Ret approached the large double-doors of the Keep’s colosseum wing, apprehension growing inside of him, unsure if he wanted to face the world again quite yet.
He paused, ready to walk back the way he came, when a vibrant young woman entered the hallway from the colosseum entrance, smiling widely as she approached. She wore a perfectly pressed tuxedo and her long black hair was immaculately braided and pulled up into a fantastic bun.
“Ah, Mr. Cooper,” she said in a thick Jamaican accent. “I’m so glad to see you. Miss Paige asked me to keep an eye out for you.”
“Uh … Mister Cooper?” Ret asked. “Gabrielle, how long have we known each other? Why the formality?”
“Sorry Ret,” Gabrielle said in hushed tones, looking slightly abashed. “It’s all part of the, you know, Coy experience. Which reminds me, here is your ticket.” Gabrielle reached into her jacket and pulled out a long, glossy ticket and handed it to Ret.
Ret looked down at the elaborately designed ticket. Each word handwritten in sweeping calligraphy. The ticket read:
Sir Benjamin Coy I
Welcomes:
RET COOPER
To:
BATTLE AT THE KEEP
The Ultimate Show of Strength & Science!
Seat:
A6
“Assigned seats?” Ret asked, with an air of apprehension.
“Yes,” Gabrielle replied happily. “You and Miss Paige have the best seats in the house.”
“Front and center?”
“Right again,” she replied.
“Perfect,” Ret said sarcastically, a point completely lost on Gabrielle.
“Wonderful.” She opened the door and gestured him inside. “Please, enjoy the Engagement.”
Ret looked back at her, raising an eyebrow.
“Just part—” she started.
“Of the Coy experience. Yeah, I know,” he finished for her. He walked through the open door and took a deep breath.
“Don’t worry,” Gabrielle said, smiling brightly. “You’ll do great!”
Her kindness gave him just enough courage to continue forward. He stepped into the hallway, which stretched out to his left. As the door closed behind him, he was engulfed in blackness. Ret’s fledgling fortitude failed him and, like a lost child in the dark, his footing became unsure and his senses useless. He reached out, searching for something on which to anchor. For a moment he felt like a ship, lost and rudderless on a storm-tossed sea. Then, something caught hold of his hand—soft, familiar fingers. Paige.
“I’ve got you,” she said in a whisper as she guided him down the length of the tunnel. “Everyone is already seated, so all the colosseum doors have been closed and locked.” Paige said, as she opened a pair of heavy metal doors and they entered the impressive colosseum wing.
The site was massive and impossible to believe. He knew The Keep was all underground and literally hundreds of miles of depth and girth, but this colosseum wing seemed to defy his senses. The ground floor of the arena was oval-shaped, its surface large enough to hold dozens of basketball courts or several Olympic-sized swimming pools. For the battle, the bottom-most floor of the arena had been covered in a thick layer of dirt and littered with old cars and large pieces of stone walls. Encompassing the floor was a massive twenty-foot wall that separated the competitors from the thousands of stadium seats, which rose to the top of the colosseum in every direction. The domed ceiling was ringed by a crown of lights, speakers, and cameras, the last of which projected images onto high-definition media screens strategically placed around the arena for optimal visibility.
The entire colosseum space buzzed with activity. As Paige and Ret slowly moved down the stadium steps toward their seats, Keep students and Russian soldiers alike called out to Ret as they passed. “Hey, Ret,” some said. “Good to see you, comrade,” yelled others. “Where have you been? We’ve missed you, Cooper!” Ret smiled and waved back to each of them, even though his heart felt heavy in his chest.
When they arrived at the section of premium seating, Ret was pleasantly surprised to see all of his friends and family waiting there, standing and clapping. Leo and Ana were in the front row next to two empty seats, presumably for Paige and himself, and Pauline and Jaret stood next to them. In the row just behind them Dusty and Walter Thorne stood, clapping, followed by Lester Stone, Albie Truett, and finally … “Serge?” Ret blurted.
