Infinite Games

8. Better Off Dead

Between the thrashing legs of the rhinoceros beetle in my left hand, I could see the face of a young woman. Her dark, straight hair and heart-shaped face spoke of oriental descent, but I couldn't be sure where from. The etched image depicted her in deep concentration; the thin lips below her small nose were set in a focused line, and her short hair was tied back. If I tilted the beetle, her image became a holographic 3D, which didn't allow any further help for knowing who she was.

I had been staring so intently at the sketch that my spacial awareness suffered --if only briefly-- and allowed the beetle to latch on to my face. Sharp, barbed feet dug into my crimson skin and I yelled in terror, chucking the beetle in my other hand far away to focus on prying this one off.

I pulled with all my might, feeling as the tiny hooks rooted in my cheeks began to peel away skin. The pain shot straight to my head and I panicked, digging my claws into the bug until it could no longer live. Feet unhooked from my cheeks. Green beetle juice leaked from the claw holes. I held my breath as it stunk.

Now slain, it was easier to look at the sketch. Formerly thrashing legs splayed open. Now relaxed, I noticed something I hadn't before: letters were carved into each limb. Putting my free hand on my paining cheeks one at a time to wipe away my ugly blood, I examined the writing.

The left side read: N - O - O - J

The right: E - Y - A - F

Noojeyaf? It must have been code, or ancient scripture.

"You have chosen Joon Faye, Devil Tellard," said the howler.

That made much more sense. But what did turning into The Lord of the Heavens have to do with some mortal woman?

I looked up into the midnight and yelled, "What did I choose her for?"

"She will safeguard the remnants of your mortal soul, letting you ascend back to Demimonde to complete Tesselation, if you are to be the next Game Master."

"And if she won't guard it?" I asked, hoping the answer wasn't what it always was...

"You both die."

I lowered my head, looking at the image as stinky beetle smells wafted my way.

"Very reassuring," I muttered.

The oldest stepped back, and as my doubts fired across my mind, he said something that I had not expected.

"This is the face of my wife..."

Underworld Almighty. That was worse than my Ms. Nobody by far. I had no doubt in my mind that the next game would not be a pretty one for us, nor our designated soul-keepers. Having to put your wife through pain seemed like Hell. That being said, my mother was still alive. Why didn't I find her face amongst the Memory game?

"How do we give them our souls?" asked the elder of our group, examining the belly of his beetle with sorrow as the unassuming face of his wife looked up at him.

The howler cleared his throat, coughing out his lungs it seemed, "A kiss. The process will extract your soul, and collide it with theirs. Your soul keepers will hold onto your every secret, and everything that made you who you are."

"Will she feel pain?" he said.

"Oh, yes. Unspeakable pain."

"I would like to forfeit the game," the old satyr dropped the beetle, and sunk to his knees, staring at the image of his wife until the flames consumed him, and he could no longer see.

I was speechless. That elder had killed himself. His beetles disintegrated into gold-green dust beside his ashes. So much death in so little time...

"He didn't ask about the consequences of forfeiting. Know that his wife now rests in Demimonde," the monkey voice couldn't hide its sadistic smile.

The other three looked at his ashes. We took a moment of silence to honor what should have been a heroic act. If only the game didn't work this way. So many lives would be spared.

"Anyone else wish to forfeit?" asked the howler.

No one stepped forward.

"Very well. Your next game begins."