Compared to the assemblies of days prior, with their restless moods and competitive atmospheres, where all present either listened in anxious silence or strove to drown out the words of everyone else, today's meeting went as smoothly as the proverbial well-oiled machine. So low-key had the proceedings been, in fact, that the director could hear the rain pattering against the roof of the Inquisitional College with no strain at all. This all made sense, of course; today's was the final gathering of the minds, and instead of a debate, it was more of a last-minute checkup. Everyone knew their place. The outlandish proposal had completed its evolution to primary course of action, and in very short order, the ambitious woman's brainchild would begin. In the end, the idea condemned by some of her peers had been remarkably simple. Once the professors agreed to open the Vault, and put an effort into understanding the city's treasures accumulated therein, it had been smooth sailing. Felicity Wernicke, former head of the College's exploration department and now the director of the tournament, liked to think it was meant to be.

The sound of table legs dragging across the ground stirred her from her reverie. She gave a pointed glance at the culprit, a certain Professor Barnaby, whose excess weight bore down upon his seat as he scooted backward from the table to depart. Giving an obfuscating smile, the red-bearded man shuffled toward the exit after the others. He was one of the last ones to go, leaving Felicity alone at the great oval conference table. Knowing that she couldn't delay getting started any longer, she stood up with sudden speed and made her way toward the exit. She only paused to glance out the softly-lit room's northern window, with the rain streaming down its face, at the murky outline of a city in the distance. “Soon,” she murmured, “Your secrets will come to light.”

Once out of the room, she found herself flanked by college personnel on each side, and without skipping a beat Felicity made haste down three flights of stairs to the College's sublevel. Bit by bit, her entourage split off, until the director stood alone before a reinforced sliding door with nobody at her side but every eye upon her. She could feel the pressure enveloping her, and couldn't help but swallow as she swiped her ID card in the door's console. Like the door of an ancient, cursed tomb, the barrier fell away with ominous slowness, and Felicity made her way inside.

In the middle of the blackened room, a pedestal stood by itself, and wreathed on all sides by silent dark a ledger sat alone upon it. A single theatrical light shone down on it from above. Felicity strode toward it, her subconscious keeping her footsteps muted even though this artifact had been proven time and time again to be harmless. Gingerly, she plucked the booklet from the pedestal, and adjusted her glasses to better read in the insufficient light. Only a few days ago, thirty-two blanks had adorned its face, but now each line was filled. The Lady in White. The God Hand She scanned farther down. Fin, the Cop. With a delicate index finger and thumb, she peeled the first page halfway back, revealing information on the so-called Lady in White written in a plain, formal hand. So these were the ones. “You've made your choice then, Ghostwriter. Your task is done, and the preparations are made. Now it is time to act.” Felicity tucked the ledger beneath her arm, turned on her heel, and vacated the room with a purposeful stride. She winced to be back in the brightly-lit corridor following the almost tangible darkness of the now empty room, but when her eyes adjusted, she was greeted by the sight of sixty-four of her coworkers. Some were young, some were old, some tall, and some short, but all, be they new employees or members of the College since before its official founding, were on board for the task at hand.

One by one, she tore the pages from the ledger, handing them to the pairs that had formed before her arrival. “Once you have your page, proceed out of the building,” she commanded in a clear, authoritative voice. “Take one lantern per pair from the table we've set up by the main door. The storm around the College will have reached its peak intensity. Walk into the storm unafraid, and on the other side, you'll find someone we're looking for. The chosen few have been selected based on the strength of their desire, and should not be difficult to persuade once you reveal you know their deepest desire. Keep in mind that the lantern will help compel them to follow you, but it is your logic or charisma that must bring them through the storm back to this island. Understood?”

The staff voiced its collective affirmation, and got to work. Ledger in hand, Felicity followed them back up the stairs and to the College's front door, then stopped to watch them. One after another, the pairs disappeared into the deluge. Felicity looked behind her, toward the atrium where, in short order, the magic would happen. Perhaps more remarkable, though, was the beat of her heart. Despite her old age, it seemed, she could be moved to near-giddiness by excitement, even if her mature composition managed to cover it up. So much work had been done to lay the foundation for this tournament in which history would be made. This competition—the Crucible, which like its namesake would serve as the iron cauldron where all the different elements, full of ambiguity, would be melted down and recombined into something new.

---

Another boring, uneventful afternoon.

Aside from the odd deer, rabbit, or raccoon, nothing stirred in the woods and meadows beyond the stone ramparts on Malingurd. Guard duty, particularly when alone, never failed to elicit groans from the brave men of the city's militia, but not so for Cyril. Leaning back against the wall, with nobody around in either direction for hundreds of meters, and with the wilderness stretched out before him, Cyril felt at peace. So what if guard duty was boring? He would rather spend a hundred days straight on this patch of earth just to be sure that there was no trouble rather than be called to quell some sort of gang war within the city, or to march out to fend off monsters or bandits attacking a nearby village only to arrive too late to do anything but bury the bodies. These were no mere thoughts, either; danger was a constant reality. This was, beyond all doubt, a cruel and hostile world. Cyril agreed with the scholars who postulated that the world's perils had kept civilization from advancing, but there was nothing to be done. So long as humanity remained disunited, where new technological and scientific discoveries were often lost as soon as they were discovered, the sorry state of things would remain.

His spirits had lifted after the rain started at about three. The rain would help the farmers and stimulate the rivers, turning the waterwheels that powered some of the machines. More monsters might come out under cover of rain, but they were just as likely to hide themselves away in their holes, and vagrants were unlikely to venture out across the muddy roads. To Cyril, the gentle pattern of rain became a soothing drone, and as he sat on his stool with his shield above his head to keep dry, he couldn't help but to let his eyes close for a few moments. Far above, the sky grew darker, its leakage coming down harder and faster, and Cyril stared outward into the gray distance, unmoving. Through the deluge, he did not hear the sound of footsteps until their owners stopped only a few meters away to stare at him. Cyril's eyes blinked open, and with some surprise he spotted two strangers in pale green cloaks. “What Who goes there?”

The smaller of the pair spoke. “Hold on a moment, do not fret. We are travelers, and I have something for you that I'm sure will catch your interest.” He reached into a pocket. In the dim light, Cyril craned his eyes to see. He couldn't get an idea what it was until it glinted in the half-light. With a yell, the knight lowered his shield to cover his face, and the traveler -robbed of his target- changed direction mid-throw to hurl his knife at Cyril's foot instead. The weapon, possessed of an unusual gleaming blade, pierced his boot and stuck in his foot. Suddenly awash in pain and struggling to shrug off his sleepiness, the knight gripped his halberd with both hands and swung. From parts unknown the other stranger had produced a buckler, but instead of trying to block the weapon he dodged backward, and with his foot sent up a splash of mud. The miss did not go unnoticed. Reasoning that the knife-thrower would be able to dodge out of the way as well, Cyril halted his weapon mid-slash and thrust outward instead. Expecting to rush in after the dodge and clean up with another knife to the throat, the vagrant found the halberd head buried in his sternum, and with a surprised gurgle dropped on the spot. The wound to Cyril's foot plus his weapon getting stuck plus the rain meant that Cyril's halberd slipped out of his hands, leaving him wide open to the second, hatchet-wielding marauder. He edged backward, evading the first swing by an alarmingly minuscule margin, and raised his shield arm.

