Chapter Text
When the Vineland Thorns had scored their first Claw, which had been resting in their quarters, basking in all its victorious glory, they had to struggle to figure out where it belonged: in the diner or at their headquarters, where they could be constantly reminded of their very first success.
Eventually, the Thorns had figured to leave it at Whisker’s Diner because, in all honesty and humility, keeping it at their headquarters could bloat their self-esteem far beyond anything they had ever had before. Sure, self-confidence is one thing, but an ego that couldn’t be satiated…ehh, they’ve seen the outcome one too many times.
Besides, Jett basically owed the diner one. The reactions that were expressed the day they put it up against the wall, right across the entrance, so it would be the first thing all customers would see, could only be described as priceless.
And while it brought many good memories, the bad ones it carried sometimes seemed to outweigh them.
After recently landing near the stadium where their next rematch would take place, the Thorns were, as usual, bombarded by waiting paparazzi and surprised by the camera flashes that seemed to grow brighter and brighter.
The team shared smiles and waves with the cameras before hurrying down the stadium halls toward their locker room to prepare for another play against Magma, where they were finally allowed some peace and quiet.
The moment they settled down, they each spread out to carry on with their usual routine, which was either lazing around and doing their own thing because they were very much confident that they were going to wipe Magma for…what? The third time? Or actually warm up and practice for the game. Less likely for the rest, most likely for two very specific members who didn't know what the word ‘rest’ was.
Dennis was busy drafting a play alongside Olivia in the corner, the team captain's voice dulling down to a quiet chatter, setting a pleasant tone in the background, while Lenny had Adi and Ari listen to his new track, open for suggestions other than adding anything related to anarchy and destruction, of course.
Archie watched from a distance, currently busying himself with his weightlifting, but his eyes and unwavering sense of protectiveness never completely left them.
Modo was…doing whatever Modo does, skidding around the room and even ending up on the ceiling, which was surprisingly not new to the team, as they barely bat an eye when the komodo dragon hung on his legs and swung his arms over their heads, ignoring Olivia’s words, which asked for him to come down; however, she sounded rather unamused.
Meanwhile, Jett and Will were out on the practice field, trading shots and showing off, all in good spirits.
“Check this out!” Will grinned as he grabbed the ball, his body low and close to the ground, feet light and airy as he hopped from side to side, mimicking the moves he made when he tripped Mane’s ankles before making the shot. The ball bounced off the glass, rolled along the metal beam holding the ring before ever so gracefully dropping into the hoop. Jett rolled her eyes with a fond grin, her eyes squinting. “Oohhh, dunno ‘bout you, but I don't think Mane's beating that.” Will swung his arms open, his demeanor relaxed and easy, a tinge of overconfidence in his smug voice.
“Yeah? Well check this,” Jett reached for a ball from her rack, spinning it on her claw before very nonchalantly tossing it toward the hoop. The ball looked as though it went flying despite the little effort in her toss. It landed on a vine, rolling along the creeping plant until it aligned perfectly with the hoop and plummeted into the ring.
Will stared slack-jawed while Jett rolled her shoulders with an even more smug grin as if the atmosphere couldn't get any more smug. “How is that even possible??” Will sounded genuinely confused as he gestured toward the ball, which bounced as it hit the ground, rolling back toward them until it was halted by one of the many vines crawling along the floor.
Jett simply chuckled and folded her arms, her grin unwavering as she dismissed Will’s flabbergast. “All in the skill, small.” Jett shrugged as though her performance was nothing but ordinary.
“Not helping the ‘ball mind control’ allegations, by the way.”
“Believe what you wanna, I’m just that good.”
Will scoffed and rolled his eyes, folding his arms as he leaned back. “Show off,” Will grumbled, dragging out the ‘f.’ Jett shook her head and reached out, ruffling the smaller goat’s hair. Will laughed as he grabbed her wrist, trying to pry her off. “Watch the horns, watch the horns-!” Will yelped before he had successfully pushed her paw away, or rather, Jett finally pulled it off of him, surprisingly not catching a single strand of hair on her claws.
A moment of silence passed before the panther’s voice rang throughout the court once more.
“Hey, up your game today,” Jett piped from where she began to collect the balls scattered around the court. The panther walked around, tossing the balls back to Will, who stood next to the rack. “Whaat? Don’t got faith in my skill?” Will chuckled as he caught yet another ball, tossing it onto the rack, which creaked as it rolled ever so slightly further with each toss.
“I'm just kidding with you, kid,”
“Hey, I’m a fully grown goat!”
“Whatever you say, kid.”
Jett continued to taunt him jokingly while Will tried to get her to stop with prolonged groans. In reality, Will was really just a kid. To her, at least. Eighteen when he first joined and scored their first Claw, which was last year, and his birthday was coming up in, what? Two weeks? Three? He didn’t bother to do the math; all he knew was that it was coming up, and he was planning to surprise the Thorns by celebrating his birthday with them this year.
In previous years, he had always celebrated at the diner with his mom and Carol, alongside the friends he’d made (thank you, Daryl and Hannah), and the regulars, whose faces and names he’d practically memorized.
