—Chapter 9—

—Get Your Bets In—

“Stop yelling,” Kellan said. He motioned to the Pestbyter corpse lodged in the rotted truck. “You’re going to summon more creatures to us.”

Sen’s eyes went wide as he drew close, his attention on the busted machine. “Harming a Pestbyter is against the rules! Look what you’ve done!”

“For the love of all that’s holy.” Kellan ran a hand down his face, silently asking whatever number-deity ruled this nightmare to give him strength. “You sound like a dead brain cell when you walk around shouting.”

With a gentle graze of his fingertips, Sen touched the broken Pestbyter. Then he knelt next to the machine and stroked the blood-strained cords. At least he’s doing it in silence, Kellan sarcastically thought to himself, though ultimately confused by Sen’s apparent sadness. We all need to feel bad for the murder-bots?

Husker walked up, his tall and imposing frame difficult to miss. He sniffed at the ruined truck and then snorted. “One of you piloted this vehicle?”

Mavis replied with a nod. “I did. I drove trucks for the army. Some bigger than this.”

“Hm.” Then Husker turned his attention to the rotted hood. The rust had gathered in piles, and some of it flew off with the breeze. “This was done with entropy magic.” Husker glanced between Mavis and Kellan. “Who did this? It wasn’t either of you.”

“Some mages here for the Nexus Games,” Kellan replied. Then he motioned to the truck. “How can you tell what type of magic was used? I feel like that kind of information would be useful.”

“Entropy is the magic of decay, loss, and death.” Husker curled his lip, flashing his canine fangs. “I don’t know who you met, but you shouldn’t trust entropy mages. Whatever those mages said to you—ignore them.”

Mavis narrowed her eyes. “Why? You have to give us a reason. Kellan and I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Because the type of magic you develop is based on your personality—your inner soul and desires. Mages only develop entropy magic if they’re monstrous and autocratic. Rogues. Pirates. Assassins. Thugs. Bullies.” Husker’s fur stood on end. “And the worst of all: tyrants and despots.”

Kellan tried to think back to his own magic. He had seen them for a brief second—when he killed the Pestbyter, a whole host of numbers of information flashed before him. What had it said? He closed his eyes, and to his surprise, the same chart appeared in his thoughts, like it had been a letter tucked away in a mental drawer, and now he had it in his hand.

Alex Kellan

Magics: Eclipse, Body, Metal

Rank: E, E, E

Mana: 5

Health: 7

Unspent Arcana: 3

Strength—4

Dexterity—4 [Accurate]

Fortitude—3 [Tough]

Charisma—3

Manipulation—1

Intelligence—2

Perception—5 [Keen-Eyed]

Wisdom—1 [Broken]

Willpower—10 [Defiant] (Halved)

Abilities:

Personal—[Descended from Zenith]—The mage has the raw magic of Zenith in their blood, and has no rank maximum. The mage can also develop one “unknowable” magic.

Personal—[Blitzkrieg Analysis]—The mage can see basic details of other magical beings and objects upon first glance without the need to spend mana.

Training—[Sharpshooter]—The mage adds a 50% bonus to gun damage.

Flaws:

[Greater Attachment]—The mage suffers greater from personal loss than normal. Whenever the mage loses someone close, the mage’s wisdom is reduced to 1, and their willpower is temporarily halved.

Magical Skills:

None

After examining the information, Kellan shook his head and dispelled the chart. When he opened his eyes again, he turned to Husker. “What about eclipse, body, and metal magics? What do those say about the mage?”

“Eclipse mages are typically solitary creatures,” Husker muttered as he thought over the question. “They form few social bonds, and tend to keep themselves hidden. They’re the loners who develop invisibility and the like. Body mages are the type who excel at physical activity, or prefer to care for others. Healers. Warriors. Athletes. And metal magic…” Husker snorted. “That’s the magic of civilization, hierarchy, and tehcnology. Leadership. Individuals with a soldier’s mentality typically develop metal magic. So do individuals who have an affinity for high-tech wonders.” He shrugged. "I know little about technology."

Kellan wanted to protest. This almost sounded like those ridiculous zodiac signs he hated so much. But there was a core of truth to some of the things Husker Said. Kellan didn’t have many bonds or relationships. He had the others of the Delta Force—and that was it. And he did enjoy physical activity. And… he was a soldier. His magics fit him to a tee.

