Free Gods From the Machine by Andrew Ly Page B

every pencil was dispensed they were allowed to begin.
    He finished first and with plenty of time to spare. Like Gabriel promised, the written test was a piece of cake. However, he couldn’t say the same for some of the others. A few soldiers struggled, erasing harshly on the paper or having what appeared to be a mental breakdown. One person even banged their head on the table in frustration. Nick was pleased with himself. With a spring in his step he took a last look at his paper before he turned it into the elderly administrator. She had a scowl upon her face as he walked off, probably a bit insulted that he completed the first hurdle so quickly.
    He was escorted outside to wait for the results. He sat alone on the bench until all the other test taker s were finished. One by one they joined him. Still, he sat alone however, as they conversed amongst themselves, each exclaiming how well they had done. It wasn’t until the final test taker emerged did they finally begin to sweat. It only took ten minutes before the test results were finished. The elderly administrator walked out and pasted the scores on the wall, leaving quickly before she was run over by the sea of excited soldiers.
    Nick waited as they came and left either rejoicing in joy, or holding their heads low in disappointment. Once they were all done and gone, he approached the pinned up paper. It was a list of names in alphabetical order, and had either “pass” or “fail” written next to them. Nick took a deep breath and scanned for his name. Pass! He passed! He felt instant relief, despite knowing he could not fail the written portion. A note at the bottom of the page redirected those who had passed to the training grounds, where the next portion of the test would occur. Now the true test awaited.
    Nick entered the training grounds next to the track and field, a giant coliseum with spectator stands surrounding it. He knew he was late because it was filled by people cheering or booing a fight currently taking place. On the scoreboard was the list of people fighting for knighthood and their opponents. They were on fight number four by the time he arrived, with the first three challengers successfully passing. Lucky them, they didn’t have the anxiety to wait for what was about to come. Nick’s picture placed prominently next to the number nine, and there was a question mark over his opponent’s face. Just like Gabriel said, it would be a surprise.
    Peter and his archangels sat near the scoreboard next to the announcer who was fervently describing the match in complete detail through an overhead microphone. Peter and the archangels were talking among themselves and pointing fingers, most likely giving their opinions on matchups. Nick followed along the sidelines and into the waiting pits, taking the seat labeled nine. Time passed on as five more matches went by, the final one before his. It ended in disaster however, as a poor girl was mercilessly pummeled by a brawny, pig-faced boy. Her dreams of knighthood shattered, like her ribcage. Her opponent was an arrogant prick, a knight by the name of Cyrus Cavil and one of Paul Evans’ close friends.
    It made no difference to Nick that the mat chup ended in his favor, but for Cavil to flaunt his victory annoyed Nick to no ends. Paul, with his cronies sat in the stands laughing raucously. He clenched his hand into a fist. Disgusting. Bullying was something Nick never tolerated. Seeing it in action and especially when it was to a girl made his blood boil. Paul would get it one day, and he hoped he would be the one to dish it out.
    “ Now. Number nine, Nick Emberson! Please take center circle!” the announcer said. Nick tossed his jacket on his chair and stepped into the field as directed. There was no applause except for a couple of whistles and a “whoo” from Matt. He was the only one moving in the stone-faced crowd, pumping his fists in the air for support. Nick stopped in the center circle and waited for