Last part of the story. Catch up with Part 1 and Part 2

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Everyone sprang into action at once. A blast of fire hit Pross in the face as he raised his sword. As Serk shot a bolt of lightning from his staff, an arrow embedded itself in his back. Scrie’s Healer met the same end as the Wizard. Charles found his head cleaved by the elven Wind Dancer. A burst of fire from the ground sent the sweet stench of Key’s and Lep’s seared flesh into the air.

An axe bounced off Div’s head, the emerald in her headband glowing. She drove her short sword through the axe wielder’s stomach. Flame engulfed her sword. It cleaved through the Knight approaching behind her. An arrow struck her in the neck.

Another Knight stepped around a pillar, his sword in motion. Time slowed around Bight. He dodged the warrior’s weapon and sprinted in, driving one of his daggers underneath the character’s chin.

The pillar exploded in a burst of flames as he dove around it. He sprang to his feet and bolted for the main building.

Screams drew his eyes back over his shoulder. The Firecaster was tearing at his face. The Mage fell to his knees, then toppled over and lay still.

Dat brushed the rest of the powder in her hands onto his body. As the last grain fell from her finger, an arrow went through her temple.

Bight dove through the open doorway and rolled to the foot of the pedestal. Wishing he knew how long he would have to protect the flag on his own, he began formulating a plan. He grabbed a handful of glowing gravel from a pouch hanging from his belt. Tossing it through the back door, he hunkered down behind the flag.

After a chill ran through his back and into his skull, the air around him began playing on his skin. The slightest gust of wind through the open doors hit him like a hurricane. Growing accustomed to the natural movement of the air, he sought out abnormal vibrations.

Four disturbances moved around the building; two stopped outside of the doors on either side of him while the other two continued around to the back, where he had tossed the glowing pebbles.

Bight released the ability, letting the motions fade away. His strength returned as he gripped his daggers. Taking a deep breath, he bolted from behind the pedestal and to one of the side doors. He angled himself so he could see both the doorway next to him and the one opposite it. The tip of an arrow hovered outside the one across from him.

The arrowhead began to move. At the same time, another pushed its way through the door beside him. Before the fletchings became visible, a series of sharp bursts exploded from the third door. Both arrows turned toward it, their wielders pulling them back to full draw.

His target now exposed, Bight sprang forward. He lashed out with one of his daggers, severing the bowstring. The Archer shrieked as the cord snapped across his arm. The sound was cut short by the second dagger going through his throat.

Bight dove back to the pedestal, putting it between him and the other ranged weapon. Through the third door, the elven Wind Dancer showed his face, which was covered by dark starbursts of soot. Among the ash, pale green eyes wavered, struggling to focus.

Bight threw one glance over the pedestal, then jumped up. He lunged at the elf, readying both daggers to strike. Even as his intended victim began to blur, his spine shuttered. The enemy Wind Dancer was pulled back into focus. Daggers struck shortsword.

After a series of strikes imperceptible to any observer, the elf’s ability cut out. His intended block stalled. The last moments of Bight’s ability were enough for him to avoid the shortsword and drive a dagger through his opponent’s shoulder. Crying out, the wounded elf jumped backward. His weapon fell from the injured arm.

While his adversary scrambled for the door, Bight turned on the remaining Archer. Now that the Dancers were back to normal speed and separated, the bowman was taking aim.

Bight hurled one of his daggers. Instead of flying from his hand, the blade fell to the ground a foot in front of him. Cursing the limits of the game, he reached for one of the throwing knives in his belt. The arrow launched first. He jerked sideways, but the missile struck him in the upper arm. With a shout, he dropped his other dagger. A sharp pain radiated through his dead limb.

He flick the knife away with his other hand. The spinning blade embedded itself in the Archer’s forehead. The man slumped over, leaving the two wounded Wind Dancers alone.

Only, when he turned, Bight found that the elf was neither wounded nor alone. His opponent was scooping up his shortsword with an arm that showed no sign of having been injured. Behind him stood another elf, this one dressed in a plain tunic with straps holding small vials running across his body.

The Healer watched him with cautious blue eyes.

Bight danced backward, leaving his daggers resting in the dirt, and cast his gaze around. The flag waved on its pedestal just off to his left. On opposite sides of it, the bodies of the Archers lay in the dust. Light filtered in through the doorway behind him. In front of him, the armed elf twirled his sword and advanced.

Making his decision, Bight backed toward the doorway, eyes fixed on the other Wind Dancer. A grin filled the elf’s face, as sharp as his other features. A playful malice hid behind his pale pupils. Then the look vanished, replaced by pursed lips and wide eyes.

Bight glanced at the two side doors. There was no sign of the bodies that had lain in front of them. It was his turn to smile. Stopping his retreat, Bight stared down the elf.

Before anyone could act, a sword sprouted from the Healer’s chest, an arrow from the Wind Dancer’s forehead. Both crumpled to the ground, revealing Pross’ Knight and Div’s Archer.

“Looks like we respawned just in time, yeah?” Div said.

“Yeah,” Bight said, rubbing his wounded shoulder.

“I’ll take care of that for ya,” Scrie said as he pushed between the Knight and Archer. He held up a hand and whispered a few words. A red light appeared in his palm. Bight’s pain and the wound that caused it evaporated

“Thanks. Did you guys come up with a plan while I was fighting for my life?” Bight snatched his daggers from the ground.

“We decided to try the plan you came up with for our last match. The paired rush thing we didn’t use,” Pross said.

“Finally. It’ll work, just you see.”

“Let’s pick our pairs then. Quickly,” Serk said.

“Divide up the classes, yeah? I say Sig and Dat, Key and Charles…” Div said.

“Lep and Serk,” Bight said.

“Bight and Div,” Sig said.