Which meant if he found others with eclipse, body, or metal magics, he would likely have things in common with them, since their personalities would be similar.

Now it was all starting to make sense.

“And entropy magic allowed that mage to destroy the truck?” Kellan asked, staring at the rust.

“That’s right.”

A shame. Kellan crossed his arms. It would’ve been useful if I could develop that ability.

The entire conversation, Mavis scratched at her arms, legs, and sides. Itching. Itching. Itching. Kellan recognized the first signs of the Tyranny Worms.

Sen stood and fidgeted with his ruined robes. The Pestbyter’s laser had left a hole in the silk, right over his chest. Kellan had the same problem—he felt a little silly with his holey-outfit, but it wasn’t a pressing issue.

Sen glance away from his clothes and then fluffed his head. “We have a problem. We need to speak to my sister right away. By destroying a Pestbyter, you’ve put us in a dangerous situation. We’ll have to answer to the Arbiter. If he… deems us criminals… we’ll never be able to enter the Nexus Games.”

Husker grew still and quiet.

“Who is this Arbiter?” Mavis asked, one hand on her hip. “He’s the guy who runs the games, right?”

“Silence!” Sen flounced away, heading for the edge of the parking lot. He hurried with the agility of a child. “We must go immediately!”

Husker turned to follow. Then he glanced over his shoulder. “Stick close to us. I’m impressed two E rank mages could handle a Pestbyter, but there are far more dangerous things around. Now that you’re both part of our team, I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt before the games even begin.”

For a long moment, Kellan thought about protesting. He didn’t want to associate with Sen, but at the same time, Husker and Sen did have answers to his many questions. When Mavis stepped to his side, he gave her a quick nod. We’ll just have to work around this for now. Perhaps Sen’s sister won’t be such a child.

Together, Mavis and Kellan followed Sen. They entered the fog, left the parking lot, and then continued down the cracked road toward Fayetteville. Mavis walked the slowest, but Sen’s legs were so short, it didn’t matter. They weren’t speeding through the streets.

The closer they got to the main city, the more noises floated across the winds. Honking. Shouts. Even gunfire. Somewhere in the distance, there was a commotion. It kept Kellan on edge.

The fog cleared a bit to reveal a makeshift barricade of broken cars, barbed wire, and cement dividers. A caution sign was nailed to the barrier for good measure, which amused Kellan. At least the citizens were being honest.

Sen hurried to a narrow entrance in the barricade. He picked up the bottom of his robes as he did so, like a princess hurrying down the aisle. There were no guards or Pestbyters to protect the entrance—it was just a gap in the barricade.

Husker entered after Sen, and Kellan stepped in third, Mavis close behind. The moment they got into the city, a terrible odor rushed over them like a foul disease. It smelled of sewage and grime. Kellan lifted his arm up and covered his nose, his eyes watering at the edges. In cases like this, he would use a gas mask, but he didn’t have any of his equipment.

To his surprise, there were people around.

Four people huddled around a garbage can. Another four were across the street, around a fire inside an oil barrel. They wore winter clothing—scarfs, fingerless gloves, and heavy coats. It took Kellan a moment to realize some of them weren’t human. One was a scrawny werewolf person—dressed in the same winter clothing as the rest of the apocalypse-hobos.

Kellan kept waiting for his eyeballs to give him information, but nothing came.

He stepped closer to Husker, narrowing his eyes. “Why aren’t I getting any information?”

Husker snorted. “Probably because these people aren’t mages. Divination abilities only trigger when magic is around.”

While Kellan wasn’t entirely sure what that entailed, he could at least deduce a couple facts. The people here didn’t have magic, which meant they were less of a threat. However, Kellan had learned the hard way that anyone could be a threat at any time, and he kept his guard up, never trusting the denizens of the twisted city, even when they glanced his way with fear in their eyes.

Mavis pointed to the skinny werewolf in the thick brown coat. His ears appeared as though they had been chewed.

“Do you know him?” she asked, scratching her shoulder.

Husker glanced over. “You think all rennic just know each other, is that it? We all look the same to you?”

“Well… I-I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Then Husker looked away and laughed. “I’m givin’ you a hard time. I know him. That’s Weese. I spoke to him the first time I arrived here. He’s a hane addict. Best to avoid him unless you’ve got something to trade.”

Weese’s ears stood on end, as though he heard his name and homed in on the conversation. Kellan didn’t like the desperate look in his bloodshot eyes.

