Glitch Kingdom

by Sheena Boekweg

I flew down the stairs toward my rooms and most especially my costume closet. My heartbeat raced, but it was just preshow jitters. Warm-ups should calm it down. “Unique New York, unique New York. You know you need unique New York.” I blew raspberries like a horse to loosen my jaw and shook out my arms so I could get blood flowing. I needed every inch of me to be awake and active. Dynamic fingers. Fill that stage with your presence.

  In my rooms, I glanced in my triple lighted mirror and opened my closet door.

  More than any other scene I’d done so far, this moment was what would make me a star. I would either kill them all to claim my victory, or else they’d team up and I’d have the most epic death scene since Romeo and Juliet. Either way, I needed to channel Meryl and earn it.

  My costume was steamed, loaded, and hung on a hook on the back of the door. I dressed in stealth mode. The cameras may have caught glimpses of the costume as I constructed it, but I was not going to give away the full effect until the right moment. In stealth mode, the cameras couldn’t see the gilded crown rising like horns above my head, or my smallest helmet, designed more to hide my hibisi drip than to offer protection, highlighting my cheekbones. I wore a stark bloodred dress, expertly cut with long bell sleeves to hide the poison blade shooter, a high neckline and a low back, perfect to display my stained glass Wingship.

  I folded my mechanical wings tight against my back, and then wrapped myself in an ordinary Historian’s cloak. I lowered a plain mask, and the only thing that marked me different from another Historian was the tips of my horned crown, which stuck out an inch.

  Stealth mode ended. All the cameras would see was a common Historian, not unlike the ones spinning in the ballroom directly over my head.

  The remaining players would not see me coming.

  This reveal would send chills up the audience’s neck.

  Stealth on.

  30

  DAGNEY

  A seagull squawked and the ocean rumbled as waves crashed against the shore.

  I measured the distance to the castle and did a little estimating while my new armor chafed against the ocean-drenched clothes I wore underneath. My head ached with exhaustion and all I wanted to do was find a cozy bit of blankets, something yummy, and maybe a book, but I had a brother to save first.

  20 percent, I estimated. I timed the step and we took off from the shore, zooming until we reached a large expanse of grounds right at the base of the Savak castle.

  The castle looked like a knife, towers filed sharp, cutting the sky with flags.

  All around us, from the ground and flying higher, a wall of Savak Wingships loomed like buzzing flies. Boxes of treasures hid on the ground, and I could count the levels we’d amp if we had time to just fight the Savak army that watched our approach.

  A couple of soldiers brandished weapons and rushed us.

  Ryo let go of my hand and drew his sword. Now would have been a good time to use that army Ryo had started to assemble but we’d had to leave behind. My fingers itched to grab my axes and crush a few NPCs. Let out this tension and pressure that had built between my shoulder blades.

  But we were doing a speed run here. We needed to grab Grig, find any of the remaining armor, and get out of this creepy place.

  The arrow pointing to Grigfen turned upward. Ryo’s sword crashed as he fought the Wingship.

  I cleared my throat and did a little math. The castle was massive. Maybe 10 percent?

  I lunged for Ryo’s arm and with one magic step we zoomed to the top balcony of the castle.

  The platform at the top of the tallest tower looked more like a ballroom than a battlefield. Historians danced at the center, each spin mechanical and whirling. An orchestra of Whirligigs played in a dark and empty corner, gears shifting as bows ripped across strings and sticks attached to a slowly spinning wheel banged on drums. Loyalties and magic lit the sky, so much red fog; it felt like blood had filled my eyes. The shattered sky had swallowed the sunrise, and every minute more of the sky dissolved.

  We were running out of time.

  The arrow in my mind disappeared. Grig had to be up here somewhere.

  Disengage boots.

  I let go of Ryo and armed myself with a battle-axe in each hand. I hadn’t really had time to test out these axes, and there wasn’t time for a tutorial. I scanned the prisoners lining the edges.

