LotS/The Story/The Prince & The Pixels/G. Rahn
G. Rahn
The drive through the city was an experience. At least Telemachus assumed it was. With the way Talia drove, it was mostly a blur -- apart from the 16-bit gore on the windshield.
"Help... me..."
"Who was that?" the boy asked.
"I think one of them's stuck to the car." Ragnar laughed.
"Help... me..."
"Should we do something about it?"
"Sure, Tel."
Talia turned on the radio, and boosted the volume until powerful music blasted through the car.
"That's better," she said.
Telemachus nodded. Talia's taste in music complimented their breakneck speed and repeated vehicular homicides. And it was only enhanced by the percussive accompaniment of severed body parts splatting and thudding against the hood and windshield. Hence all three of them groaned when a song was truncated in mid-chord, and gave way to a news bulletin.
Talia reached towards the knob.
"Wait!" Telemachus said. "It might be about Ironside's gang."
"I'm here on the Zenith," the reporter said, "the spacecraft where the World Warrior Championship tournament is taking place -- a location selected because it's neutral ground, as well as just being plain awesome. But what isn't so awesome is the absence of last year's winner, Telemachus."
"No!" The boy groaned. "I forgot all about that!"
"He's entitled to fight this tourney's winner for the title, but if he doesn't show up he forfeits that right! That might be welcome news for G. Rahn, who's been looking unstoppable so far."
"G. Rahn?" Ragnar asked. "I know that bastard! He's the CEO of Centurian. They've been helping Colonel Ironside's punks launder money for years!"
"It was all a setup," Telemachus said. "Grislak, King Mega, Professor Squid, Colonel Ironside... G. Rahn wanted to keep me busy so I wouldn't get to the Zenith in time! Now it's too late!"
"No, it's not," Talia replied. "I can get you there, if we go now."
"Take him!" Mayor Ragnar said. "I'll go get Jess!"
"You sure?" the boy asked.
"Kid, I've been killing people longer than you've been alive."
"Okay..."
"Good luck! And beat the crap out of G. Rahn!"
With that, Ragnar threw open the door and leapt out. Telemachus saw him through the rear window -- hitting the ground, rolling, getting to his feet, and sprinting down the street. Before the car turned, he saw the mayor barge into a pack of gangbangers. They probably wished they'd been hit by the vehicle instead...
"How're we going to get to the Zenith?" Telemachus asked.
"Trust me, Tel."
"When I first met you," Talia said, "I wanted to kill you. That was only fair, right? I mean, you were trying to kill us too. But we're both still here. Alien monsters, robots, Centurians, hookers... We've been through a lot, and it hasn't killed us yet. Trust me, you'll be fine. You just need to wake up, and we can keep being crazy together. Trust me."
The sports car's tires squealed as it turned -- quite an achievement, since it was driving in the perfect vacuum of lavishly rendered 16-bit space. Telemachus couldn't decide what it said about Talia's driving. It didn't matter. Supremely skilled or suicidally foolhardy, the important thing was that they were approaching the ship.
Something bleeped. Talia pressed a button on the radio.
"This is the Zenith. Did you know you're driving a car in space?"
"Yeah," she replied.
"Just checking. We'll open the landing bay for you."
Talia's eyes widened. Had she imagined it? No! There it was again.
"He moved! He squeezed my hand!"
"The prince's thoughts are getting stronger," Arla said. "But there's... There's something in the way."
"This affliction is clever," Norux said. "It's struggling to keep him."
"Come on, Tel!" Talia whispered. "Win!"
"G. Rahn wins!" The referee declared. "Perfect!"
Rahn raised his arms and stood over his opponent's prone form.
"This fool was no match for my Centurian power!" he declared.
"Since last year's winner is absent," the referee continued, "and therefore unable to defend his title, I name Rahn as-"
"Hey!"
The entire crowd, from gorgeous 32-bit celebrities to 8-bit plebs, turned as one. Their combined pixelated gaze rested on the boy in the red gi.
"I'm here, Rahn. This title isn't yours."
"So, the wretched cripple failed?" Rahn's voice echoed from the confines of his mask. "I'll just have to destroy you myself!"
Telemachus tottered. His entire body felt like it was still burning, as though it had been consumed by the fury of Rahn's psionic blue flame instead of merely singed. His limbs were heavy. His mind exhausted by the eclectic adventurers of the past days.
But G. Rahn was no better. He was as unsteady on his feet as the boy. Some of his armor plates were scattered across the floor. Others were dented, marked by Telemachus' fists and feet. The malevolent CEO's exposed flesh had been battered and bruised by the same martial strikes. Blood trickled from a dozen places. A single trail of crimson ran from his brow into his right eye. Yet he made no move to wipe it off. He knew his adversary would be on him the moment he left himself open.
Not a single pixelated eye blinked. No one in the entire room took a breath. Everyone knew the next exchange would end the fight and place the mantles of victor and loser on the fighters' shoulders.
"No match..." Rahn gasped. "No match for... psi-power..."
Golden psionic energy crackled across his arms as he lunged. It licked its way down his body, sheathing him in psychic force as his feet left the ground and pure psychokinetic energy sent him spinning towards Telemachus like the head of a drill.
"Come on, Tel!" Talia whispered. "Win!"
Telemachus' fist clenched. He dropped into a crouch.
Rahn spiraled closer, a split-second away. Each electrified pixel of psionic wrath blazed with the might of destruction.
Telemachus rose.
His hand tightened around Talia's.
It struck Rahn at the same time. A rising, leaping, soaring uppercut that threw both their bodies into the air. But Telemachus landed on his feet. Rahn crashed down on his back, his eyes almost popping from his head.
"Tel!"
"Talia?"
Two worlds floated around his vision, his consciousness. He focused on the one with better graphics.
The prince blinked. The 16-bit Zenith and the tinny cheering of the pixelated crowd vanished. They were replaced by the richer cries of flesh and blood.
"I won," he said.
"Me too, Tel. Me too."