Chương 13: Flying Aces

Tom grabbed Leo's shoulder and pointed.

"MetLife. Biggest Flying Aces stadium in the country." They came up from the train station with the crowd, and Leo saw it. The stadium was massive. Formation arrays crawled across its exterior in rivers of light, defensive wards stacked so thick the structure seemed to pulse. For weeks now, Mike had been telling him the same thing between deaths: You're going to be an NFL player. Leo had never known what that meant. Never had the time to watch a National Flying Aces League game.

He just knew that Mike kept killing him, and that somehow all these deaths would somehow get him into the NFL. He was about to find out if the deaths were worth it. Fans streamed past in rivers of blue and red. Giants jerseys everywhere. Kids rode on parents' shoulders. Vendors shouted about spiritual hot dogs and qi-infused beer. The noise was so loud that Tom had to lean in and shout directions toward the entrance. They joined the flow of bodies and climbed.

Tom led them up a spiraling ramp, past level after level of concourse.

"My uncle knows one of the equipment managers. These seats are great." They kept climbing. Leo's legs started to burn. They passed the 300 level. The 400 level. The 500 level.

"Tom."

"Yeah?" Leo stopped on the stairs. They were so high up that the field below looked like a toy. Two forts at opposite ends, each with a pair of cannons aimed at the sky. He could barely make out the formation pylons marking the boundaries.

"These are great seats? We're in the nosebleeds."

"Flying Aces is an aerial sport." Tom gestured expansively.

"The action happens up here, not down there. Higher you sit, better view you get." Leo looked around at the upper deck. Almost everyone was Foundation Establishment. He spotted two Gold Core Superiors in the section across from theirs, their spiritual pressure dense enough to feel from fifty seats away. Tom was right.

"Come on." Tom pulled him toward their section.

"You're going to love this."

Their seats were in the front row of the upper deck, directly above the Giants' fort. Leo gripped the railing and looked down. The drop was dizzying. Five hundred feet of empty air separated him from the field below.

"Relax." Tom dropped into his seat.

"The barrier formations catch everything. You could jump off this railing and bounce right back."

"I'll take your word for it." The jumbotron flickered to life. A holographic projection of the Giants logo rotated above the fifty-yard line, casting blue light across the stands.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN." The announcer's voice rolled across the stadium like thunder.

"WELCOME TO METLIFE STADIUM FOR TONIGHT'S MATCHUP BETWEEN YOUR NEW YORK GIANTS AND THE DALLAS COWBOYS!" The crowd erupted. Two hundred thousand voices screaming as one.

"NOW TAKING THE FIELD, YOUR NEW YORK GIANTS!" The crowd surged to their feet. The Giants' tunnel had opened below, smoke and light spilling onto the field. Five figures launched skyward. Leo's breath caught. They stood on swords. Each flyer balanced on a blade three feet long, their feet planted as casually as if they were standing on solid ground. The swords blazed blue and red, trailing Giants colors as they climbed.

"Number Seventeen, Deluca." Tom pointed.

"Captain. Plays Center. Seventeen years in the league and four Pro Bowls." Deluca led the formation higher. He was a squat man with slicked-back hair, built like someone's Italian uncle who'd stopped caring about cardio sometime in the eighties. But his sword moved with a responsiveness that made Leo forget the physique.

"Twelve, Sharma. Best Wing in the NFC East." Sharma was a blur. She peeled away from the formation and executed a series of maneuvers so quick that Leo couldn't track them. One moment she was on Deluca's left. The next she was half a field away, her sword trailing fire.

"She looks young," Leo said.

"She's ninety-eight." Tom didn't take his eyes off her.

"Eternal Youth body refinement technique. She's older than my grandparents." Leo watched the warm-up, and his eyes kept going to their feet. Planted casually on three feet of steel. No straps. No handholds. Nothing between them and five hundred feet of empty air.

"How do they stay balanced?"

"Lifebonding. They've bonded with their swords. The sword wants to keep them stable. It's like..." He searched for a comparison.

"Like how you don't have to think about standing up. Your body just does it." The Cowboys emerged from their fort on the opposite end. Five flyers in white and blue, their movements sharp and aggressive. The crowd booed.

"Cowboys are good this year." Tom's voice dropped.

"They've got three flyers in the top ten rankings. Deluca's the only Giant in the top twenty."

"So the Giants are underdogs?"

"Always." Tom grinned.

"That's what makes it fun." Leo tried to connect what he was seeing to what Mike had told him. You're going to be drafted. First overall pick. The idea felt absurd. These were people who had bonded with flying swords, who moved faster than his eyes could track, who treated five hundred feet of empty air like their own backyard. The flyers from both teams completed their warm-ups and descended to their respective forts. A horn sounded across the stadium.

"HERE WE GO, FOLKS! FIRST QUARTER KICKOFF!"

The Giants flyers launched from their fort like lightning bolts. Leo tried to track them. He tried hard, leaning forward in his seat, picking one streak of light and following it. He lost it in under a second. One moment they were there, rising in formation, and the next they were scattered across the sky as streaks of light and the sound of spiritual impacts reached him a half-second later, sharp cracks that echoed off the barrier formations.