“Ret, my boy.” The Russian President stood and moved over to him. “So good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too, sir,” Ret said. “You came all the way from Russia for this? And you brought all of your troops?”
“Of course,” he said. “You know how difficult it can be to say no to Benjamin Coy, even if you have a country to run.”
“He can be a little …” Ret paused, trying to think of the most appropriate word, especially with Paige at his side.
“Eccentric?” Serge offered.
“I was going to say ‘forward,’” Ret said, “but, yes.”
“I’m excited to see what he’s got cooked up for us today,” Serge said, rubbing his hands together.
“Yes, well, whatever it is, I’m sure we’re in for quite a show.”
At that moment, the entire colosseum went pitch black.
“You were saying?” Paige whispered to Ret.
Ret opened his palm and summoned a small flame which he used to help Paige find their seats, snuffing it out at the earliest convenience.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Gabrielle’s voice sounded in the dark, echoing throughout the arena, “welcome to Battle at the Keep, The Ultimate Show of Strength & Science!”
Spotlights sprang to life with bright beams flaring and skittering across the crowd like swarming gnats on a hot summer’s day.
“And now, your master of ceremonies,” Gabrielle continued, “your captain of captivation, your founder of festivities … Benjamin Coy!”
All the spotlights merged into a single, massive spotlight focused on a small wicker basket positioned directly at the center of the colosseum. Suddenly, Mr. Coy appeared out of nowhere, dropping out of thin air directly into the basket. Dressed in a bright red circus ringleader outfit, with a large top hat on his head, Mr. Coy’s image was duplicated across every media screen in the arena. The crowd went wild.
Mr. Coy stepped onto the arena floor, pulled off his top hat, and, as if he were a magician, pulled a large microphone from its depths. Again, there was applause and cat whistles from the crowd, some of the loudest coming from Pauline, which made Ret smile.
“Thank you, thank you, yes, thank you my friends, and a very cordial welcome. Tonight you will witness a show of strength, a show of bravery, and a show of some of the most sophisticated and ingenious weaponry this world has ever seen. It will be a night to remember!”
The crowd cheered again. Mr. Coy bowed with a grand, sweeping motion.
“Without further ado, let’s bring up the lights and introduce our competitors,” Mr. Coy said, his voice echoing around the massive room as the colosseum lights quickly jumped to full capacity. Near the center of the arena, two large square podiums were rising out of the floor, both glowing a bright white.
Announcing his name as if he were a champion heavyweight boxer, Mr. Coy said, “Weighing in at 179 pounds, five-feet-eleven-inches tall, and returning to us after an extended stay in Africa, a true Coy champion … Ishmael!”
Excited, Ret looked at Paige. He felt his eyes and smile grow larger as he searched the arena floor, still unable to locate his dear friend.
Suddenly, something exploded in the dirt near Mr. Coy, dust and smoke rising in a single column. As the smoke dispensed, Ishmael stood in its place. Ret and the crowd came to their feet, cheering, as a wide, yet humble grin grew on Ishmael’s face as he waved to the crowd.
As Ret looked at his friend, he noticed that Ishmael looked different from the last time he’d seen him. His arms and chest looked much larger and more defined, and his entirely black outfit looked like one of Mr. Coy’s old subsuits, except it had been greatly altered. On his back there was a large pack with numerous batteries and tanks—the largest of which had a strange, wide-barreled rifle strapped to it, which was connected to the largest tank by a hose. He wore a utility belt with several pouches attached and, surrounding it, hung a holster with a thin, elongated pistol with a forked barrel that was connected to a battery pack by a long cord. And finally, there was what appeared to be some kind of multi-barbed hook protruding from the top of the pack. Ishmael looked impressive! And not just impressive, completely intimidating and somehow illuminated, as if his entire body shimmered in the bright lights of the arena.
“And now, towering at seven-feet-two-inches tall, weighing an incredible 380 pounds,” Coy’s amplified voice rang through the room, “from the tiny island of Sicily, comes the big man with an even bigger spirit, the one and only … Falco!”
