Aurix simmers beside me as we ascend to the throne level of the Metro Blockhouse. Through the curved glass wall of the staff-only lift, the evergreen glow of the Electric Town shines on through a brisk spring night. The city shrinks as we continue to ascend. At midnight, the only people still moving in the arena are custodians, sleepless leaguers finishing training sessions, or stragglers returning from a night on the town. One by one they peel off to their staterooms within the tower as we approach the fiftieth floor.

  Irate even in his patience, Aurix keeps his arms crossed and glares at the numbered holopad like it’ll make the numbers go faster. His dirtied boots tap against the deck. Blood drips from a shard of metal embedded in his shoulder, and a hairline scratch from a near miss with a bullet streaks along a cut in his skinsuit’s thigh. Small tongues of fire wind loops around his forearms; exercises of concentration for his Elemental class.

  Dude’s an open book. Pride bigger than his skills, dreams bigger than his hands. No different from any other uni fighter jockeying for a higher spot on the leaderboards. The only thing that separates him from any other egotistical rank-chaser is that he happened to be born with a name and is just talented enough to pose a danger. He’s a bull just looking for a china shop to fuck around and find out in.

  Stubbornness is the only similarity he and Tay share. In everything else, they couldn’t be further apart. They’re like opposite timelines of the same absentee-father origin point. She’s adopted. He’s the spitting image of the Showmaker. She’s a nuclear bomb of natural potential that makes supernatural exertions of strength seem carefree; he only looks good when he’s picking on someone smaller. Big city bully, small town sweetheart. Et cetera, et cetera.

  Play second fiddle to others your whole life, and you can be a little bitter about it, yeah? I more than most could sympathize with that. But then he tried to strangle my girlfriend to death. Hard to work up any pity after something like that.

  He’s a spoiled piece of shit. And some day, I’m going to remind him that actions like those always come with consequences.

  The press of gravity lightens as the lift slows, then stops at the throne level. Stainless steel doors slide open with a hydraulic hiss and we step out together into a vast chamber that stretches without walls or pillars across half of the breadth of the tower. Open-air views extend to the east and west edges of the tower, and narrow catwalks reach out into open air to hold up hexagonal landing pads for aircraft and flying classes. The repulsorfield barriers that normally line the view in lieu of windows are powered down. Faraway sounds of the city drift in the open atmosphere, following us along a grand crimson carpet towards the muraled wall that bisects the throne level. Set in the center of that wall, doors large enough to admit a Titan-frame Mecha- only one has ever held the throne, two centuries back- separate us from the Champion’s throne.

  The chamber’s cavernous interior is vast, spartan, and dimly lit. The personality installed by its previous master has been almost entirely stripped out, replaced by hostile expanses of unadorned grey. I miss the missing touches. This floor used to be the unofficial break room of the entire tower’s staff. There were entire lounges and caf bars installed where Jolie’s interns would assemble and socialize every morning before our shifts began. Leaguers would be meeting with promo artists and trainers, and even Mars would be dropping by to eat his lunches with everyone else when he could. He left the throne room’s doors wide open every day of his reign.

  Those doors are sealed now. The only sign that Mars even existed is his place in the living mural on the wall, and the six adolescent Lungracian trees that flank the final steps to the throne room; three on each side. Only a few people are scattered around the bare metal blocks that now function as seats. I watch them in the corner of my eye as I walk with Aurix down the blood-red carpet.

  Four operators in Counterespionage Division uniforms surround Valance with projector screens; reviewing the results of the raid in low tones. Tall and full-figured, the Psi is wearing a silky, shoulderless smock of sheer dark fabric that hangs just past her hips, and thigh-high stockings over her legs. Her peach-colored hair is held back in a loose, wide braid. Casual and comfortable, like she was just about to retire for the night when she swung by. Pink eyes with catlike irises glance casually over to me as I enter. I ignore her.

