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: Wendell's qualifying round went better than…ANYONE expected. His prowess and talent helped him sidestep an assassination attempt. Thing is, he wasn't sure it was to take out the Gnolaum…or both the Gnolaum AND its pilot.
Chapter 56
You’re not paranoid about people trying to kill you
…when there’s actually people trying to kill you.
“I can’t believe you pulled that off!” Dax cheered, smacking me on the arm so hard I winced. “That was amazin’, kid!”
I smirked and shrugged. “Thanks.”
“Amazing is right,” Alhannah added, slugging me in the other arm. “And completely unexpected. Looks like we underestimated you, kiddo.”
"Well, you're also underestimating my pain tolerance. Please stop punching me."
They both laughed. I was serious, though.
They hit hard.
Shamas led us through the winding maze from the S.L.A.G. pit toward the conference room. He seemed overly nervous. As one of the top bodyguards in his field…I mean, even Alhannah gave him complete respect, and she takes down Vallen…Shamas was more nervous than usual. He was checking behind us constantly and slowing everyone down as we approached each corner.
Should I be nervous also? Apparently, as a whole, gnomes are deeply into their religion, even if they're not churchgoers. My using a revered name like Gnolaum in a sports event wasn't only frowned upon; it was causing conflict throughout the districts. There was even an indie gnome rock band called Gear Girls, who wrote some songs for Alhannah, our team, and even one for me.
They recently got sued by the Church of TGII. News stations called it 'Public Blasphemy'.
I mean, was that even a thing?!
Alhannah put her hand against my chest. Shamas peered cautiously around each edge, waving us forward only when satisfied it was clear. No one else noticed, caught up in the excitement of my win.
Well, no one except Alhannah.
Nibbles and Nat had volunteered to bring the transport around back. Nat was still determined to avoid any interaction with reporters, and I didn’t blame him.
When we reached the conference room, it was packed wall-to-wall with reporters already clamoring for interviews. They shouted questions, pressed forward eagerly, and tried to snap photos over each other’s shoulders. I quickly learned it wasn’t common for every pilot on a team to advance to the next tier—especially when two of them were rookies.
Apparently, it was also the first time in Trench history that the Brothers Trench, investors of this sport, had been knocked out in the very first round.
I stuck close to Dax, and Shamas as we squeezed through the crowd toward the raised platform. Camera flashes exploded around us like fireworks. The reporters shoved each other relentlessly, each desperate for an exclusive scoop to feed back to their employers.
Alhannah and Dax took their places beside me, resting their hands lightly on the table. I swallowed hard, suddenly aware that every eye in the room was now focused entirely on me—the unknown pilot calling himself the Gnolaum.
“Let’s make this count,” Alhannah whispered, nudging me with a huge, approving…and uncomfortably sarcastic smile. “It’s all yours,…Gnolaum.”
Gulp.
Hands shot up everywhere, and the questions came pouring in.
“Well, Dream Date definitely kept me on my toes with those whips,” I answered the first reporter. “But when Hook got loose, I realized those cables were attached—part of her S.L.A.G., I mean. Once I noticed that, I figured I had a shot at binding her up.”
Without thinking, I gripped my right forearm, reliving the tension. “You know, just like she bound up my sword arm.”
The reporters leaned forward eagerly.
“So when Hook attacked, I decided I needed a bigger shield.” I chuckled nervously. It had been a long shot, but I kept that little detail to myself. “She couldn’t move. I was banking on the spikes Freak and the TNT crew installed on my S.L.A.G. to keep her trapped.” I gave Freak an appreciative nod, adding, “It was a brilliant invention by Freak and the TNT team. Worked like a charm. That's what you get when you have the support of the best RAT crew in the league.”
Alhannah stepped lightly onto my foot. "Well said, smoothie," she whispered.
Another reporter interrupted, brushing her blonde curls aside. “But what about King’s Jester? Throwing your shield at him was an incredible risk, wasn’t it?”
Huh.
I hadn't really thought about that until just now…when she mentioned it.
The moves I made had all been balanced on taking out King's Jester, and I honestly had no idea if any moves I'd rehearsed in my mind would even work!
What was I even thinking?
I threw my head back and laughed. The motion and sound helped me relax a bit. “Yeah, that was crazy, risky…and completely unexpected.”
“It was?” the reporter said, stunned. “You mean that wasn’t dominant skill and expert timing on your part?”
“Well, I practiced a lot,” I admitted, shrugging sheepishly, “but honestly, at that moment, I figured I had nothing to lose by trying something a little crazy. I was desperate.”