The crowd erupted once more as the ground split slowly in front of Mr. Coy, its halves creating a massive hole that emitted a thick column of smoke from whence a hulking form of a man emerged. As Falco stepped out from the haze, Ret saw he was truly a daunting presence, perhaps the biggest man he had ever seen—assuming he was indeed a man—even bigger than Conrad. Falco was bare-chested, wearing a pair of exercise pants, holding a single metal staff-like object as his only means of protection. Ret thought perhaps Falco was a little exposed, maybe even vulnerable, compared to Ishmael’s armor and gadgets, but who knew what Coy had up his sleeve.
“That’s the Iron Pillar I was telling you about,” Paige said, pointing to the weapon in Falco’s grasp and leaning in close to be heard over the tumult coming from the stands.
“It doesn’t look like much,” Ret said. The Iron Pillar was a single, smooth shaft, perhaps sixty inches long, topped with a round ball … it almost looked as plain as a simple flagpole. “What does it do? What is it made of?”
The answer came from behind, rather than from his side. “FePO₄,” a voice said in his ear.
Ret looked immediately behind him to find Ms. Truett, leaning forward and looking down at the Iron Pillar as well, her elbows on her knees and her mouth twisted quizzically as it rested in her palms.
“It’s iron phosphate?” Ret asked, his voice full of surprise.
“Well, at least that’s where Ben started, but he’s done something to it, you can tell by its coloring.” Albie continued.
“You can?” Ret asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Paige said. “I see what you mean.”
“You do?” Ret asked.
“Of course,” Ana said. “It makes perfect sense.”
“You … what?” Ret asked, perplexed. “Really?”
“Nah, I was just messing with you,” Ana said. “I don’t have the foggiest. But it’s good to have you back, bro.”
“Thanks,” Ret said, smiling weakly.
“And here,” Mr. Coy continued over the loudspeakers, “I hold the most miraculous discovery in human history.” There was something silver-looking in his raised hand, its surface gleaming off the arena lights. “This fabulous formula,” he continued, “this healing balm, has the power to alleviate any ailment, fix any fracture, bond any broken bone, and even add life to the dying.”
The crowd cheered once again and Ret took a moment to look around the arena and see the happiness in all the faces. Mr. Coy truly was a genius—not necessarily for his intellect and inventions, but even more for the joy and hope he brought to others. Ret was envious of the crowd. He wanted to share in their joy and wonder, but he still felt strange and disconnected—unable to experience the same feelings he saw reflected in their collective gaze.
Coy continued. “In my hand, I hold the life’s work of my dearest Helen. A singular woman who lost her life while trying to save others. It was her dream to use this formula to eradicate disease, to soothe suffering, and, in short, to Cure the World.”
These prophetic words pulled Ret from his selfish thoughts. He looked down to find Mr. Coy looking directly at him, his wide grin gleaming almost as brightly as the flask he held in his hand. He looked so happy, so proud of the formula, for the fulfillment of Helen’s dream. Ret wanted to join him … but he just couldn’t. Something was wrong deep down inside, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Perhaps it was still the effects of seeing his embarrassing father, his entire line for that matter, abusing their powers, using something good for evil and selfish purposes. Then Ret applied that same thought-process to Helen’s formula: it was indeed amazing, something that could do so much good in the world, but in the wrong hands, it could also be used for dangerous purposes, for power, for control, for gain, for wickedness.
Ret frowned at his own thoughts and Mr. Coy’s smile faltered. “Well,” Mr. Coy’s voice echoed around the colosseum once again, “what are we waiting for? Let’s get down to business.”
Mr. Coy walked back to the wicker basket, reached up, fiddled with something invisible above him, and the basket immediately began to float.
“Oh, it’s a miniature version of his invisible hot-air balloon,” Pauline laughed. “That brings back some memories.”
“Like that time you tried to rescue me,” Jaret said, “and I ended up stunning you?”
“You couldn’t help it,” Pauline said. “I’m just so—”
“Please don’t say it.” Ana cringed.
