Chapter 20: A Game Of Checkers In Hell

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Confusion struck Alexander. His ears couldn’t believe what he had just heard, his eyes clouded with disbelief at what had just transpired right before him. Every enemy he had faced until now had asked for one thing—a fight. But this time, he was asked for something different: a game of checkers.

“I know you don’t have time!”

“That’s why I’m going to make a deal with you,” the man said, calm, an intuitive strategist’s aura steaming off his body.

Alexander leaned in closer, listening, awaiting the odd proposal that followed. The man’s eyes glittered behind his glasses.

“If you win, we will give you our base!”

He paused.

“And what about if you win?” Alexander asked, intrigued.

“You will stop your siege,” the man said, sure as the sunrise.

“See, a good proposal. I just want a game with you!” he pressed, persuading Alexander to make a choice.

Alexander rubbed his chin, pondering. It didn’t make sense. This had to be another trap.

“You know what happens when you lose your base, right?” Alexander questioned, his gestures seeking assurance, his tone betraying curiosity.

The man in white smiled brightly, lowered his arms, his expression open, revealing no sign of bad intent.

“I know,” he replied, smiling still.

Alexander stood for some seconds, second-guessing the choice he was about to make. Whether it was a good or bad one was yet to be seen. Instinctively, his legs started moving toward the wooden chair before him. His challenger extended his right hand and pointed at the chair, his face lighting up with a subtle nod of happiness.

Squeak!

The chair scraped against the floor as Alexander pulled it forward, then sat down.

The man adjusted his glasses, two tall fingers straightening the frame.

“Let me introduce myself. I am Yuno Shigaraki,” he said.

“Before we start, I want to know where my friends are,” Alexander demanded.

Yuno lifted his arm and made his first move on the black-and-white board.

“Don’t worry. They will be o…kay. Just do your part,” he assured him as the game finally began.

—

The duo stood diligently, confidence surging, golden hair threads glowing and drawing attention—opposite them, the builders and miners carried out their boss’s orders.

Unlike the assassins, this was the second-largest group, numbering eight in total.

Some of the Commander’s former teammates had tried to join them, clinging to Midgard’s family-like approach.

Bray stepped forward, sweat streaming down his hairline, his upper lip curling into a mocking grin that was about to unravel into words.

“We beat you already. We can do it again!” he warned.

His insult was met with laughter, far different from the reaction he expected.

In the midst of the chuckles, one of them spoke from the back of their four-way formation.

“You’re just a talkative boy without manners!”

The words echoed, fueling the tension.

Bray stood unfazed, unaffected by the verbal strike aimed at his ego.

Jamie’s eyes shifted restlessly, his mind far from the insults.

Debates of the righteousness of his murderous actions stormed his thoughts.

The shadows of his victims still haunted him—the Commander grinning through his bloody face, a gaping hole in his chest handmade by Jamie; the underlings, headless, their corpses sprawled.

They walked toward him, bringing with them a darkness that cloaked the landscape like a veil. Slowly, they crept closer, their shadows pressing into his mind.

When all seemed lost, a light of justice flared, engulfing the darkness in an instant.

Only for the cycle to restart. A punishment he was doomed to endure if he ever hoped to bring justice to Midgard.

“Why is your hair golden?” a muscular man asked—the same one who had led the retreat when one of their member was killed at the Love Symbol residence.

Jamie did not answer. His silence was a stare—leveled and piercing—that brought chills not only to the questioner but to everyone who saw it, even his own teammate.

The man, trembling under the gaze, still mustered the strength to continue.

“I’m talking to you, baby face!” he snapped, voice breaking under the strain of anger.

“When are we going to fight?” Jamie interjected, his calm voice cutting through the tension. Though soft, the words carried the weight of war.

“Hmh.”

A smile spread across one of their faces.

“I thought the same!”

Phu!

They attacked.

The fight began—four against two, tension thick in the air.

Jamie parried a vicious kick. Another came from the opposite direction, sharper and more precise. He dipped low and came up fast.

A punch from the first attacker. Jamie blocked with his right hand—clang! A metallic sound rang, followed by a sting of pain.

“Ah…”

He wondered at its origin.

Leaping, he twisted midair and launched a double kick, striking the second opponent and sending him sprawling. He landed and retreated back a step.

A cooling liquid dripped down his forehead, clouding his golden hair. He raised his arm, touched it, then rubbed his fingers.

“…Sweat!”

He wasn’t imagining it. The moment he stepped in here, something felt off. The room itself was heated.

“This could be a problem,” he muttered, conscious of the trap.

On the other side of the battleground, Bray held his ground. Fists flew, he parried, kicks came in, connecting both ways.

But something was wrong. His enemies weren’t slowing down—he was.

Dodging became harder. His vision blurred, sweat pouring into his eyes.

Phu!

A punch connected, sending him reeling back.

His breaths grew deep, ragged—

—interrupted by the laughter of his enemy.

“You’re feeling hot, right?”

“We’ve made the conditions hard for you.”

“But for us, it’s normal—it’s always like this in the mines!”

—

As they battled in the hellish tunnel, the two sharpest minds alive played checkers. Each move a weapon, each glance a feint.

The board remained full—the knights, the queen, standing tall on their posts. An actless game, yet tense with invisible strikes.

Yuno smirked confidently, as if finishing a speech.

“So,” he began, calm and composed. “After telling you everything that’s happening—” he slid a piece across the board, “—who do you think is going to win?”

Alexander leaned forward, equally calm.

“Well,” he said, stretching his arm to make his move. “I like your plan. It’s a good take on combat…”

He held his piece, eyes glinting.

“…But you have one weak point in your plan.”

Yuno raised an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”

Alexander smirked. He moved his piece, capturing one of Yuno’s.

“It’s simple,” he said.

“You chose the wrong enemies.”

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