A new noise cut through the rain—a ear-rattling blast, and no sooner did Cyril hear it than his remaining assailant flop to the ground, blood streaming from an ugly hole in his head. Still panicked, Cyril searched his surroundings, but turned up only a light in the rain. He noticed after a moment that it was growing closer, and another few seconds later another pair of strangers emerged from the downpour. This pair wore odd black coats and carried umbrellas as well as a lantern, the glow of which Cyril found a welcoming fight. From their faces the knight could glean nothing—they looked normal enough, yet the portly, red-bearded one without a lantern had just extinguished a life with the smoking metal device he clutched in one hand. Cyril's eyes widened a touch, and he demanded, “Who are you? Rival band? Vigilantes? You don't look like militia.”

The man with the gun had already put it away, and he replied, “No, we're not from this place. Good thing we happened along in time, eh? Another moment and you would've been kindling.”

Cyril scowled. “Oh, alright. If you say so, Sun Tzu. Nevermind the fact that the next second I would have been up against the wall and used its hard surface to jump off and rip that fool's head off with this.” With a smooth roar more like the song of glass than a motor, the saw in his shield span to life, and Cyril reached out with his right hand to grab the lantern-holder by the shoulder. “Do you think I'm some green stripling? Where the heck did you get a gun, and what are you doing in Malingurd?” His shield span threateningly, its moving edge a ring of brilliant light in the dreary day.

Holding up his hands, placating, the man intoned in a powerful bass, “Hold on, Cyril Boniface, soldier of misfortune! We mean you no harm. We've come from a place called the City of Echoes to offer you an opportunity. There is a tournament being held there, and the prize is one wish.” He rummaged in a pocket.

In a second Cyril whipped toward him. “Easy! You put one finger on that gun, and you'll be a lot shorter.” He gave a derisive snort. “Feh! A wish. A child could have come up with a better lie. How do you know my name?”

“We've been watching you, Cyril. We know you long for a better world, one without fear and tragedy, a world where people can live in peace, free of any evil.”

Despite his best effort to hide it, Cyril flinched. He didn't dare believe what his ears told him, but somehow, these people knew the fantasy vision that dwelt in a tiny corner of his mind. His voice, however, remained steely as the teeth of his saw. “Right. And you'll just magic it all away.”

”Yes.” The man's voice struck Cyril as oddly intense. “If you win the tournament, a machine will grant you your greatest desire. Cyril, you are a brilliant and brutal fighter with a good heart, but you know you can't make a difference in this world alone. What I'm saying is true, but even if it isn't, could you really take that chance, knowing what technology can do?”

For the first time, the knight really felt the cold of the rain running down his back and making his shirt cling to his chest beneath his armor, but it wasn't the only chill that plagued him. No doubt helped by the pain in his foot, the world looked to him like it was swimming, and a dozen inner voices assaulted his mind. Part of him wanted to attack these people on the spot for knowing too much about him, or for trivializing the world's suffering by suggesting there might be an easy cure, but some insane part of him told him to listen. This man spouted nonsense, but could Cyril really take that chance? He found himself staring at the lantern light as though it were a crystal ball in which he could divine the answer. Deep breath. Deep breath. He took several, then stared the bearded man straight in the face. All common sense told him to say no, but long ago he had believed in heroes, and even if he stopped believing, for a man who wanted to be able to say he always did the right thing, there was only once choice. “Show me.”

The man smiled. Cyril bristled. As genuine as this fellow looked, something about that smile put him off. It didn't say that what he was peddling was a lie, but rather than the truth might not be what Cyril expected. “Good. My name is Edward Barnaby, and this is my wife Dr. Raleigh Barnaby. Please follow us.” They turned and strode fearlessly into the storm, which if anything had grown even thicker. What, they were kind enough to set up this tourney in walking distance? Cyril followed, quickly forced to use the lantern to make them out in the pounding rain and violent wind. He stooped to remove the knife from his foot, causing a fresh blossom of pain, but the knight grit his teeth and powered through it all.

Without warning, the storm let off. Visibility returned, but Cyril, who expected to see a stretch of grass or a couple of trees, almost jumped out of his skin to find himself standing in the center of a paved courtyard in front of a huge, unfamiliar-looking building, with the silhouette of a massive city on the horizon. “...Whoa.” Up ahead, the Barnabys were waiting, and all of a sudden rather inclined to believe in magic, Cyril took a deep breath and marched forward into the foyer of the Inquisitional College.

"You're not Alexander!" he cried, before a bat struck him in the ribs, throwing the man a few metres away.

For any casual passerby, the place looked like a theme park, complete with stalls and rides still fully functional. For those who lived here however, it was one of those pristine looking places that lured in unsuspecting victims to the gangs and angry madmen that oft lived or squatted in the area, of which several were surrounding Juniper. More often than not, they warred over the land, seeking to expand their territories. Only mad men, the strong or the idiotic wandered into these places.

As the wielder of one of the God Hand however, everywhere was that sort of place for them.

Being as legendary as it was, once rumours got out Juniper lost one of the God Hands, wanted papers and bounties on her popped up like mushrooms after a gentle rain. It was said that one who possesses the God Hand can choose to become a Demon or a God after all. She was mobbed almost immediately after one of the thugs discovered who she was.

Breathing heavily, she spun and snapped off a high kick towards an advancing thug, sending him high into the air. Spinning on one foot, she kicked him into a group of other thugs, sending them bowling over backwards. The boss of this area certainly wasn't playing around; he had been sending goons of successively rising strength and skill. Where did he even get the gorillas? They were genuine gorillas too, not like the boxing 'tigers' that had very visible zips in the back.

Without warning, a heavy bat connected with her head, sending her reeling backwards. It was one of the larger men, who, even with her height of 187cm, towered over her. With another hollow thunk, he struck her again. Her legs gave out and she fell to her knees, gasping for breath.

"SAY GOOD NIGHT!" He screamed, bringing down the bat with all his strength on her head.

His grin widened as the bat smashed solidly against her head, splintering into pieces, before disappearing immediately once her hand shot up and gripped his neck. Realizing too late that the scars on her arm was glowing brightly, he started to struggle in vain trying to escape her grip.

"Good night," Juniper said with a grin.



She sat on one of the empty chairs in the themepark, eating an apple with a faraway look.

Her possessing both of the God Hands had made her complacent it would seem. Before, she could wipe the floors with those sort of low level thugs without even breaking a sweat. Of course, she had both her arms back then, and she was missing her left arm right now, but that wasn't really an excuse. Her training had been neglected because she became lazy, and now Juniper was paying the price for that.

Perhaps there was a silver lining in this situation, a lesson to be learned from her hardship now. Not that it will deter her from beating up the thief and asshole who burned down her shrine though.

Finishing up the apple, she threw the core at the unconscious bodies of the thugs from earlier. It had started to rain, and from the looks of it, it was going to rain cats and dogs soon. Not that she minded much, the bench she was sitting on was covered by a roof, and she wasn't in any hurry to regain her arm.

"Juniper, current possessor of the God Hand, I assume?"