While he missed his hometown sometimes, especially because of the memories, he definitely couldn’t argue with the fact that his life was a million times better than having to cram himself into someone’s garage.
He didn’t want to complain, though. Frank was more than kind enough to allow him a few more nights, regardless of the late payment.
“But, no, seriously, watch your back today,” Jett interrupted his train of thought with another ball, but this time, Will didn’t catch it in time. It bounced against his horn, knocking him a few steps back. The goat groaned as he rubbed his head, while Jett grimaced slightly. “Sorry, just watched a few of Magma’s rematches and looks like they’re playing pretty offensively.” Jett began as she approached the goat with a ball in her hand.
Will shook his head lightly, nudging her with his elbow. “Come on, we’ve won like, what? Three? Four times? Even I lost count!” Will grinned as Jett tossed her ball toward the rack, which creaked even louder with the force of the throw. The goat’s expression faltered for a moment, raising a brow.
“I’m serious, Will.”
Jett’s playful tone shifted into a more dignified one, an almost solemn look replacing her earlier grin. “Hang on, you thought I was kidding or somethin’?” Jett tilted her head at him as she set a paw on his shoulder. Will shrugged before nodding.
Of course, he did. Then again, Jett couldn’t blame the kid; she was horrible at setting the tone for these situations, let alone giving any sort of serious talk that didn’t immediately involve raising her voice and/or lunging at someone.
“Alright, fine, well, remember those Shivers guys?”
“Duh, of course! I know…uh…” Will trailed off as Jett shot him an expectant look.
In all honesty, Will may have been quite…biased, which was an understatement, to say the least. His entire life, all he’d wait for and watch was the Thorns. He didn’t really pay any attention to the other teams. He’d call himself a dedicated Thorn fan, but being part of the team itself started to sound like he was glazing himself.
Not a good look for him and his team, so he rarely ever mentioned being the Thorns’ number one fan.
Will chuckled nervously, his shoulders rising bashfully. “Remind me again?” He asked innocently, sliding his hooves into his pockets as they exited the practice court and headed for the locker rooms. Jett groaned and shook her head. “If you’re gonna play Roarball, you gotta know your opponents, small,” She scolded lightly, although there was no real heat behind her words.
Jett gestured her paws around as she spoke. “There’s Propp, team captain, Dawson, her sister, and with them are Perez, Stein, and Quinn.” Jett began by introducing each of the Shivers’ players, her eyes constantly twitching to the side to make sure Will was listening.
Safe to say, Will would listen intently as long as it was anything related to Roarball.
Just as the panther opened her mouth to continue, Will interrupted her. “Uh, hang on, five players? They had the same problem as you guys? W-Well, before I joined,” Will tilted his head, not before tripping over air. Jett sighed, her expression turning grim, as though she expected him to point it out. “Five members now.” Jett paused, and Will, despite being the ever-patient goat he was, urged her to continue.
“During their rematch with Magma, Frober had paramedics all over the court after injuring a Shivers err….pretty bad. Yeah.” Jett’s shoulders tensed as she mentally replayed the live feed in her head, cringing before shivers ran throughout her body. Will’s brows furrowed with a grimace at her reaction. “Must've been really bad to see this coming from you, out of all people. Uh, no offense,” Will quickly shook his hands in defense.
“Much offense, actually.”
“Come on…”
Jett offered a small smile as her paw slipped off his shoulder. “But I'm being for real. Don't go taunting Mane and his teammates, ‘kay?” In Will’s opinion, Jett was starting to sound a lot like Carol, but he understood her concern. “Alright, alright,” Will finally accepted with a sigh, sounding a tad bit dejected that he wouldn't be able to be all up in Mane’s mind or even to just simply mess with him a little.
The more Jett pressed about being careful on the court, the more Will began to wonder: What was it exactly that the panther saw during that match that got her so tense?
Will knew it was probably for the better that he didn't check any videos about it on YouTube or Pawstagram, and there were likely no replays on TV for obvious reasons, but his curiosity couldn't help but gnaw at him.
Still, he managed to fight it off until they reached the locker room.
When they did, however, reach the locker room, he found that Jett wasn't telling them the same thing she had warned him about earlier. There were no ‘hey, be careful out there today' or ‘don't be playing the Magmas’ and the like.
Will never liked to keep questions to himself, so he simply approached her, keeping his voice down.
“Hey Jett,” Will called, weaving through Adi and Ari, who had just run past, racing toward their deadlifting dad, who could only spare a second for a mortified look. Jett looked over her shoulder, humming in acknowledgement, encouraging him to continue. “Why aren’t you, uh, y’know? Warning the others?” Will inquired, his voice low enough to blend into the background noise, but just loud enough for Jett to hear.
The goat followed Jett to her area, where she sat on a bench and looked up at the kid. Will’s eyes never left hers, prompting the idea that he wouldn’t give up the question until she answered. Jett sighed in defeat, her face twisting into a mix of uncertainty and reluctance.
