[HP: 218/271 | MP: 335/361]

  [INKWELL: 89% | N.S.R.: 6.3 | Status: Determined.]

  It had all been building to this. Last Period. Remi wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew it was going to be a total shit show. As he walked to the final trial before he would start the Crucible proper, before he could find Dorian, and meet up with Nel, he allocated his two free points. That last fight had been exhausting. The maze and the near-death experience had been humbling. He dropped the points where they made the most sense, one in endurance and the other in luck. He had been lucky to survive, and Remi knew he was likely going to need more of that.

  As he walked, he took his time. He had about two minutes before the final bell, and so he needed to get ready.

  During his approach, he checked his Murse to ensure everything was ready. He looked at the dividers and discovered that everything had been sorted by colour. Are you shitting me!

  Remi: Archie! Why is this sorted by colour?

  It was not Archie that answered, but the Murse itself. It spat out a note, which fluttered directly into his hand.

  Mr. Page,

  Would you have preferred a different paradigm?

  You have a magazine, a metre stick, a scrivener set, an AV kit, and an Unstable Draught. As well as 2 juice boxes, all in your pit.

  I considered sorting them by shape, but as most of them are rectangular, I went with what I assumed was the obvious choice.

  But if you can do better, they are all in a pile.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to question your choice.” When he looked in the bag, braced for chaos, he was relieved to see his apology had been sufficient. Everything still sorted by shape.

  Could you... please arrange it by size too? So, the smaller things are at the front? Just so I can approximate where everything is, y’know... in a panic. There was no reply, but he could sense the items shuffle. Remi took a quick moment to check on the egg. It was still safe and warm; he could feel something moving around inside.

  He was now down to a minute, but was only about 200 feet from the gymnasium. As he rounded the last corner, he could feel it before he saw it.

  Boom Boom—CLAP! Boom Boom—CLAP!

  “We will, we will—ROCK YOU! CLAP!

  Boom, boom—clap!

  His day had started with Evanescence, so he might as well end it with a bit of Queen. He might have reflected on the clichéd nature of this song in a sporting venue, but he was too nervous to. As he approached the entrance, he could feel and hear the crowd. Remi did not know what he was walking into, but Archie was planning a spectacle.

  The gymnasium stretched wide, but reality flexed at the edges. The space flickers in architectural indecision, moving between half school gym and half gladiatorial pit. Bleachers rise on either side. Rows of silhouettes sat there, unmoving, until he entered the room, and they all leapt to their feet cheering. Half of them were wearing blue shirts with a large letter R on the front. These were to his right, and he was met with smiling and supportive faces. Across from them, on his left and in red shirts with a large A, was the home team. Remi wasn’t sure what A stood for, but he had a feeling he was about to find out.

  As he entered centre court, with a large circle with a Minotaur head in the ring, he was surprised to see that he was alone. Roving spotlights without a visible source locked in on him, as the time clocks on each end were still counting down. 10 seconds, 9 seconds, 8 seconds. The court's floor was gleaming hardwood, which made Remi’s new boots squeak as he closed the distance to the centre court. He could see the play area was outlined in a large red rectangle that was bisected by a centre line. As he tilted his head, he could see a shimmer extending the length of the gym. A barrier line he could not cross. He stopped inside the ring with 3 seconds left on the clock, and a buzzer rang to highlight the action. The pandemonium in the space stilled.

  Remi had never felt so watched before. Even when giving lectures to a room full of kids, he had not felt this observed, or this exposed. As he scanned the crowd, he looked for familiar faces. He could not be sure, but he thought he spied a hunched figure in a hoodie, far down the gym from him. It might have been Nel, but it was too hard to say. If it was her, at least she was on the side wearing the Rs.