A small figure stood before her in the rain, as expressionless as the stone beneath their feet. She wore clothing far finer than any Juniper had seen in her life, with fashion she could only recognize as outlandish. The girl's expressions didn't change even when Juniper stood up to her full height, towering over the little girl. It didn't seem like the girl had any intention to fight. Demons could take on any form they wished however; a little girl wasn't a form they wouldn't exploit.

"Yes, I am." Juniper gave a small smile at the girl. "And who might you be?"

"I am Hudson Killinger Braun, member of th- ah AHH!!"

Curiousity overwhelmed Juniper, as she lifted the girl by the collar. It seemed the girl really didn't mean her any harm, considering her distressed wailings. Was that professional tone and expressionless face just an act?

"Stop right there, God Hand! I won't allow you to bully my companion!"

An authoritative voice called out to her, with a tone of complete confidence that Juniper would have associated with an experienced commander and leader. At least, if it didn't come from a shivering cardboard box just barely peeking out of a stall across the pathway. Sighing, Juniper put Hudson down, who immediately regained her composure.

"Ahem, as I was saying before, I am Hudson Killinger Braun, and that girl over there hiding behind the stall is Emillia Redsmith. We've come to offer you a position in a tournament, with the prize being any single wish you desire. You are searching for your other arm, correct? Since you were just wandering around aimlessly you sho- AAAH!"

Annoyed at that last sentence and what she was implying, Juniper picked Hudson up again and slung her over her shoulder effortlessly. While it was true she didn't have a clue where the other God Hand went, and had simply been following rumors, she didn't like someone making it seem like she was an idiot who just wandered everywhere for no reason. Juniper had to admit though, that the rumors were nebulous and often unreliable, and some odd tournament was just as good a lead as any. Perhaps the other wielder of the God Hand would show up and participate.

"Yes yes, I've heard enough. Now pray tell where this tournament is supposed to be."

"Leave that to me!" Emillia jumped out of the box, holding a lantern. Her voice was brimming with confidence but she looked ready to cry the instant Juniper even frown at her. Still carrying the wailing Hudson on her shoulders, Juniper followed Emillia, walking towards what seemed to be the center of the storm.

Oddly enough, they came out from the storm into a large paved courtyard in front of a large building. Was it some sort of magic? Of what sort she had no idea, but the place certainly wasn't anywhere near the themepark she had first entered.

It was another beautiful day in the mystical land of Mlgolia. Birds were chirping and flowers were blooming, not to mention the faint symphony of airhorns playing Darude - Sandstorm. The Giant Dorito Sun was shining its little rays of cancer on anyone outside. Montage City was the great jewel of the land of Steam, mostly because it housed Valve’s HQ, the greatest company ever and land of the PC Master Race. The city itself looked like a mismatched but beautiful blend of Los Angeles, New York, and Washington DC. Cars raced through the city streets as bland, one-sided NPCs milled around the place in a preset walk pattern with no personality whatsoever. It was a perfect day indeed.

“I FUUUUUUUCKED YOUR MOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

And there it is. Not this shit again.

“Hey, what’s your problem? You know it’s tradition to insult the audience at the start of every new adventure.”

Yeah, yeah. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.

“We went through this like three times already. Get used to it, buddy.”

I know. Jeez, stop being so pushy.

“Whatever, man.”

Thank you. Down below, in the sprawling suburbs of Montage shaded by trees and vegetation, sat a completely normal two-storey house. Normal in every way if one were to ignore the blue and red Lamborghini Centenario parked in the garage, the garden growing nothing by weed, the flamethrowers mounted to the entrance, and the bullet-riddled target dummies outside, some of which appeared to be completely incinerated, while others had been blown to bits.

Ah, who am I kidding? It wasn't normal at all. Also, it wasn't normal because of one thing: it was the home of Mountain Dew Quickscope, the latest Quickscope Master and Gaben's Chosen, not to mention champion of hundreds of MLG tournaments.

Inside, on a comfy leather sofa in front of a Samsung 4K UHD curved TV, sat Mountain Quickscope, an Xbox 360 controller in his hands. The nineteen year-old sat in almost complete darkness as all the windows in his home were closed, and the crystal clear sound of noob harvesting could be heard all through the building, blasting out of massive speakers in the living room. The quickscoper looked relatively average, with messy black hair he obviously didn't bother to comb. He was out of his usual attire, wearing a simple Half-Life tee and light blue jeans with Doritos fragments on them. The only unusual thing about him would probably be his eyes, which faintly glowed orange with pure MLG energy. He, of course, got them after obtaining badass powers after becoming the latest Quickscope Master, a line of legendary heroes and technical demigods.

Right now, he was performing his daily ritual of hardscoping noobs in Black Ops II, the game perfectly suited for quickscoping. Every single game he played in lead to his team delivering a curb stomp with him always landing some completely over-the-top across-the-map 1080 noscope trickshot. His K/D ratio was simply unfathomable; he killed far more people in each game that what would be physically possible. Twice, he was accused of hacking by some six year-old squeaker, and twice he had killed the accusers by quickscoping them from his living room (he simply opened up a voice channel with them and shot his speakers. The bullet came out through the accusers' speakers and headshotted them).

After another victory with the enemy team somehow scoring negative one, Mountain got hungry and quit the lobby. He put down his controller and went to go get something to eat. He pondered what to eat for a while, before he made up his mind. He got up from the piece of furniture and walked over to his kitchen counter and retrieved a slice of Wonder Bread. Then, he walked out his house to his garden that grew nothing but marijuana, and sliced off a leaf from the nearest plant. He rolled up the leaf in his bread like a breaddy joint, and lit it on fire using a flamethrower mounted to his wall. He then proceeded to swallow the flaming yeasty joint in one go. He could feel the healthy vegetables entering his body. Satisfied, he walked back in, when he suddenly felt a burning pain in his throat. The floury joint was still burning down there. Rushing over to his refrigerator, he grabbed a carton of apple juice and poured its contents into a glass. Tossing the carton back into the fridge and slamming the door shut, he picked up the cup and drank the glass, tossing the juice out the window, which covered a random bird with the acidic liquid, causing it to melt into the ground. Mountain gave a satisfied sigh, before making his way back to his rig to play some Modern Warfare 2, the best CoD in his opinion.

Then, all of a sudden, there was a knock on the door. Groaning, Mountain brushed the Doritos off his clothes and trudged towards the door. "It better not be that Vault-Tec sales representative again." He muttered, before proceeding to literally rip the door off its hinges. The two strangers outside yelped and jumped backwards, obviously not expecting such a hostile response. Mountain let the door lean against the wall next to it, before examining the two.

They were both wearing overly decorated grey cloaks with weird insignias and symbols. One was a man, the other was a woman. They looked somewhat alike with matching ginger hair and green eyes. Everything from the way they dressed to the way they stood was almost identical, except for gender, of course. Then again, Mountain stopped arguing with those idiots who claimed that there were seventy-six genders. Mountain was still pretty sure that there were only three genders: male, female, and attack helicopter. As he continued to stare at the strangers, he started getting BioShock: Infinite flashbacks. "Please don't tell me you're gonna say something like 'bring us the girl and wipe away the debt'."

"What?" The man asked in an accent that thankfully wasn't British. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, good. You're not the Lutece Twins." Mountain breathed a sigh of relief, before a scowl overtook his features. "Goddammit. Are you Jehovah's Witnesses or something? Why do you keep interrupting my MLG playthroughs? Come on, the first time you interrupted me was when I was trying to beat Round 2151 on Nazi Zombies while streaming on Twitch. You assholes made me lose."

