Gunmeister snorted.

  “This Human is bolder than those two wimpy presidents.”

  He rose to his full six-foot-two height, rolling his shoulders and adjusting the sunglasses perched on his nose like they were part of his face.

  “Are you just going to pose with that,” he asked, nodding at the silver blade, “or do you actually plan on using it? And don't worry about diplomatic immunity. Come at me.”

  Kane didn’t move. "Diplomatic immunity doesn’t absolve you of murder.”

  “That it doesn’t,” Gunmeister agreed easily. “Guess somebody better grow some balls if they want to take me in.”

  Kane stared him down. The other two Finan remained perfectly still in their seats, eyes on him.

  “They won’t get involved,” Gunmeister said, reading him with a grin. “Now, don’t be shy.”

  Kane (voiceover):

  Shy wasn’t the word. Seething was closer. Which meant I needed to keep myself on a leash or fall straight into his bait. I had called the Will Blade too fast. From his point of view, that probably looked like fear. I was just about to dismiss it—

  Gunmeister lifted his arm.

  “I guess you need a little push.”

  Metal slid into his palm as a lancer pistol snapped free from his sleeve. The weapon fired in the same motion.

  The beam tore through the air where Kane had been. He reappeared beside Gunmeister, close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath.

  Kane (voiceover):

  I knew what the guy was going to do the moment he began raising his hand. I can read his intent. The shoulder brace was enough. The weight shifting to the back foot and sudden movement of his weapon beneath his sleeve, sealed it. He'd decided before he began the motion. What I should have done was put him down immediately. But he was such a jerk that I decided to taunt. What clever quip could I say to really get under his skin?

  “Missed me, gun boy.”

  Kane (voiceover):

  What the hell, me.

  Gunmeister’s fist came fast, a left cross thrown on instinct. Kane leaned back just enough for it to slice past his face. At the edge of his vision, something caught the light. Something metallic.

  A second blast screamed toward him. Pain flared across his shoulder as the shot hit. Kane glanced down at the angry red mark spreading across his skin, heat pulsing beneath it.

  Kane (voiceover):

  I’m tough, sure, but this guy was using Tek firearms. I didn’t know much about Tek beyond two things, it lasts forever and it’s almost always sneaky. The fact most of it’s illegal to carry told me something else too. One clean hit might actually put me down. So what. I wasn’t about to let this gun nut have his way with me.

  The last blast had come from a small gray device, barely four inches long. It had the rough silhouette of a ballistic weapon but no seams, no trigger, no obvious mechanics at all. It hovered in the air like it was suspended on an invisible tether, smoothly adjusting its aim toward him.

  “Careful, Gunmeister,” the short-haired Finan warned.

  “The Baron will be pissed if you cause a lot of damage for no profit,” the other added, voice smooth.

  Gunmeister ignored them both.

  He rushed Kane head-on, which Kane immediately read as a feint. His body moved on instinct just as another blast fired, this one from a second floating mini-gun Kane hadn’t clocked in time. The shot tore a hole through the wall leading to a bathroom in a storm of debris.

  A lancer rifle snapped into his hands and fired at the same ruined wall. The beam struck a mirror, refracted, and slammed straight into Kane’s chest.

  The impact hurled him backward through the ten-story window. He went out with a yelp of pain, glass exploding around him.

  Kane (voiceover):

  As I looked down at the city rushing up to meet me, in the tiny slice of time before gravity really took over, I couldn’t help but be amazed. The whole place had transformed. What was usually a carefully patterned city of order and routine was alive with spectacle and excitement.

  I wasn’t sure which culture influenced the other, but Topaz City reminded me of So-Hi. The place that sort of led me here.

  PAST

  Night had settled over a sprawling metropolis, neon light carving the city into impossible geometry. Towers of glass and chrome rose in uneven clusters, their surfaces wrapped in holographic marquees that scrolled endlessly, promising fortune, pleasure, redemption, or ruin. Casinos stacked atop casinos, some shaped like ancient monuments, others like abstract sculptures that defied logic, all of them pulsing with color and sound. Floating ads drifted between buildings like lazy ghosts, projecting dice, cards, half-smiling faces, and looping slogans that bled into one another.