  Devani on one side. Devout on the other. Each chained and working, their magic or ghostlight seeping out of them, pulling into the center of the room where a sitting mechanical hummed. The queen of the Savak had turned these people into fuel.

  And then made them stand pretty while she drained them.

  A green player indicator hung above a winged man covered in paint.

  Grig.

  We rushed to his side. Grigfen’s skin glowed pale as a bone, his shaved head painted to look like a skull with pointed teeth, a black crack lining his forehead where the Crown of Visions perched crookedly. While I was worried about him, he’d earned another piece of the armor.

  Badass.

  He didn’t move or celebrate or even grin. He stayed on his knees. His loyalty only flickered from red to purple for a second before shifting back to red, even as Ryo knelt at his side.

  “Hey, gang,” he whispered. “Can’t move. Sorry about that.”

  Why wasn’t he moving? Ryo pulled a jar of hibisi tea.

  Grig stared at the dance floor, his pale eyes devoid of hope. He nodded. “I’d love a nip, thank you.” He drank and his cheeks warmed with color as his stats improved.

  “What happened?”

  “So much. I’d love to tell you the long version, because it makes me look quite impressive, but the short version is I betrayed you all in order to keep breathing, but McKenna doesn’t trust me, so she’s strapped me with wing swords posted above my back and if I sneeze wrong she’ll push the button on her bracelet and I’ll die.”

  He was right. The wings were filed sharp, the tips stained with either blood or red paint, I wasn’t sure. They were attached to gears between his shoulder blades and a sliding spring that would shove them into his lower back.

  “How far a distance do you think the button will work?” I asked. “If we grab him and—”

  “I’ll check.” Grig’s eyes flashed white and his spine arched upward. The Crown of Visions must be showing him a future. Ryo tugged at the bar around Grig’s chest, looking for a clasp.

  Grig’s eyes flashed back.

  “It won’t work,” Grig said. “You have to get the bracelet off McKenna.”

  Ryo stepped back. “Or convince her not to push it.”

  “I tried. She doesn’t believe that this is real.”

  “Perhaps I could be more persuasive?” Ryo asked. He pulled back one more time, and the gears clinked forward.

  Sweat fell down the side of Grig’s face, leaving a trail of skin down his painted cheek. “Stop. She won’t believe us. She can’t. Her win condition is killing other players, so…” He winced and his loyalty colors flashed back to red.

  Ryo met my eyes. “How many did she kill?”

  “Loads. But she doesn’t know it’s real. I told her, but…”

  How could she believe it?

  “Hey, you’re alive,” I told him. “You’ve done well. And we’re here, okay. We won’t let her kill you.” But how could we stop her without killing her?

  “She’s not attached to the pain receptors, so—”

  The soundtrack suddenly went very very quiet. Grig paled. “I can’t talk longer.”

  With a shudder he fell to his knees, ghostlight pouring from his hands. He began singing a Devout hymn.

  A red diamond floated over the dance floor.

  McKenna was here.

  31

  RYO

  The Savak I saw did not match my father’s stories. McKenna must have taken some creative liberties.

  I had no idea how to defend against them, and neither did my game vision.

  “What do we do?” I searched the ballro
om for whatever had made Grigfen and Dagney go so still. “We can’t kill her and we can’t leave Grig with her.”

  “What resources do we have?” Dagney whispered. She raised her axe. “I could try to cut Grig’s wings off with this. It’s the Axe of Destruction.”

  Brilliant. “Test it out on something else first.”

  Dagney swung the axe into a large self-playing cello. The thing collapsed into itself, its center a black boiling acidic liquid that kept spreading.

  “Don’t try that on me!” Grig whispered sharply.

  The black ooze seeped down from the ruined cello, eating a violin, silencing the string instruments, and tearing off a section of the balcony.

  “What did you do to my set?” A female voice rang out from behind us.

  I lifted my sword. A feather cape ruffled before it disappeared back in the dancing Whirligigs. She was hiding … Why wasn’t she just attacking? Why wasn’t she pushing the button?

  “Maybe I should try the Axe of Creation,” Dagney said, one eyebrow raised.

