Source & Soul: A Deckbuilding LitRPG

I never thought I'd experience anything that could distract me from having an enemy's hand clamped around my throat, especially when that enemy was a big-ass demon strong enough to tear through a full deck with a single blow to kill a fellow… but here we were. The sound was honey on a stick and a warm hug and a dip in a cool lake all at the same time – invigorating, peaceful, and reassuring in equal measure. It unclenched muscles in my neck, my mind, and my heart. I was smiling and I didn't know why. I'd have looked the Primarch in the face and winked at him under the influence of that sound, except I couldn't see him. His hand was gone. Everything was gone, and I stood in an endless bank of perfectly white clouds with only little Hull at my side. Even he didn't look mad, and that's how I knew we weren't in the real world anymore, because that little bastard would crack a smile the day the sun went cold and dropped out of the sky like a turd from Fate herself.

"This is nice," he whispered. "What happened?"

"Fortune fondle a leper if I know," I said just as quietly. "I don't think I died, though, because everything inside me still hurts like a screaming bitch."

The Soul gave me a flat look that called me an idiot without needing to say it. "Could you keep me summoned if you were dead?"

"I don't know," I shot back, nettled. "You see your dead father knocking on the door in somebody's Mind Home and you start questioning how things really work."

Little Hull definitely had a retort to that, but as he opened his mouth to give it, the perfect, wondrous sound rang in our ears again, and a fancy-dressed man holding a horn appeared in the clouds overhead, floating effortlessly.

"The Great Contest has been called!" he shouted joyously. This could only be Hymane, the Herald that Father had told us to summon. I gave a nod of grim satisfaction. We'd done the thing. Now, for better or for worse, that bomb wouldn't kill all those people in the city. "In ages past and ages yet to come, the Two Endless Forces have allowed those in the material planes to call on Them to adjudicate their contests of might and will in a way that pleases Eternity. No power living or dead can supercede Their will. The forces of humankind pit themselves against the strength of the greatest of the demons, Orcs, and Undead for control of the city of Treledyne, and this pleases the Great Ones.

"Invoking the arbitration of Fate and Fortune binds both sides to abide by the outcome of the tourney according to the rites set down from earliest days. At least one member of each side must agree to be thus bound, and Basil of House Hintal and Yveda the Fluid have tendered their assent. The games will proceed, and glory be to the Twins!"

I goggled at the prissy fellow and spared a look for little Hull, who was listening as if his life depended on it. I could see faint shapes in the clouds spreading away in a loose circle around the Herald, mere suggestions of shapes. The one to my left was small and slender; it might have been Basil or Esmi or some complete stranger for all I knew. Just beyond them, though, I saw a shadow with a curve atop its head that had exactly the same angle as Xemris's horns, and to my other side was a hulking brute of a shape that was probably her father, the Primarch. Were these going to be the competitors in the tournament Mister Horn Guy was going on about?

"Prepare yourselves, mortals, for the ultimate contest. The last competitor standing takes control of the city of Treledyne, and none may challenge them for a hundred years. Let those who die in this contest be remembered in glory, and let the winner's name enter the annals of the Twins' heroes! Only the mightiest of competitors can interest the Eternals; thus only living or Undead beings bearing a soul of Epic or higher rarity may compete before the Gods of All."

My faltering, wounded heart dropped into my stomach. "No," I whispered. Hestorus hadn't said anything about this. The son of a bitch had hardly said anything, come to think of it. I'd risked my gods-damned life to trigger this apotheosis, and now I'd be sitting in the stands with my thumb up my ass, watching the fate of my people decided by somebody else.

"No," I heard little Hull echo. He sounded even angrier than I felt.

"All others will spectate," Hymane said. "Everyone in the city or its immediate surroundings will bear witness to the goodness of Fate and Fortune, who allow mortals to choose their own courses and master the world through their own strength and genius. Open your eyes and raise your voice in praise, for the next sight you see will be the arena of the Twins' own city. Witness! The Great Contest begins!"

Hymane lifted his horn one last time and sounded his incredible instrument. The heavenly note no longer gave me hope. Now it sounded like the mourning of missed chances.

"We have to fight," little Hull said, turning to me. Tears were streaming down his face. "We have to."

"You heard the man," I said, kneeling with painful care to put myself on his level. "I'm Uncommon, and not even really that until Mother gives my card back. I hate it, but we're only going to sit in the stands and watch. I'm sorry."

"No," he said, jaw firming. "I was made for this. I won't miss it."

"I don't see what we can do about it, little guy," I said.

"What we should have done from the beginning," he said. "This."

He threw himself into my arms and clung to me. Heart aching not just from my own approaching death but also shared sorrow, I hugged him back. Tears pricked my eyelids. He'd never shown me the least bit of affection before. He sagged against me, and I felt pure love flow between us.

