[Part 7]

On any other day, Avery would have heard news of the vanguard’s return to Basalith.

But today wasn’t any other day.

“Contestants, please enter the arena,” came through the speakers overhead. However, a more detailed message soon followed, coming directly to her microheadset.

“Head straight for the right edge of the dome,” Miles instructed. “That way you’ll take advantage of the heightened tree coverage at the outskirts while also minimizing angles of ambush.”

Avery didn’t respond, but took his advice. Every other contestant likewise had their own microheadset and would be receiving instructions. What Miles had said wasn’t too unexpected, and Avery figured that most other people would receive similar orders.

The key, she realized, was securing a safe location before anybody else.

The egg-shaped arena stretched for miles. Its gnarled surface and everything-proof exterior supported the claim that it was a specimen of spineroot, the very same dragonleaf-derivative that protected Basalith.

Avery heard that people two rounds back had accidentally set the entire eastern side of the arena on fire. After brushing off a thin layer of charcoal-black, the land-shaper repair crew had summarily reported that the ashen-brown walls were unscathed.

Typical of bro to go a bit...overboard, Avery thought, shaking her head at the memory of spineroot keeping what seemed to be the entire US armed forces at bay.

Each one of the contestants would be entering the arena from the southern side, though not from the same location. They each would enter from a separate holding area, preventing them from seeing the first moves of their opponents.

As Avery darted into the arena’s door, she moved with diligent caution, dribbling her ball between her feet. The root-covered ground and winding trees vastly complicated the simple action; more than once Avery needed to leap up and knock the ball back to the ground with her head.

She hadn’t encountered anyone yet, which was either an indicator that she was making swift progress, or going too slow.

Miles appeased any of her doubts. “From the records we have on the previous round, you’re making great time,” he assured her.

If by “records,” he means banter from the gossipy squirrels hogging the main atreum, Avery snarked knowingly.

“Also, be careful of the roots by that tree ahead. They’re moving.”

Avery grimaced, noticing the undulations in front. She decided to kick the ball up into the air and knock it forward past the unsteady ground, leaping in pursuit. She hated the trees with moving roots; she had twisted her ankle when going through them on the practice course. A twisted ankle only took a minute or so to completely heal, but Avery was wary of anything that might reduce her speed.

“This spot up ahead looks good,” Miles said. “See those two trees there? Good place to set up your goal. It’s at an awkward angle above the ground.”

Avery immediately locked onto the trees in question: two in close proximity had effectively grown together, their boughs braiding seamlessly. Avery grabbed the goal stickers from the black utility pouch at her waist, sticking two on each tree. She pressed the activation button on her wrist, causing a thin field that shimmered like oil to appear between the stickers.

“What do you think?” she finally said. “Offense or defense?”

Miles sighed. “The group that went in with you is super offense heavy. I’m not sure if that means we should try to strike first, or if we should try the defensive route. It’s up to you.”

Avery tried to think about what her big bro would do. If I were a Bath...and surrounded on all sides by aggressive forces...

“I’ll do defense,” Avery stated confidently. She carved out a small indent in the overgrowth, hunkering down with her ball.

One of the reasons why Avery usually played offense was that she notoriously zoned out at important junctures. If she wasn’t actively running at something, there were no guarantees that she’d be paying attention to her surroundings.

“...You sure?” Miles confirmed.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I got a plan.” Miles couldn’t see what Avery was doing with her hands. She held them up for a moment, showing him fronds of dragonleaf taking shape. “I’m not just gonna zone out.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll let you know if I see anything.” Now that Avery had set up her goal, Miles had two camera angles: one from the top-right field sticker, and another from the top of Avery’s right ear.

Bath wouldn’t just go after the enemy, Avery thought. Nor would he just sit around like a sitting duck.

As she manipulated vines of dragonleaf all across the area, she continued to think of more and more things to try. After fifteen minutes left to her own devices, Avery had instituted no less than eight different forms of torment for any contestants seeking to score in her goal.

She was riveting with anticipation when the first person approached. He sped through the undergrowth confidently, as far as Avery could tell from the vibrations picked up from her dragonleaf roots.

“Stage one,” she murmured to herself, eyes gleaming. She grasped her dragonleaf control fronds–the ones fully connected to the dragonleaf network she had set up–and activated her first layer of defenses.

She couldn’t see what was happening, but did notice that the intruder’s progress had noticeably slowed down. Slowed, but not stopped.

