32. Morty's Surprise

They all laughed. That is…until the windows exploded.

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Racing to save Lili, Wendell finds himself face-to-face with an eerie sorcerer and doubts his own power. As a deadly encounter unfolds, Wendell risks everything, drawing on Ithari’s magic to protect his friend, only to pay a grave price that leaves his allies devastated and the Keep vulnerable.

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One of the harsh realities of life, is that it waits for no one. 
It does not care if you are tired or sick, weak or helpless…time continues on, wearing us down and rolling the next challenge before us.
You feel it, don’t you? 
The weight of time. The pressure of expectations around you…placed upon you.
But there is a secret few are ever able to discover. 
A crack within the fabric of life, open to anyone willing to see.
You are not here by mistake, chance, or luck. 
You are here on purpose, with a purpose.
…a specific purpose. 
What is that purpose, you ask? 
That is for you to discover for yourself.

The faint rumble of the tramcar vibrated the walls, ripples disturbing the stagnant pools of water mixed with oil. 

Even a dozen levels below, you could hear the screech of brakes as the machine pulled into the station. The long, metal, lidless beasts that opened their stomachs to ingest the normals. 

People waiting on platforms, to be carted off and carried to work. Mindless drones ready to start their labors to support the great machine that was Clockworks City.

No one paid much attention to normals down here, though. Not in the abandoned manufacturing sector. This is where the poor and the forgotten lived out their days of despair and poverty.

“Oy, Marrol, you bettin or what?”

Marrol flinched, his attention on the noises above him. “What? Oh, yez…soory man.” Holding the bloodsticks tightly, he considered the points against him. Grungy fingers with broken, soiled nails, scratched the tattooed scalp around his mow-hawk. 

He wasn’t having much luck. 

Mook had thirty-two points, Gerry had twenty-seven. Benny would be lucky to reach twelve points total at this rate, but who cares — he lived off daddy’s credits anyway. If Marrol didn’t win the game, he’d have nothing to eat for the rest of the week.

He sighed quietly, blowing the air through his teeth, so it looked more like strategy than panic. It was stupid to bet his paycheck, but it was too late now.

“You in ta the mushrooms again?” chuckled Gerry and ending with his annoying snort. “Cause if ya have…ya better be passin ‘em around. Know what I means?”

Benny frowned, “He’s pissin around wha?”

Mook slugged the pale-looking gnome in the shoulder, “He said PASSIN, ya doyt! Not pissin…PASSIN!” Shaking his head, “Move it on, would ya Marrol? That or fall out, mate. Places to go, peoples ta mug.”

They all laughed. That is…until the windows exploded.

BOOM!