Thirstfall - Memory of a Returnee-Chapter 21: Silent Calamity

The deal is struck, but the math is still wrong.

​"We have a problem," Veric says, scanning the frantic crowd over the heads of his guards. "We need a third. The rules say teams of three minimum. My guards don’t count; they are registered as ’equipment’ under House laws."

​I scan the arena. The chaos has settled slightly into organized panic. Clumps of students have formed shaky alliances, looking at each other with suspicion.

​"We need utility," Veric mutters, pointing a metal finger toward a group near the center. "That Stone-Skin Vanguard looks durable. A meat shield is always useful to draw aggro while I flank."

​I follow his gaze. The boy in question is massive, his skin already turning gray and pebbled as he channels his defensive skill. He’s shouting about his physical resistance to a group of unimpressed archers.

​I sneer.

​"Pass," I say instantly.

​Veric frowns. "Why? He can take a hit."

"He’s loud, slow, and planted like a tree. In a Battle Royale, that just means he dies tired. I don’t want a shield that cries. I want a weapon that waits."

​I dismiss the Vanguard and keep looking around. My eyes drift over a flashy Illusionist trying to impress a girl with light tricks.

Useless... true sight cancels him.

A dual-dagger rogue caught my attention, sharpening his blades in the open.

Amateur... never show your steel before the fight.

​None of them have the smell of a survivor. They all smell like summer camp.

​"Loud attracts attention," Veric argues, though he sounds less convinced. "Attention keeps the heat off us."

​"Loud means he’s terrified," I correct him. "Noise is just fear leaking out. Those who scream for value usually have none to offer."​I sweep my eyes across the periphery of the courtyard, ignoring the desperate main stage. I’m looking for the ones who are hiding. The ones who are watching.

​That’s when I see her.

​She is sitting on the edge of a dry fountain, completely alone in the shadow of a broken pillar.

​She doesn’t belong here.

While everyone else is armored in leather or plate, she looks like she wandered out of a sleepover. She is wearing an oversized, pristine white hoodie with fluffy fabric. The hood is pulled up, featuring two ridiculous, rounded bear ears on top.

​Under the hood, I catch a glimpse of her hair—a sharp, perfectly cut black bob that frames a pale face. She looks clean. Too clean for the Deep.

​But then I look down.

Beneath the cute hoodie, she is wearing heavy, steel-toed combat boots laced tight for traction.

​And next to her... is the anomaly.

​Resting against the stone is a metal case. It isn’t wide like a coffin; it is tall and narrow—a monolith of black steel standing about five feet high, but thin and deep. It looks dense, like a solid block of iron.

Hanging from the tactical handle are a dozen colorful plushie keychains—little bears, bunnies, and stars—clinking softly against the cold metal of a weapon case.

"Her," I whisper.

​Veric follows my gaze and frowns, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "The mascot? She looks like a lost child. Is that a plushie on her luggage?"

​I narrow my eyes. That case isn’t luggage. The weight distribution is wrong. It’s anchored to the floor by its own mass.

"That’s not luggage," I murmur. "That’s heavy ordinance."

​Before I can explain, a massive student—a Rank E Berserker with a two-handed hammer—stomps over to her. He isn’t looking for a fight; he’s looking for resources. He eyes the massive metal case greedily, assuming it’s full of supplies.

​He plants his boot on the case, stopping her from dragging it. CLANG.

The plushies jingle softly.

​"Hey! Little Bear!" the Berserker barks, pointing his hammer at the box. "That looks heavy for a midget. Pass it here."

​The girl looks up. Her eyes are startling—a pale, watery blue, almost white. They look vacant, like frozen blue glass. There is no fear in them. There is no anger.

​She ignores him completely. She just tugs the handle, trying to dislodge it from under his boot.

​The Berserker laughs, looking back at his own team. He thinks he found easy loot. He reaches down, not to hit her, but to snatch the case—or perhaps grab her by the hoodie to shake the ’supplies’ out of her.

​"I said hand it over," he snarls. "Consider it a protection tax."

​His hand grabs the white fabric of her hoodie.

​The girl pauses. She lifts a finger and lightly taps the back of his gauntlet. Then she lets go of the case and takes a step back.

​One second.

​The Berserker smirks, thinking she surrendered. He looks at his hand.

​Two seconds. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

​Something is wrong. A long, high-pitched BEEEEEP screams from the Berserker’s armor. It’s not a magical hum. It’s a digital, mechanical alarm. The sound of a capacitor overcharging. The herald of a very bad moment.

​His eyes go wide. He realizes too late that he isn’t holding a prize; he touched a trigger.

​Three seconds.

​KA-BOOM.

​It isn’t a magical puff of smoke. It is a detonation. A violent, chemical roar of high-grade explosives.

​Fire and shockwaves rip through the air, knocking his teammates off their feet. The Berserker doesn’t just die; he detonates. His armor turns into shrapnel. His flesh vaporizes in a cloud of black smoke and burning grease.

​The smell of gunpowder and cooked meat hits us a second later.

​When the smoke clears, there is nothing left of him above the waist but a pair of smoking boots and a crater in the marble.

​The girl walks back, grabs the handle of her case—now free of the boot—and keeps dragging it. She doesn’t look back at the fire. She wipes a speck of soot from her white hoodie with a look of mild annoyance.

​Silence ripples through that corner of the arena.

​Veric stares, his mouth slightly open. He looks at the smoking crater, then at the small girl disappearing into the shadows of a pillar.

​"Did she just... turn him into a bomb?" he mutters, a mix of horror and respect in his voice. "That wasn’t a spell. I didn’t feel any mana."

​I grin. It’s a predator’s grin.

​"Efficiency," I say. "She didn’t use mana. She used chemistry."

​I turn to Veric.

​"Forget the meat shield. We’re hiring the walking nuke."