Source & Soul: A Deckbuilding LitRPG

My father the King strode back and forth on the stage like a peacock, the smug son of a bitch, and everyone in the crowd dropped to their knees with held breath, waiting for something amazing to happen. This is a Legendary Soul! I could hear them all thinking. What incredible powers will he show us?

One person who wasn’t thinking that was the asshole announcer. He was making small noises of distress and trying to find something to say. I knew this because I was crouched right behind him. I’d snatched a sharp knife from one of the tables and severed his belt purse while he was still recovering from the vampire’s mind ability. I’d woken screaming from dreams of my own death often enough that I shook it off more easily than these soft fools, and now the bastard’s pouch was stowed comfortably in my pocket. I hadn’t gotten to sift through it yet, but it was reassuringly heavy. What I’d really wanted to take were his Gamemaster Glasses – that’d take the wind out of his sails when he tried to commentate on his matches tomorrow – but they were firmly perched on the end of his nose. I was a decent pickpocket, but I couldn’t quite manage that kind of sleight of hand without him noticing.

I’d been on the verge of seeing if I could pull one of the support pins from under his seat just to see if I could get away with it, but suddenly my little games with the pudgy asshole announcer felt pointless. I’d never been this close to my father before. He was strong-jawed, square-shouldered, and wherever Gerad and I had gotten our dark hair, it wasn’t from him, because he had a mane of hair so gold it was almost white. I hated how pretty he was. I wanted to break his nose and watch blood stain his teeth. That’d be a good start to our conversation. My fingernails were digging into my palms, and I realized I was holding my little table knife like a dagger.

“Revered Majesty,” the announcer stuttered, “your radiance overwhelms us. We had not dared to hope you would attend our silly little contest!” As I edged away from him I could see sweat beading on his forehead. This little drop-in from His Imperial Knob-ness was definitely not on the list of events, and I could almost feel the fat little man wondering if a wrong word here might land him in the Palace cells.

“I am everywhere,” King Hestorus of Treledyne boomed, tossing off a sparkling smile as he strutted back and forth. “And now I decided to be here.” He gave a playful pout, and I heard an older woman nearby murmur appreciatively. “No other Legendaries dare to compete with me.”

The announcer forced a laugh, and a good portion of the crowd followed suit. I could only assume the Almighty Shithead had made a joke and there weren’t any other Legendaries around.

“All hail the Sun King!” the announcer said with a hollow heartiness. The crowd echoed, “HAIL!”

The King waved a playful hand at everyone. “Oh, get up. Looking up under my chin is hardly the most flattering angle.”

The gathering shuffled to their feet with more scattered laughter. He could have read them a menu and these sheep would have brayed laughter at him.

“Now that you have graced us with your magnificence, your Majesty, we would be overawed by a display of one of your soul abilities,” the announcer fawned. “Who could compare to your greatness?”

Hestorus paused, frowning. “No one, obviously. But many of my abilities are state secrets, good man. I can never be too careful.” He cast a suspicious glance around the gathered nobility as if spies hid in their midst. As if every last one of them wouldn’t lick his balls at the hint of a favor, I thought sourly.

“My abject apologies,” the announcer stammered. “Forgive a poor fool for overstepping himself.” He sounded truly scared.

I imagined summoning my Hammer to smash my father’s face, or maybe just rushing the stage with my little knife. Would I ever get this close to him again? Was this my chance I’d been waiting for my whole life?

I knew it wasn’t even as I savored my daydream. There were no fewer than four armed Coliseum guards in sight, and two of them were between me and His Festering Boil-ness. They’d be on me like fleas if I so much as put a foot on the stairs, much less summoned my Nether. It was killing me to hold back, to keep from screaming my identity to him here in front of the gods and everybody… but it wasn’t the right time. My deck is growing, and if I do well tomorrow it’ll get even bigger. There will be other chances. I had to repeat it over and over in the hopes I’d start to believe it.

Then the King flipped a lazy hand. “Oh, all right, then. I suppose there’s one that wouldn’t make the High Council shit themselves. How about this?” He raised his hands in a grand gesture, as if he were gathering power into his hands – although he wasn’t, as far as I could tell – and stayed there for an awkwardly long moment.

“Ah…” interjected the announcer, seeming frightened of the lengthening silence. “Your Almighty Highness–”

A sudden warping of perception made the world waver and shake. All around me people swooned and cried out. I fell into a crouch, wondering if the earth was shaking. If it was, the top of the Coliseum was a bad place to be.

