Page 361 of Light Leech

“Thank you all for coming!” Zhou bowed to the audience, though he remained on his throne. “Without you and your fan donations, none of this would be possible. Glory to us, for we are the light!”

“Glory to us, for we are the light!” the crowd repeated.

“Donation boards, please,” Zhou said. A large cuboid hologram appeared above the lake, each side the same list of names and companies and their “donation“ count. Lyler was somewhere in the middle with five donations. Brian Bryan was a few steps above him in third place with seven. The top two spots were taken by Selara and the other talk show host who sat next to Zhou. Naoma’s name was not among the top ten. Was I her only donation? If so, why did Zhou seat her next to him? I received no answer, only another strike to the gong that caused the people on my boat to scramble. Everyone took their oars and moved the boat in line with the other five. I tried my best to row along with them but couldn’t help feeling lost when they all seemed to understand our predicament.

“Row!” The man before me screamed as the countdown neared ten. We moved the boat into the right slot but were too far forward and struggled to push back between two boats who were just as delayed. I gave it my all, feeling the worn wood slide in my hands as I struck water instead of the other boat after a few failed attempts.

Five seconds.

We leaned in sync with all our might to slide into position then stop before moving too far back.

Two.

The boat to our right was the only one not in line. They screamed for a miracle, but one would not come in this godless communion.

Zero.

The boat was two feet out of line.

One of the Eunuchs next to Zhou connected to the sound system. “Surveillance reveals that fan number three five two, devotee of Yerry Timer, is responsible for his team’s delay.”

A violet light shot struck the delayed rower from a turret on the island in the middle of the lake. As soon as it fired, it retracted back into the sand. The light struck his groin, not piercing as any typical shot would, but charged the light lines around his briefs. As if drained of all innards, the rower collapsed from his protestations. The light filled the small orb that had been connected to his briefs and flew into a basin in the center of the island. All that was left of him was shed skin, not even the inner substance to make him a jelly fiend, and the briefs with extinguished light lines.

The crowd cheered, save for a tall, silver-haired man who left the arena in fury. I recognized Yerry Timer from his corporate-driven self-help books that were given out to most new employees for major corporations, such as Haven Health. His philosophy had turned a few people I knew at Haven into corporate concepts, rather than humans, who couldn’t talk without trying to sell you something, including themselves. I hated to look down on anyone after their death, but if most of the rowers were fans lured into this because of their devotion to false idols, there were better people to save than a Yerry Timer worshipper.

The Eunuch stood until the audience quieted. He bowed, glanced at Zhou for a bow of approval, then stuck the gong.

“Row!” The boat captains shouted. I shoved my oar into the red water and focused on the man before me, who directed us without any argument from the others. Had I missed some debrief or assigning of positions? No one else had an inkling of confusion in their determined countenances, then again, I doubted any of them were sedated before Zhou himself.

The crack of oars smacking oars and other boats cut out the excitement of the crowd. After a few seconds of struggle, every boat had enough space to move and the race commenced. The frontmost man stood and began pounding on the mounted drum, which I had missed upon entering, to keep the rhythm of our rowing in sync.

Each pull brought me closer to exhaustion, which I thought I had already reached prior to the race. With my Bite to sustain me, I wondered how drained the others were. Was it the middle of the night or had a new day already arrived. Red water splashed around us as large waves moved towards us. I couldn’t see how they were being generated, but the indoor lake had turned into a small portion of the ocean amidst a storm. I tasted a drop on my shoulder out of curiosity. Fruity, sour, and as I presumed, alcoholic.

Why were we racing boats on a lake of wine? This was the largest display of wasted lumens I had ever seen, all for glamor, glory, and some sick form of entertainment. I looked around, squinting one eye as wine splashed in my face, and felt somewhat reassured to see that there were no new missing slots on the other boats. I hadn’t the faintest idea what had happened. It would be best to not look for sense in this. The words “Glory to us, for we are the light” that Zhou and his celebrities had shouted filled me with hatred and fueled each stroke.

The drummer beat faster as we fell into fourth place after the first curve. I rowed in sync, but some of the others fell behind. We were exhausting ourselves before the first lap. The drummer looked like one of us. No one knew what they were doing, which made it all the more entertaining for the elites.

We were out of sync and drifted further back from the third boat. If my Bite didn’t give me a physical advantage as a rower, I would have moved the drummer out of the way and led the rhythm myself.

Our captain must have sensed the lack of unity that I had. He called for the drummer to restart, bringing us to an idle drift for a moment. He shouted for the drummer to resume but called out each strike with a “drum!” We crept up towards the third boat as we reached the second curve of the oval and passed them as we pulled back into the straight.

A blue light cast a line on the water’s surface to indicate the start and finish line. The first boat passed through it, and ours soon after. No one announced the end to the lap, nor was there any indication of how many laps remained.

The last boat passed the line and the light turret rose again from the island to eliminate one of their rowers. Now with two of theirs sucked into those light orbs with only their skin husks to occupy their seats, one would have thought they would slow down. Instead, they pulled the rower-less oars into the boat and accelerated. They neared the fourth boat around the first curve and passed them as they pulled around the second curve of the second lap.

The first boat finished its second lap. The Eunuch struck the gong. As he spoke, large cylinders of light rose from the center of our boats. It looked like a glowing blue log that stretched two feet long and half a foot in diameter.

“Rowers take your spears. The combat round has commenced. Begin play.”

Our captain shouted as he stood. “Rows two and six, take spears and start aiming! Everyone else, keep rowing.”

He gripped the log and pulled out a thread of light as if pulling it from a bundle of sticks. Each “spear” was a straight bolt of light that left no empty indentation in the log from which it was taken.

A spear flew past our boat from someone on the second boat. Just as they missed, someone in the first boat struck them. The hit-rower disintegrated into the light ball at his hip, which then flew to the center of the island.

I kept rowing, relieved that I wouldn’t have to take part in murdering other prisoners.

I kept in sync with the drummer, who hunched as spears flew near him, one striking our front-most attacker.