The reporters immediately began whispering among themselves, scribbling furiously in their notepads while cameras zoomed in on my face. I smiled, waving awkwardly at them.
This wasn’t so bad, I realized. For the first time I could remember, I was actually…popular. Gnomes, at least, thought I was something special. That hadn’t happened since I won the 2020 county belching contest, and honestly, piloting a twenty-foot robot was way cooler than using a can of soda to manipulate my diaphragm and stomach muscles. The games were definitely more fun than I expected.
I blinked into the camera flashes, smiling again. It felt good to be the center of attention, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy it.
…until something near the back of the room caught my eye.
Four gnomes, all male, dressed identically in dark suits and thin silver ties, slipped quietly through the rear door. They immediately spread out into the crowd, moving methodically.
Tha-THUMP-THUMP.
Tha-THUMP-THUMP.
Oh boy.
Each of the gnomes had slicked-back dark hair and wore mirrored sunglasses, their heads slowly turning until all four pairs of lenses were staring directly at me.
My smile vanished.
Heart racing, I tapped Alhannah’s hand urgently, nodding toward the closest suit as he quietly pushed his way toward us.
“I see him,” she whispered, eyes narrowing. She glanced quickly at Shamas and tilted her head toward the approaching threat.
Shamas nodded once and stepped silently into the crowd.
“Last question!” Alhannah called out suddenly, regaining control of the room. She pointed at a young female gnome standing on a chair in the center of the crowd. “You in the blue suit.”
The reporter tapped her cameraman’s shoulder eagerly and called out, “Glenna DeMile, with the Weekly Voice. Have you considered the feelings of the Church?” She pointed her pen directly at me. “Using the name of Gnolaum has caused quite a stir among the religious faction. Aren’t you worried there might be a backlash from Holy leaders or worshipers?”
Alhannah tilted her head slightly, meeting the reporter’s stare. Her green eyes narrowed beneath her curved brows, leaving her pupils shadowed in the overhead lighting. “What kind of backlash would that be, Ms. DeMile? Denied access to cathedrals on worship day? Disfellowship? Perhaps being labeled a heretic?” Her grin twisted sourly, voice dripping sarcasm. “Or maybe they’ll just charge me more money to get into the Halls of TGII!”
Half of the reporters gasped aloud at her blatant sacrilege.
“Hey,” I heard Telly hiss from behind me, “you shouldn’t talk like that, Ms. Luckyfeller. It’s not…proper.”
Freak just shook his head at the tall mechanic, and Telly immediately sank back into his chair with a disappointed frown.
Alhannah stood up and tapped her finger on the table, leaning toward the reporters with a determined look. “I have no desire to knock anyone’s beliefs—think and believe whatever you like—but I won’t let anyone else dictate mine. Steel and Stone fights for the people, not the Church.” Her eyes flickered briefly toward Shamas, who was rapidly closing in on the black-suited stranger. “If you read your history carefully, Ms. DeMile, you’ll discover that the actual Gnolaum fought for the people too—not for any religious organization.” She placed her hand on my shoulder absentmindedly, causing my cheeks to flush slightly. “Because every gnome had value to him, especially the poor and downtrodden.”
Across the room, Shamas stopped cold. He stood facing one of the dark-suited gnomes, hands hanging at his sides. The two stared at each other with a wide-legged stance, like an old-fashioned standoff. The reporters seemed to sense something was wrong and pivoted their heads, the room’s attention shifting completely from the interview to the mysterious confrontation unfolding before them.
“Time to leave,” growled Dax, quickly rising to his feet.
I never saw the first move clearly.
All I saw was Shamas dropping from view—as though the floor had swallowed him whole—and the suited gnome flipping up into the air. He arched backward and landed hard on his face and stomach.
Reporters gasped, and cameras flashed frantically.
“Go!” Shamas shouted, spinning back to his feet from his sweep kick. The media surged toward the fight, pushing and shoving each other, blocking the other three suited gnomes from advancing.
But the suits didn't give up. They started violently knocking reporters aside, grabbing faces and hurling gnomes out of their path as they fought toward the table.
Well, THAT'S rude.
“Move!” Alhannah snapped at me. She grabbed my collar and dragged me toward the door. She looked back at Freak. “Cover the door—give us as much time as you can. We’ll meet you in the parking garage.”
Freak nodded immediately, and Tumbler grinned, pulling a greasy wrench from his overalls pocket, looking much too eager to put it to use.
I stumbled behind Alhannah, almost tripping over my own feet. “Wait! What about Shamas?” The smiley face on my shirt looked as panicked as I felt.
