Arena | Bioasshard

The ground beneath Jorge turned to a slurry of silicate and dreams. He sank to his knees, then his waist, his carapace cracking under the strange, singing pressure of the dissolving earth. He looked up at Kaelen, and for the first time, his tiny eyes held something other than rage. They held a question.

Why?

She lunged. The spine shot toward his face. He didn't dodge. He raised his left palm. The aperture opened. A single drop of clear fluid met the tip of her spine. Bioasshard Arena

He stepped into the light. The “city” was a masterpiece of ruin. Rusted cars lay on their sides like dead animals. A church steeple leaned drunkenly against a glass-faced office tower. The sky was a dome of seamless video, cycling through advertisements for the very products that had put him here. “Bioasshard: Evolve Faster.” “Oligarchy Secure: Your Water Is Safe.”

Kaelen stepped over her and walked back into the street. The ground beneath Jorge turned to a slurry

He found the church. It felt right. The irony of seeking sanctuary in a ruin of faith wasn't lost on him. He ducked inside, past the overturned pews, to the altar. A faded mosaic of a shepherd and his sheep stared down at him, missing a few tiles.

The shard had been angry that time. It took three days to revive him, and when he woke, his hands were different. The fingers were longer, more articulate, and the palms held small, puckered apertures. He’d spent a week in isolation, learning. When he flexed certain tendons, the apertures opened, and a thick, viscous fluid beaded on his skin. It was clear, odorless. Looked like water. Felt like grief. They held a question

Kaelen crouched down to eye level. “Because I’m not here to kill you, Jorge. I’m here to end the Arena.”

She entered the church through the shattered rose window, her spine coiling like a striking snake.

Jorge was three meters away when the soil erupted.

“We’ll be with you shortly,” he said, and his voice was carried on the backs of a hundred billion shattered feeds.