When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell.
Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may.
After all...I can't fix stupid.
Previously: When our hero went to check on Morphiophelius, he discovered a secret portal. Finding his mentor, Wendell met ‘The Librarian’, steward of The Great Library. A specific structure, built by the last hero, able to sit outside time itself.
You can get much further in life with a kind word and a club than a kind word alone.
“You ready?” Nat asked through the com-link.
You could hear Dax flexing his fingers by the popping sound in the speakers.. “Just let me at ‘em.”
Alhannah and I sat next to Nat at the computer console, watching the announcer’s countdown on the monitors.
“2…1…” the voice boomed, and the buzzer echoed throughout the arena. The Trench exploded with movement. Four of the five S.L.A.G.s immediately sprinted toward the center structure. The fifth, Nosedive, leaped straight into the air—its wings spreading wide as booster jets blasted flame and smoke, propelling it upward.
“Great,” Dax complained, “another flyer.”
“Just ignore him for now,” Nat counseled, fingers flying over the keyboard. “Cryo’s already working on cracking the database.” He glanced over at Alhannah, giving her a knowing grin. “We’ve learned a few things since your round.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Dax grunted, his heavy-duty machine mimicking the pumping action of his own legs, like locomotive pistons. “There’s only one pilot I want here…”
Alhannah leaned toward her mic. “Don’t get cocky, Dax. We're here to win…no picking and choosing fights. Darcy’s tougher than you think. Even at close range, he's dangerous.”
“Noted,” Dax replied dryly. Then his voice crackled back in concern. “Besides, looks like I have another problem to deal with first.”
The fans erupted in cheers as the giant, hot pink S.L.A.G. known as The Girl Next Door pulled a massive two-handed axe from a shoulder strap. With her other arm, she shot four small canisters from a wrist cannon, aiming them into the air toward Nosedive, who was arching overhead.
They exploded in a cluster—sparks spraying across the arena.
“He’s hit!” I shouted, pointing at the monitor. “Nosedive is going down!”
But Alhannah shook her head. “It takes more than a few concussion canisters to take out Dunkan. His S.L.A.G. is built for impact. Unlike his teammates, Nosedive can’t maintain flight. She wasted her ammo—he’s just using flight to create distance for his rifles.”
Sure enough, as soon as Nosedive hit the ground, its wings folded back neatly, and the machine rolled with a heavy clang. Without missing a beat, it flipped up onto its feet, sprinting toward the far side of the arena. I watched in surprise as what looked like a staff disconnected from its back and flipped forward over the S.L.A.G.’s shoulder.
I gasped.
It was a long-barreled rifle.
In a smooth, fluid motion, a thin scope clicked into place above the weapon’s barrel, and Nosedive dropped to one knee, instantly firing off a precise shot.
Metal fragments exploded from The Girl Next Door's axe as she stumbled backward. The blade shattered like glass, instantly reduced to an oversized club. Nosedive quickly fired again, but the female pilot was already dashing for cover, gripping her broken weapon as she disappeared behind the pillars of the central pergola.
Suddenly, a sub-screen appeared on the monitor, Cryo64’s blue face grinning brightly.
“Nathan, we have access to the arena’s controls. I've instituted a sub-matrix program to shield immediate attempts by other RAT teams trying to override us.”
Tapping the little smiling face on the screen, I chuckled. “How’d he get in there so fast?”
Nat typed furiously, eyes glued to his screen. “We learned from Alhannah’s round this isn’t just an offensive programming challenge. It’s a defensive battle, too. Programmers from each RAT team watch and log each other’s moves, trying to mirror or intercept your steps. You have to hide your tracks, plant landmines in their path…becoming an invisible wall in the source code.” He tapped a series of miniature screens, each splitting into columns. “These are the functions currently available to us in the Trench.”
Symbols appeared: pits, movable walls, flooring, netting, smoke screens, and other nasty surprises. I leaned in, scanning the monitors and various camera angles, searching for signs of trouble. The main camera spun quickly, zooming beneath the pergola and focusing on the far side of the arena.
My heart skipped. “Looks like Dax is already in trouble.”
A blue and gray S.L.A.G., looking like two cars smashed together, had intercepted the elf. Slightly taller than Turnpike, Beatdown’s armor was covered with dents, and it wielded two short-handled maces, swinging them wildly.
I watched anxiously as Turnpike tried to spin on its outer foot, rolling around the attacker—but Beatdown reversed its trajectory, slamming Dax’s S.L.A.G. squarely in the chest.