“He can take care of himself,” she answered sharply, shoving open the door. She barked at Dax, “We can’t risk going out into the open. The fans are swarming outside, and more goons might be waiting. We don’t know who they are or where they might be hiding. We need to lie low and wait until Shamas finds us.” She gave me a worried glance. “We have to keep you safe.”
Behind us, a loud crash erupted from the conference room, followed by angry shouting and a heavy metallic thud against the door.
“Go, go, go,” Dax muttered, pushing us forward. We rushed down the hallway, Dax peeking around each corner cautiously. My heart thudded painfully in my chest. This hallway is a death trap, I thought, trying to push down the rising panic.
Being the center of attention suddenly didn’t seem so great anymore.
After several tense turns, left, left, then a quick right, up a winding flight of stairs, and two more lefts, Dax slammed a service door open. We stepped into a dim hallway, damp and lined with huge pipes along the low ceiling.
Alhannah panted. “I think the parking garage is just beyond this wall.”
Dax pressed an ear against the cinderblock wall, listening carefully. “I can hear engines rumbling.”
Voices echoed from farther down the hall, growing louder. “I thought it was the best fight yet!” said one voice enthusiastically.
“So true, dude. So very true,” answered another.
“Quick, hide!” Alhannah hissed.
My head whipped around frantically. There wasn’t anywhere obvious to go. “Where?” I squeaked.
Dax grabbed the handle of a small metal door and yanked it open. It swung open with a rusty groan, releasing a pungent odor that immediately made me gag.
“It smells!” I complained, recoiling and covering my mouth and nose.
Dax grabbed a fistful of my jumpsuit and roughly shoved me inside. “It smells fine! Now shut up and hurry!”
My eyes instantly watered from the sour mold stench overwhelming me. I gagged again. Coming from a guy who eats rotten fish, I thought, disgusted.
Alhannah leaned close and whispered, “Don’t worry, we’ll be right here. Just stay quiet!” The door slammed shut, plunging me into darkness. I knelt forward and peeked through the vent slats of the door.
Outside, I heard muffled footsteps, then silence. Alhannah and Dax must have hidden themselves above the pipes lining the ceiling.
“Have ya ever seen a move like that? Gnolaum throwing his shield at the King's Jester…knocking the snot outta it?” said a youthful voice nearby.
Skinny and pitted-faced, a redheaded gnome came into view. He lugged a large black bag over his shoulder.
“Totally,” answered another voice lazily. The second youth, his concession box strapped across his chest, popped something into his mouth. “Then again, Skyline was pretty intense with that rifle shot.” He made a shooting gesture down the hall. “Droppin’ to one knee and blowin’ King Jester’s leg clean off.”
Together they cried, “EPIC!”
The metal door suddenly jerked open, flooding my hiding spot with dim light. I froze, terrified, but neither boy noticed me. The redhead tossed the heavy black bag inside, narrowly missing me, and slammed the door closed again.
“Dude, eww—that stinks—shut it! Let’s go to my mom’s house and watch the replays,” the second voice said, fading down the hallway.
“Yer on, man!”
Once they were gone, I flopped out onto the hallway floor, shaking uncontrollably. I brushed desperately at my hair. “Ew, ew, ewwwww!” I shuddered, feeling filthy. The smiley face on my shirt had turned a sickly shade of green. “That was disgusting!”
It nodded back.
Dax sniffed my shoulder, and I jumped. Then he leaned toward the open container and sniffed again. He shrugged casually. “What’re ya talkin’ about, kid? Smells fine to me.”
Alhannah and I both stared at him, incredulous.
He blinked innocently. “What?”
We crouched behind the dumpsters in a cement alcove, trying to stay out of sight while waiting for the crowds to clear. The staircase we'd chosen had led us to spectator parking instead of the service garage, and of course, the last door had locked behind us, trapping us completely.
It felt like forever, maybe an hour or more, before I saw Shamas and the TNT crew emerge from the main elevator into the parking garage. Shamas was helping old Tumbler, who was limping, while Socket supported Freak—holding a red rag against his swollen face. Telly was trailing behind with a massive grin plastered across his face despite sporting a black eye.
Was this what the Trench Wars games were like?
Crazy.
Shamas scanned the parking area, finally locking eyes with Alhannah. Pulling out his phone, he pressed a button and whispered into it. Moments later, our team’s van rolled into view, conveniently blocking the dumpsters from sight. Shamas helped the crew climb inside, then circled around toward us, motioning for Alhannah to step out.
“How did you know we were—” Alhannah began, but Shamas interrupted with a chuckle.
