They called it Boundary Breach for a reason.
A hundred and twenty of us stood around the edge of a hex the size of a small town. Each player had a pedestal inside a marked home cell, and above each pedestal hung a ward crystal. If your crystal broke, a red pillar of light went up over your cell and you were out. Last crystal shining won. You could go anywhere, make truces if you dared, break them when it suited you—but your crystal never left your cell, and it projected three rings that everyone could see.
The outer ring was the sensor. Anything hostile that crossed it pinged your wristband.
The middle ring was the shield. Nobody could touch your core until the shield had been breached, and breaching it meant planting three sigil plates inside it. Each plate took three seconds of channelling to set. A single touch from the owner dispelled one.
The inner ring was the core. Once three plates had sat for five seconds, it lay open. Break it, and the player was gone.