Jett leaned back, but it was the kind of lean that showed she wasn’t exactly sure how to approach the situation. Will’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Uh, they already know about it, yeah?” Jett started, clasping her paws together and resting her elbows on her knees. “And I don’t wanna remind them again. The…live was pretty brutal,” Jett believed scary words like that would get Will to back down.
She didn’t want to have to tell him that the real reason was that he was small; they weren’t.
The expression plastered on Will’s face told her that her words didn’t fully convince him, but he reluctantly accepted them. “I guess.” Will shrugged, beginning to walk away from Jett, deciding he wouldn’t bother her and press even further so that they wouldn’t break out into a fight before the game. And in comparison to his earlier playfully dejected look, this time there was a melancholic one. Jett almost felt guilty.
Almost.
‘He’ll be fine.’ Jett reminded herself, taking in a deep breath. It felt foreign expressing those words earlier, and Will was right, it was odd hearing it from her, out of all people. If it could be anyone else, it should’ve been Archie warning him about these things, with all his fatherly knowledge and advice.
Her trance was interrupted when Dennis called the team together to discuss the plays he had plotted, asking for their opinions and being open to changes if they felt they couldn’t fulfill the role and whatnot. There were multiple plans this time, but he was putting light on one specific play.
Jett sighed as she pushed herself up, approaching the huddle. Maybe she’ll talk to Will after the game, apologize for the tiny white lie, and maybe ask to get some pie at Whisker’s Diner. Yeah. She’ll do that.
With her spirits lifted, she joined the huddled group, slinging one arm around Lenny’s shoulder and the other around Olivia’s, ears perking up as she absorbed the information Dennis dumped regarding their play.
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Televisions across the nation began to tune into the live: the long-awaited rematch between Magma and the Thorns. The rematch heightened tensions between the opposing teams and their respective fanbases. The play would, once more, take place in the Inferno Lava Coast region, known for its fiery, deadly terrain and skies clouded with smoke and ash.
The speakers came to life with a soft static buzz before it faded as the mic feedback cleared. The stadium erupted in cheers as the commentators sparked the play with their bright and lively commentary.
“Welcome, all Roarball fans! Small or big, big or small, to the most awaited rematch and the finals of the season! I—t’s team Magma against the Thorns. And from the looks of it, Mane’s coming in hot with a new hairdo!” Chuck begins with a lively voice full of passion; however, his expression…not so much. It wasn’t long before the camera pans to Mane, who was gritting his teeth behind a frown, looking around.
The racehorse was rocking cornrows in a stunning geometrical pattern, the precision appreciated even from afar. From the looks of it, he's either unaware that the camera is pointed at him or he's feigning ignorance for the sake of the scene.
“And, ohh, look at Olivia!” Rusty interrupted, punctuating every word with a grin. “I don't know about you, but it looks like we're having more of a runway show than a Roarball game!” The camera pans from Mane to Olivia, who's strutting into the stadium with a hop in her step, her team watching her with a fondness in their smiles, not too far behind.
Olivia looked dazzling today. Her hair was styled differently, at least compared to her usual iconic twin buns. It was a circular braid updo, adorned with sparkly gems of varying colors. And her feathers were dyed a different color, and while Olivia was known to change her style and color very often, either to match the stadium or just because, it was certainly a sight to behold.
“Can you guess what color that is, Chuck? Cause from her dazzling jewels, I can't see a thing!”
“I don't know, you tell me. Your echolocation could do you some justice right about now, Rusty.”
“That is not how that works!”
The teams began on their respective sides of the court, huddling around the benches, sharing their ideas, team plays, approaches, and everything they would need to win.
Dennis made sure everyone was listening before he pulled out his clipboard just enough for everyone to see. “From the looks of it, Froberville of Magma isn't playing, and I'm sure we all know why, but that means their defense is pretty fragile right now.” The team captain began, gesturing with one hand to each Thorns member, who nodded in understanding when the hand landed on them.
“And Mane’s looking real tense, so I think it's safe to play a little more offensively than usual. Here's the plan.” Dennis paused to point around the drawing on the clipboard, explaining each role for the first quarter.
While Dennis explained, Will found himself spacing out. The clipboard looked different from earlier.
The goat's eyebrows furrowed as his eyes traced over the scribbled-on dots that were meant to represent them, a smaller text of their names just under each one to help visualize the play. But he can clearly see that it's an entirely new paper compared to the one from earlier when they were in the locker rooms.
Had Dennis switched out plans while they were walking?
The plan introduced earlier was simple: Olivia would have the ball first, cover half the court if she could, and if she got blocked, pass it to Will, drag all attention to the goat so Jett could cover the other fourth of the court in the meantime. Jett would resume her position while Archie and Lenny stayed close to Will for defense as he reached Jett. Pass the ball to Jett, who would get the ball to the ring and make the first dunk. Modo would act as a substitute.
Will shook his head, returning to reality. Maybe he just switched out the plan for the first quarter and a later quarter, figuring Dennis simply favored one over the other as a starting play.
The new plan had significantly changed his role. He would not even play in the first quarter.
Will looked around, his gaze landing and observing each of their reactions. While it wasn’t new that a player of their or two wouldn’t play for a while, maybe even throughout the whole game, it wasn’t what he was wondering about. He was wondering why no one was questioning Dennis’s switch between plans without even telling them.