“ARGH!” Dax’s voice exploded through the com-link as the impact jolted him hard, his S.L.A.G. sliding backward across the ground.
“Roll!” Alhannah shouted into her mic.
“I got it, kiddo,” Dax snapped back.
Turnpike expertly flipped over its shoulder, smoothly rolling upright onto its feet. The fans cheered wildly. Irritated, the elf charged forward, bringing his weapons down in a fierce strike.
“Yeah?” Dax growled through gritted teeth, “Try this!”
With a powerful lunge, he swung both weapons downward to crush Beatdown’s head.
They never reached their target.
In a swift, unexpected motion, Beatdown dropped forward, rolling beneath Turnpike's jump, completely vanishing from Dax's view.
I could hear Dax’s confused voice crackle over the com-link, echoing my own panic. “Hey! Where’d he go?”
As the roll completed, Beatdown threw its feet forward in a vicious double kick, landing squarely against Turnpike’s chest.
I flinched at the sheer impact that rang through the arena.
Ouch!
The mobile cameras switched angles for the viewers, slowing the moment down, so you could see every ripple of force twisting through Dax’s S.L.A.G. Turnpike’s chest flipped backward, legs sailing overhead like a windmill until it slammed down face-first onto the floor.
“UNNNGHH!” Dax grunted, then went quiet…followed by a low moaning through the speakers.
“Dax?” Nat prodded, leaning into his mic. “Are you ok?”
But Beatdown was already lunging into the air, lining up for a crushing body slam.
“Roll, Dax—NOW!” Nat yelled, his voice cracking.
Turnpike clanked across the arena floor, barely rolling aside. Nat’s fingers were a blur on the keyboard. “Now Cryo!”
A panel in the ground right where Dax had been prone suddenly slid open, black liquid bubbling in the pit. Beatdown couldn’t stop mid-leap—its arms flailed out to the side—momentum carried it right in. The impact sent black goo splashing across the arena floor, some of it splattering onto Turnpike’s chest and arm.
“What is it?” I asked, leaning closer to the monitors as Beatdown struggled to climb out. It was stuck, the short-bodied machine clawing uselessly for traction.
Nat smirked, “Oil.” Then into the mic, “Bought you some time, Dax. Get up!”
The arena thundered with a metallic boom, one of Turnpike’s hands shattering on impact. The mace Dax had been holding bounced across the ground, ringing like a church bell.
“I’m hit!” Dax shouted, panic in his voice. “Sucker just blew my hand clean off!!”
Freaky and the TNT crew crowded closer to the controller desk, tools clattering as they scrambled for a better view of the damage.
Telly leaned forward, eyes wide. “That’s not right! You’ve got reenforced steel. I put it on m’self!”
“Tell that to whoever shot me!” Dax barked, his S.L.A.G. sprinting for cover behind the pergola.
Up above, the fans went wild, chanting, “DARCY! DARCY! DARCY! DARCY!”
Alhannah growled under her breath, “One guess.”
Alpha Fighter was calmly pulling another bullet from a wrist sheath, slotting it into the long-range rifle. Off to the side, Nosedive and The Girl Next Door were locked in close combat, fists swinging. Beatdown was still thrashing helplessly in the pit.
I pointed at the screens, frustrated. “No one’s even engaging Darcy! He’s just sitting there, picking Dax apart.”
Alhannah elbowed Nat. “Can’t you do something?”
He nodded, fingers working furiously.
A hidden panel opened behind Alpha Fighter and a slim pyro tube extended, aiming right for its back. Nat grinned like a cat. “Goodnight, Darcy.”
But just as the tube fired, Alpha Fighter rolled away. Flames shot out, spraying a wave of liquid fire across the floor, missing the sniper completely.
“What?” Nat gasped, looking like he might puke. “How did he know it…” He turned to Cryo, “Follow the code!”
“Scanning,” the little blue face responded calmly.
The cameras zoomed in on Darcy, sliding a fresh bullet into the rifle’s chamber. I studied the images, a chill crawling up my spine. Those rounds looked powerful enough to end the match in a blink. Which meant Dax couldn’t stay exposed for another second.
“Dax,” I yelled into the mic, “run to the fighting S.L.A.G.s!”
“What?” Dax’s voice crackled back, full of disbelief. “Are you nuts?”
“Listen,” I insisted, pointing at the screen like he could see me, “This isn’t about destroying a S.L.A.G.—it’s about surviving past the first two knockouts.” I looked over at Alhannah. “Right?”