She activated the second set of traps, then the third, continuing until the sixth. At this point, Avery finally caught sight of the intruder’s beleaguered form: his clothing was torn half to shreds, and blood trickled down his chest and arms from currently-healing gashes. His eyes were red and watering, and his skin was puffy and speckled red on his left cheek and hand. Breathing heavily, he dribbled his ball between his feet in a zig-zag pattern, likely trying to avoid more traps.

Avery snorted. What was this guy, desperate? If she had encountered this many traps, she would’ve ran away by the fourth layer, when she encountered dragonleaf rash spores. But this guy lasted until the sixth layer.

“What did you do to that guy?” Miles hissed.

“He definitely had some injuries before I got to him,” Avery replied defensively. “But you’re right, he’s in bad shape. I should finish him off so he can get actual medical treatment.”

Avery activated the seventh layer of defenses, which would only work if an intruder came within 1000 feet of her goal. She’d set up an especially dense network of dragonleaf there.

Due to the proximity, she could actually appreciate her handiwork as countless dragonleaf vines constricted around the intruder, slowing him down. He quickly began to break through them, using far more strength than Avery had anticipated.

“Not on my watch,” she muttered, jetting out from her hidey-hole and kicking her ball with all the force she could muster. The ball hit the intruder square on his back, sending him forward with a sharp “oof.”

“Alright, I hit you with my ball within proximity of my goal,” Avery announced as she walked up to the intruder. “You’re out!”

The intruder chuckled bitterly. “I guess you got me.”

Just as Avery was about to cut the guy loose, another intruder kicked his ball into her goal.

Avery could only stare in astonishment. Where the hell did this person come from?

Miles let out a groan of frustration. “The second guy must’ve been trailing the first guy and using him as a distraction,” he said dejectedly.

Avery sighed, then approached the person who stood next to her goal.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Peter,” the guy replied, brushing his black hair out of his face. “You’ll be coming with me,” he added. “Since you lost, the only way for you to increase your standing will be to score a goal. If you score, great; we can both score in the same goal. But if you don’t succeed, no harm; I’ll score a goal when the defender’s guard is down.”

Avery’s face screwed up. “Why the heck would I let you follow me?” She might as well strike it out on her own.

Peter smiled coolly. “Because, for every two goals you get me, I’ll take you to one of the places I’ve already been to.”

Avery crossed her arms. “How many places are we talking?”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Oh, maybe...fifteen or so.”

Avery’s eyes grew wide. Fifteen...?

“This guy’s almost definitely going to be in first,” Miles interjected. “Even if he’s exaggerating, he probably has at least seven or eight goals.”

Avery mulled over his words. They did make a good deal of sense...she’d probably benefit from the arrangement if he really did bring her to places he’d already scored goals in. Because none of those people could win as defenders anymore, their goals would likely be left unattended.

“I think you should go for it,” Miles remarked. “The guy clearly has a selfish motive, but he’s not wrong about you needing to score as many goals as you can.

“Fine, let’s get this over with,” Avery muttered.

---

Half an hour later, Avery couldn’t help but grumble to herself about the situation.

This game is annoying, she thought. If you lose even one goal, you can no longer win as a defender. So stupid! The win condition for a defender was to completely fend off any opponent. If they did so, however, they would automatically win–or at least tie first place–in the round.

But if they lost even one goal, they’d have to go on offense.

And even that’s not fair! she grumbled. If you’re on offense and get hit within proximity of someone’s goal by their defender’s ball, you’re no longer allowed to gather any points offensively, either.

So essentially, if you failed as both a defender and an attacker early on, you were doomed.

Usually Avery had no qualms about the game, but the current situation was bringing out her plaintive spirit. After she had spent so much time setting up her defenses, here she was, forced to watch as Mr. Annoying swooped in at the last moment and made easy goals.

But he had stayed true to his word, bringing her to unattended goals. Moreover, Avery noticed that Peter must have some kind of sixth sense: he always detected offensive contestants before Avery did. The two of them would hide, then follow the contestant to either their own goal or to another person’s goal.

In this fashion, they managed to hit fifteen new goals before the time elapsed.

“I never asked your name,” Peter admitted. “Everyone else before you didn’t last more than five goals.” He said this like it was some kind of excuse.

“Are you asking now?” Avery clarified.

Peter rolled his eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Avery.”

He stared at her intently. “You know, if it weren’t for me, I bet you would’ve been able to hold out ‘til the end with your manifold traps.”

“Avery,” Miles cautioned. “Take that as a compliment. He’s trying to compliment you.”

I’m not stupid, Miles, Avery grumbled internally. But this guy, Peter–he was really pushing her patience.

“Yeah, I know,” she replied, expression aloof. “But now that I know people like you exist, I’ll be better prepared for future rounds. Just watch.”