“Stunning,” her mother finished.
“Yes, you are,” Jaret said, giving her a kiss.
“Okay, ew!” Ana said. “Enough, you two.”
By now, the wicker basket had floated to the topmost part of the colosseum’s ceiling. “These two locations are your home squares,” Mr. Coy instructed Ishmael and Falco, as the floor beneath the two contestant’s feet began to glow in large, white squares. “When a timeout is called, you will hear two buzzers. Upon hearing them, if you are not too injured, you will return to your home squares.”
“Too injured?” Ret said to no one in particular.
“I will administer Helen’s formula to our contestants if they need it, and the battle will continue,” Mr. Coy said enthusiastically.
“What does he mean the battle will continue? Shouldn’t the person who wins … win?” Ret asked Paige.
“That’s usually how it works, but I’m not sure,” Paige answered.
“Remember, the only rule is there are no rules,” Mr. Coy said almost gleefully. “You may use anything in the arena in defense or attack of your opponent.”
“No rules?” Ret asked no one in particular again. “What is this?”
“At the sound of the buzzer the contest will begin. May the best man survive.”
Both men nodded and took a readied stance.
A buzzer rang and both men ran directly at each other. Falco picked up speed quickly, like an airliner careening down the runway, the Iron Pillar held high above his head. Ishmael ran cat-like, light and agile, as he moved across the arena, pulling the wide-muzzled rifle attached to the tank from his pack as he went. Ten feet from each other, Ishmael stopped on a dime, pointed his gun at the ground, and shot a column of water, transforming the dirt between them into a mudslide. Ishmael stepped to the side as Falco slipped and fell in the mud, the big man’s momentum carrying him far past where Ishmael stood. Falco slid to a stop several feet away, the Iron Pillar still held tightly in his grasp.
“Ishmael uses the newly designed Coy Water Cannon to slip up his opponent,” Mr. Coy announced.
As Falco scrambled to his feet, the mud streaks on his massive body somehow made him look even more formidable. Ishmael returned the water rifle to its spot on his back and retrieved the long, thin pistol from his holster and pulled the trigger, sending a bolt of lightning at Falco, immediately enveloping the big man in a crackling web of electricity.
“Ouch, that’s gotta hurt,” Mr. Coy joked. “Ishmael follows up Falco’s mud bath with a little electroshock therapy.”
Ret looked down at Falco. The massive man’s body was rigid, shaking slightly, and his face was frozen in a contorted look of pain.
“Stop it!” Ret yelled. “He’s had enough.” But his words were lost in the cheering crowd. Just as Ret thought about using his natural powers to do something to help Falco, the electricity from Ishmael’s pistol came in contact with Falco’s Iron Pillar, which suddenly began absorbing it, pulling bright electric arcs into its metal and causing the Iron Pillar to glow a bright orange-red.
Falco once more found his footing and began running towards Ishmael, holding the Iron Pillar in front of him to absorb any electricity coming his way. Ishmael stopped firing and stepped to one side, trying to get out of Falco’s way, but Falco was too quick, catching Ishmael with a bone-crushing swing of the Iron Pillar to his left arm. Ishmael screamed out in pain and his left arm went limp as he turned and braced himself against one of the stone walls that littered the arena. Falco closed in on him.
“Wait, Ishmael’s hurt,” Ret yelled. “Call a timeout!” But again, his cries were lost in the cheers of the crowd.
Ishmael reached into one of the pouches on his utility belt and threw a dark powder-like substance into the air between himself and Falco. The powder ignited into a massive wall of purple flames. Falco stopped, stepping back as the heat of the fire threatened to burn his bare flesh.
The flames went out almost as fast as they had erupted, but it appeared to buy Ishmael enough time to once again retrieve his water rifle, and a massive column of water struck Falco unawares, knocking him off his feet. Ishmael pressed forward, aiming the flood of water at Falco’s face to keep him on the ground. This went on long enough that Ret was sure that Falco would drown.
