Episode 1, Act 3 - Cadence

Let us scrape together what I did remember; American Football is played with two teams. They slam into each other, and try to carry a ball from one side of the field to the other. Okay. So far, so good. I let out another plume of smoke and rolled to the side, letting the Beater crash harmlessly into a wall. My ribs ached with every roll.

Now the Beater was... that's right, a quarterback. Their goal: to drive the ball into the end-zone: my skull. So, once he reaches me, he's going to smack down with his flail, and I'll join the other meat patties as a smear on the pavement. Worse(?) is that he has rules. If I followed the rules, the 'game' was fair. But if I broke the rules, he broke my bones. Penalty. Okay.

Which brings me back to point one: I didn't know the rules of the game. I didn't know how he expected me to play-- "GAP EXPOSED. BAD PLAY. DELAYED BLITZ." Shit. I made sure my back wasn't to any civilians, just brick walls. Then, I moved. I saw his flail swing as I shifted out of the impact zone. Brick went flying, exposing a hole wide enough to drive a sedan right through it.

I didn't know the rules, but I'd have to learn fast. I had a ladder at my disposal, supernatural strength and durability. That didn't stop the quarterback from breaking a few of my ribs; relying on my physical durability is out of the question.

I also didn't do much with the ladder. It had bent out of shape from the last few strikes against his leather skin, and was making dodging difficult. My arms and sides were sore from dragging it along with my rolls. I might have to toss it, but what else did I have?

I kept my eye on the Beater as he circled me. Sweat dripped down from my forehead, making a clean trail of unblemished skin against a canvas of black grime.

"ENOUGH VEERING," the Beater hissed and growled. "YOU ARE NOT TAKING ME SERIOUSLY." Maybe I'd be able to take you more seriously if you gave me a fucking moment? Give me a moment-- ah! I had it!

"Time out?" The words spilled from my lips, a hiss of gray smoke flowing out alongside them... his eyes narrowed, but he leaned back. He seemed to... respect my decision. Walking away from me, he let his flail tail behind him... dragging it through the earth and making lines in the pavement.

"HALF TIME. WE DO THIS SERIOUSLY," the Beater grunted, before moving out of earshot. Maybe this was my time to run, regroup, plan this differently. I could take advantage of his honor, make my way out of here, forget any of this ever happened...

"You got lucky, kid. He's an honorable Malice." The toaster made herself known again. Where the hell was she when the Beater was trying to flip my insides to outsides?

"Snack break," Malty mumbled. Looking at the slime strangely, she coughed out a few feathers. I felt a shudder of revulsion run up my spine. I had a sinking feeling I was the bird she just ate. "I needed a bit more energy to give you this, kid!" With a belch, a wet stick landed by my dirty sneakers. It was smooth and made of an aged wood, with golden filament lining the edges.

"It's a magic wand. Seriously. You can toss that ladder, it'll just slow you down." Without hesitation, I dropped the ladder. Rolling around with it was starting to make my shoulders ache, and it wasn't much use against a man stronger than steel. "I knew you'd need something that packs a punch after seeing that poor display."

Poor display? I was fighting for my life. "Seriously, how did you live this long? Are you just lucky, kid? I've killed plenty of Malice far more dangerous than that sack of bricks. I didn't need to bumble around and dodge attacks for half a Scene. You need help if you're going to survive."

Hence, the wand. "Yep. The wand. Listen, there are many things that will betray you in this world: your wife, your family, the government. There is one thing that will never betray you; your wand will always be on your side."

I spent a few moments staring at the wooden implement. The statement seems a bit hyperbolic. It's just a stick.

The toaster seemed flabbergasted, turning a violent and sicky shade of green. She's at her best when she's that color: honeydew. You just need to reach deep and take a scoop, okay, Olivia? It means she's disgusted, but she's delicious.

=-⏱️-=

"Can I ask why we keep advocating for people to eat me?" The jar speaks up. I try to ignore her, but her gooey lips don't stop flapping. "I have way more mass than my appearance suggests. You won't use me up, if that's your plan. And if you just wanted to eat me, I have better op--"

I shake the jar and don't stop shaking it. Sometimes, Olivia, you have to give your mascot hard lessons. You can't just keep feeding her when she does good! She'll think you're praising her, walk all over you. You need to really firmly shake her, so she stops.

"I think she's vomiting inside her jar. Maybe it's a little too much?" It's just a trick of the light, Olivia. She can't vomit, she's just spilling out projectile slime to earn your pity. "Okay, but she looks really sick." She is sick. Where were we?