  Kane (voiceover):

  So-Hi, a city that never pretended to sleep. A place where money moved faster than thought, where hope was packaged, priced, and sold nightly to anyone reckless enough to buy it.

  If you wanted the seedier side of what remained of Earth, this was where you came. And right then, it had what I wanted most.

  The casino tower rose in tiered arcs of black glass and polished gold alloy, its fa?ade alive with cascading holograms of spinning cards, falling chips, and shifting odds that recalculated in real time. A massive vertical marquee ran the length of the building, letters phasing in and out to announce high-stakes events and exclusive tables, each word accompanied by subtle pulses of light that seemed to breathe.

  Kane (voiceover)

  The casino was called Winfall, host to one of the highest-stakes games of holostar on the planet. I’d earned my seat the previous week, knocking out some of the best players Freedom had to offer.

  An expensively tailored young man strode confidently up to the gaming table. Five players were already seated, each wearing a different flavor of calm or tension, while spectators crowded in behind them, waiting for the game to begin.

  “Sorry I’m late, everyone,” Kane said easily. “Last-minute rituals. You understand.”

  Kane (voiceover):

  I was throwing up in the bathroom.

  A female Tilris waved a white-feathered hand, impatience written into the sharp flick of her wrist.

  “Fine. Whatever. Take a seat so we can begin.”

  A large Human with a broad, cheerful face nodded along, fingers already tapping the edge of the table.

  “And don’t forget to scan,” he added.

  “Thanks for checking up on me,” Kane said lightly.

  He was already standing in front of the serv-tek dealer. The machine’s narrow, eagle-eyed receptors swept over him in silence, lenses shifting through spectra Kane couldn’t see.

  “Player is clean of skimmers and disruptors,” the serv-tek announced. “Take your seat.”

  Kane moved to the empty chair at the end of the table. A heavily muscled Dagon tracked him the whole way, thick arms folded, eyes burning with open hostility. Kane only smiled and gave a polite nod before sitting.

  Across from him, at the opposite end, sat a Human with a neatly trimmed white goatee against dark skin. His hair was styled into a squared shape Kane had never seen before, and his shirt was an aggressive riot of green, blue, and white silk that caught the light with every subtle movement. Narrow eyes studied Kane over a tight, knowing smile.

  Kane (voiceover):

  Marcus Blair. Former champion boxer turned pro gamer. The most dangerous person at the table in more ways than one.

  “The game will now begin,” the serv-tek said. “All players are to pay the entry fee.”

  Kane produced a flat, square, plastic chip threaded with silver circuitry, barely larger than his thumb. A glowing green 10,000 pulsed softly on its surface. He slid it into the slot near his left elbow. The others followed suit.

  A moment later, stacks of chips rose smoothly from the table in front of each player, values shifting and rearranging as they settled. Above them, the total—60,000—hovered in steady light.

  The center of the table irised open.

  A blue sphere emerged from the darkness beneath, rotating slowly as if buoyed by invisible currents. Inside it, round tokens drifted like debris in water. The sphere expanded, reshaping itself until it mirrored the table’s surface, the tokens now spread across the space between the six players. They spun and bobbed lazily, the serv-tek’s hover systems humming with a low, constant thrum that filled the room.

  “The choosing of tokens may now commence,” the serv-tek announced. “Please obtain five tokens.”

  The tokens were dull gray, each about the size of an ancient coin, their faces blank and unreadable.

  The Tilris and the Dagon moved immediately, hands darting out to snatch their picks. A Yuni selected hers with careful precision, smooth stone fingers plucking tokens one by one, rising from her seat to reach the last two.

  Only the Humans remained still.

  Kane (voiceover):

  There’s no way to tell what you’ve got until you take it. Unless you’re cheating. This part’s just here to make people sweat. Eagerness leads to mistakes. Blair knows it. The other Human does too. Look at the Tilris. She’s about ready to explode. That’s why I took my time.

  Kane reached out deliberately, fingers hovering before choosing each token with exaggerated care. He flipped the last one into the air, caught it cleanly, and set it down, a habit he’d never quite shaken.