The cloaked strangers glanced at each other for a second, before straightening up. "We are not these 'Jehovah's Witnesses' you speak of. Allow us to introduce ourselves" The man said in a surprisingly professional tone. "My name is Davian Thule, and this is my sister, Aralynn Thule. We're representatives of the Inquisitional College." The woman nodded. Mountain folded his arms and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"The Inquisitional College? Never heard of it. Are you some new game developer or something?" He asked.

"No, we are not." The woman said, holding out a small brown box. "Mountain Dew Quickscope. You have been recognised as Gaben's Chosen and the latest Quickscope Master. You saved this realm more than once, and gained immensely powerful weapons and powers along the way. Therefore, we saw fit to offer you a place in the Crucible, a tournament that offers the champion whatever they want as a reward."

"Whoaaaaaa. Is that some badass new MLG tournament or something? And anything I want?" Mountain smiled. "Sweet! Then I want to become the greatest quickscoper to ever exist."

"We can grant you that, should you accept and win. Be wary as there are many powerful challengers you shall be facing."

"Meh, I can take them. I've fought literal gods before, you know."

"Very well. Your name will be on the roster. However, before we do that, there are some... restrictions on your powers."

Mountain frowned. "Okay, like what kind of restrictions?"

Davian rummaged through his pockets and took out a parchment. "First of all, you are too powerful." That made Mountain beam with pride. Someone was jealous of his badass powers. "So, your teleportation ability will be reduced heavily." Davian continued to read the paper. "You will no longer be allowed to freely teleport. You can now teleport a maximum of two metres, with a short cooldown in between jumps."

Mountain visibly inflated at that. "What?! That's some cheese right there. Just because my powers are that badass doesn't mean they should be nerfed! Whoever decided on that is a gigantic asshole!" He cried, turning away to glare at some unseen being.

Davian gave a questioning look. "Second of all, your Dew Shield will be removed, along with your super speed."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. That is all. Do you still want to accept?"

Mountain considered this. His powers would be nerfed, making him have less defence and mobility, but his weapons still packed a punch. He still kept his pocket dimension, so he could still drink Mountain Dew whenever he wanted. Mountain continued to think, not noticing that it had begun raining. Then, as lightning struck, he gave a wordless nod before snapping the broken door back into place and disappearing into the darkness of his home.

Roughly two seconds later, the door opened in the way doors are supposed to. When he reappeared, his looked completely different. His hair was still a mess, but it didn't look like he had just woken up. He had changed out of his casual attire, and was now wearing his Professional Trickshotting gear. His Half-Life tee had been replaced by a FaZe Clan T-shirt, under a grey MLG hoodie. Hanging around his neck was a glowing red and black EACH G4000 Noise Cancelling Headset. His dirty worn blue jeans were now brand-new dark blue ones, secured by a black belt. On his feet were a pair of black and green sports shoes, and a pair of black armoured tactical fingerless gloves fitted snugly on his hands. Strapped on his back was the legendary AWP in its final form: Dragon Lore. The weapon had been blessed by Lord Gaben himself, and its standard .338 Lapua chamber had been replaced with one that took the much more powerful .50 caliber round. The gun itself had a disembodied dragon spirit residing in it. The spirit gave the gun additional stopping power, and made it nigh indestructible. It also bestowed the gift of infinite range and no bullet drop, essentially turning it into a infinite range death laser. Mountain named it the Dewrito for obvious reasons. A KAP-40 Automatic Pistol was holstered to his right thigh, a weapon of pure destructiveness at close range, though it was practically useless and longer ranges.

Mountain cocked his head. "I'm ready to roll, baby!" He said, the Holy Light of Gaben shining through the clouds and illuminating him and him alone in a ray of golden light.

Davian and Aralynn nodded in unison. "Very well. Follow us, please." They said as they stepped into the rain which had grown so heavy it made a white screen of water. Mountain idly noted that he hadn't noticed the rain before. He hastily shrugged the thought and pulled out an umbrella. He opened it and ran towards them. "Wait for me! I'M GOING ON AN ADVENTURE!"

Then, as soon as it started, the storm abruptly stopped, and Mountain suddenly found himself standing in the middle of a paved courtyard in front of a massive building. There was the faint silhouette of a city down below. "Huh," Mountain muttered, tossing the umbrella away, which promptly exploded as soon as it hit the ground. "That's new." He smirked. "'Bout time we got a new map." With that, he shook off the last bits of rain and jovially followed the Thule Twins into the foyer of the Inquisitional College.

Around a large palace the mist formed, swirling and blanketing the great city that surrounded it in a cold suffocating haze. Thunder rumbled and lightning occasionally lit up the sky as it struck down into the city and onto the palace itself, igniting small fires where it struck. On one of the balconies near the central meeting chamber of the palace a faint glow emerged, followed by two figures stepping out of the mist. They were a straight faced finely dressed young gentleman who was carrying the lantern and a much older woman, dressed in simple clothes walked beside him, her face wrinkled and smiling, who supported herself with a walking stick.

“An odd place to find a committed warrior” the younger man remarks somewhat in jest as the two weave between the guards rushing to put out the fire of the latest lightning strike “politicians aren't exactly fighters or driven by any desire strong enough to get them through the tournament. Much to worried about their own well being”

“And indeed we are not here for them, but for one of the Adepta Sororitas who are accompanying one of them.” the older woman responded, the guards they walked past seemingly not noticing the pair, yet actively getting out of the way without really knowing why.

“She has the motivation, yet she needs the push from her masters to take that first step, so we are here to convince them to send her as a competitor”

The guards at the door to the meeting chamber unconsciously stepped aside and were as surprised as those inside when the great wooden doors were flung open

---

Sophia was bored. So very bored. She was standing behind the the Canoness, head priest and a representative from the ruling council as they argued, debated and negotiated with representatives from several other nearby nations on all the topics of trade, exchanges of hostages, religion and other topics. It was all incredibly dry and she was ignoring it all as she stood guard for the dignitaries. She would much rather be practicing or utilizing her talent as a Seraphim, soaring through the sky on her burning angelic wings, bringing the retribution of the emperor down on the heretics, mutants, witches and xenos.

It was unlike anything would happen today though, they were deep in the palace, with hundreds of guards between them and the outside walls, the odds that anyone could make it through all that and come bursting in the door where tiny.

At this very moment the doors were flung wide and the glow of the lantern filled the room. Sophia stepped forwards, aiming to put herself in front of her charges, drawing her twin bolt pistols and aiming them at the intruders when the old woman spoke up.

“I am Margret and this is my nephew Sylvester. We are of the inquisitional college, so you can all put those guns away”

The old woman was smiling, despite the amount of firearms that had been drawn in response to their surprises entrance. She and the young man calmly walked towards the center of the meeting room and for a few moments all that was heard was the clacking of her walking stick against the marble floor.

“Margret, it is good to see you again.“ Exclaimed one of the diplomats after the shock of her entrance had subsided “put your weapons away, I have known this woman since before the college was founded and she is no threat to us. Though I must ask how did you get in here without anyone noticing”

As the weapons where hesitantly lowered the woman responded.