But nothing had moved; my eyes were playing tricks. All the light from the glass-trapped elementals shimmered and broke into rainbows, making a dizzying clash of color that grew and grew until I actually heard a thrumming sound beneath it. The hum rose from a buzz in my chest to a crescendoing roar. The light had come alive, dancing and shouting in a way nothing ever should, and I had to close my eyes. The silverware and plates were rattling as the sound built, and I dropped my knife, clapping my hands over my ears.

“Your Majesty,” the announcer begged amid screams and prayers. “Spare us, please!”

The King laughed and raised his hands higher, and the roar of sound crested and broke into an ear-splitting shriek of noise as high as a bird’s tweet and as loud as a thunderclap. Every glass in sight shattered at the sound, showering the guests with glittering shards. I felt a sharp pressure in my head, and I saw the ghostly shape of shredded cards drifting down from me. I’d just lost two cards out of my Mind Home. From the looks of it, so had everyone else.

Then came a deafening silence. People picked themselves off the floor, cursing and sobbing. I saw a boy in a server’s outfit on his hands and knees on the flagstones, retching up bile. His ears were bleeding. Poor kid with no cards shows up at work to make a day’s wage, and this is what he gets instead. Another few seconds of that and he’d likely have died. Others dabbed napkins at the spilled drinks on their outfits or carefully brushed away shards of glass, laughing gaily in an attempt to disguise the fact that their King had just attacked them.

“I call that one Lightsong,” Hestorus said proudly. “It is the least of my powers. Not bad, eh?”

“I… agh…” sputtered the announcer, picking himself up off the floor. He was red in the face and there was a dark patch in the crotch of his trousers that he quickly pulled out a handkerchief to dab at. “Incredible, your Highness. Ladies and gentlemen, your King!” He sat back at his judge’s table to hide his pissed pants and began clapping vigorously. Slowly others joined in until even those with tear tracks on their cheeks were pounding their paws together like trained beasts. I stayed in my crouch and kept my hands still, hating them all.

The King basked in the applause. “Come on, then: what’s my prize?”

The announcer went pale. “Your prize… is…” His eyes flickered around the space and then I saw an idea spawn in his eyes. “It is in the keeping of Underchamberlain Pamplus! Of course we prepared something in case our King decided to bless us with his presence. Good Chamberlain, will you take our royal winner to collect his prize?”

He pointed to the far side of the stage, where a skinny, balding man in rich robes and a chain of office shot the announcer a horrified look. Then, conscious of everyone’s eyes, Pamplus pasted on a sickly smile and bowed to the King. “My liege, we have an assortment of possibilities laid out for you… back at the Palace. Surely you would rather choose your reward at your leisure?”

I squinted at the sweating functionary. That’s the name that damned scribe Soul gave me. He owes me a crown. Now that I had a face to put to the name, the odds of being able to collect on that debt went up a bit.

“Oh, pooh,” Hestorus pouted. “I hoped you’d have it here. A big winner’s cup.”

“Exactly that,” Pamplus gasped in relief. “A big golden one. Give us the evening and we’ll have Your Highness’s name engraved on it.” He shot a venomous look at the announcer whose purse I’d stolen. The fat little toad wore a satisfied smile even as he kept dabbing secretly at his wet crotch. It was an odd feeling to realize I was seeing court politics in action.

“That’ll be fine, I suppose,” the King sighed, visibly losing interest. “Have them put my face on it, too.” He rose into the air effortlessly, twirling in the air to make his fur-lined cape flare. “Good evening to you all, my adoring subjects! You can tell your children of this day.” Then he rose between the silk streamers overhead and was gone.

The whole company let out a collective breath. It was incredible to see that even fancy folk like this had to fear their brushes with power.

“I believe that is the conclusion of our abilities competition,” the announcer said with a shaky laugh, magnifying his voice again. “A memorable evening for everyone!”

This time there was scattered grumbling amid the laughter and applause, and the crush of people near the stage began to thin out and scatter back to their tables and private conversations. I picked back up the fallen meat knife I’d snatched – never a bad idea to keep an extra weapon on hand, no matter what cards I had now – and slipped it up my sleeve. Then I put some distance between myself and the announcer before he noticed his missing purse. I cast about for Basil and his friends and spotted both him and Esmi not far from where I’d left them earlier. Prince Gerad stood there glowering over the slight, fair-haired noble boy, and I felt an unexpected surge of anger. That bastard needs to pick on somebody else.