  TWEEEEPP! The shrill whistle sliced the air, a jarring sound that ripped through the heavy stillness of the room. Remi could not see him yet, but he knew that Archie’s avatar was here again. Then he was there, having entered from the opposite side of the gymnasium. He tossed open a door that he left open, and which let a white beam break into the room. The exit portal. He strode purposefully to join Remi at centre court. He nodded and positioned himself to address the crowd.

  “Friends and Enemies. Humans and non-humans alike. We are here to bear witness to Remi Page’s final period. The rules are simple; the consequences, as you know, are not. We will of course be playing the quintessential sport for all PE classes—dodgeball. Because violence is always more palatable when wrapped in childhood nostalgia.” The responding cheer was deafening.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  Of course, it had to be Dodgeball. This game was essentially legalized bullying at a school. It was the only sport Remi knew of where the human body is used as a target.

  “Representing the visitor team: unranked, unremarkable, and unlikely to be victorious, this former educator, who often spends his nights alone, makes questionable life choices, and has a reckless disregard for his own life. A man who wields a stick and words. Please give a lukewarm welcome to Remmington Page!”

  Archie looked directly at Remi as he delivered his punchline, and the crowd delivered their reluctant round of applause. Remi heard a louder clap from the staff section. He hoped it was Astrid, but he could not be certain.

  “And facing him across the centre line. The Defenders of order, upholders of regulation, enforcers of permanent record integrity. A team that rewards poor behaviour with a sucker is Team Administration.” At least he now knew what the A stood for.

  The shadows in the room coalesced, drawing together from the corners of the room. From under the bleachers, they twisted through the air to resolve into a team of six. Even though their features moved in wisps, Remi recognized them all: Eastly, Mortsen, Grieves, Klatch, Drax and Hill. Remi’s entire list of former principals was all here for his final exam. He expected dramatics, some stretching, or posturing, but they were stone cold still. That was worse. That was far worse.

  Archie continued. “The rules of the game have been slightly changed to account for the team sizes. For Remi, the rules are standard. Hit an opponent and they are out. Catch their ball, and they are out. Easy enough, even for a humanities major. In order for the administrators to win, they just have to kill you. Get hit enough, and it is game over for you permanently. You eliminate the opposing team, Remi and you win. They win when they eliminate you.

  “Also, only thrown objects can pass through the centre barrier. That is for everyone’s safety. Do we understand? Good. The game will start on my whistle.” Both teams moved at once, the administrators fanning out while Remi backed as far away from them as he could. He was going to need to play this one tactically, and he had no sense of their abilities.

  It was a risk, as he would have to start defensively. But rushing for a ball with this many opponents would quickly lead to unnecessary damage. Archie blew his whistle.

  Remi flexed his fingers. He didn’t know who’d throw first, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t matter. The opening volley would come fast. And he needed every second to survive it.

  Three dodgeballs shimmered into existence on the red centre line, spaced evenly across the court. Each one glowed faintly; even at this distance, Remi could read Crucible standard-issue written on them. One ball appeared on his side of the line. Two on theirs.

  [SYSTEM MESSAGE]

  Dodgeball Time!

  Remi reached out with his hands and lashed the ball to himself. It shot across the room and landed in his cupped hands with a smack of rubber against skin. His hands stung, but he had a ball, and would see what they did with theirs. He took evasive action, strafing to the far left trying to minimize their angles. Running low, fast, and wide. He slid to the back corner of the court, where the angle of attack would be narrowed. The red outline of the playfield boxed him in, but he could work with that.

  The ball was warm in his grip. He raised it loosely in front of his chest, not to throw, but to block. It was an old trick, mastered in junior high by a kid that didn’t really like to pelt his friends with projectiles: keep your shield loose, let it absorb the hit, and control the bounce. Remi did not know their abilities yet, so he waited. He would watch and he would learn. His eyes scanned the court.

  The Admin team spread out smoothly into a standard two by three formation with no wasted motion. As they set up, Remi dropped his eyes to the corner of his HUD.