“I have learnt much since we last met, but alas there is little time, the college has made a discovery and we must acquire something from you to complete the experiment. Sylvester if you could explain the specifics?”

Sophia now listened intently as the man holding the lantern explained the artifact, the Crucible and the promised wish. Such an artifact sounded far too good to be true, sounded heretical in fact with it required human sacrifices to run and yet something drew her in, made her want to go with them. The rest of the assembly had understandably mixed opinions on the matter.

“A wishing machines powered by souls, preposterous”

“We agreed to founding the inquisitional college, we should continue to support the initiative even if this sounds unlikely”

“Think of the possibilities, so many problems that we could solve with the technology of the lost city”

“And what if this infernal contraption is the reason the city is lost!”

The old woman let them argue for about a minute before interrupting “We are not here to get your permission, you gave that when you and so many others decided to fund us in the first place, we are here to collect a representative. There is little time, the window for the experiment is short so there is no for more debate”

“From use? You want one of us to fight and die for your experiment?” enthusiasm for the project died immediately among the assembly, apart from the most zealous corner where the priest rose from his seat.

“The Imperium will not stand by and let you potentially unleash this heretical artifact upon the world, to make more nations disappear or worse. This council is a representative of close to 20% of the world's nations, and you want but 1 competitor from us. Where else are you drawing your sacrifices, what monsters are you giving the chance to fulfill their desires if that is even what this machine does? I propose this council expel these two and send our armies to stop this madness”

There were grumbles of agreement with this from the others, non were particularly fond of the religious nutjobs but that was a good point, should they risk what the device might bring?

“I remind you that, as you pointed out, you are but 20%, the rest of the world is behind the collage, would you fight them as well? However perhaps you might like to volunteer? To fight for your belief that this should not be done against 31 others”

That squelched any agreement with the war tactic.

To the surprises of some the Canoness and the priest both rose, drawing a melta pistol and hand flamer respectively before looking at one another.

“You are much too old. Leave this to me, you are needed her to guide our faith”

“None are ever too old to die for the emperor's glory. Besides you need to stay and lead the sisters in our defense.”

The two stared at each other, at which point Sophia stepped forwards, her duty, her desire and the lantern all drawing her forward.

“Send me! I shall destroy the artifact and all those that would lay claim to it!

The two looked at each other and down below the old woman smiled as they came to an agreement. Sophia was one of the most skilled of the Seraphim, she did not hold a leadership position and she was used to acting on her own, often used as bait for her eccentric singing, in those cases sometimes the trap never had to be sprung. She was perfect for this, skilled yet her absence would not greatly affect the power structure of the Imperium.

---

After some additional arguing between the representatives, Sophia being blessed by the priest and instructions from the Cannoness to bide her time and hold her holy rage for the right moment, Sophia joined the two as they left. On her hips, along with the two bolt pistols she normally carried where the meta position of the Canoness and hand flamer of the priests that had been given to her to assist in her holy mission.

“Now that we have extracted you from the dullard diplomats I think we should talk about what you want. To see your Imperium return to this world.”

The old women remarked as she walked alongside Sophia. Her nephew lead the way, holding the lantern as they walked out through the palace towards the balcony. Outside the storm still raged, lighting regularly cracking the sky. Sophie was rather glad she had not been out flying when the unnatural storm kicked up.

“Of course I want that, all of my faith await that holy day when we are reunited with our kin from the stars. Is your knowledge of that supposed to be some kind of revelation?” Sophia snarks

“Ah but unlike some you long for that day, you need it to come in your lifetime. The others are content with their power, their faith but you need to see it come true with your own eyes. The machine can give it to you”

“Do not try and tempt me old hag, you're wasting your time.” Sophia muttered threateningly in response, yet she could not truly deny those words.

“I only speak the truth. Anyway, here we are” she says, as they approach the mist flooded balcony.

“We are 4 stories up, do you think you can fly or are you expecting a lift all the way there?”

The woman does not respond as the 3 walk into the mist and somehow end up in a large courtyard before a great building.
“By the emperor, what witchcraft is this!” Sophia exclaimed, as she took in her new surroundings.

“Heh, better get use to it, time and space are very inconsistent in the city of echoes. Now come, let’s not keep the director waiting”

And so the three walked into the foyer, joining the one armed monk, hooded sniper, armored halberdier and the 6 other representatives.

Saria faced her opponent, or in this case, her opponents: A large man, clad head-to-toe in bulky, rusted iron armor, and also wielded a warhammer. He was a full head taller than Saria was, and from the looks of him, he was quite the brute. His companion seemed the complete opposite.

She was a girl, who seemed much more quick and fleet than he was. Instead of armor, she wore a set of silky, flowing robes that danced in the wind with every step she took. She carried in her hands a bow, and along her waist a pair of knives hung lazily.

“Ah, the Blood Devil herself. Allow me to introduce my partner and I. Sir Gerrick is my name, and she is Nil.” The man’s voice, through his domed helmet, was muffled and sounded quite silly. It was as if he was trying to speak while gagged.

“My, you have been causing quite the trouble lately. Responsible for over fifty murders across the countryside, I couldn’t believe it when I saw the flier. But as I look at you now, I can see why. I see a deranged, savage animal. And such animals can only be exterminated. Now, before we kill you and take your head back to the guards, care to explain why you would do such a thing? I am quite curious, really.”

Saria unsheathed her sword, its reddish blade glinting an angry crimson. She didn’t care what this fool of a man thought of her duels. They chose to fight her, and she won. Simple as that. Inwardly, she sighed. She had made a mistake coming here. The warriors of these lands were too soft, too fragile and fearful. One scratch, and they ran away. Shameful. The same went with these two. One cut, and they’d likely be off, pissing themselves as they went.

“I dueled them as I duel you now. That is all you need to know.” Gerrick laughed. Nil merely smirked.

“Oh, you think this is a duel? That is where you are wrong, lady. This is a--” Like lightning, Saria lunged forward, swinging her blade. Gerrick raised his warhammer to block, but Saria met it with full force, hitting the wooden grip of the hammer and shattering it through the middle, knocking Gerrick off balance.

“What? You--” Saria followed up with a punch, her armored gauntlet colliding with his helmet, denting it and sending him sprawling to the ground.

Saria went over to finish the job, but a sudden, burning pain in her side stopped her. She looked down, and saw a dagger jutting out of her side. She looked around, and saw Nil a few paces away, a smirk on her face, preparing to fire an arrow. Saria quickly yanked out the dagger, sending more flashes of pain up her side, and threw it towards Nil.

She ducked out of the dagger’s way, but the momentary distraction gave her enough time to get close. Saria charged into Nil, throwing her to the ground. Before she could recover, she raised an armored boot, over her head. Saria saw fear in her eyes. Good.

Without hesitation, she brought her boot down, hearing a satisfying crunch as the woman’s head caved in.

Vermin.

She sauntered over to Gerrick, who was just starting to stand up. Before he could, she kicked him in the face, sending him back to the dirt. She flipped her sword over, ready to stab him while he was on the ground. He tried to reach over for his warhammer, or what was left of it, but her foot pinned his arm, restricting movement.

“To be honest, you and your companion fought… horribly. A word of advice, concentrate less on your vocabulary and more on your strikes.”

“Wh-What happened to Nil? What did you do?” Saria shrugged, and raised her other boot to show him what happened.