  What could I do? “I’ll try to turn her prisoners to our side. The Devout seem pissed. I can use that.”

  “Be careful.”

  I nodded, and for the briefest of seconds we shared a look shaded by hints of goodbye.

  Then she turned away and slammed the other axe into the railing lining the edge of the balcony. At the impact the material in the railing doubled, growing taller, like a hedge, the iron bars twisting up and crisscrossing over our heads.

  The red player indicator reappeared, and for a moment I saw McKenna, her eyes entranced in the axe’s creating. Her fingers lifted to the mask on her face, and a golden bangle with a jewel slid down her wrist.

  Her focus was on Dagney’s axe. Not me. Every speck of gamer in me disappeared, and suddenly it was Friday night, and I stood on the line of scrimmage staring at a quarterback with his eyes on the other side of the field and a direct open line down the middle.

  Hut, hut, hut, hike.

  I rushed forward, my head low into a tackle. At the last second, she turned toward me, the whites of her eyes flashing. She disappeared. When I reached the place she’d just been, there was nothing to tackle but air.

  Something I could not see sliced at my arms.

  Dagney

  What part of “Go turn the Devout to our side!” meant tackling the person who was trying to kill us?

  McKenna had sliced at the wrong girl’s teammate and occasional make-out person. I swung my axe and growled.

  But she’d gone back into hiding like the spider she was.

  “Ryo,” I shouted. I tossed the hibisi to him. He caught the jar and sipped some of the tea.

  He seemed properly embarrassed as his arms healed. “I know. I know.”

  He tossed the jar back to me.

  The army from the beach was flying up the side of the castle. The wall I’d formed blocked the sky a little. That would help, but I needed Ryo to use his Charisma to turn the NPCs to our side. “There’s your army,” I said, pointing to the Devout and Devani. He nodded.

  Then I went searching for a spider.

  Ryo turned to the Devout and called them heathens or something. I only half listened. McKenna had the ability to go invisible.

  Which was really the worst idea Ryo’s mom ever had.

  I knocked a spinning Historian off the track. The Historian swung at me, blades slashing at my arms.

  OW. I slammed my axe into it. Twice for good measure.

  The Axe of Destruction left a black acid-like substance behind, which burned the marble floor.

  “Stop!” McKenna said from the empty air. “Do you have any idea how long it took to make those?”

  I slammed my axe into another Historian. “Give me your bracelet and I’ll stop.”

  Whatever Ryo said to the Devout seemed to work. Grigfen kept singing, but the rest of the Devout succumbed to Ryo’s Charisma and stopped powering the dancing Whirligigs.

  The Historians stopped spinning. I smashed another anyway, swinging my axe like a baseball bat.

  “Ghostlight!” Ryo said, his eyes lighting.

  The Devout with purple loyalties sent a wave of ghostlight into the ballroom, a bright green fog that seeped over the floor and outlined a large shape that might have been a human in a cloak.

  Clever. “Found you,” I said.

  McKenna flashed visible, sliding the Historian cloak off her shoulders and removing her mask.

  She was every inch an evil queen. Her dark wings spread wide, reflecting light through the jewel-tone glass. Her bloodred dress was stunningly cut, showcasing her collarbones and the sharp angle at which she held her head. She captured the ballroom, just glowing with the Charisma Ryo was programmed to have.

  She raised her wrist, flashing a bracelet twisted with two jewels, and pressed a button.

  Blades whirred as swords struck through flesh.

  McKenna

  It was gratifying, really, to watch their jaws drop when they saw me. Even more so when they turned at the sound of the death wings striking through flesh.

  Oh, this was especially dramatic.

  I flicked my wrists and palmed a dagger in each hand, waiting for them to come for me. I wanted them to die with their eyes on mine.

  But they didn’t come for me.

  It was like they dropped character completely, and they rushed to the player with the blood pooling around him.

  Which button had I pushed anyway? Both bracelets were strung together, but I’d only struck one.

  I turned, following Ryo and Dagney with my eyes as they knelt in front of the Devani.

