I take in the full landscape as it rotates, committing the terrain to my memory.
Asher leans back against his headrest and regards us. His eyes settle first on Ren. “Time to test your Fighter skills,” he says. “You’re next to me, wild card.” Then he looks at me. “Ems,” he adds, nodding at the rotating map. “You’re starting on my other side. Hammie, stay a little ahead of her. Grab as many power-ups as you can and pass them to her. Roshan, take care of the wild cards and make sure they don’t fall behind if they’re killed early on. Let’s go win this.”
I look at Ren. He gives Asher a single nod, as if he were here only for the victory, as if he hadn’t just visited the Dark World to help bring down the entire game. My hand rubs unconsciously at my wrist, where Hideo had wrapped the invisible noose.
Two of us can play at this.
? ? ? ? ?
TODAY, THE TOKYO Dome is completely covered with the colors and symbols that represent us and the Demon Brigade. Through our lenses, we can see the image of a scarlet phoenix hovering high above the arena, alongside a horde of black-and-silver-hooded demons. Staring in the direction of the dome brings up a bunch of both teams’ statistics in midair. The Demons have won two championships. We’ve only won once, but we won it by beating them. I let myself think back on the insults that Tremaine and Max had thrown my way. Today should be an interesting match.
The inside of the arena looks even more spectacular. During the Wardraft, the lower arena was taken up by circles of wild cards sitting and waiting for their assignments. Today, all of that is gone, replaced by a smooth floor currently displaying a rotation of a red-and-gold phoenix soaring in front of the sun, and then fading into a demon horde full of grinning skulls and dark hoods. Ten glass booths are arranged in a circle on this floor, five for us, five for the Demons. In official games, the players step inside these booths to ensure that everything is exactly fair for both teams: equal temperature differences; air pressure; Link calibrations; connection to Warcross; and so on. It also prevents players from eavesdropping on commands given by their opponents.
The stadium is completely packed. An omniscient voice is already calling out each of our names as we enter the arena, the voice deep and reverberating, and as it does, each name rotates in flames in the arena’s center. The cheers send tremors through me as we file into the center of the arena and wait to be led to our booths. On the opposite end, the Demons arrive, too. “Ireland’s Jena MacNeil, the youngest captain in the official games!” they call out. “England’s Tremaine Blackbourne, her Architect! Max Martin of the USA, the Demons’ Fighter!” They go down the line. Darren Kinney, Shield. Ziggy Frost, Thief. She meets my eyes briefly, as if apologetic, but then straightens and gives me a determined nod. I stare back calmly. We may have been friendly at the Wardraft, but right now, we’re rivals.
My attention turns to Tremaine. He’s glaring at me, so I decide to give him a dazzling smile in return.
The stadium voice announces my name. I’m deafened by the chorus of screams that come up from the audience. There are banners with my name on them, waving frantically in the packed seats. EMIKA CHEN! Some of them say. TEAM USA! TEAM PHOENIX RIDERS! I blink at them, bewildered to see the display. Somewhere at the top of the arena, the voices of the game’s analysts argue back and forth about today’s game.
“By all accounts,” one says, his voice deafening in the arena, “we should see the Demon Brigade slaughter the Phoenix Riders, currently the lowest-ranking team in the championships.”
“But Asher Wing is one of the most talented captains in the games,” another pipes up. “He has kept his wild-card choices surprising and mysterious. Why did he pick them? We’ll have to see. But don’t count the Phoenix Riders out yet!”
I step into my booth and let it seal me in. Suddenly, the world turns quiet, and the audience’s roar and analysts’ voices lower to a muffled din.
“Welcome, Emika Chen,” says a voice inside the booth. A red sphere appears and hovers before me. “Please look forward.”
This is the same calibration that I’d done when I first boarded Hideo’s private jet. They are making sure that each player’s calibrations are in sync. I do what the voice says as it runs me through the full calibration. When it’s finished, I look through the glass on either side and see each of my teammates in their own booths. The pounding of my heart fills my ears.
Out in the center of the floor, the lights dim. The announcer’s voice comes on in my earphones. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he exclaims, “let’s—get—started!”
The arena around us fades out, and we are transported into an alternate world.
Cold sunlight makes me squint. I hold up a virtual hand to shield my eyes. Then, gradually, the glow fades, and I find myself suspended in midair, overlooking a vast expanse of blue ice and snow-covered glaciers, all shifting and cracking under their own weight. The snow glitters under an alien sun in a million points of light. The sky is a sheet of purple and pink and gold, and giant planets are suspended against it, their rings curving past the horizon. Enormous ice monuments tower in the landscape, erupting from the glacier at random intervals. The monuments look carved from the wind, hunched and holed and weathered, translucent, and stretch as far as the eye can see. Even the music playing around us sounds cold—synthetic bells, echoes, a background wind, and a deep, thudding, rhythmic beat.
But what really catches my attention are the towering cliffs of blue ice on either side of us, forming our path. Frozen inside this blue ice are enormous beasts. A polar bear as large as a skyscraper. A white wolf with a missing eye, its jaws frozen into a snarl. A snake-like dragon. A saber-toothed tiger. A woolly mammoth. I shiver in awe at the size of them. They look as if they could explode from the ice at any moment.
My stomach dips as I dare to look down. I’m outfitted in bright red Architect gear, my boots and thick hood trimmed with scarlet fur, and I’m standing on what looks like a hovering board strapped to my boots. Blue flames shoot from two cylinders attached to its base. To my left, Asher and Ren are both dressed in similar red snow gear, each of them also hovering in midair on boards. This is going to be a race.
To my right, our opponents appear.