  Beyond her, one of Gami’s personal cabal- Ghul, a foreigner who’s served him since before he even entered the Section as a minor leaguer- sits slumped on a block near the throne room doors. He’s short and androgynous, densely muscled and hoarse-voiced. His body looks like he was born entirely without skin; just sleek blue-purple muscle fiber spun over a human shape. A pale mask smeared with finger-painted designs in red paint saves the world from having to see his true face. Bony spikes protrude from his back like shark fins, and a macabre belt of trophy JOYs taken from dead enemies hangs at one hip. Two wolflike creatures with the same skinless physique and pale masks sleep around his feet, and a third sits eerily still while Ghul pulls a lump of raw meat out of a hip pouch and gives it an underhand toss. The creature’s jaws snap with a sound like a sledgehammer impact.

  Last present is a pair chatting near the lift: a uni-aged boy with vibrant green eyes and browned, straw-colored hair wound in a comfortable braid- Siris Fang, one of the old Champion Fang’s grandsons- and a lithe girl in a backless cocktail dress who could easily have passed for one of his classmates. Cacao hair, milky skin and moody brown eyes, slim body smoothed of all wrinkles; even I’ll admit she’s a looker. Siris likely has no idea he’s talking with a woman well over twice his age.

  Kinetic rejuvenation is a hell of a drug, and Aster, my Assassin mentor, is an addict. She feigns the playfulness of someone two generations younger as she lays a light hand on his arm, giggling at something he says. Then those eyes drift languidly to me, and the guise slithers away as an older, more clipped tone enters her voice.

  “Back without a scratch,” she says, leaving Siris red-faced to intercept me. She kisses me on the cheek. Her perfume smells like spice and fall. “Good to see all that training wasn’t a waste. You’ve been getting your hands dirty, Feint.”

  “Mirage,” I say, using her working pseudonym. Professional courtesy. I cast another glance at Valance, who’s taken notice of the interaction. “Didn’t expect to see you here so late.”

  “I don’t choose the dance; just my attendance. Gami always has wet work he wants done. And this city never does get old for the eyes- retro rarely goes out of style.” She rests a hand on her hip. “Shame what happened with your brother. I know I’m not the only one who had high expectations of him. That kind of talent is once in a century.”

  At the mention of Thane, Aurix brusquely drifts on to the throne room. Watching him go with concerned eyes, Siris shoots me a shrug and heads after him, trying to strike up a conversation.

  Aster barely acknowledges his departure, still focused on me. “I always knew Thane had a temper in him, but I assumed he was smarter than trying to betray a Champion. At least you kept your wits…” She trails off as a titanic rumble groans through the atrium. The doors to the throne room begin to roll ponderously open. “...let’s catch up in the morning, darling. My treat. You’ve been to the coffee bar on the fifteenth floor? I heard the new spring roast is spectacular.”

  “Sure. Yeah.”

  She tilts her head in a professional amount of concern- as much as a contract killer is capable of, at least. I wave her off with a shake of my head.

  “Long job. Long month, really.”

  “So I heard from the Iros,” she says. She trails a nail like a knife tip down my arm as she begins to turn towards the throne room. “I’m so interested to hear all about what this undercover task of yours was. You’ll have to share how you played your part so convincingly.”

  Letting the implication slide, I follow behind her as I join the tail end of the procession heading into the throne room. Ghul snaps his fingers and his three beasts rise in sync, trailing behind him like trained dogs. Aurix and Siris go next, though Siris peels off to wait by the Lungracian trees, fiddling with his Concordia Uni jacket. The pet fox sleeping across his shoulders raises its hackles at Ghul’s fleshhounds as the beasts stalk past. Aster follows with hands folded, and Valance comes in last after dismissing the Blackjacks. Head and shoulders taller than me, I can sense her coming up beside me even before she murmurs my name.

  “Cal.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  I keep my voice dead even. “Valance.”

  “Good work tonight. The media is already eating it up. Though we’re going to have to have a chat about that improv at the end.” Her voice is cold steel as she lengthens her stride, drawing ahead of me just as we step into the throne room. “After this. Downstairs.”