“Gah-- you-- you monster!” He struggled more, but it was of no use. Saria had defeated him, and now he was going to die. But as she raised her sword, she heard something strange. A series of gasps, or choking noises coming from Gerrick.

Is he… is he crying? Saria stayed her blade, listening closely. Yes, indeed, he was crying.

“No… Nil… please… no....” Saria sighed, and jammed the blade through the helmet, into the eye-slit. She felt a spasm, a twitch, then nothing.

You’ll join her in the afterlife, I suppose.

She wiped her blade and sheathed it. However, as she began to make her way down the road, she heard footsteps behind her.

Oh, you cannot be serious.

Again, she unsheathed her sword and spun around, ready to face her opponent.
“Whoa, Whoa, wait!” Two people, dressed in strange, greenish cloaks stood in front of her. They looked to be a bit older than her, one man, one woman. The man was the one who spoke, and the woman held out a strange metal device in her hand, pointing it at Saria.

“What do you want?” Saria demanded.

“You are Saria Silverlocke, yes?” The man continued, regaining his composure. Saria nodded, though she had no clue of how these strange people knew this.

“What do you want?” Saria demanded, again.

“We are here to propose to you a tournament.”

A tournament? Interesting.

“Go on, I’m listening.”

“To keep it simple, if you win, you will be granted a single wish. It may be anything you desire.”

“I desire to fight and die in battle. Can your people accommodate?”

“An… unusual wish, but it can be granted.”

“Alright, so where do I go?”

“Follow us, please.” The two crossed the road, where the two former bounty hunters lay dead. They ignored the bodies, and stepped into the thick trees. Saria followed them through, keeping her hands on her sword. She still had the sneaking suspicion that this was a trap.

After a moment, however, the trees cleared, and she was shocked to see a massive, paved courtyard in front of her, which sat in front of a massive, unusual looking building.

What the…

Saria turned back around, to see the forest, but it wasn’t there anymore. All she saw was stone.

Five years.

There has been peace for those years. Tenuous at first, but slowly solidifying into something that could truly be called peace. Tsukiko and Lily, both demon class soldiers from the war, had retired to a remote village somewhere in southern Japan, buying a house in the old, traditional style, constructed of wood with screens rather than doors between rooms. Somehow this place had managed to remain rural and true to traditions from centuries past. A place of quiet rest, idyllic landscapes, and a populous that afforded them the space they required after ten years of bloodshed. But much is the old fashioned way of life in this place, suited with two that very same lifestyle also brought about a completely new sets of challenges. It was no secret that Lily was - or rather had become - a nine tailed Fox, also known as a Kitsune to the people of Japan, and that Tsukiko was a Bakeneko; a two tailed cat-woman and the only mythical soldier that was generally faster and quicker than a Kitsune. This knowledge left the local populace caught somewhere between frightened and in awe, as they well knew the stories and legends. Bakeneko's were believed to be able to possess humans, to be able to shapeshift into the human form - which is what the locals believe that Tsukiko had done - and a variety of other things.

Lily, on the other hand, they feared would curse them, seduce the men, bring about misfortune, or a variety of equally silly things. It took the better part of three years for Lily and Tsukiko, to convince them that they were not malignant spirits here to curse, bewitch, trick, possess, seduce, or otherwise do anything but live their lives in peace. But this only changed their opinion of them. While Bakeneko's were most often believed to be mischievous at best and malevolent at worst, it was something else with the Kitsune. They were known to be able to bless as well as to curse, to bring messages to Inari Okami, and bring about fortune. It was an Innocent belief, that nonetheless brought with it another set of challenges. Gone was the fear, and in its place rose devotion. They saw Lily as an emissary from Inari Okami and Tsukiko as her chosen companion. This belief was followed by the idea that appeasing them could grant them favours and Boons; secure bountiful harvests, healthy children, and so on. It was only the steadfast refusal that kept the locals from making their home into a shrine. None the less they still often came with gifts and offerings of food, money, charms and the like.

Thanks to Tsukiko's insistence that it would be good for their reputation and make people happy, Lily made it a habit to walk into town, from the outskirts where they lived, about once a week to listen to the concerns of the locals and appease them where she could. Things like visiting the local shrine and helping the Shrine Maidens with their daily duties, or blessing a newborn baby, or even farmer's newly planted rice field. She knew that she had no such skills, that would ensure the health of a baby or the bountifullness of a future harvest. They had tried to dissuade the thought, but the villages insisted that they were simply being humble and so continued to believe.

Sometimes the simple belief that you would be healthy, was enough to ensure that you stayed so. So even if Lily did not possess that power, the villagers still saw the blessings happen. Because they wanted to.

Still, Lily wished that she could Bless them like they wished. People who had been so kind to them deserved that much, she thought. But she couldn't. Not yet.

---

The gentle patter of rain on wood brought with it a sense of tranquility to the two women sitting by the kotatsu, a fresh cup of tea in the hands at each of them as they enjoyed each other's company. Lily had her tails wrapped around the both of them providing an extra source of warmth, wholly separate from the heater underneath the table. There was something to be said about like this, with the cold mountain air so fresh and completely without pollution, and the ever comfortable sensation of a loved one leaning up against you in silence. Today had been one of those where Lily had visited the town and paid witness to the wedding a young man and woman, both among those who regularly came bearing gift to Lily and Tsukiko. The boy brought eggplants when he came by, and the girl radishes. This time Lily had been the one bearing a gift: Brightly decorated envelope and card - or Goshugi as Tsukiko insisted on calling it - containing exactly 50.000 Yen. It was left with the receptionist, a lock of black and white hair tied into the ribbon, but otherwise with no message of whom it was from. They were not friends in the traditional sense, and so have not been invited to the celebration, only the ceremony. It was the first marriage Lily had witnessed performed following Shinto customs, so it had been a surprisingly interesting affair.

Beside Lily, Tsukiko stirred. She yawned and stretched, making a sound surprisingly reminiscent to the purr of a cat. Their eyes met and Lily could not resist the smile that spread across her lips. Tsukiko my not have gained Lily's gift of beauty, but that did not keep her from seeing those dark, soulful eyes, the vibrant smile and dark brown hair, and thinking that it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Lily blinked and the moment was gone, yet her lover was still looking up at her, now with a pensive look in her eyes. "You're Bleeding still?" Tsukiko asked, reaching up to trace a finger along Lily's cheek.

Bleeding. Whenever someone was changed from human to one of the Mythics, ask they were called, they always retained a something of their former appearance. Over time, however, what they have become Bled more and more through to the surface, changing the way they look and sometimes acted. In Lily's case, her appearance was changing in such a way that any sign of her half-European heritage disappeared and made her look more and more oriental, in accordance with the origin of the Kitsune legends and Mythics. She didn't mind. Not truly. She would live long enough to get used to it, at any rate. That was another part of a becoming a Shifter, as some called them mockingly, that you gained the lifespan of what you have become. In the case of Lily and Tsukiko, they could both end up living for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.

She reached a hand up to the top of Tsukiko's head, scratching her behind one of her feline ears. "I am?" She asked. "I suppose, but I don't truly mind. Even after so many years, the Japanese still doesn't consider anyone fully Japanese unless you look and speak like them." she let go of the one ear much strippers smaller woman's displeasure, which was thankfully cut short when Lily reapplied her fingers to the other ear.

