Link rolled to the side, narrowly missing one of the Velekai’s barbed tails as it came spearing down into the mud beside him. Leaping to his feet, he wiped the specks of dirt from his face and darted backward from his attacker. The creature’s four eyes—cloudy as a blind man's—tracked him as he circled around it warily.
The Velekai was covered in a golden shell that shone like polished armour; the perfect camouflage for them as they were native to the Saadarok Desert. Behind its ghastly pincers were several rows of sharp, uneven teeth. The kind of teeth that looked like they could grind glass into powder. And then there were its tails. It had five of them, each one extendable and retractable like Inspector Gadget’s limbs, each one as thick as a fire hose and tipped with a spear-headed barb.
Link was in the second round of the tournament, and he was fighting Athuros the Shapeshifter. He had also just missed his one and only opportunity. There had been a small window in which he could have attacked, but no sooner had the gong sounded, Athuros had distracted him with a weak Windwielding Spell. By the time Link had projected his Ward and deflected the attack, Athuros had already whipped out a vile brimming with Velekai’s blood. He had chugged the whole thing before Link could stop him. In a matter of seconds, Athuros had gone from an introverted, harmless child, to a sleekly armoured, nightmare inducing abomination.
As Link had advanced pigheadedly, one of the Velekai’s—Athuros’—spear-headed tails surged straight through a gap in his plated armour and burrowed its way into his left shoulder. The pain blistered through his body in waves, and he could still feel the hot blood sticking to his woollen undergarments. But Link had known that however unbearable the injury was, as long as he survived the match in one piece, the Healers could repair the damage. He was just thankful the wound hadn’t caused him to wake up from his sleep. But then again, that might have had something to do with the nitrous oxide he had sucked in before going to bed in the real world.
Link had bought a box of whipped-cream chargers online which were filled with the gas. The chargers were supposed to be used as an agent in a cream dispenser, but Link had other intentions for them. Before every one of his matches in the Gauntlet, he had been strategically timing his sleep cycles in the real world and using the laughing gas as an anaesthetic. That way he could sleep through any of the injuries he obtained. The last thing he needed was to be woken up mid-battle, and then struggle to get back to sleep. The anxiety of not knowing whether you were about to die or not would be enough to keep anybody awake.
The midday sun glared down on the arena, a giant blazing fireball levitating in the pale blue sky. They were fighting in a field of knee-high grass with dunes of sand scattered here and there. To Link’s right was a steep cliff that closely resembled a giant tooth, and to his left was dense vegetation and unnatural, thick vines that climbed up the wall of the arena like anacondas trying to escape a deep pit.
The Velekai, Athuros, circled Link, skittering through the long blades of grass, pincers clicking together in excitement. His four tails waved menacingly above his body, razor-sharp barbs glistening in the sunlight.
Although Link hadn’t planned on the match lasting this long, he had prepared for almost every possible twist and turn this battle could produce. Winstell had given him a heads-up about Athuros’ sole transformation that day they met him in the Great Hall, so Link had flicked through the Bestiary of Nocera and learned all he could about the Velekai before the match.
The creature had one chink in his armour, and he planned to exploit it. He just needed to keep himself alive in the meantime.
Link repositioned his open-fronted helm as the Velekai scurried after him, the long grass parting before it like the Red Sea, its countless pairs of stubby legs moving hastily. The crowd gasped as four of the creatures five extendable tails shot after him. Link rolled his shoulder to avoid the first tail, sidestepped to avoid the second, ducked to avoid the third, but the fourth smashed him square in the chest.
The force of the tail strike caused him to stumble backward and nearly twist his ankle in a sloping bunker of sand behind him. But other than the attack putting him off balance and a tiny dent in his chest plate, Link was left unscathed. Although the plate armour limited his movement dramatically, it protected his vital organs, for which he was extremely thankful. They weren’t called vital organs for any old reason.
Link tossed his weapon carelessly to the side. For what he was planning, he wouldn't need a sword. When his blade had thumped into the sand, the crowd gasped as one, murmuring to one another as if they were discussing his reasoning.