No, wait. He wasn't sagging… he was melting. The body under my hands crumpled and lost firmness like a cake taken out of the oven too soon.

I tried to pull back, my heart racing, but he moved with me. "What are you doing?" I cried.

"What I was too scared to do at first," he whispered in my ear. "She hurt us so badly, and to trust you… I'm sorry. This puts it all back in place. So we can fight."

It was what I'd wanted to hear from him all along, but now that the moment was here, I wasn't ready. "But wait," I said, the words coming out half a sob. "Don't we have to… isn't there… shouldn't we need a Tender to do this? A Soulsmith?"

"We were always the same person," his whisper said, as much in my head as my ears. "I don't need a Tender to find my way home."

The body in my arms dwindled to nothing, his essence sinking into mine. Energy wracked my body, and I felt a heavy something shift out of my Mind Home, sliding down my neck like a bite of food far bigger than could possibly fit, stretching the insides of my flesh painfully. Down, down it drifted, until it settled into my chest and with a jerk slotted home. I cried out as power burst out of me in a visible wave, shattering the clouds into shreds on all sides.

I fell onto my back, only half-conscious. I floated there for I don't know how long, feeling somehow sad and peaceful at the same time. At some point I realized I no longer hurt inside the way I had before. There was still a torn spot inside of me, a hole where Mother had ripped the new card out of me, but beneath that, the old twisted scars of my childhood trauma were… well, not gone, but smoothed out somehow. I remembered my time with Mother effortlessly: the little rooms we'd shared in the Lows, the endless nights spent training my power, the whispered conferences with Ticosi where he'd ignored me entirely, only having eyes for her. I even remembered the moment when she'd taken my card. She had asked if I'd do anything for her, looking both pained and guilty, and, little child that I was, I'd said yes. It hurt, that memory, but I was still glad to have it back. It was a part of me.

I also had memories that I couldn't have lived, from the years after my card had been taken, when he'd moved through the Unyielding Court and into realms beyond while in Mother's Mind Home. They'd gone to the Fae Congress? The memory was tinged with fear and foreboding. Incredible.

It felt like I should miss the little shithead, but I felt nothing of that. He wasn't gone, and he wasn't dead. He'd said it exactly right: we were always the same person. Coming back together had been as easy as letting out a long-held breath. I couldn't miss him – he was me. Looking into my soul, I saw what we had made together.

I sat bolt upright, eyes still closed, my heart hammering. I… I was Mythic. He'd given me everything he had. The powers that had seemed unbalanced and less than ideal when attached to a summons now sat in my soul like a threat. I could turn back any damage I took and double it. Holy shit, I'm powerful. Not my cards. Me. I could still feel the discomfort of my other missing card, the Uncommon with double Intervene, as well as the barest shred of connection to it. I doubted I'd still be able to draw on its powers; the thread between us had grown too thin. But the ever worsening death's-door feeling I'd struggled through for days was gone. I felt strong. Healthy. Ready to fight. And because of my younger self's sacrifice, I now had a soul elevated high enough that I could.

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"Where'd this one come from all of a sudden?" drawled an unfamiliar voice.

Opening my eyes, I found myself in an unfamiliar room surrounded by familiar faces. Basil and Esmi were hurrying from the far side of the room, and Edaine was clapping her gauntleted hands as she saw me rise. The Queen was in whispered conference with Gerard. How'd he get here? Lounging in the far corner was Gale. Turning to the voice that had spoken, I saw a tawny, muscled leonid.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked.

The creature sauntered up to me, getting uncomfortably close. "The one who will kill you if you don't show a little respect," he growled. His breath smelled of raw meat.

"Restrain yourself, Titus," Basil said coldly as he hurried to my side. "He's on our side. Let's not fight with friends."

"Friends," the lion-man scoffed. "Why I was grouped with you weaklings is beyond me." He squinted at me, leaning even closer. In my confused state, it was all I could do not to reach out and slap that sneering muzzle away. "Though perhaps this one might offer an interesting challenge. Where was Hestorus hiding a human Mythic all this time?"

"He's not –" Basil began, but a glance at me stopped his words cold and left him clutching at my arm. "Twins, Hull, what's happened to you? Why do you have green in your eyes?"

All conversation in the room stopped and everyone stared at me.

"I, uh…" I said, shifting my feet. "I merged with my old card."

"Twins be praised," the Queen breathed, leaving behind a suddenly sour Gerard. "Perhaps this isn't a total disaster." When she reached me, though, her look was far from friendly. "The others have explained why we are in a magical tournament waiting room instead of marching our army into a city bereft of enemy leadership, but I would hear it from your own lips. Hull, did you disobey my orders and prevent Warrick from detonating the Mind Home bomb?"