  As soon as I pass the threshold, the room begins to seal behind me with a sound like two atlas stones grating against each other. The beam of light coming from the atrium thins from a line to a string to absolute darkness as the doors grind shut. I stand motionless, fingering a dagger, listening to the breathing of the people around me. After a moment, my eyes begin to adjust to the sourceless, silvery illumination pervading the chamber.

  The throne room is a black mirror of the atrium. A pitch-dark chamber, hollow and immense and void of any adornment save for a massive platinum throne with a ring-shaped, unfinished back. The throne itself sits empty and faces a wavering ensemble of six projector screens coming from hidden holoprojectors, silhouetted by the flickering lights. It rises alone from a polished floor of stone so absolutely smooth that when I glance down for a closer look, I’m almost tricked into thinking that I’m standing on a perfectly still surface of water. The soles of my boots press against their inverted reflection as I shift on my toes.

  Assassin instincts remind me of my place. My eyes flick back up to the empty throne as an unnatural movement shivers through it, like a raindrop ripple striking a pond. Without so much as a whisper, the entire throne morphs and whirls in a circular motion, unraveling into the dread shape of a towering, platinum colossus. A titan forged from earthshaking tons of solid metal. Nine feet tall. Shuttered, draconic wings. Trailing serpentine tail thicker around than my torso that I’ve watched choke someone to death. Gargoyle proportions, clublike paws and feet that could pulverize a skull by stepping on it.

  It’s the Champion’s presence that stills me most of all. Absolution exudes from Gami so physically that I can almost feel it like a Ki Fighter’s aura. Absolute power. Absolute control. Absolute rule. The intimidation factor raises every hair in my body and roots me in my place. Even as a part of a crowd, even though it’s not my first time feeling his presence.

  As a game, Aster once asked me how I would kill him, if I had to.

  Even with my Relic, I still don’t have an answer.

  Gami is a monolith. The factors that divide him from someone like me are ones it would take decades to even begin to overcome. With normal people, you can start to understand their classes, their strengths and weaknesses, and see where a gap might be found. A Champion is a different monster entirely. They rule because they’re so faultless that their strength appears absolute despite the downsides it should have on paper- and Gami doesn’t even seem to have those. No leaguer has come within a mile of landing a mortal strike on him in the three years of his reign.

  Back to us, the Champion’s featureless helm watches the bank of holoprojections. The screens keep tabs on everything from news stream coverage of the Vents, to an ongoing stage play at the Keiza Operahouse, to a rebroadcast of a protest in the Uni District that occurred earlier in the day, to air traffic trackers playing backwards at five times real speed. At the end of the display, a vertical seventh screen holds a pixelated, freeze-frame image of a girl with white hair and glowing skin charred by kinetic overexertion. Long and lean, eyes red and wild, face fixed in grim determination. Midair and halfway through a roundhouse kick, golden energy arcing in a comet tail behind the path of her foot. The image cycles to a looping video, five seconds long, of my brother training in one of the M’s simulacrum. He simultaneously dismantles five minor league sims in a single devastating defense. The vid loops. Dismantles them again.

  Gami doesn’t even acknowledge our presence. Ghul kneels a respectful distance behind him, joined by Valance. Aurix stands with arms crossed. I lean by the door with Aster, watching the video of Thane loop three more times until Gami- who’s not even outwardly looking at it- changes it back to the image of Tay without any visible motion.

  “Dynasty has been fully expunged.” Valance is the first to break the silence. “What parts of their operations in the Orange that were still active have been seized, including civilian staff and mercenaries. Going by prior census data and risk models, less than ten percent of the syndicate’s manpower stayed behind after they pulled out of the Vents. The territory itself was taken with little damage, though it appears that the last Executor to visit the Orange electronically transferred the deed for the entire block to Jolie Mons. It was seized and turned over to the Metro Blockhouse’s holdings earlier tonight.” She waits for Gami to say something, and when he remains silent, “The media presence during the operation was executed as you requested, Champion. The results speak for themselves. Aurix is headlining every major news stream. By morning, the entire capital will know his face.”

  Weird reflections of the projector screens shift over Gami’s platinum skin. Valance’s voice trails softly away.

  “Olympus.”