The Prince was giving him a tongue-lashing, I could tell, and even without hearing them I was sure it was because Basil had been helping me trade the Life Mythic with that damned half-dwarf. The hateful princeling had come out even worse in that encounter than I had, and then that incredible vampire girl had handed him his ass on stage, too. He was spoiling for a fight; anybody could see it. Looks like we have more in common than dark hair. I edged forward, wanting to get another jab in but not wanting to make things worse for Basil.

“Your family should help shoulder the cost,” Gerad was saying. “I’ll not let you weasel out of this.”

Basil kept his eyes down, but his jaw was set with a stubborn firmness. “There’s no precedent for passing responsibility for a bad trade onto bystanders, my Prince.”

“Bystander,” Gerad scoffed. “You expect me to believe some street kid could trade for a Mythic without someone pulling his strings? What cut are you taking? It’d better be high, because I’m going to bleed you for it.”

Esmi stepped in, frowning at him. “That street kid is intelligent enough to hold his own, no matter what neighborhood he hails from.”

He gave her a murderous look. “You too? The amount of disrespect toward my person from the lesser nobility verges on treasonous.” He gestured to her, looking to Basil. “Control your woman before she gets in trouble, Hintal. Or what, are you letting her fuck the boy too? Do you like to watch?”

I had to chuckle – it was a good insult – but Basil and Esmi both stiffened in outrage as oohs and whispers echoed through the gathering onlookers.

“I beg your pardon–” Basil said hotly, but Esmi beat him to it.

“How dare you!” she cried, stepping in close and lifting a hand to slap the Prince.

“Get back, you whore,” he snarled, putting a hand in the middle of her chest and shoving her powerfully. He was a big lad, and Esmi wasn’t more than a slip of a thing, so she went a good distance before crashing to the floor. More people stopped to watch.

From where she landed, Esmi’s eyes snapped to Basil. He was frozen in shock and rage, both hands stretched out toward her. It was like he couldn’t process what he was seeing. He’d locked up, and everyone else was waiting for him to say something. I felt a smile start to grow. This was their fight, but if Basil was too slow to see it, I was more than happy to step in.

I gave it one more second, but when the poor, overloaded noble boy still hadn’t moved, I cleared my throat. “Hey, asshole. You’re not supposed to pick on the ladies. Isn’t that a chivalry something-or-other?”

Gerad rounded on me like he’d been waiting for it. Maybe he had. A fierce, cruel joy lit his face. “You dare talk to your prince that way, you scum? The man who will be your King?”

I rolled my shoulders and loosed my neck. “Show me somebody acting like a prince and I’ll give him a bow. Assholes, though – they get the boot.”

Esmi, still on the floor, was shaking her head at me, horrified. Basil still hadn’t looked away from her. She had the poor devil wrapped around her pinky, and it had broken his brain.

Gerad’s lip curled. “If you’ve ever worn boots before tonight then I’ll eat a toad. And unless I’m mistaken, that was a threat just now. Did I hear wrong? Do you want to fight me, little boy?”

A life’s worth of anger surged through me and I tingled with it. I didn’t just want to fight him, I wanted to destroy him. I had the cards now… I could do it. Think how badly it’ll hurt my father when some nobody trounces his pretty heir to the throne. It would be a delicious appetizer, a delicate first course of hate before I finally got to the main dish and murdered the man. I raised my voice. “Gerad, Prince, whatever bullshit title I’m supposed to use: you’re a piece of trash and everybody knows it. I challenge you. Fight me.”

That probably wasn’t the right way to declare a duel for these rich shits, but from the look on Gerad’s face, it got the job done. He was as glad about this as I was. The whole party had gone quiet. The evening’s entertainment wasn’t done yet.

“Under normal circumstances,” the Prince said loudly, making sure everyone was paying attention, “I would ignore petty insults from such a miserable peasant. You aren’t even worth my notice. But I will not tolerate some filthy child barging in off the streets to meddle in affairs of state and the doings of his betters. Let you be a lesson to others to know their place. I accept your challenge, you whoreson rat.”

Some other paunchy steward or some such in rich clothes rushed in from the margins. “Ah, forgive me, Your Highness, but duels between active competitors in the Tournament are forbidden.”

Gerad waved him away. “I’m the Crown Prince. I tell you what to do, not the other way ‘round.”

The man came in close, whispering fiercely. I heard something about massive bets and healthy economy and undermining public trust. Gerad’s eyes never left mine, but his face grew darker and darker.

“Fine!” he burst out. “No duel!”