"You bet your ass I did," I said. "And I'd do it again."

Here eyes made ice look warm. "Disobeying your queen is a beheading offense."

I stifled a spike of fear and shrugged. "If I've still got a head when this is done, then you do what you have to. Your way would have killed hundreds of our own people, maybe thousands. It was wrong, and you wouldn't listen."

"I am the Queen," she hissed. "I don't have to listen. And when I am wrong, you are still required to do what I say. That's what it means to be in charge. More to the point, you have traded a sure strategy for a far riskier one. We would have taken the city, and now we have to wade through a series of duels against opponents who overmatch us."

"Basil tore the Mythic lich to shreds, didn't he?" I said. "And look, now I'm Mythic myself." I didn't bother mentioning that I hadn't known that last part was going to happen until barely a minute ago; I doubted she'd appreciate it. "We've got Esmi back, and she's the best duelist here. Add you, Gale, Lion Breath, and Stick-Up-His-Butt over there," – I gestured to Gerard, who glowered at me – "and we're in pretty good shape."

"Not all Epics are combat oriented, Hull," the Queen said, sounding weary and angry. "Put me in front of an Artifact and I can do wonders, but place me in the arena and all I can do is die very messily. And did you bother to take stock of our opponents?" She gestured at the far wall.

I hadn't really had time to take in our surroundings, but a quick glance showed that we were in some sort of enclosed box seats overlooking a ghostly arena much like the one that had formed when Hestorus had fought the Orc general Targu'Thal outside the city, except far more detailed and complete. Thousands upon thousands of figures sat in the seats below us – presumably every living, thinking creature in and around Treledyne once we'd triggered the apotheosis.

The far wall where the Queen had pointed was a divider of sorts. It was translucent, showing shadowy figures moving beyond it, but set in its center was a clear window that revealed another room like our own. There, in a full blown free-for-all yelling match that none of us could hear, stood the Primarch, my mother, Xemris, that asshole necromancer we'd fought for Esmi's body, and Targu'Thal. The muscle-bound Stafford and Alexi, the willowy vampire who'd offered to let me join the vampire ranks, were conferring more quietly in a corner. I drew closer to get a better look at them, and a face suddenly popped up right by the window staring right at me.

"Fate's saggy tits," I muttered, jumping. The girl's eyes were pure black. It was that weirdo I'd let loose from the fighting pits alongside Morgane. "What's she doing over there? Shouldn't she be on our side?"

"I haven't a clue," the Queen grated. "But outside of that entirely unknown quantity, I count four Epics, two Mythics, and a Legendary. Tell me again how this tournament works to our advantage?"

Basil came to my rescue. "They are fragmented, your Majesty. Look how they fight each other. In my time in the palace I never saw any two leaders of the enemy alliance who were even remotely aligned in purpose and strategy. They will tear each other down as much as they will oppose us."

"Alexi will be an easy opponent," Esmi added. "He's a collector, not a duelist. His cards are strong, but he cares not at all for card synergies or combos." She seemed almost fond when she spoke of him, which baffled me. Hadn't he been the one who owned her as a card?

"We can do this," I said to the Queen, putting more confidence in the words than I actually felt.

"We have to do this," she shot back at me, "and I wasn't consulted. There will be a reckoning for your disobedience. All of you." Her glare took in Basil and Esmi, both of whom bowed their heads in calm acceptance. We'd known what we were getting ourselves into when we made our plans. Sort of. Fate's weeping eye, the Primarch is a Legendary. What are we going to do about that?

"Leave off, Mother," sighed Gerard from where he sat. "Much as I hate to agree with the gutter boy, our plans to take the city were nowhere near as ironclad as you suggest. Quite likely the Primarch would have been immune to the bomb, and possibly the Mythics as well. This way, we get to determine the outcome. Either we win back the city, or we don't deserve to."

I opened my mouth to snap at him and then realized he'd agreed with me. That's the most reasonable thing I've ever heard him say. What's changed with little King Shithead since I saw him last?

"Welcome, competitors," came a fluting voice from the opposite end of the chamber. A door had opened in the wall that hadn't been there before, and several figures came trotting through. They were all centaurs. The one who had spoken was an elderly male with a silver head of hair that crested down his back and connected to a like-colored mane. "I am Rakkoden, servant of the Twins. I am here to aid and prepare you. We bring food and refreshment, and I am at your disposal to answer any questions."

"Where are we?" Gale asked. "I was flying over the city, and the next thing I knew, I was standing here in an arena I've never seen before."

"This is the City of the Twins," Rakkoden said. "Here they can overlook all their creations, and its proximity to the mortal realms makes events such as this one possible."