  Across the table, Marcus Blair smiled wider.

  The remaining tokens drifted back together in the center.

  Numbers faded onto the faces of the tokens in Kane's hand.

  He leaned forward, eyes sharp, measured eagerness replacing the easy grin.

  Kane (voiceover):

  Fifty-five. Thirty-nine. Seventy-two. Sixty-six. Ten. A solid hand. The key to victory is knowing which numbers correspond to which perks. I know all of these and a few strategies that go with them, but I want the others to think I'm unsure.

  “I’ll take two,” Kane said casually.

  He selected two tokens and dropped them into the center hole, then paid the required c-chip cost without hesitation. The sphere responded immediately, floating toward him as if summoned. Kane drew two replacements and kept his expression neutral as the tokens settled in his palm.

  Around the table, reactions varied. One player returned a single token. Another dumped all five. The Tilris hesitated, feathers along her arms tightening before she committed. Across from Kane, Marcus Blair didn’t move at all. He kept his original hand.

  “Bets may now be placed,” the serv-tek announced.

  Kane slid three c-chips into the slot, a respectable opening bid. One by one, the others followed. When the last bet was placed, the sphere descended back into the table, vanishing as the surface sealed itself seamlessly.

  Light flared across the table, dividing it into clean, glowing zones. The space in front of Kane lit up and resolved into a bold numeral.

  10.

  A segmented bar beside it displayed his life total, twenty points glowing a steady green.

  “Round one may begin.”

  Kane (voiceover):

  The look Blair gave me said he thought we were on the same wavelength. And the look I gave back told him I agreed. He had no idea how wrong he was.

  PRESENT

  Dane and Zane stood outside the Papuru Inn, near a manicured garden that funneled guests toward a shared walkway. Flower tapestries hung in layered arcs between stone planters, and three fountains murmured beneath the noise of the crowd. The space was packed with people hoping for a glimpse of a Superstar or a Coalition dignitary. These were hotel guests, wealthy, connected, and close enough to matter. The press and the rest of the onlookers remained penned back by the DDF, force barriers holding them several dozen feet away.

  A small patio to one side, heavy with the scent of clustered flora, sat empty except for the two of them.

  “If Kane was out here,” Zane said, eyeing the restless crowd, “this place would lose its mind.”

  Dane shrugged. “No one cares about Syncs.”

  “We’re the same as him,” Zane shot back. “Those idiots wouldn’t know the difference even if we told them.”

  Kane dropped out of the sky before either of them could say another word.

  He hit the ground on his feet, twenty feet from the nearest bushel, carving a crater shaped exactly like his stance into the pristine grass. The crowd erupted. Light beams struke out from multiple directions as he moved immediately, skirting the edge of the gathering and keeping the well-wishers to his far right.

  Above him, Gunmeister hovered on a grav-disk, riding it with practiced ease as he lined up a shot with his lancer rifle. Kane dove behind one of the ornate fountains as additional mini-guns slid into view, joining the assault. Their lances of light stitched the space around him, herding him back into Gunmeister’s line of fire.

  Then, for reasons Kane couldn’t fathom, Gunmeister abandoned the advantage and dropped fast, closing the distance.

  Kane twisted away from the mini-guns a fraction too late. Gunmeister’s fist slammed into his sternum.

  The impact detonated, sending Kane hurtling through the air, smoke trailing behind him in a long arc, like the tail of the Dying Star comet.

  Kane (voiceover):

  I remember that hurting like hell at the time. Without Soul Style, there would’ve been a hole in me you could fly a streamjet through. It did manage to piss me off, though.

  He hit the ground in a rolling crouch and came up low, one hand already at his midsection. The skin beneath his shredded shirt turned red, smoke curling off it in thin threads.

  Two mini-guns slid into position behind him. Kane rolled through their opening volley and used the motion to slash upward, the silver blade carving through the floating armory. Both machines burst apart in sharp, contained explosions. Two more replaced them almost instantly.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  With the fight spilling into the open, hotel guests finally broke. Screams cut through the air as they scattered for cover.