She nodded once, determined.
“Then let’s see how badly Darcy wants you out,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “Use those other two as your—”
“Shields!” Dax finished for me, already catching on. “Smart, Wendell.” I could hear his breath huffing through the mic. “Here goes everything.”
Turnpike burst forward, one weapon swinging wide as it bolted for the brawl on the far side of the arena. The mace slammed against Alpha Fighter’s shoulder, nearly knocking the rifle loose.
“Almost there,” Nat panted, eyes fixed on the code streams. “Almost therrre…DIVE!”
Turnpike lunged and slid across the ground, right behind The Girl Next Door…just as a shot echoed through the arena. Pink-painted metal fragments exploded, the female pilot’s entire arm torn off at the shoulder, clanging to the floor.
Dax laughed, breathless. “I don’t think they even noticed I got behind 'em!”
I couldn’t help but grin. That was a solid move.
Stunned but not out, The Girl Next Door lifted her remaining arm and fired off four canisters in a high arc at Alpha Fighter. They exploded with a sharp boom, knocking the sniper S.L.A.G. back against the arena wall.
“I think you just started a whole new fight,” Alhannah cheered, pumping her fist.
Turnpike crawled backward, while Nosedive dropped to one knee, aiming a fresh shot. The bullet ripped straight through Darcy’s knee joint, dropping Alpha Fighter onto its face. Still, Darcy kept moving, reloading again.
But The Girl Next Door was already sprinting straight at the fallen sniper.
“What’s she doing?” I asked, confused. “She’s got two enemy's right behind her!”
Alhannah pointed quickly. “That’s not what she sees. Look at Beatdown. It looks like he’s out of the game, but really, he’s just stuck, not disqualified. I think she’s trying to finish Darcy before she’s taken out herself.”
Another shot rang out.
The Girl Next Door’s head vanished, the S.L.A.G. crumpling to the arena floor.
Alpha Fighter was struggling to reload, but Nosedive was already taking aim.
Dax’s voice came over the speakers, low and sure. “Can’t wait this out, kids. I got a chance to do something, so…”
“Dax, no—” Nat started, but it was too late.
Turnpike stood up and swung an arm around Nosedive’s head, its only working hand locking tight. With one stomp, it crushed the other pilot’s knee motor. Twisting at the waist, Turnpike wrenched hard—tearing Nosedive’s head clean off.
Nosedive’s machine collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
Dax laughed through the comm. “Ahhh, that felt good.”
“That’s kind of cheap,” I chided, folding my arms. “Letting Beatdown into the next round without having to actually fight like the rest of us.”
“Oh,” Dax grumbled, glancing over at me, “so he shoulda just hid behind the pilots getting shot at, right?”
“Uhhhhh.”
Alhannah rested her hand on the doorknob. “Beatdown did fight, Wendell, but the rules say you have to disable the S.L.A.G. to disqualify it.” She turned and gave Dax a quick once-over while he was licking his thumbs to smooth back his wiry eyebrows. “You ready?”
He beamed those yellow teeth of his. “Let the fame begin.”
The moment she swung open the door, a tidal wave of reporters flooded into the press room, snapping up the front rows like vultures to a carcass. Dax and I sat behind the long table, while Freak and the rest of the TNT crew took up defensive positions behind us. Shamas stood as stoic as a statue, arms crossed, planted just off to one side…but close enough to choke someone if they got too bold.
Nat, on the other hand, had made a quick exit before the press could mob him. He’d reminded us, in no uncertain terms, that the G.R.R. was his priority and he didn’t need this circus.
Alhannah was about to pull the door closed when someone resisted from the other side. A dainty hand with painted blue nails pushed it back open.
“Don’t forget us,” Rishima Geebler purred, smug as a cat. “If you want real news coverage.”
Alhannah smirked, all teeth. “That’s why we invited them.”
Cameras flashed.
Microphones with a rainbow of station logos sprouted in front of Dax like mushrooms.
I could already feel the sweat beading on my forehead. Even the smiley on my shirt seemed to gulp right along with me, its eyes blinking wide in terror. It was strange to me that no one really mentioned the animations on my shirt. You'd think that this uncontrollable magic 'error' I had to live with would draw more attention, especially among curious gnomes.
When I brought it up to Alhannah, she'd just chuckled. "They probably think it's a fun new technology. Someone out there is likely trying to figure out how to make a better version. Just let it go."
I leaned over to Dax and whispered, “You sure you want me to do this?”