For the first time I noticed windows on the outer wall opposite the open air that overlooked the arena. Wandering over to them, I looked out on a misty city that might have been Treledyne if one didn't look too closely. The cobbled streets shifted even as I watched, doors appearing and disappearing, whole neighborhoods rearranging themselves in the blink of an eye. My blood ran cold as I realized I'd been on those streets before. I'd nearly died there. "Are those Mind Homes?" I asked.

The old centaur smiled apologetically. "Forgive me, Hull, son of Hestorus and Yveda, but some knowledge cannot pass my lips in the hearing of mortals, and that question touches on such subjects. All things shall be made known in the fulness of times."

"Are all the Twins' servants centaurs?" Esmi asked, curious.

"We are," Rakkoden said. "Ours was the first race with an individual to reach Legendary, and Fate and Fortune have honored us for it as we honor them in return. When not in our home in the Endless Peaks, we can be found completing our years of service in the Eternal City."

Gale had – of course – sidled up to a pretty young female centaur who was laying unfamiliar foods out on a long table that two others had brought in. "So you're immortals?" he asked with a smile, leaning in close to her.

"Only when in the City of the Twins," said the female, her voice soft and sweet as she went about her work. "But while here, we live to serve."

"Oh, leave her alone, brother," Basil said, disgusted. "We're fighting for the survival of the city. Can you not pull your brain out of your breeches for five minutes?"

Gale spread his hands, looking innocent and wounded. "I was only asking."

"Silence, all of you," the Queen snapped. "Rakkoden, may a competitor withdraw? Or choose a champion as a replacement?"

"It is allowed," the older centaur said, bowing his head. "Though only once per team."

"Must they also be Epic? We have no others."

"Again, a single exception is allowed."

She nodded sharply, then looked to Gerard. "If we can choose from among our Rares, a few options come to mind. You have been with Lord Turmas in the army outside the city. I know he handles the cavalry well, but how is his dueling? Do I choose him, or the girl Afi?"

Gerard frowned in thought. "Afi," he said. "Woster Turmas has a good mind, but he's slow, and he's spread his best cards out among his children instead of building the strongest possible deck. Afi may be common, but she's sharp and she doesn't hesitate."

"I have seen that first hand," the Queen murmured. Looking first at Edaine and then Gale, she said, "Agreed?"

They both nodded.

"I choose Afi Mender, ward of house Erlun, as my champion," she said to the centaur.

"She must agree," Rakkoden warned.

"She will," the Queen said firmly. The woman was like a boulder rolling downhill.

Afi suddenly materialized right next to her. I took an involuntary step forward. I hadn't realized how glad I'd be to see her. She blinked, looked around, and went to one knee. "My Queen."

"You have served me well these last weeks," the Queen said. "Will you fight to save our city? You will be outmatched in soul rarity, but I am not a duelist, and I have watched you take on those stronger than yourself time after time and come out the victor."

"It will be my honor, your Majesty," Afi said, bowing her head.

"Help us win the day, and if you live, anything you ask will be yours," the Queen promised. Afi looked up at her with worshipful eyes. I wondered if she'd be so adoring if she knew the Queen had been willing to sell her to Warrick without asking.

"If you are not competing, you must take your place in the stands," Rakkoden said.

The Queen frowned and then nodded sharply. She didn't like being told what to do. "Win," she said to us all. Then, to me, she clarified. "Win, and all is forgiven. Lose, and not even death will save you from me."

Then she disappeared. I let out a breath. Having her angry with me was not a comfortable experience.

"If I may direct your attention," Rakkoden said, "the initial matches have been set." He gestured to the floor in front of us, where a series of brass plates suddenly misted into being, a pair of names on each. "This is the order of matches. Prepare yourselves."

We all crowded around the plaques, and I was vaguely aware that on the other side of the wall, our opponents were doing the same. I took a deep breath and saw the fate of Treledyne – of the Lows – set out in shining metal.

Aaxes, Primarch of Demons v. General Edaine Sorius

Yveda the Fluid, Demon Lord v. Afi Mender, ward of house Erlun

Rathomon, Lord of the Dead v. Basil of house Hintal

Xemris the Daughter v. Essoq sa Quitsi

Stafford Stonehand v. Prince Gerard of Treledyne

Alexi Firstblood v. Esmi of house Harane

Titus, Secundus of the Remans v. Gale of house Hintal

General Targu'Thal v. Hull of the Lows

"Prepare yourselves," Rakkoden repeated. "Unthinkable boons await those who prevail; death faces those who cannot. Fate and Fortune demand no less than everything. Praise their names, fight with all your cunning and might, and perhaps Treledyne can be yours."