Not wanting to wait for the Velekai to bombard him with another flurry of tails, Link steeled himself and charged straight at it, flicking up grains of sand behind him with each stride. As he ran, he called upon the Eternal Source and let it seep into him as if the energy had been injected directly into his veins.
The invigorating power pulsated through him, increasing his speed, attuning his senses, making time steady as if everything was a scene from a movie playing and someone had clicked the slow-motion button. Athuros skittered forwards through the grass to meet Link, but as his pincers attempted to sink into his opponent’s flesh, Link rolled harmlessly underneath them, pressing his back to the earth.
He was directly below the Velekai’s exposed abdomen, the only part of its body that wasn’t armoured. Knowing he only had a few seconds to capitalize, Link performed the necessary Chain, delved deeper into the Source, and then shot both arms up. A jet of sizzling fire ignited from his palms and broke upon Athuros’ belly. Link held the Spell for as long as possible, straining, parting his Gates and drawing as much as the mystical energy as his body would allow. When he couldn’t keep the inferno going any longer, his arms dropped down in exhaustion.
He rolled on his side as he watched the Velekai click and hiss as it scurried away, its pincers snapping together in anger. The spectators were out of their seats, their overjoyed cheers thundering through the arena as they watched on.
The rows of the creature’s stubby legs buckled; its screeches of agony barely audible over the ecstatic crowd. The Velekai slowly shrunk, shrivelling into a patch of sand like a dying arachnid. Right before Link, Athuros’ body distorted and twisted. His four eyes turned into two, his pincers into arms and legs, his gold shell flaking away to reveal pale skin. When the transformation was complete, nothing was left but a naked and whimpering boy with his knees tucked to his chest.
Link’s armour clamoured as he got to his feet and ran.
Athuros’ eyes sprang open upon his approach. Link took off his helmet and knelt by the boy’s side. Athuros flinched and scurried backward.
“I yield, I yield!” the boy shouted, his hands outstretched defencelessly in front of him. “No more! No more!”
Even though Athuros’ body was covered with a layer of sand and sweat, it wasn’t difficult to see the red burn marks all over his belly and chest. The wounds were already beginning to boil. But as horrid as the injury was, Link couldn’t seem to look away.
He was on the verge of telling Athuros he meant him no harm, but before he could, a squadron of six Healers shouldered their way past him. They were all wearing silver robes with a regal blue handprint embroidered onto the backs. They placed him gently on a white-clothed stretcher and took him out of the arena. The crowd showed no sympathy for the child; they screamed and shouted as if Link had just shot the game-winning three-pointer in double overtime.
****
Wisps of pink, luminescent energy rose from the Healer's hand. She hovered it an inch away from Link’s injured shoulder as she closed her eyes in concentration. She had curly eyelashes, messy mocha-coloured hair that stopped at her ears, and a pair of lively blue eyes that could brighten up anyone's day. Anyone’s day but Link’s, that was. Now the adrenaline had subsided, the throbbing pain in his shoulder was making it unbearable for him to even think.
The Healers’ chamber was dank and depressing, positioned directly underneath the arena and filled with whimpering and gloomy students. In the middle of the room, twin hearths blazed away, lighting the narrow chambers with a dim, orange glare. The Healers’ silver robes rippled through the air as they hurriedly moved from bed to bed, working their mysterious magic on the newly admitted, or checking up on the long-term patients who had suffered severe injuries.
Flesh wounds were relatively easy to heal, but anything beyond that (like broken bones, for instance) required a combination of time and complex alchemies. Some of the wretched elixirs and potions the Healers had brought near Link had caused him to gag on the smell alone. But even worse than the foul-smelling liquids the Healers had conjured up was the maddening presence of a man that could make even the sanest person turn ballistic: Xavier.
He was lurking by Link’s bedside with a wry grin etched onto his face, sprinkling dry comments about his injury whenever he saw fit. Link had been giving him the silent treatment since he had first appeared in the chamber with a puff of swirling black smoke.
Link dared not to interrupt his Healer for fear she’d break her focus. So, he just sat awkwardly as she literally worked her magic. An ear-deafening wail came from the far end of the chamber. He glanced over to find four Healers working in tandem on a boy. A whole lot of broken bones, Link gathered.