  One word delivered in that volcanic rumble freezes us all.

  “Olympus is where they will go. Jolie to her allies, and the daughter of Mars will follow. They think it will be their shelter. ” One by one, the screens change from news of the capital to displays of paradisiacal vistas from far beyond our Section. He says nothing for another moment, then, “Mirage.”

  Valance bristles, still kneeling.

  “What is a tyrant’s greatest weakness?”

  “They are feared,” Aster says with the droll tone of a schoolchild called on in class. “Not liked.”

  Gami’s helm tips in fractional acknowledgement. “Jolie Mons knows this throne is as much a shackle as it is a scepter. If I were to leave and attempt to exert influence abroad, the pressure keeping the leagues in check would be lifted. I would return to find myself replaced. And that is a battle I cannot afford to win. Not yet. Not while enemies continue to lurk abroad.” Finally, he begins to shift. His titanic frame turns from the screens to stare down at our assembly. “Aurix.”

  The brawler’s entire body language straightens out.

  “You desire revenge against your sister.”

  A statement. Not a question.

  “She’s no sister of mine,” Aurix growls. “She’s a bastard whore who thinks she deserves to take my place. Revenge is just the start of what I want. If Olympus is where she’s going, that’s where I’m going.”

  “You will continue to represent my interests in our Section’s delegation to the Summit of Champions. I trust the honor will not be wasted.” Aurix nods stiffly. “Your heritage is a weapon suited to the political battlefields of Olympus. Grow it and use it to siphon advantages away from my enemies. Do this well, and the daughter of Mars will be yours to do with as you please. As will other rewards. This Section holds a powerful future for you, if you desire to seize it.” The three giant fingers of his right hand flick in a quick, dismissive motion at the rest of us. “Valance, Ghul, Calliope- accompany him, and take the grandson of Fang with you. Mirage, your services are required elsewhere.”

  Lastly, his attention falls to Valance. His tail slithers across the floor with a sound like metal chains, drifting dangerously near to her.

  “You are not my last apprentice. I suggest you learn from his mistakes.”

  The Psi bows her head. “Yes, my Champion.”

  No one but me sees the coldness of her bowed gaze, mirrored in the polished floor. A single step shakes the throne room as Gami turns back to the holoprojections.

  “You are dismissed. Do not disappoint me.”

  I wait where I’m leaning while the others file out of the throne room. As I’m about to leave, the Champion’s volcanic, rumbling voice rises again.

  “Calliope.”

  Hairs rise along the back of my neck. I shift on a heel, one hand instinctively reaching for the dagger hidden at the small of my back, the other itching to activate a Relic I’m no longer wearing. I don’t touch the dagger’s metal hilt yet. At some silent command, the massive doors begin slowly grinding shut. Darkness seals tight once more, and pale blue light from the holoprojections silhouette’s Gami’s frame in full. His back is to me. His tail flicks commandingly.

  “Approach.”

  I do. Relaxing my fingers away from the knife, I rest my hands in the pockets of my black jacket and stride slowly up to the Champion, taking the rare opportunity to run my eyes over his frame up close. It’s absolutely seamless. His real body doesn’t even exist inside of it. No organic weaknesses to exploit. Just metal from front to back. If I did activate my Relic beside him, disrupted his JOY, what would happen? Would he melt into a pile of metal slop? Revert to his human body?

  I don’t know. But I need to.

  One by one, the projector screens wink out and condense into smaller and smaller grids, till all that remains is the image of Tay. I glance over as Gami lowers his titanic mass into a kneeling position identical to the humble way I’ve seen Tay sit on the ground before. Village style, knees bent, legs tucked beneath his body. Not looking at me, his helm stays fixed at a slight upward tilt, fixated on the image.

  For the first time, our heads are at the same height. Though his is twice as large and a dozen times heavier than mine. In the moment, I almost see a shadow of the mind behind the monster. A lone intelligence sitting alone on the floor of their home, all lights off, staring into a stream screen in the darkest hours of the morning.

  “You knew her well,” he says.

  I nod.

  “Tell me of her.”