“Please,” he said dryly, “it’s the only sensible hiding spot down here—unless you planned on smashing a window and stealing someone’s ride.” He paused, reading her expression, then broke into a laugh. “But I know you're not stupid—so here we are.”
She smirked back, visibly relieved. “What happened back there?”
“They attacked an old, feeble gnome, that’s what!” Tumbler growled, struggling to hoist himself into the van. Telly tried to help him, only to have his hands swatted away. “There is no respect for the elderly nowadays.”
Telly rolled his eyes, rubbing his bruised face. “Well, it’s hard to show respect when someone's tryin’ to beat your brains out with a wrench.”
“Shut up, boy.”
Freak pulled the stained cloth from his swollen nose, now crooked noticeably to the right. “We did just like you said, Ms. Luckyfeller—held them at the door.”
Socket leaned forward, kissing Freak gently on the cheek. “I don’t think she meant for you to do it with your face, sweetheart.”
Dax stayed quiet, watching the last few spectators spill out from the elevators. “Who were those boys in black suits, anyway?”
Shamas shrugged, his face darkening. “I didn’t stop to ask. They definitely weren’t regulars at the stadium. I knocked two of them unconscious.” He glanced at the TNT crew with a satisfied smile. “And these guys handled the other two. After that, we just made a run for it.”
Alhannah reached out and gripped Shamas’s forearm tightly. “Does this have anything to do with why you were late?”
He nodded slowly, clearly troubled. “That's my guess. I can’t be absolutely sure yet. Thankfully, we lost them quickly, so I doubt they knew their way around. This feels like an outside attempt—not one orchestrated by another Trench team.”
“Or maybe they thought we'd be easy pickings,” Nat added casually from the driver’s seat, adjusting the rearview mirror. “Figured they didn't have to bother preparing.”
Nibbles twisted around in the passenger seat, eyeing us curiously before wrinkling her nose. “I'm just glad everyone’s okay. But…” She raised a questioning eyebrow at Alhannah and me, sniffing the air dramatically. “Seriously—what is that smell?”
The ride back to the warehouse was quiet, a relief after the chaos we'd left behind.
Despite everything, it had been a good day.
I'd won my first official Trench match, proving to the team—and myself—that I wasn't completely useless. Not that anyone else had ever said such and thing, but…it's a bit intimidating to be a part of a super-talented group. You can feel out of place…and in my case, even more unworthy.
Let’s just say I was happy to finally know that I didn’t suck completely.
Yeah, I'll take that.
Plus, Mr. Bellows, our mysterious benefactor, would definitely be pleased. Steel and Stone was finally in the spotlight.
Alhannah didn't seem convinced that our sudden popularity was entirely because of our wins. I caught her worried expression several times in the van's rearview mirror, and I could guess what she was thinking. This wasn’t just about the competition—at least, not yet.
This was personal.
Our attention had built the moment we named my S.L.A.G. the Gnolaum. That attention grew exponentially when we took a stand for the factory workers, who were using some of their meager wages to fund our team financially…a secret fact Nat was able to secure through Cryo64’s use.
Most of the gnome population were normal, everyday workers. Back on Earth, we'd call them blue-collar. Normal, decent and hardworking folks, who just wanted a steady job, a steady paycheck and the chance to have a peaceful life. When people decide to unite in a purpose, leadership, especially in government and religious positions, gets nervous.
They tend to lose control…which means problems.
We’d clearly rattled someone in power, someone who liked things exactly as they were.
When we finally rolled into the hangar, Deloris was already waiting at the entrance, pacing anxiously. Her face was tense; her usually warm eyes filled with worry.
As we approached, she blocked the doorway with her arm, preventing anyone from heading to their rooms. Her gaze locked onto Shamas, and she visibly trembled.
“Maybe you should keep the team down here for now, dear,” she whispered. Her voice shook so badly I barely recognized it. Even her hands were trembling.
“What’s wrong, Deloris?” Nat asked gently, maneuvering his wheelchair closer.
The team gathered tightly around her. I could feel the tension ripple through us as she hesitated, shifting nervously. Her eyes finally lifted to meet mine, something dark and uncertain reflected in them.
“We have visitors,” she whispered hoarsely. “They’re upstairs. They’ve come specifically to see the pilots.” Her eyes locked onto mine, wide with worry. “Specifically you, Wendell.”
My heart skipped.
Dax and Alhannah exchanged a nervous glance, their expressions matching the pit forming in my stomach.
Nat leaned forward, his voice strained. “Who is it, Deloris?”
She swallowed hard. “President Stump.”
That's epic, Jaime.
Had me on the edge of my seat.
I can't wait to meet President Stump!! 😂