A few shops along the road had large windows packed with dozens of TVs. The bars over the windows made it difficult to see the screens clearly, but Kellan didn’t need many details to know what was happening.

It was the creepy news anchor. The one chained to his desk. The man with the bloody blindfold who had laughed the entire presentation earlier in the morning.

Kellan jogged over to the window, eager to hear what the anchor had to say.

Unlike last time, the news show wasn’t in a grimy newsroom. The blindfolded man sat at a desk in a large studio, with several flat TV screens behind him, each playing footage of individuals doing something.

One screen showed a man skinning a deer.

Another screen displayed a woman fighting in a war.

A third screen showcased a man in a trench coat standing in front of a forest.

“Registration is almost over, ladies, gentlemen, and everything in between.” The news anchor smiled wide, his perfect white teeth an odd contrast to the dimly lit—and mostly gray—studio. His hands were still cuffed to the desk, and he struggled with them, though he never commented on his confinement.

“Our high rollers will be pleased to hear that the infamous Brenner Hawke, traitor to all humanity, has added his name to the roster of competitors this year.” The blinded news anchor motioned to the screens behind him. They all switched at the same time, showing a dozen of the same image.

A man in the power suit—Brenner Hawke, Kellan assumed—walked down a narrow corridor, like someone was filming him with a tiny camera pinned to their shirt. The metal suit gave Hawke a few inches of height, and completely covered him from head to toe in gray-steel armor. The suit was sleek and deadly. It looked agile, even if each step sounded like a skyscraper going for a stroll.

Whoever was filming tried to back away from the approaching power suit.

He wasn’t fast enough.

With lightning speeds, the man in the power suit withdrew a sword—something straight from a science fiction movie—where one side of the blade was metal, and the other side was super-heated plasma, a neon red in coloration. Then the man slashed at the camera, clearly ending whoever had been holding it.

Kellan had no idea why—there was no sound to the video, or any explanation attached to the action.

A few of the Nexus-hobos cheered from the other side of the street, obviously watching the news from afar and delighted with whatever had happened on screen.

Perhaps they just love violence? Kellan shook his head.

“Isn’t Hawke fascinating?” the news anchor asked. “Hawke’s laser sword can cut through anything.” The man slammed his hand on the desk. “What I wouldn’t give to be sliced in half by the legendary Brenner Hawke. What an honor. What a delight.” He threw his head back and laughed. “I can’t wait for the sweet release of death! It’ll be glorious.”

Kellan watched with morbid curiosity, unable to look away. Just like before, he had no idea what was going on, or why such a production even existed.

The news anchor rubbed at the blood splotches on the blindfold. “Sorry, everyone. I got caught up in the moment. Let’s return to the reports, shall we?” He smiled and placed his cuffed hands to the top of the rusted desk. “Over fifty teams have registered for this Nexus Games. Over twenty teams have the bare minimum of five teammates, but at least six teams have the maximum of ten members. So high. So risky. They’ll have to get more keys—one key per member in your team. That’s the rules. Even if a member dies. The teams of ten will need ten keys.”

Again with the keys.

Kellan wasn’t entirely sure why they were needed, but perhaps it didn’t matter. What he could gather was: the keys were required to win the game. Every team had to gather a number of keys equal to their starting teammates. So, the less teammates, the faster a team could finish. In theory.

Kellan still had too many questions, and not enough answers.

“We have a lot of S rank and M rank mages this year,” the news anchor said with a laugh.

The screens changed behind him, showcasing soldiers, warriors, fighters, and pilots. Kellan couldn’t keep up with the information, but he saw a few creating firestorms, controlling blizzards, and a few even disappearing from sight with some sort of invisibility. They all had incredible powers—obviously magic, though some seemed technological in nature.

“Team Two has officially registered with Brenner Hawke as vice-captain.” The anchor shook his head. “Remember to get your bets in! Everyone wants some arcana. Myself included!”

Some of the screens flashed with words and lists. Some were Chinese hanzi. Some were in Farsi. Some… Kellan didn’t recognize. Finally, he found a screen displaying the information in English.

Arcana Bets

First Mage to Die—10:1

First Team to Obtain a Key—5:1

First Team to Break the Rules and be Disqualified—4:1

Kellan didn’t even read the rest of the list. He got the picture.

People were going to watch the games to bet on various things that happened. And was arcana being used as a form of currency?