  Gunmeister pressed forward, leveling a different rifle. This one spat pale, snowball-like pellets. Where they struck, the grass beneath them browned and died, spreading outward in brittle rings as he advanced.

  Kane (voiceover):

  This guy was trying to kill me. I didn’t know what that Tek round did, and I wasn’t interested in finding out the hard way. If he wanted this up close, fine. I could do fist to face.

  They closed fast, less than two meters from impact, when a mini-gun snapped into existence directly in front of Kane’s face and fired. The blast split around his head, deflected cleanly as his Aura Cloak slide into place. He didn’t slow, the Will Blade reactivating in the same motion, and he cut low, sweeping for Gunmeister’s feet.

  The blade sheared straight through the grav-disk. The machine split apart, sparks flaring as it died, and Gunmeister dropped hard to the ground. His rifle skidded away. His sunglasses spun off and landed somewhere in the grass. The mini-guns surrounding Kane winked out of existence.

  Defense Force officers surged in, herding civilians toward the safety of the barriers. In the brief lull, Kane caught sight of Dane and Zane peering out from a cluster of decorative bushes, fists raised, cheering like idiots. The other two Finan had already arrived, positioning themselves near their fallen companion.

  “That’s enough, Gunmeister,” the short-haired one said.

  “Not yet,” Gunmeister snapped.

  He reached down, retrieved his glasses, and slid them back onto his face as the two Finan wandered off toward Dane and Zane, pretending to spectate. The mini-guns reappeared at once, zipping through the air in tight patterns, firing in timed bursts to cover Gunmeister’s advance.

  Kane tried to press in, but lancer fire forced him to give ground. Explosive punches followed, heavy and wild. One missed kick slammed into a stone bench, the blast reducing it to rubble in an instant.

  Gunmeister rushed again, sloppy and overcommitted.

  Kane deflected the next punch and stepped inside it. The Will Blade rose in a clean vertical arc, slicing from mid-chest to the crown of Gunmeister’s head. Sparks flew as the glasses split neatly in two.

  Gunmeister froze. His eyes were wide, stripped bare of bravado. He touched his chest, then his face, staring at his hands in disbelief when he saw no blood.

  “See?” Kane said. “I could’ve killed you right there. I decided to just get rid of the tacky eyewear.”

  Gunmeister trembled, hands still hovering near his face, rage barely contained.

  “My grandma gave me those Gazer Shades,” he croaked.

  “I’m sorry,” Kane smiled. “I’ll get you a pair of nonlethal glasses for your birthday. They’ll still protect you. From glaring sunlight.”

  Gunmeister produced yet another odd-looking rifle, and Kane cut it apart before the Finan could finish raising it. The weapon came apart in clean segments, dropping uselessly from his hands. He stared at what remained, a trigger and a nozzle pointing at nothing.

  “Damnit!”

  “Let’s go,” the medium-haired Finan snapped, his voice raised. “Before any more irreplaceable Tek gets lost.”

  “No, not until—”

  “Is this how Dycord’s hospitality is meant to be repaid?”

  The voice cut through the standoff. A Dycordian in golden armor stood between them, his arrival so sudden it was as if he had stepped out of the air itself. Gilmesh, Lord of the Guardian caste wore a look of disappointment.

  “You two have made a mockery of everything this tournament stands for,” Gilmesh said evenly. “You’ve given the people more than enough of a show.”

  He turned to Kane first.

  “Save your battles for the competition, young Superstar.” His gaze shifted to Gunmeister. “And you will return to the quarters you so recently trashed, until suitable accommodations can be furnished to your particular tastes. Quil administration has been notified, and billed, for the damage you caused. I believe your Baron is currently on hold, awaiting your convenience.”

  “But he killed the Presidents,” Kane said.

  “No, he did not,” Gilmesh replied sternly. “They died in an explosion half a mile from the gala. The Harvas kill with firearms, not explosives.”

  “He uses explosives,” Kane shot back.

  “Explosive rounds,” Gunmeister said, adjusting his clothing in a huff. “Not bombs.”

  Gilmesh looked between them. “Is this truly why you’ve been destroying this establishment’s property? Why did you not correct him in his assumption?”