Looks like I got off easy, he thought.
In the bed, directly beside the howling boy, was Athuros. Two pairs of luminescent hands hovered over his belly and chest, trying to mend the burned and boiled skin. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his face contorted in pain.
Link kept trying to remind himself that what he had done, he had done for his sister's sake. That none of this was real, just an intricate and elaborate world Xavier had constructed from his and Alex’s story and drawings. That he had done what was needed for him to advance to the next round and inch closer to defeating Kilaydis. But as he watched Athuros squirm and writhe in pain, Link was having a hard time convincing himself.
After several minutes of nervous waiting, he peered down at his shoulder, only to find it was still as bloody and gory as it had been when they had first admitted him. The girl with the lively blue eyes had turned away from Link and was focusing her attention on another injured combatant.
Just as Link was about to ask the Healer if she knew what she was doing, or if today was her first day, a tingling sensation coursed throughout his body like a pleasant sugar rush. That feeling didn’t last long, though. A pain like no other ensued. As if someone had just poured vinegar into his wound followed by a squeeze of lemon juice and a pinch of salt.
Link’s body recoiled and writhed in agony as the pain washed over him. He attempted to clutch his injury, but the Healer grabbed him firmly by the wrist and stopped him. She was smiling at him, almost as if she was amused at his thrashing about.
“Look,” she whispered, glancing down at the injury.
Link followed her gaze and found that all was left of his wound was a pool of dried blood. Like the injury never existed. After nearly a month at Baylor’s, you’d think magic would have lost its wow-factor by then. But he found that every new Spell he had learned or seen proved to be as mind-boggling as the first.
The Healer turned her back on Link and focused on the next student before he had a chance to say thank you.
Xavier was smiling to himself, a cigarette dangling out of his mouth like E. T.’s glowing finger. “Pain is definitely not a good look on you.”
“Neither is grey on you,” Link shot back, not being able to help himself.
Xavier looked down at his suit, blew a plume of smoke into the air, and then flashed a twisted smile. “Contrary to popular belief, the world isn’t all black and white, Hunter.”
Before Link could retort, Alex had come rushing into the Healing chamber and straight to his bedside. Her face was red and flushed, sweat dripping down her forehead as if she had run across the arena to see him. At first, Link thought she was going to congratulate him on his victory, but immediately he could tell something else was on her mind. She was chewing her bottom lip, her eyes dancing around the room in a panic. Link’s heartbeat quickened.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice strangely coarse.
“Right before your fight with Athuros . . . .” Alex trailed off, looked up at the ceiling, and then took a deep breath. “Daedrox fought before you.” Her eyes met his then, and he was shocked to find they were misty, filled with fear.
“He’s the serpent, Link. You were right all along. I should’ve known. We should have focused our att—”
“What? How do you know?” Link asked, sitting up in his bed. “How can you be so sure?”
The student with the broken bones let out another howl of agony, the sound echoing through the chamber. Could you suck it up, just for a few minutes?
“Because when he stepped out into the sandy arena, he was . . . ” Alex said, her bottom lip trembling, “He was wearing a full suit of armour.”
“And?” he said, confused as to what a full suit of armour had in relation to a serpent.
“His full helm was fashioned into the head of a cobra, Link.”
There’s my answer.
“And that’s not all,” Alex said, her voice breaking. “As soon as the match started he performed this advanced Spell.” She made a wavy motion with her hand. “Stones, grass and grains of dirt rose from the ground and formed into a giant serpent—”
Alex was interrupted by a distressed roar from the boy with the four Healers surrounding him. Link knew it was awful, but he wanted nothing more than to muffle his mouth with a pillow at that point.
“Formed a giant serpent,” Alex continued. “It wrapped itself around Daedrox’s opponent and constricted, L-L-Like he was a mouse it was trying to suffocate,” She pointed at the student who was writhing on his bed in agony, the source of all the noise. “H-He was the mouse. I should have listened to you at the river, Link. Daedrox is the serpent!”