  [BUFF: “Sugar Rush” Active: 0:01:48]

  Just under two minutes left on the cookie. One bonus point in Endurance and Wisdom, burning away fast. That had been his plan. The buff had started just after his memory with Nel, a 10-minute timer. He had been considering what else he could do to buff himself for this fight, and he had remembered the spell notification just before he had passed out. He had re-read the spell description in his codex.

  [New Spell: Stat Surge]

  TYPE: Enhancement (Epic)

  COST: 50% Mana

  Cooldown: Once per Narrative Conflux

  Description: You may not be the strongest, the fastest, or the smartest. But for one scene—you can be. Stat Surge channels narrative momentum into raw potential, allowing the caster to temporarily double any one core stat. The effect persists for the rest of the current Narrative Conflux.

  Remi had intended to save the spell for the last minute, hopefully surprising whatever he was facing. Stat Surge hovered on the edge of his interface like a loaded gun. The Crucible had granted him an override, a temporary rewrite of the story’s logic: pick one stat—any stat—and double it until the Conflux ended. His planned choice of Endurance was safe, as Double Endurance to bulk up, to help tank hits, to survive the opening volley, and retaliate from the pocket would be effective. But it was predictable. There was another option. A dumber, riskier, much more Remi option. There was the one he went with now. Remi cast Spell Surge, selecting Luck.

  Remi’s mana bar was cut in half, but his HUD shivered golden. A soft flicker at the bottom of the screen, like something important had been rolled behind the scenes. The Stat window updated.

  [SYSTEM MESSAGE]

  Your luck is now 30!. Most stories treat Luck as some hidden and undefinable force, but in the Crucible, it touches everything: critical hits, drop rates, even narrative timing. High Luck doesn’t make you invincible, but it makes the improbable plausible. Careful not to press it too much!

  Archie’s voice boomed through the gym’s sound system. “Remi has made an interesting and unexpected choice.” Who had given him a microphone! That was all Remi needed right now, some play-by-play commentary from the AI.

  But when did this place care what Remi wanted? Archie continued to narrate, now that he had started. “Principal Eastly and Drax have moved into the front row, both flanking Marston, who has taken up point.”

  Remi’s eyes narrowed. He noticed Mortsen had two balls, one in each hand, and Eastly had another. Wait. There had been only three to start. Great, someone’s ball was illusory. Probably compensating.

  Eastly wound his arm in a tight circle, methodical and silent, adding torque to the impending throw. He sidestepped to bring himself into direct line with Remi.

  “It looks like Eastly is readying a rocket.” Most of the others did not move, except Mortsen, who had stepped back and started juggling his two balls. No one had thrown yet, but one ball in Mortsen’s hand glowed faintly. This is the one that Remi tracked. It was also the one that was launched first. A fast, low arc, straight for his chest.

  This one appeared different, so the chances were good it was the fake one. Remi decided there was no better time to test his luck than right now. So instead of blocking the ball that hurtled towards him, he stepped forward. Remi didn’t dodge or block; he didn’t even flinch—just took it in the chest. There was no impact; it passed right through him. He had been right, and apparently at least for now, luck had his back.

  “Remi could spot the fake,” Archie said. “But those better at math than he is will know the next one will have to be real!”

  Remi wasn’t sure if Archie was intending to help or not, but he would happily take the free information. He kept his eye on Eastly, who was still winding up, and braced for Morsten’s second ball. It came right after the first one. Likely it followed, hoping the first would function as a distraction, or worse, cause Remi to be off balance, allowing the follow-up to land an easy hit. Remi was ready, however. He tensed, raised his own ball, and let the incoming shot slam into it. The rubber cracked against rubber, and while the impact was jarring, it was manageable. Remi used the recoil, letting the energy snap Mortson’s ball back towards the Admin team. Simultaneously, Eastly launched his own attack.

  

  [SYSTEM ALERT]

  Accelerated projectile detected. Impact will be significant!