I laughed as loudly as I could. “Backing down from a gutter kid? What a fine king you’ll make.” I knew it wasn’t smart, but I didn’t want him to walk away. I wanted to see him bleed.

He stepped close to me. “I am going to make you beg for death,” he whispered, his breath hot on my face.

I grinned at him. “You need mouthwash.”

He ground his teeth and turned away. “I’d never dream of disrupting the Rising Stars Tournament,” he announced. “It’s a sacred holiday for the whole city. So, I’m sorry to disappoint, but you won’t get to watch me crush this mouthy commoner the way you all deserve. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still have a little fun and teach the boy a lesson, am I right?”

“Right!” yelled one of his hangers-on, some ugly rich boy with a collar that was too tight for him. Others cheered and clapped.

“Competitors have to stay in good shape for their matches, so we can’t spill too much blood, but there are other ways to show who’s the better man. The stronger man.” He turned back to me, smiling maliciously. “I think we should have a Flinch Test.”

The watchers hooted and hollered in approval. These rich folk were every bit as crass and bloodthirsty as the common folk in the Coliseum stands. For my part, I still wanted to summon my Hammer and smash the bastard’s face in, but it made sense. If Tournament competitors could duel each other in their down time, it’d throw off the whole bracket, and like the man had whispered, the games were big money for the city and the Crown. Personal grudges couldn’t be allowed to rule the day, even though I really wanted them to. And besides, a Flinch Test didn’t sound so bad.

“Clear the stage!” Gerad bellowed, even though no one was standing on it. He was a showy son of a bitch, just like our father. He hopped up and stood to one side of the boards and then gestured to me. “Come on, little boy, if you’re man enough.”

I tried not to glower as I mounted the stairs and took the spot opposite him. “I don’t even know what we’re doing.”

“That’s because you’re an ass and you don’t belong here,” he said smoothly, and the crowd guffawed. “But what we’re going to do is let someone else take their best shot at us one at a time, the same hit from either Spell or Soul for both of us. If we both take it without flinching, someone else takes a turn with an even bigger hit until the lesser man bows out and steps out of the way.”

I saw some immediate problems with that. “Who picks the hitters?”

Gerad smiled indulgently. “We’ll take volunteers. It’s the fairest way.”

It wasn’t the fairest way, not when your opponent was someone who could send anyone in the room to the dungeons, but I realized that if the point was to show who was toughest, complaining and nitpicking every detail would be the same as losing. This was all a damn sight less satisfying than a real duel, but I couldn’t back down now. Still, I couldn’t help but raise an even more obvious point. “All this Flinch Test of yours does is show who has more cards. It’s easy to take a hit when you’ve got dozens of cards in your Mind Home.”

Gerad spread his hands magnanimously, but I saw some steel in his smile. “I’ll match your piddly card count.” He pointed to the announcer, who’d approached out of curiosity along with everyone else. “Kishupp, what’s his count?”

The fat little man donned his Gamemaster Glasses and peered at me. “I see nine cards. He has two more, but they’re in discard for another twenty minutes.”

Gerad glared at me. “Il-gotten gains,” he muttered. “You don’t deserve a one of them.” Then he painted on a smile for the crowd and made a show of removing card after card after card from behind his ear, tucking them into his pouch. “What’s the count, Gamemaster?”

The odious man used his Glasses again. “The Prince stands at nine cards. They’re even.” He quirked an eyebrow at the Prince. “Do you wish to declare an ante?”

“No ante,” Gerad boomed, smiling. “I merely wish to show my people what kind of character dares spit on the King’s grace and overstep his bounds. You will all see who stands and who runs, and that will be victory enough.”

He came and stood beside me and we both faced the clapping crowd. “You talk too much,” I said.

“Control the crowd, control the world,” he said back in a low voice. “Not that I expect you to understand.”

“All right, friends!” Kishupp the announcer cried, stepping easily into his usual role. “It’s a proper contest. They can’t flinch before the hit, and they can’t fall after they’ve taken it. Who’s our first volunteer?”

“I’ll do it,” a lanky boy in rich cream silks said. I scowled at him. He was another one of the Prince’s friends. Lossor? Lowbum? I’d heard someone say it, but I couldn’t remember.

“Clear the way!” the announcer cried, and the crowd parted to either side, leaving a clear lane between the stage where we stood and the tall boy who had just summoned a Soul.

“Are you ready, my Prince?” he called.

Gerad squared his shoulders and looked right at him. “Always.” Even I had to admit he looked the part in that moment.

