Page 37 of The Bonding Games: Part 1

I’m in the most horrific pain I’ve ever experienced for a handful of precious seconds, even if it does feel duller than I’d expect it to when I’m certain one or two bones are broken—until an odd tingling sensation that has my stomach twisting writhes through the aching bones inside of me.

And then I’m as good as new.

I don’t have time to linger on the phenomenon or wonder what percentage I’m now on as I force myself back into the mayhem before me, my thinner and weaker body nowhere near enough to damage our opponent, and only half as effective when I throw punches or slash my daggers compared to the other four men I’ve found myself working with.

A few times, I think I see the Champion stumble where she moves her body at the speed of light between us, but I don’t know if that’s because we’ve made progress or because of something else.

Or maybe I’m just imagining it all, and it’s wishful thinking, begging her to just falter long enough to give us a true chance as living.

“Three minutes remaining.”

“Dammit, Havoc! Stop playing hard to get! You’re mine!”

Player 4 loses four fingers for that.

“Oh—! You naughty, naughty girl . . .”

He’s definitely insane, but at least he’s on our side.

For now.

“I am going to kill you all,” Ezla hisses, and that robotic-like voice as much as the words have a petrified whimper getting lodged in my throat.

“I’m going to spank you when my fingers grow back, baby. And you’ll love it—”

Smack! Smack!

The two hard punches in quick succession have him close to falling on his ass even though he’s so much bigger than her.

In the same second, she’s spinning to block the sword Scotty’s manifested, her red energy clashing with his green, sparks flying. The unique buzz and high clang of the collision rings in my ears.

“Someone just bloody grab her!” Player 17 shouts.

Tiger ducks to avoid a luminous crimson blade but is launched backwards with a cry when Ezla’s unforgiving kick connects with his chest instead. “We’re trying!” he bellows from where he’s landed harshly a handful of feet away, grimacing as he struggles to get back up.

“Well, try harder!”

“Two minutes remaining.”

“Shit— Wait!” Scotty’s eyes are wide with realisation. “The chains! Use your chains!”

“Kinky, I like it.” Player 4 grins salaciously as one of his armoury sticks’ Avri reforms from a blade into a long chain that dangles from the six-inch baton. “You’ll look so pretty all bound and ready for me.”

Trying to ignore his lewd comments, I copy his actions, relieved when a lime-coloured chain clanks against the ground. And after a vicious swipe of Ezla’s blade that splits Scotty’s abdomen open, revealing hordes of dark green Avri pixels that hurry to close the wound after he yells out, the moment strikes:

The Bonding Games Champion, who’s never messed up, not once, in any of her previous Games over the years . . . she staggers.

And we move.

Player 4’s chain meets her first, the force swinging the length of it around her chest and upper arms, just below the ‘100’ on each.

Then Tiger’s is wrapping around her waist, grabbing onto her forearms in the process and crushing them tightly to her sides.

But she doesn’t give up that easily. And I almost start to think that this is it, that it’s over and we’ve lost our chance, when she uses Player 4’s barrel chest as a board to lean her back on while her feet kick out savagely.

Until my hand arcs down of its own accord, and my chain captures those long legs with a finalising clang before they can meet their mark and do Scotty any more damage.

A robotically modified scream of pure, destructive rage shakes The Dome.