Then something miraculous happened. In an attempt to stem the rushing tide engulfing him, Falco lifted his hands to his face, the Iron Pillar still held tightly in one of them. As he did so, the water shifted away, moving first in one direction and then in all directions away from the Iron Pillar. Ishmael moved closer, but it did no good. The water would not penetrate any area near the Iron Pillar.
Once Falco regained his breath and his feet, he stepped forward and brought the Iron Pillar down on Ishmael’s head. Ishmael crumpled to the ground instantly.
“No!” Ret cried, jumping over the wall and using his power over wind to carry himself directly to his friend. The crowd, which had been cheering, suddenly became quiet. Two buzzers sounded and Falco returned to his home square, concern etched on his face as he walked.
Upon reaching Ishmael, Ret bent down, taking hold of his hand. Ishmael looked up, his eyes unsteady. “Ret?” he asked in a feeble whisper. “How are you, my old friend?”
“Faring better than you at the moment,” Ret said. “Now hush, Mr. Coy’s going to patch you up as good as new.”
“Better actually,” Mr. Coy’s voice came from behind them. He came around Ret and stooped down to put his hand under Ishmael’s head, lifting it up. Ishmael groaned in pain.
“Stop,” Ret said. “What if his spinal cord is damaged? You could paralyze him for life.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Mr. Coy said as he pulled the silver flask from his jacket pocket with his free hand, popped off the cap with his teeth, and tipped it into Ishmael’s mouth. Within seconds, Ishmael jumped up and began waving his arms at the crowd. Ishmael hugged Ret, then turned and ran back to his home square, doing a front flip on his way to show everyone that he was not only okay, but feeling better than ever.
Ret turned to Mr. Coy. “What’s the point of all this?” he demanded. “Haven’t we experienced enough violence and heartache the past few years? Now we need to create it for the sake of entertainment?”
“Ret, son, you’re looking at this all wrong. This is just an exercise, not violence.”
Ret frowned at him.
“Think of it as an experiment with willing participants,” Mr. Coy said. “And if we can have a little fun and excitement and learn something in the process, well then, where’s the harm in that?”
“I guess,” Ret said, “but if it gets out of hand, I’ll shut the whole thing down.”
“That’s fine,” Mr. Coy replied as he turned and walked back to his wicker basket. “But give it a chance, because you haven’t seen the half of it.” He winked, fiddled with the balloon’s controls, and took flight.
Ret walked back to the seats where his friends and family waited for him. He jumped up, using his power over wind to propel himself over the wall, then used the metal in the stadium to guide his descent back into his seat.
“Is everything okay?” Paige asked.
Ret nodded. “For now,” he said. He took Paige’s hand in his.
“What an excellent first round.” Mr. Coy’s voice echoed around the colosseum. “But perhaps our dear Ishmael should consider a stealthier approach … just something to think about.” With that, the buzzer sounded again.
Falco once more ran at Ishmael, this time holding the Iron Pillar out in front of him. As Falco approached, Ishmael closed his eyes and then simply disappeared.
The crowd let out a cry of surprise as Falco slid to a halt. The big man looked dumbfounded as he searched for his adversary.
“Introducing the latest Coy Subsuit,” Mr. Coy announced. “I had to remove its neuroscope capabilities because it was getting too complicated and dangerous, but I did incorporate my new and improved Black-Mirror Tech, along with making them bulletproof. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen, literally … because it’s invisible.”
For a moment, everything was quiet as Falco, and everyone in the crowd, searched for even the slightest sign of Ishmael. Then the roar of a motor echoed throughout the arena. An old SUV had come to life and was now quickly bearing down on Falco.
Falco didn’t have time to move so he instinctively used the Iron Pillar for assistance, plunging it into the ground in between himself and the fast approaching SUV. Although his weapon was effective at absorbing electricity and repelling water, it wasn’t doing anything to abate the speed of the approaching vehicle. Upon impact, Falco was launched some thirty feet away from where he previously stood. Amazingly, the big man quickly rose to his feet again, still holding the Iron Pillar, but he looked dazed and was bleeding from several places, including his head.