Alex’s words weighed Link down as if gravity had just multiplied itself tenfold. He glanced over at the twin hearths, expecting them to have sizzled out. The chamber felt as if it had suddenly dropped to minus thirty degrees.
Link tried to look on the bright side: At least now they had a fair hunch of who the serpent was. Now they could focus on devising a plan to defeat him. That’s if there is one. Daedrox was near unbeatable in their Earthwielding class, and in Advanced Swordplay, there weren’t many that could stand toe-to-toe with him without looking like a bruised apple afterward. But as certain that Daedrox was the serpent as Link was, he needed a definitive answer from a certain somebody to quell his suspicions.
He rounded on Xavier. “Rather coincidental you just happened to pop up right before Alex came in, don’t you think?”
Xavier tipped his fedora hat up slightly and then scratched the top of his head. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, kid.”
“Is he your character?” he snapped. “Is Daedrox the serpent?”
Link spared a glance over at Alex who was waiting patiently, her lips pursed together. She knew the deal by then. Whenever Link spoke to Xavier, she stayed silent; when he had disappeared he’d relay what had been said to him.
“Hunter, my boy,” Xavier said, inspecting his fingernails, cigarette still dangling from his mouth. “You had your chance. But I’m afraid things have already gotten bleak.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, piping up.
“That boy over there,” Xavier said as he took a puff and inclined his head to the student with the broken bones, “you’re looking into Alex’s future. Winstell fights Daedrox next in round three. Never gambled a day in my life, but even I know a lopsided match when I see one. Your sister, Shannon, or whatever the unisex suit-wreckers name is, fights a student that has somehow weaselled his way through to the third round by sheer luck. If I had any money—” He emptied his pants pockets which were full of lint and strands of hair. “Which I don’t, I’d be putting it on that little pocket rocket sister of yours to win. Which means . . . ” Xavier blew cigarette smoke steadily out of his nose like a dragon, then cast Link a sidelong glance. “Your sister will be facing off against my character very, very soon. And I can guarantee you he won’t be taking the match lightly.”
Link’s gaze found Alex’s unsuspecting eyes at that moment. He pictured relaying the news to her, her crumbling into pieces, sobbing hysterically. She didn’t deserve this. She had gone through enough trauma than to have to face Xavier’s monstrosity Daedrox.
“Change it,” he told Xavier. “Change it. Make Daedrox lose to Winstell.”
“Tut-tut,” Xavier said. “Changing someone's destiny isn’t so straightforward, Hunter, my boy.”
“Change it,” he repeated. “I know you can. Hell, make me verse Daedrox if you want.”
“I can’t,” Xavier said, shaking his head like a stubborn child. “It’s already set in stone . . . like literally; the match fixture is already set in the stone. Didn’t you see it?”
“You created a character for goodness sakes, and you can control the weather whenever you damn well feel like it. Not to mention you created this entire world. So, don’t—”
“I never get why people say that.”
“Huh?”
“Not to mention—” Xavier said. “But then they go ahead and contradict themselves by saying the thing they weren’t supposed to.”
“Don’t pretend like this is out of your capabilities,” Link said, disregarding his attempt at changing the subject. “All I’m asking you is that you let me verse him. Please.”
Link added the last word on futilely. He didn’t care if he was begging. The thought of his little sister going up against someone that had to be over three times her body weight made him shudder. Better him than her.
“Admittedly, I had toyed with the idea of having you verse him, kid,” Xavier said, “but then my brilliant mind conjured up something better. I said to myself, I said, ‘Xavier, imagine how heart-wrenching it would be for Hunter watching his own little sister get terrorized by a two hundred and ninety-five pound Sasquatch-looking assassin. All the while knowing full well he could do nothing but watch on, completely powerless.’”
Xavier looked at Daedrox’s latest victim from across the chamber. The Healers were now trying to pour a bowl of thick, green broth down his throat.
“I just hope your sister is as fast a mouse as Speedy Gonzales for her bones’ sake, that is. Or else—” Xavier took the cigarette from his lips and snapped it in half, making a cracking sound as he did.