  Gunmeister shrugged. “I wanted to test him. See if he had what it takes to beat Van Black. Sorry, kid. You don’t. We won’t be meeting again.”

  He turned and walked toward his waiting family. Together, they disappeared back into the hotel. Dane and Zane made their way toward their base, Gilmesh sparing them only the briefest glance.

  “Follow me,” Gilmesh said.

  He strode toward a waiting hovercar, already expecting Kane to fall in step behind him.

  PAST

  “I’m out.”

  With that, only two Humans and a Yuni remained at the table. It was the fifth round. As the latest player lumbered away, Kane drew a slow breath and forced his shoulders to loosen. He had five life points left. The Yuni had ten. Marcus Blair sat comfortably at eighteen, and that was the number that kept tightening Kane’s gut.

  The crowd had thickened, drawn by raised voices and the visible tension radiating from the table. The blue sphere drifted back into place, seven tokens floating above a surface already crowded with eleven active pieces, most of them Blair’s.

  Kane (voiceover):

  What a dilemma. I’d overextended my attack in round two and spent the rest of the game playing defense. My only tokens in play, number four, Baboom, and number eighty-eight, Ode da Olivia, were both strong. Without proper support, though, I’d lose them and the game. A full sweep was impossible now. That meant my only path was shaving life points and hoping it was enough.

  “Place your bets,” the serv-tek announced.

  Kane slid a single c-chip forward into a pot already north of a hundred thousand. Blair looked back at him, one foot propped on the table, cigar smoldering between his fingers. He’d barely spoken all game, but now the smugness was starting to leak through.

  “Please pick one token.”

  Kane reached in faster than he meant to. No one reacted. Blair waited until after the Yuni, grinning as he made his choice.

  Kane (voiceover):

  There’s no way to predict what’s left, but I knew the token I wanted hadn’t been drawn. If it had, it would already be in play. Every discard so far had usable perks, just nothing that fit anyone’s style. That includes mine. Which means the best piece in the game might’ve been tossed aside just to make us all wait for it. Still waiting. This draw gives me ninety-eight, Bram. The second perk’s useful, but more than that, I get one of those feelings gamblers live for.

  “I’ll take one,” Kane said.

  He smiled at Blair as he discarded the token and fed in one of his last c-chips. The new token spun end over end before settling warm in his palm. Kane glanced at the number, every muscle in his lower body locked tight.

  One.

  “Round five may begin.”

  The tabletop shifted, the green surface dividing into fifteen zones. Tokens slid into place, each one crowned by a holographic figure of a past Superstar, so lifelike they fidgeted and breathed. Single-digit numbers hovered above them.

  In Kane’s home zone, ten, a pointy-eared Pian juggled three red sticks tipped with glowing fuses. To the right, a massive Cycloid woman stood thickly framed by a broad metal belt. Blair flicked his token in, landing it beside the Yuni’s home zone.

  “Perk two,” Blair said.

  “Token eighteen,” the serv-tek replied. “Perk two. Star Rating increases to five while defending.”

  “Token ninety-two to zone seven.”

  A Dagon with hair only along the sides of his head lumbered forward. Nearby, token eighteen, a Klugh fish-man bearing sword and shield, hovered as if suspended in water.

  Kane (voiceover):

  Two fronts. Empty home zone. Overconfidence, I thought.

  Kane flipped his newly acquired token into the Cycloid’s zone.

  “Perk three. Activate.”

  “Token one,” the serv-tek said. “Perk three. Token may distribute Star Rating to any token within the same zone.”

  The crowd murmured, feeling the tone in the room shifting.. Token one resolved into Will Lord Drax, arms folded, expression carved from stone. A silver orb floated before him, flaring briefly. The Cycloid’s hair lifted as power rippled through her.

  Kane (voiceover):

  I don’t know if I ever said it out loud, but Will Lord Drax is my favorite historical figure. First winner of Coalition Carnage. The only Earth Human to ever take it. My high school history book claimed his presence alone made lesser men drop to their knees. Dead for centuries, and now he was about to make my will known.

  “Eighty-eight,” Kane said. “Activate perk one. Move to zone six and attack.”

