Chase dashed through the station, flipping over a student hero who nearly collided with her, and skidded to a stop in front of the Central Lounge. Inside, every couch and chair was taken, and extra seats had been dragged in from the mess hall. The room was packed with students watching the screens, popcorn being passed around in every direction. Chase slipped through the crowd and found the central couch where Nova sat. A student occupied the seat next to him.
“Move,” Chase ordered.
The student scrambled up in a panic and retreated to the back of the room with the others who had no seats.
“Is he on yet?” she asked as she sat.
“It’s about to start,” Nova replied.
They watched as the announcer stepped into the center of the ring. A commentator’s voice overlaid the image.
On the mat, a seven-foot-tall, heavily muscled woman with a reddish complexion stepped into position. Across from her stood the shorter, average-looking Jordan in his wrestling leggings, expression confident but still carrying a trace of nerves. The referee called for the start. The bell rang.
The two fighters sized each other up. Jordan kept his hands high. Stormer prowled like a lioness ready to strike. She lunged first. Jordan dodged. He twisted and threw a punch of his own, but she pivoted at the last second and caught him with a hard kick to the side. He flew into the ropes and hit the mat. Stormer leapt, aiming both knees at him. Jordan rolled clear, scrambled to his feet, and reset his defensive stance.
“He can’t win this,” Chase said around a mouthful of popcorn. “Stormer is too strong.”
Nova answered calmly, “He’s been surprising me all week. But I know Stormer—she would try to punch Midgardsormr if she got the chance.”
Jordan landed a solid hit to her face. She answered with a rapid series of punches. He slipped every one of them, moving left and right, always backing up just enough to stay out of range. It looked as if he could do nothing but defend—until he suddenly dropped low and drove a hard punch into her gut, followed by another to her chest, then a third squarely to her face. Stormer staggered. Rage overtook her. She threw a wild strike. Jordan caught her fist with a clean two-armed block, used her own arm to spin around her, twisted it behind her back, and kicked her hard in the rear. She stumbled forward, turned—and met Jordan’s heel slamming into the left side of her face. A few uneven steps later, she collapsed.
The crowd in the arena exploded. So did the lounge. Popcorn and students went flying. Even though Stormer was a well-liked BADGE graduate, the underdog’s victory was far more exciting.
Once the cheering settled, people began switching screens to the other final matches of the night. Winners from around the world would now head to A.W.W. Headquarters to challenge the current champion.
Chase asked casually, “Do you think he can do it?”
“Face Hanuman Hammer and win?” Nova considered. “A week ago I would have said no. But Jordan has something I rarely see—a pure drive to win. Sometimes that matters more than raw power. He stands a chance. Still, he won’t be the only one up there.”
Chase glanced at the other screens. “Are you sticking around to watch the rest of the finals? We have several more this hour before the replays start.”
Nova stood. “I have work to do, and so do you. We should—” He stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening as he focused on one particular match that had suddenly drawn everyone’s attention.
Chase turned and felt her stomach drop. Blood covered the mat. One contender lay on the ground, bleeding heavily, while the victor calmly wiped his hands clean. The Berserker wore a confident, malicious smile as he walked away from his latest victim.
The student heroes, not fully grasping the seriousness, shouted at the screen.
“Foul! You can’t do that!” a girl yelled.
A boy threw a handful of popcorn at the largest display. “Cheat! You’re not supposed to go that far!”
“Silence!” Nova’s command cut through the noise. The room went quiet instantly.
At the arena, confusion and angry murmurs filled the stands. A referee and a medic checked the downed fighter. The entire venue waited in tense silence. The referee conferred with the medic, then stood.
“Ground Pounder is injured but still breathing. His injuries do not appear life-threatening. By the rules set by the Avatar of Strength, the winner of this match—and of this week’s contest—is The Berserker!”
The crowd erupted in boos and shouts. Some threw trash toward the ring. The Berserker remained completely unfazed. He raised his arms in victory, still wearing that same vile grin, and left the mat. The angry reaction from the audience seemed to thrill him, possibly more than if they were cheering.
Nova gave Chase a sharp gesture. She followed him out of the lounge as he strode toward Operations.
“This is bad,” Chase said once they were in the corridor.
“This is terrible,” Nova agreed as he scanned his ID for the command-level lift.
“The Berserker has left every opponent bleeding and hospitalized. He has no restraint.”
“He has some,” Nova said as the doors closed. “So far he hasn’t killed anyone. And that is the only rule the Avatar set for immediate disqualification.”
“The Avatar can’t possibly accept someone like that. The Berserker is dangerous. He has no heart for what he does—he just mauls people and walks away.”
Nova’s voice was grim. “That’s the problem. The Avatars seek to bond with humans so they can understand emotion and life more fully. Right now the Avatar of Strength still lacks that understanding. I fear all he sees is strength.”
They stepped into Operations. Chase asked, “His definition of strength is just brute force?”
“That is what it appears to be.” Nova pointed at the nearest console. “10915, open a command-level channel to Gar, EB, and Justin.”
“Signal open.”
“Nova to command staff. We are attending this week’s final match at A.W.W. Headquarters. I will be joining you. Gar, inform Robert Layton that we’re coming and that the arena should be cleared of all unnecessary staff.”
Each answered, “Understood.”
Chase frowned. “Why clear the arena?”
“If the Berserker gains this power, there is no telling what he will do next. We will be there to make it clear that BADGE will not stand idle while he uses that level of strength for harm.”
“You’re assuming he will win.”
Nova met her eyes. “Yes. I hope he fails. But after many years as a protector, I’ve learned to prepare for the worst. Get ready. We leave in an hour.”
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