=-⏱️-=

"It isn't just a stick. It's your one stop shop for all your murderous needs. Your wand is a compact artifact that can take all kinds of shapes. Bows, swords, guns, grenades, paddleballs--" Paddleballs? "--she's signed with Red Dragon, don't ask. We do not talk about Red Dragon." I feel like we should be talking about Red Dragon right now. "You do not. Plus, we're on a time limit here. Burly's almost done with his art project."

I give the Bronx Beater a glance. He's been dragging and rearranging cars, sealing off my exits by jamming them into alleyways. The kids from earlier? Shit. The kids from earlier are still in the car he's headed for next. Playtime is over.

"Wait! Your wand! You need to-- just do what comes naturally!" I hear Malty call out behind me. Yeah. Do what's natural to me. I clung to her words, and blew out a whistle of steam. The Beater stopped his rampage. Letting the car in his hand drop, he met me in the center of the street, and kneeled. I kneeled to match. We locked eyes, and I sank deeper and deeper inside. My nature; I saw my image reflected in his eyes.

A grimy, twelve year old girl; too scrawny to play in sports, too chubby to be a popular kid. Blue hair long since dulled by smoke, nails clutching tightly into her palm, tight enough to draw blood. Inside his eyes, I could see my own. They lacked something crucial. Fear.

Nature... nature means a lot of things, Olivia. Your wand is a manifestation of your deepest nature. It is a manifestation of your outlook on reality. It is the way you relate to others in your life. A wand is deeply personal to the magical warrior who creates it, but you can learn a lot from seeing a warrior's wand. The shape it takes, the material it uses. The method by which the ball operates.

A person who holds a gun likes to keep distant from others, family, friends. They treat violence as impersonal. Someone with a bow? Violence is sacred, a ritual that must be observed carefully, or the kill loses meaning; the hunt is befouled. A switchblade? You're talking about someone who takes fights personally, who has their whole personality on a hair trigger.

The shape of your weapon can change based on trauma alone. I've seen a woman lose her blade to despair. In her final moments, she gripped a fragile katana. The meaning of a katana is to kill Malice, and then yourself. The weapon that we wield is not final, but it is us. We wield our outlook to devastating effect; that is the nature of your wand.

My wand was... pocket sand. And damn, was it effective. I could hear his screams as the shards of silvered glass tore apart his eyes, but I didn't have time for that. I gripped the ball of his flail firmly, and tugged. I heard the links in the chain snap, and then I booked it. My body stumbled as I started running. I didn't know where I was headed, but my destination was past him. Away from the kids, away from the center of the street. Away. Maybe I could reach the opposite side of this arena. Do a 'touchdown', or something like that.

I was naive. You cheat against a Malice? They cheat back. I could hear his roar through bloody tears in his helmet. "CHEATER! PENALTY YARDAGE! ROUGHING THE PASSER!" I tried to run forward, ignoring his next words, but I couldn't see him from my point of view. I could only hear the rumble, feel the attack coming from behind. I couldn't look back now, not when I was so close. I had no idea when he'd be on me, dealing his next penalty blow-- unless. Oh. Oh, crap. Why didn't I think of that earlier?

Olivia. Olivia, it's important you understand. Your wand is a reflection of your nature. You won't understand. It's fine. You could never see me like this, but... 

My wand was a bag of sand because I like to cheat.

=-🏈-=

CHEATERS. CHEATERS NEVER PROSPER. THAT'S HOW IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE. THAT'S HOW IT IS, HOW IT IS. SO WHY? WHY ARE WE LOSING? WHAT AM I DOING WRONG? WE'RE MAKING ALL THE RIGHT PLAYS... TONY IS DOWN. JEFF IS DOWN. ALL OUR STAR PLAYERS ARE BENCHED. THEY'RE COMING FOR ME NEXT. GOD. THEY'RE COMING FOR ME NEXT. THEY'RE GOING TO HIT ME. GOING TO HIT ME. PERSONAL FOUL. WE'RE SO CLOSE, WE'RE ALMOST THERE. I JUST NEED ONE MORE TOUCHDOWN. ONE MORE TOUCHDOWN... COACH.

(THIS CONSPIRACY RUNS DEEP. COLLUDING REFEREES. JUST A FEW INJURIES AND YOU THINK THEY'RE CHEATING? DO YOU ALWAYS JUMP TO THE WORST CONCLUSIONS?) SHE MOVES, SHE MOVES LIKE HER LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. SHE TRIES NOT TO BE SEEN. SHE CANNOT HELP BUT BE SEEN, BECAUSE IT IS HER NATURE TO BE PERCEIVED, TO TAKE THE SPOTLIGHT, TO BE A STAR. SHE IS DIVINE. 

