“You guys go. Take out the last member of InvictUS and capture their tower. I’ll stay here and hold ours.”
They exchanged glances with each other. Hannah stepped forward.
“No way, you have to go.” She pointed out the entrance, where InvictUS’s tower loomed in the background. “That’s your fight.”
I shook my head. “Really, it’s—”
“Kali, you led us here,” she said. “We’re about to win, and it’s because of you.”
She laced her fingers through mine and squeezed.
“Go.”
Before she released my hand, she leaned in close and whispered a word that echoed in my mind.
“Champions.”
My stomach rippled. No. Not yet.
One kill to go.
Fortitude swelled up inside and solidified. In the moment, I felt strong. But taking on the remaining member of InvictUS by myself? Studying the determined expressions on my teammates’ faces, they believed in me. Maybe it was time I did the same thing myself.
I headed for the tower’s exit but paused at the door and looked back at Rooke. Our eyes locked. He nodded for me to go. That wasn’t what I wanted. The last fight was mine, and mine alone. But I wanted my partner in crime there to witness the glory.
Victory. I could taste it on my tongue.
Derek clued him in and pushed him forward. “Go with your woman, man. Geez.”
Rooke joined me, and together we raced through the fields. Fields that seemed to stretch on forever as they whipped around me, brushing my face and clipping at my heels. A sandpaper whisper filled the air. Like Lily, I seldom went on offense and took the moment to appreciate the sensations of the virtual world, of the mountain air pumping through my lungs, and the scent of lavender caressing my nose. But it dulled in comparison to the rubber smell of the training room or the plastic covering every inch. Even the antibacterial stench of the facility. Because they were real.
I broke through the fields’ edge, followed closely by Rooke. Together, we drove up the dirt path, dodging the rocky terrain wrapped around the tower. This was it. The end of the end. Adrenaline pumped in my legs, propelling me toward the enemy’s fortress. I’d led my team here. I’d led myself here. The soaring stone walls of the turret that seemed to touch the sky grew a little shorter just then. I could do this. Nothing could stop me now. But when I burst through the entranceway, I skidded to a halt.
Trent Amos stood in the center of the tower.
CHAPTER 27
The final fight. It all came down to this.
Dressed in minimal armor and wielding a single longsword, Trent Amos belonged on the cover of a gamer magazine. Somehow, he looked even bigger than the last time we’d fought together. With shoulders nearly three times my width and muscles gleaming in the sunlight, he was a tank, a powerhouse of strength. The perfect gladiator.
And he was all mine.
Funny how life likes to bring things full circle, isn’t it?
I should have known it would be him before I even entered the tower. He hadn’t been with the four that attacked, so I should have done the math. But the fear, anticipation, and adrenaline had clouded my brain so much, I hadn’t realized this would be the final fight until he was standing right in front of me.
His eyes went wide. How could we have possibly made it through his horde of brutes? Then his features softened, and he chuckled, bold and confident. He had no idea he was alone. Because of our handicap as the losing team, it didn’t matter either. He could still take the game all by himself. All he had to do was take me out.
He waved me forward. I approached, slowly, sword gripped tight in my hand. Rooke remained behind to block the entrance. He knew. He knew this was my fight. And he knew to stay the hell out of my way.
We met in the middle and began circling. I stayed out of reach, waiting for him to come to me. He sized me up, still chuckling. I mirrored every step he took. It became a waltz, one where we didn’t touch. I counted my breaths. Calm. Even. A breeze snuck in through the tower’s entrance. The wind rippled through my hair, and I knew it was there with me.
As we circled, Trent lashed out at me a few times, trying to draw me in. I ignored his feints, perfectly focused, sword gripped in hand. I was a poster child for the Chinese warrior.
No. The Chinese-American warrior. A perfect blend. Both sides as one.
Trent drew back his sword and lunged forward. I moved with him, spinning and ducking. He slashed through the air until our weapons finally met. His strength reverberated down the sword into my hands, somehow even stronger than the last time I’d faced off against him. Guess InvictUS had been practicing, too. I focused, and told myself the same things I’d told Hannah. Be like the wind. Strong but flexible.
He came at me again and again. Every time I parried him to the side, he immediately spun back for another blow. He knew my fighting style now. He knew to move like water and earth whenever he struck. He had no blind spots. No skin exposed.
Reverberations rippled down my arms. A dull ache gripped my muscles. Seconds into the fight, and I was already waning. I couldn’t win. I’d never defeat his strength. My throat clenched. My chest tightened. Every muscle seized.
No. Focus. You can do this.
His sword slashed my arm. My weapon-wielding arm. I grimaced, grinding my teeth to stifle a whimper. Blood dribbled out and dripped on the tower floor.
I caught a glimpse of Rooke still in the entranceway. He gripped his swords tight and paced behind me, jaw clenched. Hell, every muscle was clenched. He was primed to jump into the fight, ready to take out Trent before he took me out. But for now, he remained in the tower’s doorway, pacing.
Blood bubbled out of my wound as weakness took hold from shoulder to fingertip. Sweat pooled around my neck. My breaths came out in pants. I trembled.
