NOVEL NEXT Chapter 2: CHAPTER 1:
The rumble of engines and the roars of a bloodthirsty crowd filled the expansive arena, drowning any thoughts of fear or hesitation. The sun hung low in the sky, casting an orange glow on the spectators who packed the stands, eager for carnage and glory. Welcome to the world of Motoball, where speed met violence, and the stakes were life or death.
"Gooooood evening ladies and gentle men boys and girls, welcome to the motoball finals where the winner gets to go to zalom for good." The commentators voice boomed over the speaker with joy.
"And joining this final is a new contestant with the name 117, no one knows who this mystery guy is or how good he is but am sure we are going to be in for a big surprise although the crowd has there eyes and money lined up for the battle angel."
Alita and contestant 117, stood at the edge of the arena, her heart pounding against her chest. The moment was both exhilarating and terrifying. She slung her sword across her back and adjusted the grips of her twin pistols, their contours fitting like second skin against her hands. This was not just a race; it was a fight for her very future—a chance to gain access to Zalom, where she could finally exert her vengeance on those who had taken Hugo from her.
117. The number reverberated through her mind as the loudspeakers announced his arrival. There was something off about him and something familiar as well but she could not put her finger on it. The announcer's voice boomed, leading the crowd in a chant, Alita! Alita!" The sound sent a shiver of adrenaline coursing through her veins.
Surrounding her were the other contestants, a motley crew of mercenaries, thrill-seekers, and lost souls—each draped in colorful armor, some adorned with spikes and others with lights flashing ominously. They all strapped on their roller skates, seamlessly melding them into their battle gear, preparing for the madness that lay ahead.
Motoball was a brutal sport; the rules were simple: devise a strategy that allowed for speed, agility, and the most effective use of gadgets and weaponry and also remember to carry the ball across the finish line. Each player relied on their skills in balancing weaponry against mobility. Alita was acutely aware that failure to navigate the track could lead to an unforgiving outcome.
Her eyes fell on the track layout, the twisting paths painted with bright fluorescent lines that mocked the predictable sectors. Among the turns and jumps lay traps designed to ensnare the unwary.
"Racers on your mark, "
The light flashed green after 3 seconds and the racers shot down the with Alita leading as she grabbed the ball and did a 360 turn to avoid the other opponent that lunged at her, and with his speed he went crashing into the wall on the side of the track.
Before Alita could know what was happening 117 was close to her and with a swift move snatched the ball from her hand and gunned down the track, the crowd let out a loud gasp as no one has ever snatched the ball from her hands.
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Hugo could feel a familiar feeling when he got close to his target in the locker room but he could not put his hands on that feeling instead he has a job to do which is get rid of her for his master.
A compartment on his arms open and launched a little missel behind him at her, and she hit the missle back at him which was unexpected and the next he knew he and the ball was sailing through the air and with a twist of his body he managed to land on his two feets and stretched his arms to receive the ball as it fell towards him, he immediately bent his head as he sensed the blade heading towards his neck and in a split second she was with the ball as she zoomed pass him.
As the chaotic rush of the competition surged around them, Alita could feel her heart pounding in sync with her electric nerves. She glanced to her right, where 117, with an incredible agility and ruthless tactics, mirrored her determination. The finish line was in sight—just a blur beyond the fray of competitors, but it felt more like a distant dream than an attainable reality.
With a fierce determination, Alita surged ahead, her legs pumping like pistons. 117 matched her pace effortlessly, his body lean and agile, darting through the throngs of players with calculated ease. The crowd behind them erupted in cheers, a cacophony of encouragement and tension that hung thick in the air.
Suddenly, 117 made his move. He angled sharply to the left, coming up alongside Alita as he attempted to shove her off course. But Alita was ready. With a swift sidestep that seemed to flow like water, she evaded his maneuver, her reflexes honed by countless battles before this.
"Nice try, but you'll have to do better than that!" she shouted, glancing at him with a smirk of confidence as she threw the ball into the air and pulled out her pistol and fired some rounds at him which he easily evaded.
Her words only fueled 117's aggressive spirit. He feigned a drop in speed, coaxing Alita into a false sense of security. As she instinctively slowed, he lunged forward, bringing his shoulder against her side like a cannonball.
The impact sent Alita staggering, but she caught herself mid-stride, pivoting gracefully to regain her momentum. With a well-timed spin, she unleashed a kick that swiped through the air, just missing 117's side. The air crackled between them, a tension palpable enough to slice.
"Playtime's over!" 117 barked, gritting his teeth in the mask he was wearing to conceal his face just as his master had asked. With a solid grip of his determination, he reached for a tracer device strapped to his wrist. Unfurling a whip-like energy cord, he sent it reeling toward Alita—an electrified current that struck her and sent the ball flying from her hand and in a rush to regain her balance she swung her sword at his face and sliced the mask clean of his face and the face that stared back at her with coldness sent her crashing over the finish line with him ontop of her.