The lights in the arena flickered back to life, illuminating a massive ghost in blue robes who stood towering over the other spirits. His spectral beard fluttered as his head spun slowly, surveying the audience with an almost playful curiosity.
"Ladies and gentlemen, good evening!" the ghost boomed, his voice echoing through the stands. "I am Patrick, captain of the Headless Hunters! It's an honor to perform for you tonight!"
He grinned, his head twisting back around to its proper position. "No need for long speeches! The Head Hockey match begins now!"
A cheer erupted from the crowd as the twelve ghostly riders on their phantom horses divided into two teams—six in white, six in blue. They gripped their hockey sticks firmly, eyes locked on Patrick's head, which was now cradled in his hands.
Patrick swung his head high into the air, its translucent form shimmering under the magical lights. For a heartbeat, everything was still. Then, with a thunderous roar, the ghostly horses charged forward, their hooves thundering soundlessly against the ethereal ground.
A blue-robed rider surged ahead, his stick slicing through the air to connect with Patrick's head. The impact was fierce, the head denting from the force before soaring toward the white team's goal. Gasps of excitement rippled through the audience, followed by cheers at the brutal splendor of the game.
"Are they always this... aggressive?" David whispered, eyes wide as he watched another player's head knocked clean off by an opponent's stick, sending it spinning across the field.
Charlie chuckled, leaning in. "Welcome to Head Hockey. It's not for the faint-hearted."
The disembodied heads flew across the field, players dashing to retrieve them while dodging rival attacks. One of the blue riders, tall and muscular, swung his stick with precision, sending his head soaring towards the goal—only for a white-robed player to intercept with a sneaky shot from the side, knocking the head into the audience. Spectators leaped up, laughing and tossing the head back into play.
Patrick, more skilled than the rest, weaved through the chaos, his ghostly horse galloping with spectral elegance. He lined up his shot perfectly, his head spinning mid-air before he struck it with a powerful swing. It soared past the white team's defense and crashed into the back of the net.
The stands erupted in applause, the noise echoing like a storm. David couldn't help but join in, his heart racing.
"Did he just… score using his own head?" David asked, astonished.
John grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Yeah. And he's not done yet."
The game intensified, each team growing more ruthless. Heads flew like shooting stars, slamming into walls, ricocheting off posts, and occasionally colliding mid-air with sickening thuds. Yet, the ghosts were relentless, their laughter and taunts echoing as they gave chase, swinging their sticks with merciless precision.
David was amazed at their agility. Patrick's team was faster, more coordinated. Despite the brutality, there was a beauty to their play—a rhythm, a dance of chaos.
The final score was 6-4, Patrick's blue team emerging victorious. As they paraded around the field, heads held high in triumph, the audience rose to their feet, applauding and cheering for the champions of this otherworldly sport.
Matthew reappeared on the field, his charismatic smile lighting up the arena. "Give it up for the Headless Hunters!" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the thunderous applause. "I told you this would be unforgettable!"
The headless riders bowed, their ghostly figures shimmering before they galloped off, disappearing into the darkness beyond the arena.
The lights slowly brightened, and the spectators began filing out. David was still buzzing with excitement as they walked out of the tent.
"How was it?" Charlie asked, nudging him playfully.
"Incredible!" David exclaimed, his eyes wide with wonder. "But… it was so violent!"
Charlie burst out laughing. "Yeah, they don't hold back. But trust me, you'll see worse when you come work at the dragon farm."
David froze mid-step. "Wait, who said I was working at the dragon farm?"
Charlie looked at him, surprised. "Didn't you tell Jason that? He was going on and on about it to Newt the other day."
David slapped his forehead, groaning. "Oh, that idiot! He's been begging me to go, but I never agreed!"
Charlie laughed even harder, shaking his head. "Well, I'll straighten him out. But seriously, you should consider it. You'd be great there."
"We'll see," David muttered, his mind still spinning from the match. As they made their way back to the inn, he couldn't shake the image of the headless hunters, charging across the field with fearless abandon.
They entered the inn quietly, the dimly lit hallways creaking under their footsteps. Tver gave them a knowing nod from behind the counter, gesturing upstairs.
"He's back?" David whispered.
Tver nodded, his finger pressed to his lips.
David's pulse quickened as he led the way upstairs, his mind racing. Newt was waiting for them, a shimmering barrier of silence surrounding the room.
Newt's eyes sparkled. "He's just returned. I was about to send for you."
David grinned, his excitement renewed. "Ready when you are, Grandpa."
They huddled together, anticipation crackling in the air. The game was far from over.