The door to the vehicle opened and closed. Ishmael, seeing the state Falco was in, turned off his subsuit’s stealth mode and approached him.
Falco tried to raise the Iron Pillar to once more pummel Ishmael with it, but Ishmael easily stepped out of the way and began moving sideways, circling his opponent.
“He’s hurt,” Ret yelled out, frustrated. “Call a timeout,” he said, his cries mixing with the melee of shouts and cheers from the audience.
Ishmael pressed a few buttons on the arm of his subsuit and reversed the effects of the Black-Mirror Tech, multiplying himself, rather than hiding his image and reflecting it outwards. The result was something akin to looking through a kaleidoscope. Ishmael was suddenly duplicated all around Falco, each image moving in sync as the Ishmaels encircled him.
Falco turned, confused, shaking his head as if his eyesight was blurry. He struck at one of the Ishmaels with the Iron Pillar, but it went right through. All of the Ishmaels then kicked at Falco, the real Ishmael coming in contact with the Iron Pillar and knocking it out of his hands. The Ishmaels then retrieved their Electro-Pistols and shot multiple streams of electricity at the big man. Falco went stiff once more as he was enveloped by the arcing electricity, pain reflected in his face. One-by-one, the Ishmaels started disappearing, along with their electrical streams until there was only one left.
As the final arc of electricity flickered out, Falco fell to the ground, twitching slightly, appearing almost lifeless. The crowd made a collective gasp and went deathly silent.
Ishmael bent down. “I am sorry my brave friend,” he said, a mix of sadness and concern in his eyes. Two loud buzzers sounded and Ret watched as Ishmael turned to find Mr. Coy behind him.
“It’s okay,” Mr. Coy said, “go on back to your home square. I’ll help him.” Mr. Coy looked up at Ret, who was on his feet with Paige at his side.
Mr. Coy administered the healing formula to Falco and before Ishmael could reach his square, the crowd was cheering once more as Falco flexed massive muscles as he walked to his home square, the Iron Pillar back in his possession.
“What a second round. What a fine battle. What a spectacle we’ve witnessed today,” Mr. Coy said as he drifted back to the colosseum’s uppermost reaches. “Perhaps all our dear Falco needs is a little spark of inspiration,” Coy continued, “like a reminder that all Coy Tech runs on electricity … if you get the point I’m making.”
For a third time, a buzzer sounded and the pair once again ran towards each other, Falco with the staff held out in front of him as a shield, and Ishmael reaching inside another of the pouches on his belt to pull out a large pink capsule that he plopped in his mouth, chewed for a couple of seconds, and then lobbed at Falco. The pink blob grew exponentially in size as it flew through the air, colliding with Falco’s shins and quickly encompassing his lower legs in a large, sticky bubble.
“Ah, Ishmael employs Coy Gum against his competitor. Just one chew will do,” Mr. Coy said from his perch.
Falco went down, face first, into the dirt but quickly rolled over and brought the Iron Pillar down on the gooey gum. The Iron Pillar forced the moisture from the gum as it came in contact with it, leaving only a hard, dried material behind, which he quickly smashed with the ball end of his weapon. Falco regained his feet just as Ishmael approached, Ishmael turning invisible as he did so.
Not waiting for an attack, this time Falco swung wildly around with the Iron Pillar, trying to find his opponent. He made contact with something and Ishmael appeared momentarily as he was thrown back from the fight. He then disappeared once more.
Falco backed away, his eyes wide, the Iron Pillar at the ready as he waited for Ishmael’s inevitable attack. Then something shot above Falco’s head with a rope trailing behind it and ultimately stuck into Mr. Coy’s basket. It was a grappling hook. Falco’s eyes followed the rope down to find its end swinging towards him, an invisible weight pulling it tight. Then the invisible Ishmael made contact with Falco’s face with an inertia-enhanced kick. The big man fell backwards, colliding with a stone wall behind him as the Iron Pillar flew up in his hand, pointing at the still invisible Ishmael, swinging from above. Then something unexpected happened—the Iron Pillar began to glow. Each time Ishmael swung above Falco’s weapon, his subsuit began to crackle and reappear in flashes.