"You should learn quicker, then," Tsukiko said, closing her eyes and leaning into the touch. "Your Japanese is still halting quite a bit."

"I have been learning the language for only seven years. You can't expect my pronunciation to be perfect."

"I can and I will," Tsukiko assured Lily, grinning up at her like someone half her age, eyes still closed.

Lily sighed, yet again incapable of not smiling. To think that, the one who brings out the best in her, is also the one who incessantly teases and annoys her. She emptied her cup of tea and went about the pouring more when there was a knock on the door.

Tsukiko opened her eyes lazily, glancing over to the thick, wooden sliding doors to the outside. "Did anybody asked to come visit today?" she asked out loud.

Lily shook her head. "No, no one asked to come by. And most would still be busy with the wedding celebration." She stood up, robbing the smaller woman of the furry embrace of her tales, a displeasure she made known with her quiet grumbling.

The knocking came again, and Lily approached the doors. She quickly put on a pair of slippers, to ward off the cold of the stony ground by the entrance, where the raised floor was no more. It was with some hesitance that she took hold of the door, tails undulating behind her, and opened them only to be met with a thoroughly drenched couple.

Both were foreigners, a man and a woman, old and young respectively. The woman had brilliant, natural red hair that fell to her waist, and I kindly smile. The man, on the other hand, had one been blonde, but now have far more silver on his head. He was also carrying a strange lantern for some reason.

"May we come in?" The woman asked, speaking English, and seeming not at all surprised that a Kitsune had greeted them at the door.

By now Tsukiko had approached the divider between their living room and they foyer. Lily glanced back at her, quickly asking her to grab a couple of towels in her best Japanese, to which she nodded and went to fetch them.

Distractions out of the way, Lily turned back to the new-comers, hesitantly stepping out of the way to let them inside. "You are not from around here," she said. "You have some business here. What is it?" She had survived ten years of brutal war against and alongside Monsters straight out of legends, without being cautious. And alarm bells were ringing with the appearance of these two strangers.

The man and the woman stepped inside gratefully, the man setting down his lantern on the floor before mirroring his partner and taking off his coats. He picked up the Lantern again, and the woman began to speak. "We are here on behalf of an organisation of sorts. We are seeking volunteers for a sort of... large-scale experiment, if you will." By now Tsukiko had returned with towels which she handed out to the strangers.

They took them gratefully and went about trying themselves. The man went on from where the woman had stopped before. "What she means to say, is that we are from what is known as the Inquisitional College, and we are arranging a tournament to be held in the City of Echoes."

Lily bristled, her tails starting to move at a more rapid pace. "And you come here, to our home, why?" She demanded.

The woman, having handed hotel back to Tsukiko, took half a step forward and said. "We come here, Lily Stri--" halfway through saying her name and two of Lily's tails each held still in the air, a ball of cobalt blue fire hovering at the tips of each and aimed right between the eyes of the strangers.

"I have never heard of your college, never heard of such a tournament. You two are strangers, coming to my home, and without even introducing yourself asking if I want to be a guinea pig. So you better have a very good reason for knowing my name," Lily said very quietly, her entire body tense and ready for a fight.

At the same time as Tsukiko laid a hand and Lily's shoulder, so too get the elderly man rein in the younger woman with a hand on her shoulder. She bowedd deeply and through the motion forced his partner to do the same. "I apologise for my partner." He straight and back up again, smiling wryly. "She may have gotten the looks, but she ofton blunders in social interactions." He bowed briefly again. "My name is Jonathan O'Connor, and this-" he gestured to the woman "-is Guðrún Eva Mínervudóttir. Please forgive her."

Lily snorted, but let the flames disperse after a look from Tsukiko. "Okay. You have introduced yourselves. Why are you here then? And how do you know my name?"

Guðrún - it sounded like God Run - opened her mouth to speak, but Jonathan none to subtly placed a hand over her mouth. "Where we've come from, we have encountered a sort of machine that has claimed to be able to grant any one wish. However, in doing so, it also sets the requirement that the person whose wish will be fulfilled has to become the victor in a tournament style trial. Some time after it make this announcement, there appeared a ledger with thirty two names, and a detailed profile of each person mention." He gave Lily a nod as if indicating her. "Your main was among those on the ledger, under the alias of 'Inari'." Having said his piece Jonathan then went silent, awaiting the response of Lily.

Lily snorted audibly, almost laughing. She could buy that they had found her and knew her name. She was, after all, among a relatively small portion of soldiers on the planet, who had gone from human to something more. Rise sufficiently high in rank and information about her and her whereabouts could feasibly be procured. But this? A wish granting machine. That was simply laughable. She turned to head back inside, calling over her shoulder. "Fat joke. Alice was better at jokes than you are. Feel free to see yourself out."

She reached all of three steps before the woman spoke up again. She asked a single question, but that question was enough to make both Lily and Tsukiko freeze on the spot.

"Don't you want Max back?"

Hardly had her lips finished forming the words before Lily was upon her, fingers wrapped around her throat and held up against the all to be outside. Guðrún gasped and clawed at Lily's arm, fighting to break free and breathe again. Lily's other hand extended towards Jonathan, sparks of electricity jumping between her extended digits.

"I'm going to give you exactly one chance show explain how you know that name!" Lily hissed. Even Tsukiko looked on with a certain amount of disbelief and anger, and none of it directed at Lilly.

Jonathan took a step back, both hands raised in a defensive and placating gesture. He slowly, very slowly, reached for the inner pocket in his discarded coat, and pulled out a single sheet of paper which he had to Tsukiko.

Lily then reduced the pressure around Guðrún's make enough to allow her to breathe, but only let go when Tsukiko gave her a hesitant nod.

"What's it about?" She asked, stepping over to also read the paper.

"It details much of your life, who you are, what you can do, and supposedly your greatest wish." Tsukiko looked up at Lily with concern on her face. "This is exactly as you have told me. The one regret you have. The one thing you want change." She looked down at the paper again, pointing near the bottom of it.

And there it was, just like Jonathan have claimed. It detailed her wish to bring back the one man that had ever been remotely similar to a parent to her. She had never told anyone about it, not in so great detail as it was written there.

She looked at Jonathan, eyes flicking to the Lantern he still held. She looked at Guðrún who looked in pain and was rubbing her throat. She looked at the paper again. She then met the eyes of Tsukiko, who smiled tentatively and gave a very small nod.

And then it was there. A small kernel of hope flickered to life in her chest, pulsing inside with her heart. Growing, swelling.

She could get Max back.

She could get him back.

She turned to Tsukiko, grabbed her by the cheeks and kissed her full on the lips. "I'll be back soon," she whispered, their foreheads touching. "And when I do, I'll introduce you to my Dad."

She put on her coat and turned to the two strangers, who had promised her I hope to bring back someone long lost.

She followed them out into the rain without hesitation.

"Gods above, I'm not drunk enough for this."

The thought soared through Captain Teller's thoughts as SSGT. Enrico Salvini blared what he called the team's theme song through the SQUADCOM as the team dropped rebels with the practiced ease of veteran elites. UASD had been sent on this mission, cleaning out mercenaries and rebels from a hideout in the temperate portion of Hell. Supposedly they were too quick to be caught by a normal strike force of infantry, so they'd sent a UASD team with CAS from a CR-11 "Crow" gunship. Sadly, however, it seemed intel had overestimated the enemy, they were green-as-grass rookies, hardly worthy of a UASD team's attentions, leaving them nothing to do but drop rebels in time with the music.