  The Cycloid vanished and reappeared in Blair’s home zone. Her belt fired a beam into the console tracking Blair’s c-chips and life points. The number dropped to ten.

  Blair stopped smiling.

  He spoke at the same time as the Yuni, their orders colliding into noise. The serv-tek repeated commands in sequence, clean and precise, never missing a beat.

  Kane (voiceover):

  Holostar’s a blast. No turns. You act when you want. Quick talkers and faster thinkers do well. So do the lucky. Drax kept me alive another round. The Yuni didn’t fare as well. She shook her head, disappointed, but smiled for the crowd and even fist-bumped a few people on her way out. Class. Blair finished her with a team attack, but she burned two of his tokens on the way out with a kamikaze perk. My Cycloid hit her fifth action and disappeared too. That left me with two. If I wanted to win, I needed luck. And beating Blair now, mattered later.

  The remaining players signaled they were done. The serv-tek instructed them to draw one final token.

  Kane (voiceover):

  Luck didn’t cooperate. Token eighty. Same race as Olivia, but practically useless. One c-chip left, so I bet it all. Return. I reach for one token, hesitate, then switch to the other. Blair does the same for the first time all game, taking the last piece.

  “Round six will be the final round. Commence.”

  Kane (voiceover):

  Two tokens in play. The stronger has four actions, the other only one. A support token in ninety-nine in my hand. Blair has double my board presence, unknown number of actions, plus the last draw. Not great odds.

  Blair leaned back, smoke curling lazily above him.

  “I know who you are.”

  Kane paused, just long enough to feel the moment stretch, then shrugged. “That why you keep smiling at me?”

  “You’ve been making a name for yourself,” Blair said. “Won that big holostar event overskies last centennial. Seems like holostar’s the only thing you’re good at.”

  “I’m good at spotting losers,” Kane replied.

  They stared at each other for half a minute. The room held its breath.

  Kane (voiceover):

  Options were thin. Drax sits at five Star Rating. Only a team attack above five or a perk can take him out. Baboom’s at four and already burned a perk, which keeps him safe from team attacks. Ninety-nine, The Truth, has three SR, three solid perks, and a teleport. Blair has three perks banked and just locked down his home zone. No free hits. The second I saw his last token, I knew the line.

  “Will Lord Drax,” Kane said. “Attack zone four.”

  Drax surged forward, the silver orb stretching into a whip. It cracked once. Blair’s token vanished. His life dropped from ten to nine.

  “Ten to zone eight,” Blair said.

  “Drax to zone two.”

  “Forty-seven to zone two.”

  Drax closed fast. Kane slammed his last token onto the table. Before it could activate, one of Blair’s pieces moved to intercept.

  “Perk two,” Kane said. “Use now on Drax.”

  “Token ninety-nine,” the serv-tek replied. “Perk two: Target one token. It may activate a second perk.”

  “Perk two,” Kane said. “Target forty-seven.”

  “Perk two,” the serv-tek continued. “Token may absorb—”

  “Perk one! Perk one!” Blair shouted.

  “Too late,” Kane said.

  “—Star Rating from any token for one round.”

  “Drax,” Kane said. “Perk target forty-seven. Attack.”

  The number above Blair’s token dropped to zero. The number above Drax climbed to ten. Blair’s life points went to zero.

  “Kane Urasa wins final hand and pot,” the serv-tek announced.

  Applause broke out, mixed with whistles.

  “Your winnings will be deposited momentarily.”

  Kane looked across the table. “You’re supposed to be a champ, not a chump.”

  “That money was mine!” Blair shouted.

  His bellow tore through the gaming hall, sharp enough to startle every living thing inside it. Kane jerked up from his chair as Blair lunged, hands clawed and aimed straight for his throat. Kane reacted without thinking. His kick caught Blair squarely and sent him sailing into a pair of slot machines. A few spectators were knocked down in the chaos, others dragging them clear as panic spread.

  Blair pushed himself back to his feet, a red glow bleeding outward from his body. Patrons backed away in waves, then broke into a run.

  Kane (voiceover):

  Universal Soul Style. Great. Now the question is what he actually knows.

