Page 104 of The Fake Divination Offense
Marlow might be close by, but she doesn’t have magic to soften my fall; and Aaron and his wizard clearly aren’t close enough, because I go downhard.
My pads and helmet absorb most of the impact, but I still crash to the street and skid across the pavement, only coming to a stop when I slam against the curb.
Pain streaks out from my shoulder, radiates in dizzying flares up my neck.
For the briefest of seconds, I’m at a different game. A different field layout. But the same assholes are targeting me, only they wereon my team then. They saw the opposition readying an attack, and instead of defending me, they grinned and walked away.
No.
Not this time.
Trembling, my shoulder on fire, I drag myself to my feet.
By the time I’m standing, another Chimera has Marlow pinned to a wall. Aaron and his wizard are on the ground, held at bay by Naell and four more Chimera defensive tanks—too many to make sense for any play.
A camera’s on us. Did it catch what Naell did? Will the refs see? Not that it matters; he didn’t do anything illegal. Just wasteful since Marlow and I didn’t even have the fucking ball, but I can see our standoff on one of the screens. Can see me holding my useless arm to my chest, jaw thrust forward, face red and furious behind my face mask.
The camera cuts to Bel with the cheerleaders. His focus is lifted, presumably looking at a screen, seeing me, injured. He has a hand to his mouth and his eyes are wide with fear.
I linger on that shot of him. I should be looking at Naell and the Chimeras.
Bel, on the screen, is talking with another cheerleader, who wraps her arm around him and tries to comfort him, but he’s shaking his head and clearly asking,What happened? What happened?
A whistle trills. Somewhere on the field, the ball’s gone out of play.
At the edge of my awareness, most of the Chimeras file off the street to reset for the next play, casting smug glowers back at us.
Marlow heaves after them, retribution on her face, but Aaron catches her around the waist.
“Stop, Marlow!” I shout and sign—or try to, with one good arm. “They’re not worth it.”
Marlow scowls, and Naell, who lingered, barks a disgusted laugh.
“Stopping your teammate from getting revenge?” he snarls. “How far you’ve fallen. You’re a gods-damned embarrassment,Monroe. Can’t believe they’re usingyouas my god’s poster child. You’re acoward.”
Naell taps the emblem on his uniform. The one that matches mine, an axe in a stone.
His shoulders lift to his ears and his hands are fisted like he expects me to attack. Like all this was to get me to redeem myself somehow, or maybe to prove I’m weak.
Months ago—hell,weeksago—this confrontation would’ve been shattering. Yes, I am weak; because no, I’m not going to attack, so everything that’s said about me is true.Weak, traitor, embarrassment, coward—it’s all true.
But now?
Naell’s right to be offended that I claim to represent his god, because Idon’t. Urzoth’s a tool I’m using to secure the thing in my life that makes metrulystrong.
The pain in my shoulder is intensifying, stars speckling across my vision, but I smile at Naell almost pleasantly. Exhaustedly, more like; I was done with this attitude, this prejudice, withUrzotha long time ago.
A barrage of whistles blow. Refs descend on us, forcing us off the field.
Aaron comes over and helps me away while Marlow signs violently at Naell, enough cursing that a ref calls a penalty on her. She reels it in with a frustrated groan and marches off, fuming.
Naell watches me go, his wound spring of challenge releasing in confusion when I don’t react.
The pain from my shoulder sinks into nausea and dizziness, but I fight to stay coherent as Aaron helps me to the sidelines. Phei fusses over me, making me down healing potions that take the edge off, casting spells to find broken bones or torn muscle.
“Dislocated?” Coach Riprak clarifies.
Phei’s flower-petal form flickers in a pantomime of a nod.