Everyone looked unbothered, intrigued, even.
Will parted his lips to ask, but his questions were once more interrupted. A whistle called their attention, eyes drawn to the middle of the court, where Iggy, the referee, approached the center with a ball in his hooves. The game was about to begin.
“Alright, guys, remember, you can improv from up to here, and if Lenny or Olivia gets blocked, just get the ball to Archie or Jett.” Dennis made one last reminder before they split. Will followed the coach to the bench, not before his eyes lingered on Jett as she jogged onto the court.
‘Should I ask Dennis?’
Will shook his head. No. He had to trust his team coach. Dennis wasn’t the best coach for no reason. Right, just…put trust in him.
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“And—ooh, down goes Olivia!” Rusty’s voice came over the scene. Olivia had attempted to run the ball until she was close enough to Modo for a confident pass. But her attempts were futile as a raging tiger attempted to snatch the ball from her, making a late second pass to the closest member, Archie. The moment the ball left her feathers, Helson tried to avoid a collision, but his shoes lost their grip, and he unfortunately tackled the ostrich to the ground.
Will winced at the sight, grabbing his head before wildly gesturing at the two on the ground. “Hey! That’s gotta be a foul!” The goat yelled, looking toward Dennis, who agreed.
Iggy looked around, sharing nods with the other referees before he raised a clenched fist, calling a foul and stopping the clock, rushing to the court where Lenny held back Olivia, who was screaming all sorts of insults that the sound effects department was currently struggling to bleep out every word.
“Yikes, Olivia is really riled up! Can you even say that on live TV?!”
“Well, Rusty, it’s at least better than saying motherf-”
“MOTHER—” Lenny was quick to slap a hoof over Olivia’s beak before she could continue, desperately pulling her away from an angered Helson, a tinge of guilt in his furrowed brows. But for the sake of the team, he didn’t apologize. They had a reputation to keep up, and that reputation was being a force of nature, an unforgiving, aggressive, powerful force of nature.
Iggy eventually reached them, breaking up the fight and asking for the ball, which Jett reluctantly passed. Olivia could only scoff as she glared at Helson, who was called over by Mane, aggressively nodding his head to the side, signalling for him to follow. Lenny pulled the ostrich away from them as well, nodding along as she ranted.
“Did you see that?! The actual audacity! How is he not out of the game?!” Olivia was getting more hot-headed the more she grumbled to the giraffe, who tried to console her by rubbing circles around her back. “It was an accident, Olivia; I don’t think he actually meant to tackle you,” Lenny tried to reason, watching as Olivia’s expression softened.
“Whatever. I guess.”
The team regrouped on one side of the court while the referees came together to assess the foul, replaying the footage. Will watched nervously, eyes moving to the scoreboard. At this moment, it was the second quarter, where Magma was leading by two points, and the Thorns were stuck at twenty-eight points. He knew this was still salvageable, but he couldn’t help but be nervous.
Looking behind him, he could tell that the Thorns fans were starting to look a little tense themselves. All the things Jett had told him so far had been exactly that. The Magmas were brutal, unforgiving, and definitely giving them a run for their money. But one thing he noticed that had been bugging him ever since the game had started was that the Magmas didn’t seem too pleased with each other either.
Will picked up on the way Mane would glare at his teammates for the smallest mistakes, and for even bigger fumbles, would outright yell at them, which put down their spirits even more, even though they were taking somewhat of a lead.
Eventually, the referees broke up, and a free throw was offered for the Thorns. Iggy blew his whistle, raising one finger, while walking toward the Thorns’ side of the court. They were allowed one free throw. Will scoffed. That should’ve been at least two!
Olivia was handed the ball, and her teammates surrounded her, some with their paws or hooves on their knees, others simply watching with gritted teeth. Olivia dribbled the ball a couple of times before holding it, her beak clasped tightly, swallowing to soothe her dry throat.
“Please make it, please make it, please make it,” She chanted softly, almost kissing the ball for good luck before remembering that it’s been on Mane’s hooves, fighting back a gag. Gross.
With that, a whistle rang out, and Olivia stretched her neck to make the throw. The moment she did, however, a sharp, stabbing pain struck her neck, causing her to miscalculate the throw. The ball bounces against the rim before hitting the ground, bouncing mockingly.
“Oh! Unfortunately for the Thorns, it’s just a friendly bounce…that didn’t happen!”
The Thorns’ fans let out a disarray of disappointed sighs and nervous mumbling, while the Magma’s side cheered even louder, a mix of booing and whistling from their crowd, followed by the thunderous stomps that seemed to rack the entire stadium.
“And that’s halftime, folks!” With that said, Iggy blows his whistle and points at the scorer’s table, his face ever stern as the teams split, returning to their respective benches.
Olivia immediately reached for her neck with a low groan, rubbing the area where the pain had crossed. Her teammates approach her, asking questions like ‘what happened?’ or ‘are you alright?’, guiding her carefully to the benches, where they could reunite with the coach.