  Blair set his feet and raised his fists in a boxer’s stance, shoulders rolling as he advanced. Kane mirrored him, hands coming up as silver energy wrapped tight around his arms.

  Kane (voiceover):

  This was the outcome I wanted. Just not with an audience.

  They met beside the table they’d just left, the space filling with the dull thuds of blocked strikes and glancing blows. Kane’s timing tightened. His counters landed cleaner, faster. Blair gave ground inch by inch until Kane drove a kick through his guard and sent him crashing through the wall.

  The rage drained from Kane's face as he registered the noise, the screaming, the sheer number of eyes on him. He stared at his glowing fist, then at the wall with Blair’s boot jutting through it.

  Kane turned toward the exit and drew a breath, ready to quicken.

  “Hold it right there.”

  Kane froze. Armed police ringed the room, lancer rifles leveled at his chest.

  PRESENT

  The personal transport of Gilmesh, Lord of the Guardian Caste, looked as heavily armored as the man himself. Its interior, however, was spacious enough to seat all four of them with room to spare. Dane, Zane, and Kane leaned forward as a holographic recording played between them.

  Presidents McDonald and Gilbert stepped into a limo identical to the one they were riding in now. The image jumped forward. The same vehicle rolled at the center of a three-car convoy. A hooded figure stood in the road ahead. One sharp gesture, and the presidents’ car erupted as it tried to take off into the sky.

  Kane shut his eyes. Dane hesitated, then rested a hand against his back.

  “These images are from security cameras throughout the city,” Gilmesh said. “I am sorry. Julius and Jesse were good men, inside and out. Everything they did was for the welfare of your people.”

  “I know,” Kane said. “I just don’t understand why.”

  “This,” Gilmesh replied, “is what I wanted you to see.”

  The holoview shifted. The hooded assassin entered the Papuru Inn complex. The image zoomed out, revealing all six buildings; the figure walked into the one housing a section of the Superstars.

  Two buildings away from where their transport came to a stop.

  “Hold on,” Dane said. “The killer came here?”

  “You’re said to be good at reading body language,” Gilmesh said, ignoring the question. “Do you believe you could identify the culprit from these images alone?”

  Kane watched the playback again, studying the assassin’s movements as he crossed the threshold.

  “Damn right I can.”

  PAST

  Kane sat in a narrow room furnished with little more than a metal bed, a toilet, and a sink bolted into the wall. One entire side of the space shimmered faintly, a force barrier separating him from the corridor beyond. His head hung low, shoulders drawn inward.

  A well-dressed man stepped into view, flanked by two Secret Service agents in dark suits and mirrored sunglasses.

  “Mr. Urasa,” the man said. “Hello. I’m Julius Gilbert.”

  Kane’s head snapped up. He rose so fast the bed creaked.

  “The President of Freedom,” Kane said, wide-eyed. “I—I mean. Yes, sir.”

  “No need for the formality,” Gilbert replied. “I’m just a regular guy trying to keep our heads above the clouds.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  Gilbert folded his hands. “You’re facing several serious charges. Illegal possession of a soul coal. Use of prohibited powers in public. Destruction of property. Assault of a national treasure.”

  “What?” Kane blurted. “You mean Blair?”

  “Marcus Blair was slated to be our Superstar for the hundredth Coalition Carnage,” Gilbert said. “It’s still a couple of years out, but after what you did to him, I’m not convinced that’s enough time for him to recover mentally.”

  “He killed my mom.”

  “That’s what you told the arresting officers,” Gilbert said calmly. “But I’m not convinced. He was thoroughly vetted before we ever made the offer.”

  “If you say so, sir.”

  Gilbert studied him for a moment. “Instead of turning you over to the 108 for a long prison sentence, how would you feel about becoming Earth’s Superstar instead? We’d need Council approval, but with such short notice, they can only complain for so long.”

  “I’m… I don’t know,” Kane said. “I mean—”

  Kane (voiceover):

  I wouldn’t find my mother’s hidden message for almost another year. The one explaining that winners were killed and replaced with realistic Tek. If I’d known then, would I have chosen differently? My mom, Gentily Williams Urasa, thirty-two when she died, was the sharpest person I ever knew. My dad’s death didn’t break her. For five years she raised me with a focus on learning, on understanding how people think and act. My love of ancient history came from her. And, honestly, so did my choice of willpower as a style, once I learned who was responsible for her murder. But at the time, I was ignorant and staring down a prison sentence. The choice felt obvious.

