Infinite Games

5. Tesselate

His horns had grown. They had begun to swoop behind his ears --beyond his reach. Simon couldn't believe he had been sitting and playing bingo for almost half a century. So this was what it felt like to be fifty... Time had flown by on a jetliner.

"Celine, look," a claw drew her attention to his protrusions. "I've been here a long while. The game never gets easier, just more frustrating. We're losing over here. Those guys are winning."

She glanced at the angels. Glowing skin, feathery wings, an A+ in perfection. Even their weapons spoke of glory and prestige.

"You've got to accept your fate. There's an even chance for everyone to wind up on either side," he said.

"So nothing before I came here mattered."

"Right. You could be a Nobel Peace Prize winner and end up a satyr, while some nut job who shot up a school could spend the rest of his afterlife slurping fine wine."

Good grief. It was heavy stuff. Simon was thankful it wasn't still in the cards for him to get sent one way or the other. On this side of the playing field, he could see right through the golden pricks on the other team, and he didn't like it one bit. Celine, however, looked like she wished to change seats.

As he watched her flaming eyes burn with the lust for eternal gluttony, Simon knew then and there that they were two very different former people. He resolved to ignore her pitiful plight. Nothing could change in Demimonde. That much the Game Masters had made clear. The best strategy was to ride it out until the playing time was up.

"G two."

Nope.

"I seventy-one."

Yep.

The marker hovered over the spot. Losing sense of place, Simon became transfixed on the idea of him feeling sorry for Celine. He was a fool for thinking himself guilty. She deserved to be sent to the underworld as much as anyone else did. The game, after all, was made to be fair.

I'm no worse than whoever won my name. His marker dropped a fresh green dot on I-71.

Simon relaxed in his chair, feeling his upright leg-fur settle calmly into place. A wheezing sound interrupted the next number call-out.

The whole playing tent directed its attention to the front of the blank white room. Slumped in his chair, head lolling to the right, silver drool streaming onto the floor, The Lord of the Heavens --The Older One. His vivid cosmos of eyes faded to black. The dark color began to flow through his veins until the translucent skin held nothing but a dark sludge similar to demon blood. All the while, he continued to wheeze like a sad birthday balloon.

The noise died out. The Older One had deflated. His wrinkly, black-slime-infused head dropped with a sickening slosh onto the Game Master's Table.

The Younger One called out the next number, then stood to make an announcement. Simon didn't even hear the number. He couldn't stop staring at the dead god.

"I thought you said everyone has immortality," Celine said, twisting her claws together nervously.

"I thought we all did?" Simon whispered.

The Lord of the Underworld thumped his chest with a shining fist. Like a gong, the metallic bashing rang out with enough decibels to hurt every player's ears. No one dared speak.

"The Lord of the Heavens is dead. He has passed on, away, far from any conscious realm," the baritone voice lent an air of sorrow to the white tent.

"In accordance with the natural laws, it is time to choose the next player qualified to Tesselate into his highest form. The Older One has bled the black blood of demons, therefore only a current demon can enter himself into the tournaments. All current-playing demons who wish to do so, decide immediately. By the time the next number is called out, you will have lost the opportunity to make up your minds."

The bingo ball cage began spinning. Simon's head spun with it.

"This should not be entered lightly. Losers will die."

Simon grabbed ahold of his head and set it straight. There were only two options: stay here and play bingo until the floor drops out and sends him below until the next game, or risk his immortality to become The Lord of the Heavens. He took one glance at Celine, and that made up his mind.

Throwing his marker through the cloud-floor, Simon jumped to his hooves, closing his eyes to avoid instant death from looking into the view of The Lord of the Underworld.

"My Lord, I wish to participate!"