The commentators covered for the time being, and televisions nationwide were put on hold. The cameras shift from the court to the commentators, where Rusty had snatched Chuck’s microphone before he could comment. “Alright, folks, again, that’s halftime for you! We will be back in fifteen minutes!” With that, an intermission that consisted of short commercials began to play.
Dennis placed a hand on Olivia’s wing, helping her onto the bench. “What happened out there?” Dennis asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern, waiting patiently until she could explain. Will watched from a distance; his frown deepened as Olivia seemed to tear up with every word, not without wincing at every word.
The goat’s gaze shifted to Team Magma, only to find that Mane was looking right at him, a vague sneer tugging at his lips. Will’s brows turned down even further, his hooves clenching so hard they shook.
Oh no. He wasn’t going to let that slide.
“Put me in the game, coach,” Will asked, turning to Dennis, placing a hoof on his shoulder to catch his attention. The goat’s face was nothing short of determined, and looking around at his teammates, he swore he caught Jett’s eyes widen. Dennis looked up at the clock: they still had ten minutes.
Dennis thought for a moment. His eyes darted to Jett, then to Olivia, who seemed to mouth the words ‘sorry’ toward the panther.
Eventually, the coach had ruled out all odds and nodded, his expression warping from worried to serious. “Right, okay, uhm…” Dennis began to ransack his clipboard, papers falling to the ground, which Modo had so kindly caught with his tongue. “We’ll go with this.” Dennis clipped a paper on the board that showed the plan he had introduced in the locker room.
“Everyone understands how this goes, right?” Dennis started, gesturing for the team to huddle closer, eyes leaving Olivia as a small beaver, a paramedic, tended to her. The plan was still similar; however, with Olivia out of the game, some roles had to be switched up.
This time, Modo would have the ball first, cover half the court if the odds were in their favor, and pass it to Lenny. The giraffe would draw eyes to him, allowing Will and Jett to make the rest of the court, sticking close to the ring, and Archie guarded Lenny while he crossed a fourth of the court, just close enough to pass it to Jett. Jett would pass the ball to Will, who would get it to the ring and make the shot.
“Everyone gets that, right?” Dennis asked, making sure they all understood, relieved to see a chorus of nods or hums of acknowledgement. However, the way they were whispering amongst themselves, sharing reassuring glances, and nodding along didn’t go unnoticed.
“Alright, remember the strat: communication is key; look each other in the eye; we can do this,” Jett intervened, hyping her team before placing a closed fist toward the center, inclining the rest to do the same. “On three. One, two, three-!”
“Roots run deep!”
Mane scoffed as he glanced toward the scoreboard. They were always so close, a score or two behind or ahead, never more, never less. The online debates about which team was better clouded his mind; perhaps he shouldn’t have touched that thread right before the game. Although some roarball fans pressed that Magma was (and is) better than the Thorns or the other way around, he wasn’t about to let the latter side of the argument win. No, they had to win this game.
He was tired of this, tired of his team getting demotivated to practice for once, and tired of the humiliation. Mane would make sure he won this game, no matter the cost.
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“And welcome back to this season’s Roarball finals! I’m Chuck, and my co-host Rusty and we’ll finally get to see some action!”
Dennis had a hand on Will’s shoulder, making him turn around to show the scorers his jersey number. Upon landing on the number zero printed on his jersey, the scorers looked amongst themselves before nodding, giving him the green flag to enter the game.
“From the looks of it, it’s the moment everyone’s been waiting for! Will Harris is finally in the game, substituting for an injured Olivia!”
Right after Rusty had announced the inclusion of the Thorns’ GOAT, Will Harris, in the finals game, their fans were looking up once more. Loud, deafeningly loud cheers roared across the court, one that rivaled the rumbling and ruckus that the Magma’s fans were causing.
Will kissed two fingers and waved them to his fans, his smile growing as they began the infamous Thorns chant. “Roots run deep! Roots run deep!” They rooted, their voices almost drowning out the commentators who were on the big speakers, mind you.
“And will you look at that, Chuck! The crowd is going nuts over the GOAT! You can hear the decibel levels rising in here! The fans just want to see their guy.”
“Yes, I can definitely hear you, Rusty. I’ll miss the dazzles, but can Harris avenge Olivia? Or will we have to wait and see what Mane has up his sleeve this time?”
Iggy approached the center of the court, ball in hand, whistle barely dangling from his mouth. The teams took their places on either side of him, with Mane and Lenny standing the closest. The tension was almost palpable as the racehorse and giraffe locked gazes, eyes narrowing the moment they did.
Their stances spread as the referee got ready, and then—
The whistle went off, and the ball launched into the air.
Mane was quick to tap it, using Lenny as leverage to reach the ball and tap it to their side. The commentators let out a slightly dejected ‘oooh’ in unison, sharing a similar reaction with the crowd, as Mane fiercely sprinted with the ball to the other court, forcing the Thorns to switch to defense.
“And there you have it, folks! Mane has just tapped Lenny! Is that a foul?”
“No, that’s not a foul.”