The fellow muttered a command to his archer Soul, who loosed an arrow directly at the Prince’s face. Gerad didn’t even move as it shattered directly onto his face. The shredded remains of a single card fluttered down around him, and I saw the broken pieces of a broadhead arrow fade into nothingness on the stage.

“And now, the Lord of Lice,” the announcer said with relish. The onlookers tittered, and I hid a sigh. The man still had it in for me. It was significantly less annoying now that I had his purse in my pocket. Looking back to the archer and his Summoner, I saw the tall boy taking one hand away from the other quickly. Was there a ring on that hand that hadn’t been there before?

The Prince’s friend saw me looking and didn’t bother to ask if I was ready. An arrow streaked for my face. I tensed my muscles and forced myself not to blink as a metal arrowhead spent itself and broke against my forehead. The pressure was greater than I expected, but I didn’t move. Claps and whistles sounded from the crowd, but when I looked down there were more card pieces than a single card could account for. Hold on, he hit me for two, not one. How is that possible? Looking up to our attacker, I saw he’d dismissed his archer. The ring was gone from his hand and he was stuffing something into his pocket.

“Wait,” I said.

“Who’s next?” the announcer cried at the same time.

No one heard me except the Prince, who smiled grimly. The bastard had seen, and he wasn’t going to say anything. People cheating for you was just how the world worked when you were the Crown Prince.

“I’m game,” a deep voice called. The big fellow I’d seen earlier with the thick shoulders and pit-fighter’s scarred, puffy ears stumped forward.

“Oho,” Kishupp crowed for the spectators’ enjoyment. “This won’t be a ping from a little archer!”

Gerad didn’t look any happier about this volunteer than I felt, but he nodded brusquely. The young man looked even bigger as he mounted the stairs to the stage. Earth source began to circle around his head. “I fight up close,” he rumbled.

The boy pulled a card and cast it, and rocks clabbered into being, starting around his hands and forearms and then sheathing him entirely from head to foot. He looked like a rock monster.

His face was covered. I wondered how he could even see. He jerked his chin mutely at Gerad, who nodded. With no further ado, Rockfist stepped into a fighter’s stance and thundered himself into the Prince’s jaw.

Gerad’s feet stayed planted and his head rocked back, while the bigger boy bounced back, reeling from the rebound. Card confetti showered down around him. I couldn’t tell how many the hit had taken, but it was a lot. This kid made my Nether-powered hammer hits look like love taps. I was suddenly glad I hadn’t faced him in the arena yet and hoped I never had to. He took my trick and elevated it to the next level.

“A crushing blow, and our Prince takes it like a man!” Kishupp bleated. “Our Kingdom has a bright future, friends.”

The eyeless rock face swiveled toward me. He said nothing, but I could sense the intention in the slight cock of his head. You ready?

I took a deep breath and steadied myself. The cards take the hit. You’ll be fine. Just look tough. The cards take the hit. I gestured at him impatiently.

He moved so fast I didn’t even see it coming. It felt like a mountain slapped me, and I rocked on my feet. Card bits sprayed into the air around me. So many cards. It had to have been six.

“Whoa there,” the Prince said, putting one hand on my shoulder and the other behind my back. “You look about to fall.”

I felt a sharp bite in the middle of my back right under his hand, and I spasmed. More shredded cards spilled from me even as the ones from the bruiser’s hit floated in the air.

“Get off me,” I gasped, pushing him away convulsively.

Gerad backed off, hands in the air, a false look of concern and solicitousness on his face. I thought I caught a glimpse of metal hidden in one palm, but it was gone too quickly to catch. “Forgive a man for helping. Wasn’t it you who said something about chivalry?”

The bastard was shameless. I thought about crying foul play and forcing him to turn out his pockets, but I knew in my bones he had some secret pocket and I’d end up looking weak and foolish. He wouldn’t have risked it otherwise. At least I hadn’t flinched or fallen, even though the spot in my back screamed pain at me. I schooled my face to stillness, stood up straight, and nodded to the crowd.

“He takes it!” Kishupp the announcer called. “He’s probably seen his fair share of scraps in the streets, but nobody hits quite like the nobility, eh boy?”

The crowd laughed and clapped their approval. I hardly noticed. Something wet was trickling down my back and into my waistband. I was bleeding. The Prince’s hidden dagger had taken the last of my cards. If the next hit was even harder than Rockfist’s, it would kill me.

“Who’s next?” the announcer cried.

“I’m your man,” said a low, musical female voice.

The vampire stepped out of the crowd.