"What just happened?" Tom squinted at the sky.

"I think... Sharma engaged? Maybe?" The jumbotron switched to a replay. Slow motion. Leo watched as the five Cowboys flyers spread into a defensive pattern, their swords angled to intercept. The Giants came in fast, but at the last moment they broke apart. Sharma went high. Deluca went low. The Cowboys' point man moved to intercept Deluca. Sharma dropped on him from above. If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it. Her sword clipped his shoulder.

The Cowboys flyer's armor flashed red.

"FIRST CONTACT OF THE GAME! SHARMA SCORES A GLANCING HIT ON MARTINEZ!" The replay continued. Martinez spun away from Sharma's follow-up strike. His wingman moved to cover. Kowalski slashed at the wingman's legs, forcing him to break off. The whole exchange had taken maybe three seconds.

"This is insane," Leo said.

"This is NFL." Tom's voice was reverential.

"The fastest sport in the world." Leo looked around. Everyone was watching the sky, not the screens. They flinched and cheered a half-second before the announcements came. How were they tracking it?

"How do they follow it?"

"Foundation Establishment." Tom shrugged.

"Body refinement speeds up perception. Gold Cores can track it in real time. We just watch the replays." The jumbotron showed the Cowboys pushing back, their flyers forming a rotating defensive shell.

"KOWALSKI BREAKS OFF! HE'S HEADING FOR THE COWBOYS' FORT!" Leo looked up. He could see the streak of blue and red, descending toward the fort at the Cowboys' end. Flak cannons opened fire. The sky exploded. Shells of compressed spiritual energy detonated in chains, filling the air with shrapnel. The barrier formations caught the debris, containing it within the playing field, but the visual was overwhelming. Kowalski pulled up at the last second. The flak had forced him back.

"The Gunners are the key," Tom explained.

"They can't hit flyers at full speed. Not usually. But they can control the airspace. Make it too dangerous to approach the fort."

"How do you score?" he asked.

"Every elimination is a point. Flyers, Gunners, Soldiers. Take someone out, your team scores." The action continued. Leo gave up tracking the sky and focused on the jumbotron. The next few minutes were chaos. Both teams probed each other's defenses. Flyers engaged and broke off. Ranged strikes splashed against barrier formations. The score remained tied at zero.

"SHARMA'S GOING DEEP!" The jumbotron cut to a wide shot. Sharma was a streak of light cutting across the field, her sword trailing flames. Two Cowboys flyers moved to intercept.

"She's going to thread them." Tom leaned forward.

"Watch." She went between them. Her sword tilted to a nearly vertical angle, presenting the smallest possible profile, and she shot through the gap before either Cowboys flyer could react.

"SHARMA PAST THE SECONDARY! SHE'S IN THE KILL ZONE!" The Cowboys' flak cannons pivoted and opened fire. Sharma's movements changed. Instead of smooth curves, she began moving in sharp angles. Left, then hard right. Up, then diagonal. Each direction change came at the last possible moment.

"Lightning patterns," Tom said.

"That's how the pros do it. Random zigzags. Makes it impossible to lead your shots." Sharma closed on the fort. The Cowboys' Soldiers emerged from their bunkers. Five of them, wielding formation staffs that crackled with spiritual qi. They formed a barrier wall in front of the Gunner positions. Sharma pulled up. She hung in the air for a fraction of a second, orienting herself. Then she dove. The flak intensified. Shells detonated around her in overlapping bursts.

Shrapnel pinged off her armor, and the shield overlay on the jumbotron dropped with each hit. Ninety percent. Eighty-five. She hit the Soldier barrier at full speed. The collision was spectacular. Spiritual energy discharged in a wave that knocked two Soldiers off their feet. Sharma's sword carved through the barrier formation, disrupting the matrix.

"SHARMA'S THROUGH! SHE'S ENGAGING THE SOLDIERS!" One of the Cowboys flyers dropped from above. He'd broken off from the main engagement to defend the fort.

"MITCHELL DIVING IN FOR THE ASSIST!" Sharma spun to face him. Her sword came up. They clashed. Mitchell's greatsword against Sharma's curved blade. Each strike sent sparks scattering. They were moving too fast for Leo to count the exchanges. Ten? Twenty? The attacks blurred into a single sustained collision. He pressed her hard, but his shield dropped faster. He was losing the exchange. Then the second Cowboys flyer arrived.

"RODRIGUEZ JOINING THE DEFENSE!" Sharma broke off, trying to create space, but the Soldiers had reformed their barrier behind her. She was boxed in. Mitchell and Rodriguez pressed the attack. Sharma's shield plummeted.

"She's not going to make it." Tom's voice was tight. The other Giants flyers were moving toward the fort, but the distance was too far and the seconds were too few. Rodriguez's blade caught her across the back. Her armor flashed red.

"SHARMA DOWN! COWBOYS CLAIM FIRST ELIMINATION!" The stadium groaned. They just watched their fastest flyer vanish in a flash of teleportation light.

"Damn." Tom slumped in his seat.