Looking at the glowing rod in his hand and now recovered from Ishmael’s kick, Falco stood, continuing to point the tip of the Iron Pillar up and at the swinging Ishmael, who constantly flashed in and out of sight, his subsuit now ablaze with tiny arcs of blue electricity.
Ishmael pressed another button on his subsuit, releasing himself from the rope, causing him to plummet to the arena floor below. Falco advanced, pointing the tip of his staff at his opponent. As he drew closer, the electricity leapt off Ishmael’s subsuit, flowing back into the Iron Pillar and simultaneously pulling Ishmael towards Falco. Desperate, Ishmael pulled out his water rifle and shot it at Falco, but to no avail. The water just split and bent around the big man and his Iron Pillar.
When Ishmael finally came in contact with the glowing shaft, Falco simply pushed the tip of the Iron Pillar forward, forcing Ishmael to his knees and then prostrate on his back, a ball of arcing light dancing between them. It appeared as if Ishmael was caught in a deadly trap of electrical pulses.
Ret was on his feet again, shouting at Mr. Coy to end the match.
The double buzzer sounded and Falco, wide-eyed and fearful of what the Iron Pillar was doing to his opponent, dropped his amazing weapon, backed away, and looked up at Mr. Coy. But the Iron Pillar continued to glow, and now there was an electrical loop with Ishmael trapped at the bottom in its circuit.
In a last gasp effort, Ishmael retrieved the long electrical pistol from his holster, pointed it up into the air and fired it, apparently hoping to divert some or all of the growing electricity away from him, but the opposite happened. Instead of any electricity following after his beam shot, the Iron Pillar instead bent its trajectory and sent it zigzagging dangerously towards the stands.
Ret acted instinctively, reaching out with his power over ore, pulling with every atom in his body. He pulled so hard that all the old cars in the arena began to tumble towards him and all the metallic lights in the arena swiveled and were now pointing at him. The glowing Iron Pillar also responded and was now careening directly for him, which was his intention. At the precise moment when everything was about to collide with him and Paige, as well as all his friends and family, Ret silenced the entire scene. All the oncoming objects abruptly stopped as if hitting an invisible wall. All except for one, that is—the Iron Pillar calmly landed in Ret’s hands, and the original beam of deadly electricity was safely sucked into it. The entire arena became silent, all eyes focused on Ret.
Breathing hard, Ret stepped up and onto the main arena wall that separated the spectators from the gladiators. With the Iron Pillar in hand, Ret glared up at Mr. Coy and said only two words: “Game over.” Without warning, Ret used his power over fire to lift himself out of the colosseum, carrying the Iron Pillar with him.
Once through the doors, Ret flew through the halls of the Keep, desperate to isolate himself from everyone. He found himself outside his physics classroom. He dropped lightly to the ground and slipped inside, flipping on the light with a flick of his hand. He sat down on the edge of Ms. Truett’s desk. Using his power over wind, Ret used his mind to hack into his own email account. He found a response from Lionel to his earlier message. It read:
Hi Ret,
Good to hear from you. Lye has agreed to your request. He says he will meet you at theses exact coordinates: 35° 1′ 38″ N, 111° 1′ 21″ W. Per your request, that location is completely deserted.
Your friend,
Lionel
P.S. Lye warns that you have exactly three days to arrive, otherwise he will find and destroy everyone you have ever cared about.
Ret closed his eyes and responded to Lionel’s email with a single word:
Done.
Ret stood up, waved off the lights, and walked out of the room. Standing in the abandoned hallway, Ret looked closely at the Iron Pillar for the first time, taking in its weight, its length, and the faint texture that speckled its surface. He smiled slightly as he considered this strange and miraculous Coy weapon. He spun around and flew towards his room, his new plan forming in his head. He whispered quietly to himself, “Yes sir, it is game over indeed.”