Yetic’s second pulse deflects meters shy from Ami as the Jag blockers adjust to his actions. Off balance from the Jags’ mental assault, Yetic fails to notice the incoming handler. I throw up a block in the nick of time.
Realizing he’s up against it, Yetic wisely divides the Jaguar onslaught by jettisoning the pelota toward our dugout. I mentally grab the pelota first and do my best to keep it away from the tugging thoughts of the Jaguar blockers. Yetic uses the distraction to rocket skyward in a game of dodge.
Either the Jaguar handler isn’t a flier, or he simply chooses not to pursue. Instead he focuses on the pelota. I know I won’t be able to command it for long. “Cera, help me with the pelota.”
“I’m here,” she shuffles along the blocker ledge until she’s next to me.
“Let’s take the handler out with it.”
“I like,” she says.
“On three,” I grunt. “One, two, three.” Together we propel the pelota directly at the Jag handler’s face. He must have already been trying to command it in his direction, because it jets toward him in a blur. Before he can dodge or reverse his thoughts, the nine pound rubber ball strikes his forehead and lifts his feet off the court.
The crowd groans and then roars.
I glance at the timer at the base of the dugout steps and cringe as it ticks into its third minute. “Three spot! Cera, go!”
“On it.” She’s already darting up the steps. Her foot strikes the court surface a split second before the clock hits 3:05—a split second before being penalized for a late rotation. Her jersey flashes yellow, revealing to the audience and the Jaguars that Serpent barracks has sent out another handler.
I chastise myself for nearly losing us a player only three minutes into the game and then settle down. Cera immediately takes the roll of Yetic’s wing woman by launching a dazzling green pulse at the incoming Jaguar handler. With their first handler still trying to regain his feet, Yetic dives directly for Ami.
The air around Yetic sparks with EM energy as Jag blockers struggle to impede his progress. At this point, gravity is directing Yetic’s ridiculous plunge as much as his thoughts.
“Stay on the striker,” I direct the rest of the Serpent blockers while I focus on buffering Yetic. Hopefully, I can prevent him from splattering on the court. Yetic generates an intense EM storm directly over Ami before peeling off his dive and crashing somewhat gracefully onto the stone court.
“Hold her down!” I shout. If we can keep her in place for another second…
Ami blossoms into blood-red flames the moment before the storm erupts. Charged and crawling with EM energy, she lashes out her arms as the storm crackles around her. Instead of being blown off her feat and stunned, she swells.
At the last second I realize what’s happening. “Everybody down!” Gasps fill the dugout as Serpents duck beneath the surface of the court.
An immense wash of EM energy passes overhead and strikes the cadet bleachers immediately behind our dugout. “She’s absorbing EM energy. As long as the striker is glowing, frustrate the handlers.” I pop my head up and indicate the others should do the same. “We have to eliminate as many of them as we can before our striker hits the court.”
Moments ago, Ami had appeared on the verge of passing out. Now she looks as strong as she did weak. I still don’t understand the ability, but it’s one we share—Ami, Citlali, and myself. And if Ami’s ability is anything like mine, she’s a ticking bomb.
Utilizing the distraction, a Jaguar handler positions the pelota for another strike. Yetic and Cera are late to position themselves, and Ami fires another scalding strike at our hoop.
Clapping his hands together, T’zan swallows the pelota in his grip. But the momentum slams the back of his head into the stone hoop and drops him to his knees. Angry and injured, he rises slowly, the pelota still clamped between both hands. As a guardian, he’s permitted to hold the pelota for ten seconds. He’s got to get rid of it quick, or we’ll lose a player to penalty.
“Get rid of it,” I mumble while helping Jacor shield T’zan.
Finally, the guardian comes to life. He catches Yetic’s eye. With a lightning fast windup, T’zan whips the pelota half-way across the court and still thirty meters above it. Ami stabs for it, but misses—her increased power effecting her accuracy. The Jaguar handler reveals his flying abilities and leaps skyward, right into Yetic’s trap.
“Tenoch, on deck.” I keep one eye on the clock and one on the Jag handler.
Yetic launches himself, not at the pelota, but at the Jag handler.
“Four spot, Go!” Tenoch flies up the dugout steps and onto the court. I focus all my disruptive TK energy on the Jag handler. He stretches for the pelota, already commanding it to his hand. Before he can pull it in, he’s blindsided by a tremulous pulse from Yetic. Whatever shielding the Jag blockers had in place shatters. Careening sideways, the stunned handler plummets to the surface of the court in a heap. His jersey number blanks. He’s out.
One down.
Before I can celebrate, the second Jag handler positions the Pelota and Ami fires a blinding strike. Slightly slower than his first two blocks, T’zan leaps up and out from the hoop. His timing is off, and the pelota whiffs through his arms and deflects through the hoop.
I swear under my breath. Quick to recover, the Jags have already rotated a replacement onto the court. They’re one blocker short but already a point up. We need an answer to Ami. I happen to know exactly who that answer is.
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