He elbowed me in the ribs. “Absolutely. Alhannah’s right—they gotta know your face. You’re the leader of Steel and Stone now, kid. They’ll have to listen to you.” He nudged me again. "Act like a leader."
I took a breath and cleared my throat loud enough to snap the room quiet. All eyes turned to me at once, cameras flashing, recorders clicking on.
“Thank you all for…uh,…for coming,” I started, swallowing, “I mean, thank you for coming today.” I nodded stiffly, trying not to look terrified. “I’m Wendell Dipmier, leader of Steel and Stone.”
I heard a ripple of hushed voices across the crowd.
He’s the captain?
What about Alhannah? Wasn’t she running this team?
What makes this kid so special?
I don’t know, but we’d better find out!
I pressed forward, ignoring the noise. “Today was a significant victory, and we’re excited that Turnpike will advance to tier two of this season’s Trench Wars. So if any of you have questions for our pilot, Dax…” I froze a second. I wasn't sure what to say next.
Dax saw me hesitate and jumped in for the rescue. He stood, hands wide. “So, what do ya scoundrels wanna know?”
Hands flew up instantly, a forest of eager reporters. Dax pointed, “Yeah, you. Shoot.”
The female gnome grinned. “Gabby Gates, Weekly Setback. That was quite a show out there today, Dax. Did that work out the way you’d hoped?”
He barked a laugh, “Are you nuts!? I thought I was a goner today! If you didn’t notice, that psychopath pilot Darcy Dunnit was packing high-grade rounds that blew through steel like it was tissue paper. Took my reinforced hand clean off with one shot!” He scratched his stubbly pink face. “Go as expected? Hah! It couldn’t have gone more wrong. I was lucky to keep my skin.”
He pointed to the back. A pudgy gnome stood up, pad in hand.
“Luis Bumberblum, Titan Times,” he said. “You must know the Church won’t sit quietly with you naming a S.L.A.G. ‘Gnolaum.’ The Temple of Nothing is rallying for your team to be banned. Any comments?”
Freak leaned forward into his mic. “They’re serious? The Church wants to ban us from a sports competition?”
Nibbles giggled, “Maybe they own the copyright on the name.” She snickered, “Gonna slap us with a hammer of censorship.”
They all laughed.
Dax didn’t.
“No, I didn’t know we’d offended the Church,” he answered. “That’s sad to hear. That wasn’t our intention at all.”
The reporter pounced. “Then what was your intention?”
Dax glanced at me and then Alhannah, eyes darting around. “Uhhh…” He shrugged, “Next question.”
They all laughed.
Another voice rang out, “Typical pilot—ducking questions!”
More laughter.
Dax slammed a fist on the table, killing the mood in an instant.
“Watch it. I’ll smack any reporter who thinks we’re just like the other teams.” His voice was so cold, the room fell silent. “They’re in this for money, fame, the spotlight. You know it, same story every season. Right, ‘Hannah?”
“Exactly right,” she said.
Dax nodded sharply. “Well, we’re different. We ain’t fighting to get something.” His face lit up, fierce and true. “We’re fighting to give something back!”
Murmurs burst from the reporters, hands shot up again.
“What could you possibly give back?” someone demanded.
Dax stood in his chair, towering over them.
“Hope,” he said, like it was the only word that mattered. He swept a gaze over the stunned room, then back at us. “We’ve got fewer resources, less tech than the rest, but we’re still here because we got something worth fighting for. The people. Those who work day and night, keeping this city alive. They get ignored, buried, forgotten.” He clenched his jaw. “And that ain’t right.”
Alhannah leaned forward and tapped the table with a finger like a war drum. “We don’t have a corporate sponsor. We’re backed by the workers. The factory hands. The ones who keep the water running, the lights on, the furnaces warm.”
The reporters gasped.
Alhannah dropped the rough slang like a hammer. “The normals ignore them,” she spat. “This city lost its foundation. Its heart.” She slammed her fist down on the table so hard I jumped. “And we’re here to remind it!”
Dax stepped back down and sank into his chair. Linking his fingers across his chest, he sat back staring down the pack of word-wolves. “It ain’t the machines, the government, the religion or the corporations that keep this place alive,” he said. “It’s the people.”
One skinny reporter, mustache twitching, stood up slowly. “You realize, no matter how good your intentions are, there can only be one champion. Eventually, you’ll have to fight each other for that title.”
Dax and Alhannah went dead quiet.
I swallowed, leaned forward into the mic, and spoke calmly, “No more questions. Thank you all for coming.”