Will tried to keep up with Mane, hooves clacking loudly against the basalt, trying not to catch any volcanic glass through gritted teeth, pushing his body to its limits as Mane got closer and closer to the goal. He looked around desperately, hoping some of his teammates were closer to Mane than he was to try and snatch it.
A string of hope seemed to tie itself together as Jett came into view through the moving basalt.
The panther roared with a scowl, running up a stair-like formation created by the basalt to get some height until she was sure that Mane was right below her, pouncing from the heights, eyes on the ball.
Until a lizard comes from her left, bumping her to the side, and causing both of them to roll against the heated ground upon landing.
“And Fillmore has reached in and paid the price! Things are getting hot, I’m telling ya!”
Even though they couldn’t hear the commentators through the loud cheering of the crowd, Jett could practically read what they were saying right about now. She tried to weave past Loeb, who was insistent on his block, protecting Mane as he made for the ring.
The racehorse managed to hop onto a rising platform just before it was too high for him to reach, and Will could only watch as he ascended, disappearing completely from his view. His breaths came in short as he hastily looked for another option, anything to get some ground on Mane.
“It’s Mane for the first point!”
“Wait, what’s this?!”
With a mere second to spare, a familiar Slavic accent yelled throughout the court. “Modo has ball!” The big screens showed Modo literally scaling the basalt tower from its base without any sort of boost to get to Mane, hitting the ball out of his hooves just before it got through the ring. The komodo dragon caught the ball in his claws, giggling to himself at his success, grinning wildly back at Mane to salt the injury before he sprinted away with the ball, easily maneuvering past Walters and Koltun.
“What a move, what a comeback! I’ve never seen anyone literally climb these things in my entire career! Pinch me, Chuck!”
“I will not do that, Rusty! But I agree with you on this; it’s certainly a one-of-a-kind move, and I hope we’ll get to see more creativity like this in future matches!”
Will could only share an ecstatic and surprised look with Archie, who watched the entire thing for himself, grinning widely. The goat was practically bouncing in excitement, sparing a moment for the initial shock to wear off before powering the adrenaline into the game. They couldn’t let Modo’s stunt go to waste.
With the protection of Archie and Jett, Modo makes the basket, scoring two points, putting them in the lead by three.
“BINGO! He puts it in! Thorns is now in the lead!”
But, regardless of Modo’s efforts, the play was still closely tied after that. Magma would start leading, Thorns would catch up, and the scoreboard was restless, and so on. The process would repeat with little to no change, and referees would flinch whenever Magma tried something new but not new enough to count as a foul.
However, the longer the numbers stayed close, the more provoked Mane became.
At this moment, the Thorns were leading by one with forty-nine points, while Magma was rocking a rough forty-eight. It wasn’t looking good for them, especially not with less than a minute left on the clock. Archie had called their attention with a simple hand signal, tilting his head down with a slight furrow in his brow; it was time they executed the plan.
“Looks like it’s a close one, Chuck! How will the Magmas make their comeback?! Or will the Thorns secure yet another Claw?!”
To say Mane was enraged was an understatement. His calves and hamstrings were killing him; they felt like they were burning with each pulse, and his lungs were practically begging for a break. That goat knew how to move, and it was starting to get annoying. Even his teammates began to falter, failing to catch a pass or even to block a shot.
Mane had seen this all before. This was how their past rematches had always ended; the Thorns seemed like they were losing in the first two quarters, and suddenly, after halftime, they would somehow take the lead and win.
“I don't think we can save this,” Loeb muttered, trying to keep his tone lighthearted. Still, there was a despondency hidden in his words as he ran alongside Mane, his breathing just as heavy, watching as Modo had possession once again, having snatched the ball from Walters, making a mad dash to their court. Mane looked around, his eyes narrowing as he watched his teammates’ efforts and attempts become futile against the Thorns.
The ball moved across the court so quickly that even the scorers and viewers were having a hard time keeping track. One second it was tossed to Lenny, the next it was in Jett’s paws, and now it was in Will’s hooves.
Mane glanced toward the Magma’s crowd, who had gone rather silent, their teeth gritted and grinding, paws clenching cups so hard they crumpled under a single squeeze.
He knew he had to do something. “Not on my court. Not. On. My. Court.” With that, Mane pushed, practically leaping forward, eyes dead-set on the goat.
Will was in possession, stumbling into a gallop as he caught sight of an infuriated Mane from the corner of his eye. He was quickly closing the distance between him and the ring, but the sound of hooves hitting the basalt ground, followed by what sounded like the ground was splintering from the sheer force just behind him, was enough for him to break out into a silent panic.
He just had to shoot. His score would seal the deal, and they'd have another Claw in their possession, one to match the one in Whisker's Diner. All he had to do was make it. Simple.
But while he was getting closer, so was Mane. Jett watched with wide eyes as she ran alongside him, sticking close, ready to pull yet another selfless stunt like she had last season that nearly cost her her entire career.
“I'm open! Pass!” Jett screamed with all her might, waving her hands in the air, desperately trying to get Will to pass the ball in hopes that it would drive Mane’s attention toward her instead.
But Will didn't catch her voice, let alone spare her a glance. His eyes were fixated on the ring, and his eyes were wide in what she could only describe as determination, a glint of fear in them.