“They’re our best players, they should split up,” Serk said.

“Agreed,” Div said. “I’ll go with Pross, Scrie, you’re with Bight. Yeah?”

“No, you take the Healer,” Bight said.

“You’re the Wind Dancer. You’re more important to keep alive.”

“My abilities can keep me alive.”

“But you can only use a couple of them before you’re too fatigued. He can keep you going.”

“I don’t need more than a couple. And I’ve poured enough into my recovery rate. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll go with Div. Alright?” Scrie said.

“Good, then we should go now,” Bight said.

“Yeah, fine. Let’s go,” Div said.

The team divided into their pairs and siphoned through the front gate. Once in the sparse forest outside the fortress, they split up, situating themselves across the narrow playfield, just out of view of the other groups. Div, Bight, and their partners took the most open stretch of land, the middle alley. Bight caught the occasional glance of the Archer and Healer darting between trees to his right. The pair moved ahead as he was forced to slow to allow the armored Knight lumbering after him to keep up and quiet. His eyes flitted between the mess of trunks around him. The shadows swayed, simulating opposition.

“Do you think they’re out here rushing us too?” Pross asked.

“If they are, I don’t want them to hear us,” Bight said.

“Right, sorry.” Pross closed the visor on his helmet and went quiet.

Bight froze. He grabbed Pross’ arm. Across an expanse of treeless land, an Archer peered out from behind a rock outcropping.

At the opposite side of the clearing, Div and Scrie crept forward, oblivious to the danger ahead of them.

“They’re going to get seen,” Pross said.

“Probably. Veer left and we’ll continue to the fortress,” Bight said.

“And leave them to be shot?”

“We can still win this if we go around.”

The second Archer joined his teammate behind the rocks. They nocked arrows and aimed at Div and Scrie.

“Their arrows can’t pierce my armor.” Pross bolted into the open.

“Pross, no!”

The Knight waved his sword and shouted, drawing the attention of the Archers. A ball of ice flew from behind a tree near Div and struck him in the chest. His form lit up blue and his movement slowed. He turned toward the Icecaster’s location, only to watch the enemy Thief dash from the same trees.

The Thief slid between Pross’ frozen legs, then sprang up behind his back and drove a knife through his neck. The killer sprinted back into the trees.

Bight muttered a curse as the Archers looked at him. He took off into the forest. Weaving between ever-thickening trees, he pushed his character to the limit.

He ran head-first into Sig’s Raider. She raised her battle axe, then stopped. “Bight, what-” she was cut off by an arrow through her forehead.

Dat’s Witch began calling down a curse. The ground beneath her exploded into flames, consuming her in a scream.

Bight stumbled and hit the ground. Burning bit at his ankle where the fire had grabbed his pants. He beat at the flame. An enemy Knight loomed over him. The chill that ran through his back was a welcome sensation. He smothered the flames and crawled behind the Knight, who tried to redirect his sword. Bight released his ability after driving a dagger through his opponent’s neck.

His sigh was sucked from his lungs and the world vanished in a flash of light.

Bight sat up straight, his hands going to his face. He let out a quiet string of curses as the effects of the fireball that had slain him continued to beat on his cheeks.

The burning subsided and he lowered his hands. He relaxed back into the chair.

“You alright there Bight?” Div’s voice asked.

“I’ll live.” He looked at the screen to see it following the enemy Thief through the forest, their red flag draped over his shoulders. “Is everyone dead?”

“Yep,” Pross said.

“Because of you,” Bight said.

“Hey don’t blame him, they found all of us, yeah?” Div said.

“No, we could have won!” Anger welled in Bight’s chest. “He and I could have gotten around into their fortress. We could have gotten their flag. And he threw it all away for a little crush.”

“Calm down, it’s okay. We can win the next tournament,” Scrie said.

“Not if he can’t put the objective above his feelings.”

“Guys, save it for when we’re out of our pods. Everyone can hear you,” Sig said.

“Fine, it’ll only be a moment anyway,” Bight said, watching the Thief enter the enemy fortress and place the captured flag on the pedestal next to his own. A large “Defeat” appeared on the screen, then it went black.

Bight reached back and detached the wire from his head. The side of his pod hissed, then raised. He winced as light and cheers poured into his somber refuge. He didn’t move from his chair until his eyes had adjusted to the flood.

Outside of the pod was a different world. Inside a massive white room dozens of blue pennants hung from the ceiling, different names and dates sown on them. Hundreds of people stood in front of their chairs, clapping and cheering; half of them were less than enthusiastic.

Bight was the last onto the stage the pods were showcased on and into line with the other players. Over his head hung a flag, green with the head of a lion. Over the other team, red with a flying eagle. Above each of the pods was a screen showing the character used by that player and at the center hung a larger screen showing the full map. Beneath it sat a large golden trophy.

An older man bounded onto the stage, microphone gripped in his hand.

“What a game!” the man said. The crowd cheered louder. “Another season complete for our advanced schoolers and in a magnificent fashion. Not often that we get to see two Wind Dancers battle. I’m certain we will be looking forward to these two teams matching up again next season. I for one will be watching them in the offseason to see what classes they choose for next year. It is exciting to be able to say that the finalist teams will still be with us next year with no graduates! We’ve got two promising young teams here, don’t we?”

Bight crossed his arms as the crowd cheered again. His mind turned to his next character.

“That’s right we do. Now, without further ado, let’s celebrate our winners!” the man continued. “The Eclectic Eagles win their first National Championship. It is with great pleasure that I present this trophy to their captain, the Wind Dancer William Hestle!”

Bight gritted his teeth as the room filled with noise. He looked over at the other boy, who took the trophy from the man’s hand. His jaw set and his hands tensed as he made a mental promise to beat the boy next year.