SHE'S RIGHT THERE. THE STAR QUARTERBACK. SHE'S CHEATING AS ALWAYS. FUCK. FUCK. THIS WAS OUR BOWL TO WIN. HOW COME SHE HAS THE BALL? HOW COME SHE HAS THE GODDAMN BALL? I HAD THE BALL. IT WAS MINE. MINE. THE TOUCHDOWN WAS RIGHT THERE. I WAS INCHES FROM THE TOUCHDOWN. SHE KICKED IT FROM MY HANDS! KICKED IT FROM MY HANDS!

(TORE IT FROM YOUR FLAIL. PLAYED THE GAME FAIR. NO RULES, NO RULES. POCKET SAND. I KNOW THERE'S NO RULES. I CAN SEE THAT NOW. I CAN SEE IT.) SHE SEEMS CONFIDENT, BUT SHE HAS NO IDEA WHAT SHE'S DONE. IS THIS THE RIGHT MOVE? SHE CAN'T TELL. BUT THERE'S ONE THING SHE CAN'T STAND. THE EXCUSES. CONSTANT EXCUSES.

THAT CAN'T BE LEGAL. PENALTY. PENALTY. PENALTY. WHY WON'T ANYONE LISTEN? THE REFEREE? SHE'S ON HER SIDE. THEY PAID OFF THE REFEREE. THERE'S NO WAY! FIRE! FIRE! YOU CAN SALVAGE THIS! EVERYONE IS DEPENDING ON YOU TO SALVAGE THIS! WE JUST NEED ONE TOUCHDOWN! WE NEED ONE TOUCHDOWN, COACH! JUST WATCH ME! JUST WATCH ME!

(I'M WATCHING. BUT THERE'S NOBODY ELSE. THE SUPER BOWL IS OVER, IT'S OVER. THERE'S NO WINNING NOW. THERE'S NO COMING BACK.) HER EYES ARE CLOSED, BUT SHE MOVES LIKE THEY ARE OPEN. SAND TRAILS FROM BETWEEN HER FINGERS, READY TO STRIKE. YOU'LL HAVE TO TAKE A DIFFERENT ROUTE.

SHE PLAYS DIRTY. I'LL PLAY DIRTY. I'LL GRAB HER LEG. DEEP COMEBACK. GO FORWARD, I'LL SWEEP HER ON THE LEFT. I JUST NEED TO-- WHAT? WHY IS SHE RUNNING THAT WAY? WHY IS SHE RUNNING RIGHT? I'M TURNING LEFT, SHE-- NO!

(GIVE UP. JUST DROP. I HAVE YOUR PLAYBOOK. I KNOW YOUR EVERY MOVE.) JUST LUCK. ONCE IS A FLUKE. TWICE IS A PATTERN. NO. A FLUKE. THAT IS HOW HER SCRAWNY BODY STAYS AHEAD, MISSES MY NEXT MOVE. AND THE NEXT.

SHE'S ADVANCING. GO, GO! I CAN CUT HER OFF. I JUST NEED TO TWIST AT THE RIGHT ANGLE, JUST NEED TO INTERCEPT! NO! STOP! STOP! YOU CAN'T SWITCH EARLY! THAT'S NOT THE RIGHT WAY! YOU SAW ME COMING YOUR WAY, WHY DID YOU COME CLOSER? WHY? I NEED YOU TO GO STRAIGHT! STRAIGHT!

(STOP. STOP. YOU'RE HURTING YOURSELF. PERSONAL FOUL.) SHE MOVES NIMBLY. HER BODY SEEMS TO ANTICIPATE MY ACTIONS.

I DON'T UNDERSTAND! I DON'T UNDERSTAND! SHE KNOWS MY EVERY MOVE. I WATCH HER DART LEFT WHEN I NEED HER TO DART RIGHT, I NEED HER TO GO STRAIGHT, SHE BENDS. TO GO FORWARD, SHE DOUBLES BACK. SHE'S... CHEATING! CHEATING! CHEATING...

"What the hell was all this work for?" A PLUME OF GREY ESCAPES FROM HER LIPS. A CLEAR SIGN SHE IS DOPING.

"I WORK HARD SO I CAN WIN, DIVINITY! THE FINAL KICK WILL BE MINE. THERE ARE SECONDS LEFT ON YOUR CLOCK." SHE DOESN'T UNDERSTAND.

"No, fuckwit. There's no time left. I've won." SHE IS PANTING HEAVILY. SHE HOLDS THE BLOODY BALL IN HER HAND. SHE STANDS PAST THE YARD LINE. SHE'S IN THE ENDZONE. IN THE ENDZONE.

