Page 45 of Blightfall

“The what games?” Alanik asked in English. “What does that word mean?”

“Ascension,” I said, loud enough to be heard over the crowd but hopefully not by those around us. “Like, to rise up.”

“To stand?” Alanik asked.

“Grander,” I said. “Like to rise up out of the ashes or…ascend to a higher plane.” You weren’t supposed to use a word in its own definition, but I didn’t know how else to explain it. I looked around, but I couldn’t identify the loudspeakers, though they clearly had a sound system in here somewhere—likely hidden in the decorative stone.

Ivy, the voice of the Superiority forces that watched this planet, was also the announcer for these humans’…sports league? That didn’t make any sense. And yet the crisp, mechanical, feminine voice called over the loudspeaker again. “Welcome to the End Times Tournament! The war for humanity’s future is nearing its end. Every able body must stand and fight. Today before you, three unascended champions will fight, proving themselves worthy to join those who protect humanity’s interests across the galaxy.”

“Huh,” Nedd said beside me, and I echoed his sentiment. These people were fighting to join the armies protecting humanity—but we had beaten the enemy that threatened humanity, and the voice making these promises had openly admitted to being part of the security team in place to keep these humans from fighting back.

Something very strange was going on here.

On the surface, it was great news that they were building a fighting force—one we could hopefully enlist to help us get off this planet. But if the army was recruited by Ivy…would they really be on our side?

On the other hand, if Ivy was helping the humans fight the Superiority, maybe we were all on the same side, and the attack on our arrival was a misunderstanding. That “misunderstanding” had led to five deaths, though, so I wasn’t ready to assume that was the case.

“Are you ready to greet your champions?” Ivy’s voice shouted, and the crowd went wild.

On the opposite side of the arena, three humans ran down a ramp. One at a time, they climbed up on a platform at the edge of the sandpit, waving at the audience as Ivy introduced them over the loudspeaker.

The first was a woman with long black hair braided from the top of her head to her waist in one thick rope. She wore a tight pair of pants tucked into black boots and a breast band. “Kalia Killcot holds the record for most killing blows in a single season. She’s got the best defensive record in the Ascension League, and the highest score of any competitor in the Ascension Games!”

“So, money’s on her then,” Nedd said.

“We don’t have any, remember?” Sadie said.

“These people are all champions,” I said. “What makes you think she’s the best?”

Gilaf whispered something to Alanik, who translated so those around us wouldn’t hear him speak UrDail. “Gilaf says never to discount desperation. He is right. The person at the bottom can claw their way to the top.”

“Always root for the underdog,” Sadie said. “I can get behind that.”

I wasn’t sure any of these people were underdogs.

The next competitor—a man wearing a pair of knee-length shorts, sandals laced up his legs, and not much else—was introduced. “Give it up for Timon Trenchcoat!” Ivy said. “He is the leader for number of branches severed, and has the most second-place records of any living competitor!”

“I don’t think that’s a trench coat he’s wearing,” I said.

“Is it good to be in second place most often?” Alanik asked. “That seems like announcing he loses the most.”

“Second place isn’t losing,” Sadie said. “It’s like winning but second.”

“If there are only three fighters,” I said, “it’s as close to losing as to winning.”

“Are they really going to fight a scion without armor?” Sadie asked.

“They don’t need it,” Nedd said, pointing at the competitors. “See that guy? He’s protected by his paint.”

Indeed, instead of armor, Timon had paint smeared across his chest in a striped pattern. That didn’t resemble a trench coat much either.

“We’ll see how that goes for him,” Alanik said.

“Keep your voices down,” I said. We were all sounding more clueless than we ought to for people supposedly from this city. Maybe if we claimed to be from the outlying farms, it would be plausible that we’d never seen a tournament before.

Ivy introduced the final fighter. “Dayan Dayright holds the records for most climbing achievements and fewest hits taken. They also hold the record for most fan-favorite votes in their first year of competition!”

I didn’t think the cheering could get any louder, but for Dayan, it noticeably did.