games without getting either of us killed in the process. How exactly I am going to pull that off, I don’t know; at least, not yet.
Interestingly, I find myself hovering at roughly eye-level with the king himself, seated upon his golden throne, his family surrounding him. Unfortunately for them, there isn’t much action happening on the pitch below.
As if on cue, Baltazar’s voice suddenly booms everywhere at once through some kind of magical broadcast system.
“No fleeing, Samantha Moon. There is, in fact, nowhere to flee to. Within seconds, the arena will shrink and force you to fight the wood sprite.”
Okay, I already know that.
My inner alarm suddenly shrieks. Since the little sprite still hangs unmovingly in my hand, I know the threat has to be coming from above.
And coming fast, based on the steady rise of noise in my head.
Instinctively, I swoop downward and to starboard just as a massive winged shadow tears past the spot where I’d been hovering a split second earlier.
And then the unthinkable happens: the wood sprite awakens from whatever stasis she is in, kicks my thumb hard and breaks loose.
She immediately drops. Her little wings spread wide to slow her descent.
Unfortunately, she is heading straight for the raging creature that has just settled onto the pitch.
“Look out!” I shout to the wood sprite, pointing.
She darts to the side just as the gigantic winged creature (shaped vaguely like an alligator) leaps up, snapping its long jaws at her.
Okay, wow. Beastie indeed. That it looks like my son-in-law is disturbing.
Anyway, the sprite zips away from it, her little swords still spinning at her wrists. She looks up at me and gives a quick salute.
I return it.
Below us, the beastie shakes its enormous head and regains its bearings. Then its gaze locks onto me, mostly because I am waving my ice sword overhead and shouting at it, deliberately trying to draw its attention away from the little fairy warrior.
A plan is forming. A very crazy plan.
Whether or not it works, I am about to find out.
There will be blood.