In the distance, Ariel saw the Zeda Arena, unmoving, silhouetted against the blue sky as they sped along the road doing a hundred. The Zeda Residence were six massive skyscrapers secure to the arena like the radiating tines of a gigantic crown.
Soon they reached Red Stone Street, where they left their car to auto-park itself into the garage. Then Marissa led them past the guarded front gates, and through the wide-open compound escorted by caregivers—who were people in charge of ensuring the safety of the students who lived in the residence. Soon they were through the glass doors of the front entrance. They made a right at the head caregiver’s office and walked down the larger corridor of the Zeda Arena. Gaping stares followed Ariel as she headed straight for the identification booths.
Security units, SUs, for short, stood like people in the crowd. Their massive metallic figures towered the throng of fans. These seven feet giants ordered press to stand clear of Ariel Spica and her coaches. Camera lights flashed like fire crackers, clicking and popping away, as Ariel covered her face. When she finally reached the identification booths, orbs of purple and red floated in her vision.
Exhaling did little to ease Ariel’s discontent. Her identity was confirmed, and with a nod from one of the SUs, she stepped forward. Still following Marissa and Cassandra, she returned her attention to one of the most important decisions of her Gladius career. What to do? She thought. Accept or decline?
Boys and girls in maroon tops and black slacks, raced past her—game facilitators they were called—preparing the arena for her game. For some reason, Ariel had been waiting for the punchline to this joke, but it hadn’t shown up yet. What haunted her had been his silence followed by the sudden challenge. Of course, she thought, silence. She hadn’t reached out to him in so long. What would she say to him? When was the last time they’d talked? She gulped, dialed, and waited. But she couldn’t reach him. She cringed as she entered the packed arena. She hadn’t accepted his challenge yet, but clearly this was moving forward.
The excitement had ruptured, giving way to a silence in the cold, tense air. It was the murmuring she loathed. The last time the atmosphere had been this raw with astonishment was when she had fought her mentor Edna. Ariel had garnered enough confidence to fight the bombastic Blademaster in a friendly match, but lost.
Even the MMA fighters on stage now paused, giving her a look that turned her bones cold. As she marched with Marissa and Cassandra toward the locker room, Ariel moved a loosed strand of hair from her field of vision and tucked it in neatly behind her ear.
“I accept,” she finally said, exhaling and firmly squeezing on the screen of her phone. Marissa and Cassandra shot her a look at the foot of the steps, surprised that she’d actually go through with it. Ariel said, “I know, I know. This is uncharted territory. But it means I can accept any challenge. That I take every challenger seriously. Even my own brother.”
Marissa was nodding now. “We’re with you all the way Ariel. You have our full support.”
Ariel’s slick boots had rounded her heel. She had adorned herself in the vox armor, a nanite jumpsuit she stretched to her fingertips. The suit seemed alive, pressing against her frame, its tiny vox cells rearranging themselves. She felt her pulse quicken as she activated the suit in the locker room. Her heart and mind connected to this suit. By now she was used to the mind-vox pairing. Which for her now only took less than a second. With synapsis already created from her first practice four years ago, this was a piece of cake.
Now she chose the color the suit would display. White and azure to go with her blue eyes.
She sat on the bench, her head held by her fists, worrying about this decision she’d made. That she’d accepted the challenge could also put her in a position where the blademasters would wonder why she’d accepted a swordfight from a complete novice in the first place.
No use worrying herself now. She can’t go back and undo accepting her brother’s challenge.
But what if Demetrius was pretty good? But where would he have trained? She had kept track of many using the training facilities. Not once did she see his name, and there weren’t too many sword fighting stages in the Virtus City area. A bit of relief washed over her. Perhaps when she’d see him—if he’d actually show up—she’d try to convince him not to go through with this. Or at least, negotiate with him. Her reputation was at stake.
She took the necklace bearing the tiny locket, and Ariel opened it. There was her mother as she was a decade ago. Ariel placed it in her locker.
“Are you ready?” asked Marissa.
“Yes,” said Ariel, activating her suit. The cells held tightly to one another as Ariel felt the tug of a trillion nanites. The force they could take now was tremendous. And the trauma she could inflict with these fists, gloved by these cells, was enough to crack the floor or a skull. She Then she strutted out to the view of an expectant crowd.
Still a little shaken up by Demetrius’s surprising challenge, Ariel stopped onstage. It several hundred yards long and wide. She stood at the center. She hadn’t done anything wrong. The crowd just wanted to see how the battle would play out. Lights sparkled everywhere. Fans and nonfans filled the seats in the humongous arena. She too wanted to know how this would play out. In retrospect, she could have talked out a strategy with Marissa and Cassandra for this game. But they knew nothing about her brother’s skills. She could have come up with something, but her scatter thoughts left no room.
Where is he? She thought, keeping her eyes squarely on the entrance of the opposite locker room. Any moment her brother would emerge from its dark entrance. Her heart hammered nonstop, tossing aside what little composure she had assembled. Her body was heating up because of the anxiety. Yet she didn’t forget to breathe.
But then she lost her breath momentarily when Demetrius Spica walked out into the roar of an excited crowd. They loved him. Loved him as he walked up like a lamb prepared for the slaughter. She felt ready to puke. There was a confidence about him. He was different. She’d stopped talking to him on purpose. She’d needed her space.
1 thought on “Chapter 1C”