The platforms began to shift once more, and Will and Mane were lifted higher, far from where Jett could see them. A sense of doom settled deep in her stomach. She couldn't see Will, and she couldn't hear the commentators. She knew nothing about what was happening.
Will raced for the ring, eyes repeatedly glancing to his side, catching a glimpse of Mane, who had managed to keep up and was now galloping relatively close. He knew this scene all too well.
“Give me that ball, small!” Mane roared, eyes bloodshot, and his entire demeanor screamed of a player gone wild.
“I don't know about you, but I'm getting a really strong feeling of déjà vu right about now!”
“You said it, Rusty! It's hard to tell what play they're getting at, but I can tell it's going to be a real close one!”
“With Mane closing in on Harris, we can only see so far into the future!”
The noise around Will began to muffle as he finally reached a safe distance, pushing off the edge of the lifted platform, raising the ball over his head. The lights shone brightly on him, casting an almost ethereal glow.
“It's Will Harris for the win!”
Until a shadow blocks out the lights.
The world seemed to move in slow motion, or zero gravity, one of the two, as Will watched as two hooves pry the ball from his own, looking up to see Mane’s determined face, not pointed down on him, but locked straight onto the ring.
Will began to fall. Gravity tended to do that, his arms still outstretched toward the ball, watching as it entered the ring. A loud buzzer went off in the muffled background, not long before a loud chorus of cheers erupted all around him.
“THE CHAMPIONS FOR THIS SEASON ARE—”
Will’s eyes were wide open, his breath coming in short.
‘We lost.’ He thought, his stomach dropping, as though there was an endless pit in place of it, catching the faint smirk that began to tug at Mane's lip.
‘I failed the team.’
Will felt something connect with his torso.
Something crunches deep inside him. Before he could process what had just happened, in less than a second, his small body was flung toward the square pole of the ring. The odds were not in his favor.
A loud clang echoed throughout the court as Will’s head slammed against the pole, his horn catching on its edge. A sickening crunch followed suit, like raw vegetables crushed under the stomp of a boot.
The stadium’s cheering died down as crimson drops sprayed onto the court, appearing like scarlet sparkles as they caught in the bright, white lights.
A dull clack sounded as a horn, a goat horn, landed unceremoniously close to the ring, rolling until it just barely brushed the tip of Mane’s shoes. It stayed still, and a faint red began to trickle from its exposed base.
Another heavy, dull thud followed as the owner of the horn hit the ground, bouncing a couple of times before his body crashed against the crowd control barrier, where the audience there flinched violently upon impact.
The stadium went dead silent.
A second, three seconds, five, then ten.
Until the horror finally settled in.
“P-Pause the live, pause the live.” Chuck and Rusty were quick to request that all lives end, to which the broadcast crew beat them to it. The scoreboards went black, leaving only the promotions to shine upon the lower screens to avoid the cameramen from accidentally displaying the injury to the entire court.
Jett was the first to move on the court. She could just barely hold back the Wilhelm scream that had painfully knotted in her throat, sprinting toward Will.
The rest of Thorns were quick to follow, but Archie lingered behind, his eyes locking on Mane, who stood frozen as he stared at the scene before him.
Jett stumbled as she knelt to the goat, quickly moving her body behind him to shield him from the crowd and the eyes of all their younger audiences. Modo helped with acting as a cover, even spreading his arms slightly.
The audience was in complete distress. Some were either looking away, consoling their children and covering their tearful eyes and ears, or pulling out their phones, attempting to snap a photo or record, but the panther covered him before they could. They could always deal with the public later.
“Hey Will, Will,” Jett started, her paws hovering over Will’s body, her eyes glued to his missing horn. It had come off near his skull, and the panther unwillingly caught clear sight of the exposed sinus cavity, drenched in blood.
The thick, almost syrup-like, scarlet liquid mockingly shone under the bright lights; the way the lights bent and scattered across the dark surface proved that he was, in fact, bleeding relentlessly.
Carmine began to pool around his head, the viscous liquid crawling, reaching out to lap at the soles of Jett’s shoes, threatening to taint them in the dark crimson. The incarnadine soaked into his hair, his signature locks beyond recognizable covered in the carnage, and trickled down his head in an almost caressing manner.
Jett instinctively but gently lifted Will’s head onto her lap, looking around desperately for a cloth, unaware that her paws had begun to shake. “Cloth, cloth, somebody get me a cloth,” Jett muttered in between shaky breaths, though her voice was beginning to sound more like a wheeze than anything.
Modo didn’t give a second thought as he slid off his jersey, handing it to the panther, who snatched it without taking her eyes off the goat. Jett shakily folded the jersey once before using it to apply pressure to Will’s bleeding horn. Or at least what was left of it.
‘Remember your training, just remember your training.’
But her efforts seemed futile; they didn't seem to make a difference; there was still so much blood. It felt sickeningly warm against her paws, and the smell of copper overwhelmed the rest of her senses.
And she swore that Will was starting to look paler by the second.