Trent swung hard, and I blocked just in time, my arm feeling both numb and like it weighed a thousand pounds. Our weapons met again, and we locked up. He pushed down into his sword. My feet slid back a foot across the floor. Oh, shit. My knees buckled before I clamped down on them and forced myself to stay on my feet.
Rooke took a step closer.
No. I could do this.
I grunted and strained against Trent, pushing until my arms shook. The edges of my vision blurred. The pain in my arm flared, and only my gritting teeth stifled my yelp. Trent leaned into me, pressing down with his weight. The metal from our swords screeched together under the pressure. Hot pain seared through my arm, and my knees bent again. Then, numbness spread through my arm to my entire body. A sickening sensation curled through my stomach. Something was wrong. How was I both numb and in pain?
Because it wasn’t real.
This tower. My opponent. Even the cut in my arm. None of it was real.
The pain wavered then, as if it could hear my thoughts. I pushed into it, like I was pushing out an illness or a virus. In the real world, my arm was fine. I’d wake up and there’d be no cut. This was pretend. This was make-believe. A fairy tale for the masses.
This was meditation on bent knees and knuckles. This was a lesson. To accept the pain, accept the circumstances, and accept myself.
I took a breath, and the pain trickled out with the blood. The cut still slashed through my arm, but it became nothing more than a part of me.
I pushed against Trent with strength that seemed to come from nowhere. He stumbled back several paces, surprise veiling his face. I flipped my sword around, catching it just below the hilt, and tossed it to Rooke. He caught it with a swipe of his hand. I pulled my dagger from my hip and tossed it to the side. It tumbled until it landed around Rooke’s feet. I stood tall, unarmed, with renewed energy and self-assurance. I was no longer part of the virtual world. No. Not a part of it.
I owned it. It bowed to me.
I grinned and closed my eyes.
Despite the digital setting, I knew what was happening in the real world. I could picture the crowds screaming. I could hear the announcers going ballistic.
Open your eyes. What the hell is she doing?
Behind me, Rooke backed up several steps, though when he stopped, one foot still tapped with excitement.
I stilled inside. Even breaths. No fear. When you fight to the death enough times, the experience dwindles down to mere details. And they’d all be his.
Trent snickered.
The world became nothing but sounds. The pounding of his footsteps. The whoosh of his sword. And the wind whispering in my ear.
The air above me whistled as Trent brought his sword down over my head. I swiveled back, turning side to side, completely avoiding his blows as he sliced through the air again and again. After dodging several of his downward attacks, he switched tactics and swung the blade sideways, still driving toward me. I ducked and slid under his arm. As he stumbled past, back wide open, I shoved him hard, driving the momentum he’d already created for himself. He ran face-first into the wall.
Behind us, Rooke laughed.
Trent shook his head and looked at me standing in the center of the tower. I smiled and waved. Over here, big guy. The muscles in his neck went tight, and his face turned red.
My smile only widened.
This was just a game, after all. And I was having fun.
Trent grunted, gathered himself, and came at me again.
He thrust his sword at my head. I simply tilted to the side. As the blade slid past my head, I grabbed his wrists, and following his momentum again, slammed him straight into my bent knee. He doubled over, coughing, gripping his stomach.
I took a breath and slowly pushed out the exhale, feeling the air travel through every inch of my body. I was fighting without fighting. Seeing without seeing.
I was one with myself.
When Trent came at me this time, he swung low, anticipating my duck. I dropped down and hooked my knee around his ankle. He fell. His back hit the ground with a heavy thud, and his sword tumbled from his grip. I rolled, snatching the sword for myself, and landed with a knee on his chest. I pressed my weight down. He wheezed as the air rushed out of his lungs.
This was it. In that moment, I never felt more genuine, because I was going home. The simulation would end, I’d wake up, and real life would begin.
I looked down at him as I positioned my sword above his head. His eyes went wide, and he held his hands up, signaling mercy. I smiled.
Sorry, pal.
It’s for the show.
I brought my sword down. An inch from his face, he caught it with both hands, skin digging into the blade. Bands of blood slithered down his shaking arms. He strained against me. The blade lifted from his face, pushing the hilt up and toward me. No. I pressed my weight into the sword. We locked. The blade lowered again. More blood slipped out from his hands, speckling his face and chest. He grunted. Sweat dripped off his face in buckets.
The blade rose. And then more. Even with him down and my weight against him, my strength wasn’t enough. It never would be. And it didn’t have to be.
The wind whispered in my ear.
Let go.
I did.
Not anticipating my sudden release, Trent thrust the sword up until the hilt was parallel with my head. His hands slipped off the blade. I followed the motion through like a pendulum and, with the wind swirling around me, brought the sword back down and slammed it right through his eye.
CHAPTER 28
Victory.
My entire life had led up to this moment. Not just the past few months of tournament play. Years of training, martial arts lessons, and mastering the virtual world. All of it had coalesced into this life-defining moment.
Twenty. I was twenty years old, and I’d won a national championship. My teammates’ futures were set. My future was set.
