“Yes. I have no communication devices with me.” I’d left my comm at the base.
“Alright. Raise your arms and pass through the arch.”
I did just that, and judging by the lack of an alarm, I passed the check.
“Thank you, Mr. Sheppard!” the guard said. “Good luck in the Games!”
Thanking him, I entered the castle and stopped to look around. The hotel’s hall was full to bursting and voices filled the air. People were gathered around the carved marble columns and talking excitedly, holding glasses of juice or wine. Human and robot waiters drifted between them. The former carried drinks while the latter offered finger food.
My eyes paused on the holographic sign beneath the ceiling. Burning letters triumphantly announced: Welcome to the Demonic Games XIX! Beneath the greeting was an arrow pointing to the right and down: Registration.
I started heading that way. I quickly felt eyes on me and heard the even hum of voices switch to whispers. Finally, I was across the hall and at the registration desk.
A clerk in medieval clothes sat there as if snoozing, his head bowed over a leather-bound book. A holomask gave him elvish features. His arrow-like brows jutted out to either side like a cat’s whiskers. Next to him stood three shapely women in the leather armor of experienced forest trackers.
“Good evening!” the platinum blonde greeted me. “How can I help you?”
A holographic label hovered above her: Irime, elf, level 1,000 Assistant. The label above the clerk read Ravencrow, Royal Scribe.
“I’m Alex Sheppard. Scyth. I’m here to enter the Demonic Games by invitation from King Eynyon.”
Leaning over the scribe, she translated into elvish:
“Ha na Scyth…”
Only then did Ravencrow raise his head, study me with his gaze and open his book. He leafed through it, ran a finger down the lines and stopped at my name. Our entire conversation from that point went through Irime the translator.
“Summoned Scyth, what made you answer the call?” Ravencrow asked.
“The path of justice brought me here,” I said, repeating the phrase mentioned in the message from Snowstorm. “I wish to become a Demon Fighter, to rise up to defend Disgardium on Judgment Day.”
I sensed a crowd forming behind me. Disapproval and even hatred burned into my back. Someone laughed and commented:
“Said the guy who killed thousands of innocents! Defend, my ass…”
“He’s a brainless freeloader!” an older grating voice added.
“Unworthy!” some girl squawked. “Go back to your hole, Sheppard!”
“We demand he be banned from participating!” came from all around.
“Go home, kid!” a rough male voice barked. “You don’t have a chance!”
“Hey, cheater!” This one shouted right in my ear. Turning my head, I saw the harsh face of a gray-haired man in a dinner jacket with a bow-tie. “Remember Kinema? You answer me!”
I’d expected something like this, but I was still shocked. So much concentrated hatred in just a few seconds! With some effort, I straightened my slouching shoulders and back, raised my head and turned around to look at the diverse crowd. Young and old, they all looked amazing. Healthy, fit, flourishing. Each had achieved great success in Dis through hard work and patience. And here I was, a contradiction to everything on which their self-importance was built. An ordinary schoolboy from an ordinary family who happened to be in the right time and place to become a top-tier Threat.
Suddenly, Malik’s curly head flashed in the crowd, along with… Tissa? She was here too! I felt a little easier and started to look for them again in the crowd, but that man’s face appeared before me again:
“Hey, kid! Look me in the eye when I’m speaking to you!” Bow-tie said, turning to the crowd and shouting: “He doesn’t give a damn about us! Throw him out of here and be done with it! Shame I can’t lay a finger on him!”
Neither the guards nor the Snowstorm employees paid any attention to what was going on. I rubbed my face, kept my eyes on the furious man, then reached out and adjusted his cockeyed bow-tie:
“Easy to be brave here in real life. What did you say your nick was in Dis?”
Bow-tie choked, reddened, said nothing. I turned away and didn’t turn back again, ignoring the rising wave of indignation. I pretended like the damage from the words just raised my psychological Resilience. Words can’t hurt you unless you let them.
The scribe had been silently watching the exchange and now pinned me with a hazy stare, his eyes as if covered in white film. It looked like he was reading data right on his retina — must be some new technology that hadn’t yet reached the mass market.
“Summoned Scyth,” Ravencrow suddenly said. “You have arrived in time. Your entry is confirmed! Welcome to the Demonic Games!”
The furious hum of the crowd drowned out his next words. The people split into groups and spread out through the hall, chattering disappointedly.
The three ‘elf girls’, their smiles blinding, handed me a backpack branded with the Dis logo and full of souvenirs, a platinum token that would add ten thousand phoenixes to my account (for gifts for relatives after the Games ended, one of the girls said) and several books and booklets: Complete Encyclopedia of Disgardium, The Demonic Games: The Complete Rulebook and a ream of other pamphlets including a map of the hotel. They also gave me a special comm — it wouldn’t contact anyone outside the hotel except Disgardium Daily, and it had a bunch of pre-installed applications to allow the participants to communicate amongst themselves.
I turned my head in search of Malik and Tissa, but couldn’t find them. But I did
