Thanks to the support of the fairy Lil’ Star and the two-headed ogre Mano’Hano, sent by the Green League, Scyth wins. But both the fairy and the ogre die.
Alex flies out to the Demonic Games…
Prologue: Malik
MALIK ALWAYS WAS a joker. He grew up in a large family of immigrants from Marrakesh. His relatives occupied a small living complex in an outer district belonging to a rich countryman of theirs, who gave a discount to his own and didn’t punish them when they needed an extension on the rent.
Malik had so many cousins that they could have easily started their own basketball league.
The head of the family was Grandpa Yusuf, a retired general and decorated veteran whose citizenship privileges provided sustenance for his many descendants. The one-child limit came along only after the citizenship categories were introduced. This meant that Yusuf not only had many children, but also an army of brothers and sisters and the Creator only knew how many cousins. They all followed Malik’s grandpa to the American continent and put down roots. But even once they all had citizenship, the family was always looking for ways to earn money.
While grandpa, in the meantime, was quietly descending into senility. He spent most of the day snoozing in his rocking chair, his legs always cold and covered with a blanket. His memory had started to fail him even before Malik was born — his eldest son’s name was the only one he remembered with surety. At the sight of a descendant, the general rattled off names for a while, swearing and trying to guess right (which, on occasion, he even did), but he never recognized Malik, so at some point he just nicknamed him Saghir — Little One, in Arabic. Grandpa’s love only stretched so far, and none of it reached the youngest grandson.
The clan lived poor, but Malik’s parents got it worse than the rest. The table was set at their house only for dinner. Full-fledged breakfasts and lunches were replaced by UNBs, said to contain all the necessary nutrients — synthetic proteins, fats and carbohydrates, vitamins and minerals, supposedly all the body needed, but in reality far from it: Malik grew up sickly.
In their small family community where weakness was detested, but bravery and courage lauded (with the proper respect for elders, of course), Malik armed himself with jokes. Dumb ones, it has to be said. Malik played the clown who usually chose himself as the butt of the joke.
“A-ha-ha!” his cousins roared as they listened to a story from Malik about yet another scrape he’d gotten into. “What a dumbass!”
But then they’d call Saghir over to treat him to some leftover pizza or fries. Malik got so used to the nickname that he thought of it as just a second name.
His quick wit worked well on his cousins, but not his classmates. He couldn’t get into any of the school gangs. The cool guys like Hung, Tim and Ed paid him no more mind than they paid the teacher in class. The rest looked down their noses at the hand-me-down clothes he wore to school and felt superior. The smart guys, or the ones who thought of themselves that way, like Alex Sheppard, just didn’t notice him.
Malik blamed all this not just on the poverty in his family, but also on his appearance. Truth was, he hated himself. He was short, he slouched, he had a big nose and long eyelashes like a girl, thin arms and legs, a hollow chest with his ribs sticking out. And stupid frizzy hair… He was a real monster.
Even his family was ashamed of him and treated him like a doorbell baby. Not his parents, of course, but the others. Sometimes aunts came to visit and disdainfully gave Malik’s mother clothes their own children had grown out of, old gadgets and other garbage, whatever they didn’t have enough room for but couldn’t bear to throw away.
Almost four years ago, in the middle of August, Malik entered seventh grade. Mr. Kovac gave the introductory lesson. He decided to raise the subject of social inequality, and to discuss the methods the government used to give everyone a chance. And he spoke of Disgardium.
On that day, Malik thought only of one thing: just another year and a half and he would start his own life. His parents, with their lowest of the low citizenship status, could never have afforded to buy him a capsule. But they didn’t need to! At age fourteen, the Department of Education would provide one for him. And then everything will change! Malik swore to himself. I’ll do something there that will make everyone respect me!
As for what exactly, he didn’t know yet. But he was sure of one thing: all those who smirked at his hand-me-downs, who looked at him as if at a slug, sometimes even forgetting that Malik Abdualim was their classmate… They would all find out who he really was. And maybe Tissa Schafer would pay him some attention too. Sorry that I didn’t notice you before, Malik, she would say. Would you like to go somewhere with me? Of course, he would agree, but not right away. He had his pride, but he knew how to be generous. He could forgive. And when they went on the date, he would kiss her and admit that he’d loved her for a long time. But not right away. Let her twist a little first.
His soaring dreams crashed upon the cliff face of reality. A few days later, Malik was nearly in tears, not because Ed Rodriguez pantsed him in physical education, but because Tissa had seen it. At least she didn’t laugh like the others.
Malik filled with resolution and concentrated