Shock, joy, and sheer exhilaration swirled together inside in that cool, prickly feeling you get when something amazing happens, as if it were conducted through magic itself. I stood with my teammates, each in front of our respective pods, exchanging glances, afraid to move forward, as if reality would undo what had just happened in the virtual world. They say you’ll always remember the moments when your life stood still. This was one of them. I’d remember right now forever.
In the background, the crowd was going ballistic. People cheered, jumped on each other, waved signs and flags. The screens behind us faded into celebrations around the world. Banners depicting Fight-for-Nathan waved in the background as mobs of people paraded through the streets. But it was all background noise, as if we were inside a bubble of peace, and absolute astonishment.
Hannah moved first, pulling me into her arms, followed by Derek and everyone else, even the programmers, until I was lost in a sea of limbs and bodies. I don’t know who shouted first, but soon we were all shouting and screaming and jumping up and down. A mosh pit of hugs and squeals. Derek kissed Rooke’s forehead. Hannah and Lily kissed each other. We did it.
We’d won.
Howie and Marcus met us on our side of the stage and led us to the south, where the championship cup sat waiting. As we crossed the stage, InvictUS met us halfway. Trent broke away from his teammates and marched straight up to me. For a second, I thought there would be another fight right here onstage. Instead, he extended his hand.
“Good game.”
My gaze flicked between his face and open palm a few times. Then, I embraced the handshake.
The rest of the team offered their hands to us. We shook and traded compliments and pats on the back. Before he left, Trent leaned toward me and lowered his voice.
“Image is everything,” he murmured. “In front of the cameras, we put on a show, but that’s not really who we are.” He moved even closer. “Off the record, if someone had to beat me, I’m glad it was the warrior.”
Then he winked and left with his teammates.
They paraded down the aisle to the exit, the same they’d entered from earlier. They cheered, and high-fived fans, celebrating like they’d won. And really, they had. Runner-up in a championship still meant they’d been picked up as permanent players in the VGL. They were strong gamers and put on a hell of a show. But, for a split second, Trent had shown me the real person under the façade. Though it was difficult to judge such a small moment in time, I had a feeling they were good guys, after all. They deserved this and were going to party as much as they’d earned it.
Howie and Marcus presented us to the crowd.
“There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Your 2054 RAGE champions. Congratulations, Team Defiance. What a match.”
Howie nodded at his counterpart and turned to face the audience. “These guys came from behind at the beginning of the season and fought every inch of the way here. They earned this rematch against InvictUS and proved they deserved to be champions. An amazing team altogether, but an amazing captain as well. Kali Ling, the first female captain to win a championship. You just witnessed history here tonight, folks. It’s happening right now.”
The crowd applauded and cheered, though the noise had never really died down. Howie and Marcus brought us forward to the stand at the end of the stage, and my teammates motioned for me to take the cup. I placed a hand on either side, and paused. This was another life-defining instant. I took a second to memorize it. The feeling of sheer exhilaration flooded every nerve in my body. The bumps and grooves in the cup from the inscriptions of the names of all the gamers before us. The excitement from the crowd. And lastly, the feel of my teammates’ hands on my shoulders. I’d led, and they’d followed me here. They’d follow me anywhere. No matter what happened from here on out, we were more than friends. We were a team, banded together for life. Now, and always.
I raised the cup.
Somehow, the applause and cheers grew even louder until I wa
s drowning in the noise. My teammates surrounded me and gathered me up in their arms. One of those prickly magic waves rushed over me again. Pride swelled within and boiled over until tears spilled down my cheeks. Wrapped in my teammates’ arms, I didn’t care. The night was full of perfect moments, and I was living every one of them.
Howie and Marcus turned to the cameras. “We’re signing off for the night but stay tuned for the press conference with Team Defiance in just a few minutes, and be sure to join us next week for the start of the Dungeon Raids. Good night, everybody.”
They waved at the crowd and the cameras, as they zoomed out and panned away.
The stage lights clicked off, and a strong hand gripped my shoulder. Someone plucked the cup from my hands. Security guards pulled us apart and dragged us offstage. Words like “press conference” and “they’re waiting” echoed somewhere in the background, like being underwater. The crowd continued their celebration. Their cheers and general jubilation followed us backstage and down the hall.
The doors to the press-conference room opened as the guards led us in. Reporters bombarded us upon entry. Some clapped and cheered. Others pushed their microphones forward and shouted questions out of turn. Cameras snapped and sparkled until the room became nothing but blue fuzz punctuated by white flashes. But it was all a distant jumble, as if the few feet between us and the reporters was really a mile. We were all somewhere else. And somewhere else was wonderful.
Security had to guide us onto the stage as we all walked forward in a daze. At least we managed to sit down by ourselves. The emcee announced himself and scanned through the audience for a question. The first reporter jumped to his feet, asking the obvious.
“How does it feel to be champions?”
We all answered at the same time, which came out as a jumbled mix of synonyms.
“Great.”
“Amazing.”
“Unbelievable.”
The cameras continued to flash, adding to the buzz of the room. The reporters moved in a sea of waves, heads bobbing as they gossiped among each other, grins plastered on all their faces. We weren’t the only ones with adrenaline pumping through our veins.
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