  Andrew.

  All the Devani-enhanced crafting had disappeared from my stats.

  Shame.

  I lifted my palm and focused down the length of my arm to aim. Dagney kept pouring hibisi down Andrew’s throat, and Ryo tried to stop the blood with his own cape. The endeavor was pointless; I’d already killed him.

  I aimed my dagger for Ryo’s throat.

  Now, while they were distracted.

  I fired.

  32

  BLUEBIRD_OFDEATH

  The elevator lifted slowly, the Muzak sickly sweet, doing nothing to calm my racing heart.

  Any second now, Ms. Takagi would see we weren’t in the players’ hall. Any second now, McKenna would kill Grig and then he wouldn’t wake. I had to get in there. I wanted my raven cloak and I wanted Grig’s hand in mine.

  “What do you want me to say to McKenna so she’ll trust me?” I asked Mr. Carrington. His shirt had wrinkled, and he wouldn’t look at me.

  He lowered his hand. “Perhaps ‘the world was wide enough’ to let them live.”

  “Is that a Hamilton reference?”

  “If that doesn’t work, say, ‘One singular sensation.’ That was her last recital song, and it will at least distract her so you can disarm her.” The elevator dinged and the doors opened.

  Neither of us left.

  “It’s really brave what you are doing.” He met my eyes. “Foolish maybe. But I’m grateful. McKenna is my princess and I—”

  “Don’t worry about it, Mr. C. I’ve been rescuing princesses from castles since I was three years old. I got this.”

  He followed me to the chair I’d used earlier and strapped me in. He started to lower the harness but stopped. “I’m not sure this is the right thing to do. If you go in as a full player you’ll be connected to the pain receptors. You could die.”

  I closed my eyes. “We all could die, Mr. C. We all only have one life over our head.”

  I was born with the words return to sender stamped on my forehead. I was never going to get better. I’d never regain the muscle strength I’d lost, and one day the disease I fought was going to kill me.

  But until that day, I’d live. Living was a form of fighting back.

  And I wanted my life to have Grigfen in it.

  He gave me something to fight for.

  I dipped my head. “I can help. I’ll give her your m
essage and no one else will have to die.”

  He lowered the harness and strapped on the diodes.

  “Last chance.”

  It was my choice, and I knew the risk. “Time to summon Exodia.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I shrugged my shoulder and smiled. “That means yes.”

  * * *

  I woke in the middle of a ballroom. In front of me, the queen of the Savak fired a dagger. A whiff of smoke expelled from her wrist. My whirligig-assisted leg braces slid into attack mode as I reached into a Historian’s cloak and drew a blade with each hand. I spun and cut that dagger down.

  The queen stared at me, and then flashed invisible.

  I breathed heavy. Searched around. She was hiding somewhere. I knew it.

  I had no idea what was happening, but I knew a battlefield when I saw one. I sniffed deep. No sign. Last thing I remembered I’d been given an assignment with my fellow Everstriders. The general had gone missing, rumors whispering that she’d signed her name on a contract giving our kingdom to the Savak. Last thing I remembered, it was morning.

  The green fog cleared and a girl kneeling by Prince Ryo turned, gorgeous axes held in each hand.

  Her expression seemed surprised to see me for a brief second, and then she gestured to the side. “Take off Grig’s wings now.”

  She pointed to a painted boy on his knees. Sharp metal wings sprouted from his back.

  I had no idea what was happening, but I recognized the order in her tone. I pulled off the Historian’s cloak, revealing my Everstrider uniform and the Mechani armor I called Voyage, which helped me walk. I marched to his side.

  His hopeless eyes met mine, and the loss in them dimmed as if snuffed.

  “Bluebird?” he whispered.

  How did he know my name? He didn’t seem familiar, but nothing seemed familiar. “What is happening?” I said. My voice seemed too loud. Why was everything so loud? My Everstrider uniform seemed so bright, gold medals gleaming, leather boots tucked into my armor, and coat pulled tight at the waist and trimmed at my knees with bells that only rang when ghosts were nearby.