Modo’s jersey had become unrecognizable with how much gore it had absorbed; the printed graphics, the thorns and his number began to warp into nothing but a burgundy carnage. Modo himself had leaned down to listen to Will’s breathing, uncharacteristically quiet for a long while.
Will’s breathing became rapid and shallow, a faint popping sound accompanying every breath. Modo looked up at Jett, reaching out to tilt Will’s head to the side if the panther would allow it.
Because from the looks of it, Jett was clearly not in the right state of mind, eyes focused on the kid, but clouded, as though she were worlds away. The pressure she was applying grew to an almost crushing intensity, and her breathing almost outpaced Will’s, but her jaw was tight, clearly trying to keep herself together.
She would've crushed the poor goat had Modo not stopped her.
Modo rose from where he stooped, moving closer to her and encouraging her paw to ease her grip, placing a grounding hand on her shoulder.
“Jett is doing good. Will is breathing, so you breathe too.”
Modo had rarely ever called them by their names. It was either some silly nickname for their species or something they couldn’t quite understand. Hearing it from him now had brought her down to Earth, helping soothe the tremble in her paws.
Jett swallowed harshly, trying to quell her dry throat. “I-I can’t get the bleeding to stop,” Jett whispered, eyes dilating in fear, and her ears were flattened against her head. Her tail had opted to wrap around Will’s leg before it decided to fluff up and bottle brush.
“Blood is slower, is working.” Modo encouraged, his words lacking the usual flare he was known for, hesitantly patting Jett’s paws. Though even he struggled to believe his own words.
With Jett slightly calmer, Modo finally tilted Will’s head to the side. Just as he suspected, blood began to leak past the goat’s lips, and the popping and wheezing came to a halt, but the pace of his breathing had not changed. Instead, his pulse seemed quicker, and his face began to twist in pain.
A tiny, almost lost to the sound of breathing, pained whimper escaped Will.
Modo had to steel his stomach when the blood at Will’s lips began to bubble with his breaths.
Lenny arrived a few seconds later with paramedics trailing behind him, kneeling to the three. “Modo’s right, you're doing great, you're doing great. Just keep the pressure steady. Deep breaths, Jett.” Lenny’s voice was nothing short of reassuring; however, the tremble in his voice was hard to miss.
One of the paramedics, a leopard, crouched to Jett. Modo and Lenny moved aside to give the professionals space, though they tried to stay close regardless. The leopard thanked her for what she'd done, even reassuring her, but eventually, the paramedics had to take him away.
“We'll take it from here, Ms. Fillmore. Thank you.” The leopard’s voice was gentle and controlled as she pried Jett’s paws off the goat, her gloved hands sliding under Jett’s to continue the pressure, not before looking over her shoulder, pressing her companions to hurry up.
Jett watched as they loaded Will onto a stretcher, two paramedics carrying him off and the other running alongside them, seemingly attempting to stabilize the goat until they reached the ambulance, where they could hook him to proper medical devices.
The floors of the stadium, although ashy and dark, were stained in dark crimson. Bloodied footprints followed the paramedics who had stepped into the pool when they had peeled Will away from her, blood hugged the walls of the crowd control barrier that Will had slammed against, and blood covered her.
The blood of her teammate was on her. It was on her jersey, her fur, her paws. Every surface that the ichor had touched began to coagulate. Her jersey stuck to her fur from the blood, painful and pulling with every breath.
She could feel it start to cool and grow sticky against her paws, the way it ran down and dripped onto the floor.
The paramedics rushed out of the stadium, and Jett’s instincts screamed at her to follow, to make sure Will was alright, but before she could even take a step, ambulance sirens blared from outside the stadium, fading into the night ambience as the vehicle sped off.
The crowd-control security began to assist in escorting audiences with children and others who were willing to leave the stadium, while the cleaning crew stood by the entrance, looking hesitant as they whispered amongst themselves, but Jett could not hear them.
Instead, a chill ran up her spine, and her ears could only pick up her muffled surroundings, replaced by a ringing in her ear.
“Jett?”
Her chest was starting to hurt, as though every breath she had expelled seemed to expand her lungs enough to press against her ribs. Her shoulders were extremely taut, painfully so.
“H-Hey, Jett?”
Her breathing had quickened, her eyes were burning, her throat was dry, and her head was throbbing. Her fur felt tight against her, like it was squeezing and choking, and her body so hot a cold wave washed over her with every pulse.
“JETT!”
Jett whipped her head around to the source, quick enough that her vision swam slightly. When had she started getting dizzy?
When her vision settled and the fog in her brain seemed to lift ever so slightly, her eyes refocused to find Olivia standing over her. Modo and Lenny had long disappeared from her side.
The ostrich was looking down at her, her face twisted in what could only be described as pity. Though a neck cast restrained her, it didn’t stop her from getting down to Jett’s level, her wings hovering around the panther hesitantly.
Her beak was clearly trembling, her eyes glassy, and she constantly swallowed, as though trying to find the right words that wouldn’t immediately cause her to weep.
Eventually, Olivia suddenly lunged forward, her wings wrapping around the panther, unbothered that her feathers were brushing against the hardened ichor that they knelt in.
“I am so sorry.”