"NO... IT IS NOT POSSIBLE... I... I CAN STILL WIN THIS GAME--"

"NO!" THE STAR QUARTERBACK SCREAMS. MY MUSCLES QUIVER... SOMETHING IS WRONG. "You can't win this game! You kept trying to push yourself, you kept trying to win, but you can't. You lost, hours ago. You lost because the other team tried hard and you just couldn't accept it. You lost because you can't personally OWN UP TO YOUR SHIT!"

HER SCREAMS GIVE ME PAUSE. I TRY TO COVER MY EARS. SHE'S DEMORALIZING ME. IT'S A TRICK, IT'S A TRICK!

"What do you think all of this was for? Everyone pinning their hopes and dreams on you? Your team, your coach, your fans? Do you think that they want to cheer for you because you win? Are you brain damaged? I don't know why I'm asking. You're clearly touched in the head, Malice!"

SHE MAKES RUDE GESTURES. THIS IS A FOUL, THIS IS A FOUL!

"They cheered for you because you were their hero, you inspired them!" SHE TAKES IT PERSONALLY. WHY?

MORE GRAY SMOKE SPILLS OUT! THOSE DRUGS. THEY LOOK LIKE THEY HURT. STOP! AH. YOU CAN'T DO DRUGS. THEY'RE BAD FOR YOU, THEY'RE BAD.

"A hero doesn't carve their way through a stadium full of people! Doesn't splatter people playing a fucking GAME with them! A game you could have tried again next year, or the year after that! But you ruined EVERYTHING!"

NO NO NO NO NO NO

"I think... Nobody cheated." SHE POINTS THE BALL AT ME.

NO NO NO NO NO NO

"I think you're just a bad sport." SHE MEASURES THE DISTANCE.

NO NO NO NO NO (YES)

(SHE SETS THE BALL DOWN.

SHE MAKES A FIELD GOAL)

THROUGH MY HEAD.

=-🏈-=

Olivia's eyes are sparkling. Predictably, she's torn the worst from this story. Twisted it into a tale of valor, instead of a broken child bullying a man to death; twisting his mind into a pretzel and breaking his neck in his moment of weakness. Really, it's such a show-off way to deal with Malice. Most Malice break when you hit them hard enough. I don't even bother empathizing with the weakest strains.

It might grant them solace, but it's not my job to grant them a better afterlife. It's my job to exterminate them, as quickly as I can, to remove them from the equation. To save lives. Every moment I spend telling a weak Malice the ways in which they are wrong is another passerby put in the line of danger. For those kinds of threats, brutal force does the job much better.

"You really used to use pocket sand as a weapon? That's not what you use now, though." Her eyes stared deep into my soul... eugh. I hate it. That innocent gaze.

"She used to be a number of things," Malty spoke up from her jar. "She grew out of the pocket sand pretty quickly. She's much more proficient with her wand now." I glare at the jar, signaling for it to be silent. She doesn't need to know about any of that. Sure enough, when I look back at Olivia, she has worry plastered across her mousey face.

"Will I grow out of my [Historia Record]?" Olivia's concern spills out through the waver in her voice. I reach out to hold her. To embrace her tightly; not to reassure my student, but to reassure me. Don't worry, Olivia. In the short time I have known you, I have come to understand you are pure. Innocent.

This is my solemn vow as the world's strongest Magical Warrior...

I will never let anyone take that from you.

No matter what it costs, I'll protect that smile.

FernGilly

I lied. I can't help myself. 3/2 chapters this week, and the finale of Episode 1!!! I'm on pins and needles, I was up all night writing this chapter and one other.

UPDATE: Not a lot of editing for this chapter! Mostly cleaning up the flow of things, a few transitions. I think it feels nicer.

REAL TALK! I just convinced one of my proofreaders, Orlon, to join Scribblehub! They're an amazing writer, and they're a big part of why this story flows as well as it does. Definitely pile into their stories-- a lot of my writing habits were picked up playing with them!

Ode to Fallen Angels is great, there's queer themes, discussions on religion, characters struggling with gender identity and DEMIHUMANS! I can't wait to see how the protagonists develop.

If you like my work, check me out on Twitter! I'm only marginally more wild than the things I write!

Interested in learning more about the Neverlands? You can visit me and ask all the questions you like at my vtuber Discord! You can catch me on Twitch and Youtube. I'm not streaming at the moment, because I've been writing like crazy-- something like 100 pages in the last three weeks? It would make my day if you could follow me on Youtube, though. ;w; I'm still not at that fabled 100 subscriber mark...