"That's huge. Sharma was our best scorer." The jumbotron cut to a feed from inside the Giants' locker room. Sharma appeared in the recovery bay, her armor still smoking from the residual energy discharge. She tore off her helmet. For a moment, she just stood there, breathing hard. Then she turned and kicked a trash can across the room. It bounced off a locker with a crash that echoed through the broadcast.

"OOOH, AND SHARMA IS NOT HAPPY ABOUT THAT ELIMINATION! THAT'S GOING TO BE A FINE FROM THE LEAGUE OFFICE, FOLKS." The game continued. Four Giants flyers against five Cowboys. Deluca changed the formation. Instead of spreading out to cover the field, the remaining Giants contracted. They flew in tight formation, covering each other's blind spots, and when Cowboys flyers engaged, they engaged as a unit. Every probe met four blades instead of one.

"They're playing for the fort assault." Tom's voice was quiet.

"Sharma bought them positioning. Now they're going to use it." The Giants weren't trying to score individual hits anymore. They were pushing. Moving as a single entity toward the Cowboys' end of the field. The Cowboys flyers harassed them. They circled like wolves, looking for openings. But every time one of them committed to an attack, the Giants formation shifted to absorb it.

"DELUCA'S PUSHING DEEP! THE GIANTS ARE GOING ALL-IN!" The flak cannons opened up. The sky filled with fire. The Giants didn't stop. Kowalski flew point, absorbing fire so the others could advance. His shield dropped fast on the overlay. Ninety percent. Eighty. Seventy.

"Kowalski's going to get eliminated." Tom's voice was strained. The Cowboys flyers sensed the kill and closed in. Deluca broke formation.

"DELUCA'S DIVING! HE'S GOING FOR THE GUNNERS!" The jumbotron couldn't keep up. Leo caught glimpses. Deluca's crimson sword cutting through the flak field. Two other flyers splitting to engage the Cowboys defenders. Kowalski absorbing a killing blow, his armor flashing red as he vanished in a flash of white light.

"KOWALSKI DOWN! COWBOYS TWO ZERO!" But Deluca was already inside the fort's perimeter. The Soldiers rose to meet him. Four against one. Their formation staffs crackled with defensive energy. Deluca didn't slow down. He hit them like a thunderbolt.

"DELUCA INTO THE DEFENSE! HE'S CUTTING THROUGH THE SOLDIERS! ONE DOWN! TWO DOWN!" The replay showed it in slow motion. Deluca's blade moving in those same lightning patterns Leo had seen from Sharma. Sharp angles. Sudden reversals. Each strike precise enough to find gaps in the Soldiers' defensive formations. Three Soldiers down. Four. The fifth Soldier scrambled for cover. Deluca didn't let him reach it.

"ALL SOLDIERS ELIMINATED!" The Gunners tried to pivot their cannons. But Deluca was too close. Inside their minimum range.

"GUNNERS DOWN! ALL DEFENDERS ELIMINATED!" The horn sounded. Every Cowboys flyer vanished in a simultaneous flash of light. All five, gone at once.

"TOUCHDOWN GIANTS!" The stadium exploded. The scoreboard jumped to 12-2 Giants.

"Wait." Leo grabbed Tom's arm.

"What happened? Why did the flyers disappear?"

"Touchdown means you took out every defender!" Tom shouted over the roar.

"Gunners and Soldiers! Once the fort falls, the whole team's out!" That was why Deluca had ignored the flyers entirely. The defenders were the real target. Eliminate the fort, eliminate the team. Tom was on his feet, pumping his fist. The entire upper deck surged with energy. Strangers hugged strangers. Giants jerseys waved like flags. Even the Gold Core Superiors across the section were cheering. Leo sat in his seat. Cultivators on flying swords moving in lightning-bolt angles.

Flak cannons filling the sky with fire. Combat so fast he couldn't track it without replays. Formations and barriers and spells he didn't have names for. This was Flying Aces. This was what Mike and Kevin had been talking about. Not throwing a ball. Not running routes. Not anything Leo had associated with the word "athlete" in his old life. They had looked at him and seen someone who could do this.

Who could stand on a flying sword and carve through defenders at speeds that you needed to advance to Foundation Establishment to be able to follow.

"You okay?" Tom dropped back into his seat, still grinning.

"You look like someone hit you." Leo shook his head.

"I'm fine. I just..." He looked at the replay of the Touchdown. Deluca, the seventeen-year veteran who moved like lightning, cutting through five Soldiers in under four seconds. A man who had spent decades training himself into something Leo could barely perceive, let alone imitate. Leo tried to picture himself up there. Flying in lightning-bolt patterns. Carving through defenders. The image was absurd. He knew it was absurd. Then he looked down at the jersey Tom had given him. Number seven.

Blue and red against his chest. For some reason, it didn't feel borrowed. It felt like something he'd been waiting to grow into.

"I'm good." Leo settled back in his seat.

"I'm really good." The game continued. He watched every second. He had a year at Exeter ahead of him. Classes he didn't care about. Training that would break him over and over. A roommate who thought he was possessed by demons. For the first time since Mike started killing him, he was looking forward to it.