“Remember, if you lose, and can’t pay, the Arbiter will always accept lives” the anchor said, as though answering Kellan’s unspoken question. “He loves lives! Fresh blood is the best blood, ladies and monsters.”

The homeless individuals whispered among themselves, Kellan glanced over his shoulder, watching them all debate the information. Would they bet arcana? Did they even have it? Kellan would’ve bet against it. He had to kill one of the Pestbyters just to get 3 total arcana. He suspected if that were the bar, it was difficult to precure.

“Get all your bets in soon,” the anchor said, nothing but overwhelming joy in his voice. “And keep an eye out for the last few teams to register! I’m told we’ll be having a surprise guest.”

“What’re you doing?” Sen shouted from the other side of the rundown road. “We must stay together! Watch TV when we’re resting!”

Kellan pulled himself away from the news report and hurried back over to the others. Mavis eyes the TV as well, her attention on the laughing figure of the news anchor.

“Careful what you take to heart from that show,” Husker muttered. The clink of chains rattled every time he took a step. “The reporter, Bitso, isn’t what he seems.”

“I have two functioning eyes,” Kellan quipped. “I can tell the man isn’t right in the head.”

“That’s not what I meant. Bisto is Descended of Zenith. From what I heard, he developed one of the unknowable magics, and was punished by the Arbiter. He has no loyalty to the truth, or even to reason.”

Punished for developing a certain type of magic?

“I thought you said the magics were based on your personality,” Kellan muttered. “So, Bitso didn’t really have a choice, right? It was his personality?”

“The unknowable magics are different in this regard. They must be learned and developed. They’re difficult, complex, and rare. You must have the Arbiter’s blessing before you can obtain one.”

“What kind of name is Bitso?” Mavis asked.

Husker snorted and laughed. “I ask myself that every time I hear a human’s name.”

The dark clouds overhead threatened to wash the street with frigid rain. Kellan and Mavis walked close together. The deeper into the city they got, the more it became an amalgamation of buildings and concepts. Some stores were broken down buildings. Others were machine-like and futuristic, with neon lights on the sides, and no windows.

Kellan spotted a robot standing outside of a door, its metallic body covered in a blackish grease. Its eyes were LEDs that shone green. It gave Kellan the once over before turning away.

More people milled about the street, but none of them activated Kellan’s Blitzkrieg Analysis. He ignored most of them—they were humans in shabby clothing, all avoiding his gaze—but a couple caught his attention.

Another person with wings.

Another werewolf.

One man carried a backpack that was twice as large as his torso. It seemed filled to the brim with objects, and face masks hung off the side. One of the masks did activate Kellan’s magic-sensitive eyes.

Magical Item [Armor]—Mischief Maker’s Mask

The mage gains +2 dexterity, conceals his magics and ranks to basic divination, and resembles a certain famous character from a franchise in some other universe. It’s stylish.

Kellan rubbed at his face and almost ran into Husker, who had stopped dead in his tracks. Sen stood in front of an odd building—a sandstone establishment with silk curtain doors, a brick fence around the property, and tiny circle windows. It reminded Kellan of opium dens he had seen in India, but with an odd Arabian feel.

Smoke wafted from the tiny windows at a constant rate. The people who went in and out of the place kept their heads down and hoodies up.

The neon sign outside was written in Chinese hanzi—it was the only one not in English.

“Here we are,” Sen stated. “My sister is waiting for us inside.” He shot Kellan and Mavis a sneer. “You two look miserable… But we don’t have any more time.” He walked over and smacked both Kellan and Mavis on the side of the leg. “Straighten up. Speak clearly. Don’t embarrass me in front of my sister.”

Mavis grimaced at the touch and stepped away. “Watch it.”

“Perhaps you should speak to your sister first,” Husker growled. “I’m telling you. She’s not going to be happy with your choices.”

“No, she’ll love it.” Sen stared up at Kellan, his eyes slowly narrowing. “Well… On second thought… Perhaps I’ll take in our warrior, and then I’ll bring up the fact that my puppets were mangled and report that we have a second warrior to take their place.”

Husker grumbled something under his breath, but Kellan didn’t catch it.

With a dramatic wave of his hand, Sen turned and headed for the front door of the building. “Follow me, Alex Kellan. It’s time you meet the leader of our team—my dear sister, the Lady Mage Sun Xiang.”