  “You know what,” Kane said finally. “Mr. President, I’m in. It feels right that Will Lord Drax and I share the same Soul Style. He and I will be the first of many Earth-born Supernovas.”

  Kane (voiceover):

  That was easier to say than beating the hell out of Blair. I didn’t realize how far over my head I was until a week later.

  Kane quickened across open countryside, the land stretching wide and quiet beneath a pale sky. No cities. No towers. Just tall grass and scattered fir trees with bark the color of dried blood. He slowed to a stop, breathing it in, struck by how untouched it felt.

  Kane (voiceover):

  I came to Shangri-La for a little soul searching. What I found out instead was that I wasn’t ready for anything.

  “I never told you where I knew you from.”

  Kane yelped and spun. Marcus Blair stood behind him, arms at his side, completely at ease.

  “Blair!” Kane said, trying to hide his shock. “You’re… you’re all better!”

  “I was never hurt,” Blair said easily. “It was an act. Those Illuminati assholes wanted me to be a Superstar. Why would I want that? Too much weight. Too many hopes riding on your back. Better to be the fixer who makes their problems disappear. No spotlight. Shadows suit men like me.”

  Kane shrugged off his pack and let it fall. “So you followed me out here for revenge? Fine. Let’s go. Try faking it now.”

  “I’m not like you, kid,” Blair said, holding up his hands in a peaceful gesture. “I don’t hold grudges. The moment I saw you, I knew you were Gentily’s son. Same eyes. Same complexion you’d expect from an Asian man and a Black woman. And you still carry your father’s last name.”

  “How do you—”

  “I don’t kill anyone without knowing everything about them,” Blair said. “Your parents met as stunt performers in the film industry. She dropped your dad’s name when she joined GalaxyWise Productions as one of their top lawyers.”

  “You researched my family,” Kane said. “You knew all that and still killed her?”

  “Gentily Williams Urasa was a good person,” Blair said. His eyes weren't mocking. “But she knew too much. Orders are orders. If it helps, the vote was four to three. She made an impression.”

  Kane (voiceover):

  I don’t know if it was how casually he said it, or the way he admitted she was good, but something snapped.

  Kane closed the distance in an instant. Less than four meters. Blair met him with an uppercut that sent Kane skidding across the grass on his back. Blair followed at an unhurried pace, lighting a cigar as he walked.

  “Once I realized it was you,” Blair said between puffs of smoke, “and saw you use Quickening to grab that token, which is against the rules by the way, I knew I’d found my patsy. Lose the game. Make a scene on holoview. Let the galaxy watch Earth’s golden boy get taken apart by a twenty-three-year-old kid. Sorry. Young adult.”

  Kane staggered to his feet and summoned his Will Blade. He swung for Blair’s head. The slash passed up, over, and down again without touching him. Blair’s reply was faster than Kane could react. A one-two combo sent him crashing to his knees, vision swimming. The blade vanished. Blood ran warm down his cheek.

  “I told you,” Blair said, exhaling smoke. “It was an act. I didn’t come out here just to taunt you. Well, maybe a little. Mostly, I didn’t want you walking into Coalition Carnage thinking you were strong because of me. You’re not. You need discipline. Right now, you’re just a brawler with power. And you don’t have much time before some real Superstar tears your head off. So get to work. Earth actually needs that blessing.”

  He turned away.

  Kane forced himself upright, legs trembling.

  “W-wait,” he said. “Who… who gave the order? What… what did she know?”

  Blair paused. “The Illuminati. The people who actually run things. I don’t know what she found out. When they say ‘take them out,’ I ask how much collateral damage is acceptable.”

  He flicked his cigar into the grass.

  “Get strong, Kane. Not to get even, but to help people. The storm around all of us gets worse every day.”

  Then he quickened away, so fast his white, box-shaped haircut smeared into a streak, like a careless brushstroke across the field.