Bang bang, they shot them down

"Look at em fall Cap! These suckers can't take the heat baby!"

Whooped Salvador Silva, the squad's heavy gunner as he held his LGFMG by the bipod, pouring bursts into anyone who brought their weapon in target.

Bang bang, they hit the ground

An enemy sergeant, trying to rally his men, fell with a gaping hole in his chest where his heart should be, ice spreading over the dead man's body to the horror of the men around him.

"Target down. Re-positioning." Came the call of the squad's resident non-human, a Yuki-Onna from an island in Japan whose name James had never been able to pronounce. She went by Yukiko, and her mastery of both ice and her Precision Engagement Rifle was fearsome.

Bang bang, they torched the rest

"Move it Rangers, we need to drop em fast not in style!"

Captain Teller shouted as he lead the squad forward, gunning down any enemies in their way. The squad methodically cleared the camp, the enemy being found to have almost no weapons worth writing home about. Pipe guns, makeshift ARs, nothing that could even scratch the high-quality suits of Ranger Battle Armor the squad wore. So, the team spread out, and Teller found himself clearing the last structure of the compound on his own. Just as he resigned himself to an easy sweep and clear, breaching the entry way with a door breach charge, he found a pair of hands grabbing his chest plate from within and hurling him into the interior wall.

His helmet gave him a rapid update, the armor had held as it was meant to, but what bothered him was the flashing warning light in the top right of his helmet, telling him what he already knew. There was a devil, a blasted delta, here, and intel had neglected to mention it. Said devil stood over the Captain, seeming cocky as he drew a sword, obviously glowing with some foul magic, and pointed it at the prone Captain's neck. "You Rangers sure are easy to bait. All it took was the offering of some basic human cattle, easily replaceable, and I have a team of UASD here! Marvelous! I shall enjoy picking each of you apart, starting with you Captain! Any final words?"

This devil was insufferably cocky and he was about to pay the price for that. Teller could see by his squad's helmet cams, displayed prominently in his lower left vision, that Yukiko had drawn a bead on Teller's would be killer. Not to mention the others of his team had obviously stacked up outside, not that Teller intended to deprive himself of this. This would be good, killing a delta always was, for that brief moment of pure outrage as they realized they'd been outplayed. Not to mention that killing a delta always made Teller feel a little better, like maybe the world still needed his washed up ass, so he intended to enjoy this.

Lifting his visor so the delta could see his face, but leaving his SQUADCOM transmitting, he said with an insufferable grin "Bang bang."

In time with his words, a pair of gunshots rang out as Yukiko took out the man's knees. Getting to his feet as the devil screamed out in pain as ice formed around his wounds, locking him to the ground, Teller said with a smile "Go ahead and cry. Let me tell you a secret about you, and your rebel friends." Drawing his LE-21 pistol, and now to the sound of Enrico's song emanating from his suit's external speakers from outside, Teller uttered with two pulls of the trigger "You're all about to die."

Teller thought that was it, mission over, time to exfil, when the weather turned against them. A storm rolled in from seemingly nowhere, rain lashing down and lighting striking. The team made sure their suits were sealed, to make sure to stay dry, as Teller reported over his long range COM "Torchwood this is Spartan One, OBJ Freebird is cleared out. Inclement weather rolled in, will advise when EZ Primary is green for a bird."

Not even listening for the acknowledgment, Teller opened his mouth to bark orders when, from the storm, a pair of civilians emerged holding a lantern. Teller couldn't help the twinge of pride as his men spread out, training their weapons on the newcomers. Wisely, the apparently civilians came to a halt, their hands calmly raised in surrender.

"Captain Teller! Would you please relax your men? I assure you we mean no harm!" One of them called, a young woman with more than her fair share of charm called out. Teller chuckled, unworried by her knowledge of his name and rank since both were displayed on his armor, and called in reply, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the storm "Afraid not, as there aren't supposed to be civilians in this sector. What're your names and what is your business here?"

The very same woman replied "Ah yes, I suppose that is a good opener isn't it? I am Amelia Rosenvalt, and my partner here is Déaglán Ó Foghladha, and we've come for you Captain."

As if to punctuate this statement she briefly jiggled the lantern she held, briefly catching the Captain's eye before it came to rest on her again, eyeing her and her compatriot for weapons as she continued "Tell me, Captain, have you any interest in partaking in a..fighting tournament of a sort?"

"Nope, now get out of here." came the simple reply from the Captain, sighing inwardly. It seemed these Deltas had resorted to sending recruiters out to get people to participate in those blasted tournaments of theirs. It was odd to try and recruit humans, especially Rangers, but he supposed it was a logical step. After all, if you wanted to fight deltas, why not try to recruit the very people trained to do it?

"Sir, you should reconsider! After all, this tournament has a reward unlike any you could imagine." Teller sighed at this proclamation but motioned for her to continue. He wasn't sure why, but he felt curious about this, though his training warned him something was amiss. They'd been trained to resist magic practiced upon the mind and, while James felt nothing trying to interfere with his thoughts, something still didn't seem quite right. Regardless, the woman continued

"Captain, this tournament comes with a prize that has no value, for it is priceless. This tournament can grant you one wish, any wish." Now, that got the captain's attention and he took a step towards the group.

"I don't like this boss, something isn't right with these guys." Teller heard Salvador say as he took another step. Looking the woman dead in the eye, or at least near as he could with the triangular face plate again covering his face, he uttered "Nothing can grant my wish, kid. Now get out of here."

As he turned to leave however, she whispered to him "You could go home again Captain. This wish could finally end your war. Don't you want that, Captain? A home to go back to?"

Teller was brought up short by the seemingly casual utterance of his heart's deepest desire, to go home. Slowly turning to her, he watched her grin with what Teller believed to be a hint of smugness. She must've known that would draw him in and, without another word, she turned and began striding back into the storm with her partner, beckoning the Captain to follow. After a moment, Teller did so, barking over the protests of his men "Hold here. Salvini, deliver the formal notice of my resignation to the Captain, you're team lead now. When this storm clears, take the bird home." Without another word, Teller shut off the COM as he followed the pair through the storm. Soon it began to clear up, and James expected to see the grassy plains of Hell, perhaps a vehicle or teleportation circle in the distance. Instead, however, he found himself in an entirely new environment, a massive structure looming in the distance and the sound of water lapping at a shore not too far to his left. A quick inspection told him he was now on an unknown island, and most assuredly not within the AO of the raid he'd just conducted. Nearly speechless, James uttered a pre-war movie quote he found most appropriate

"Holy shit...I'm not in Kansas anymore."

Bonesword's Tale

What in the 7 circles just happened to the skeletal swordsman? Everything that just happened was like a blur to him, and from one moment he had been preparing to dive his sword between the flesh of a succubus' breasts to hum being on the ground in the middle of a city square. The skeleton would say he had the wind knocked out of him, but he really didn't.

Well... city square was a bit of an overstatement. There was barely anyone here. It was more akin to a deserted village than a city. The skeleton began to roam around the town, trying to find anyone to speak to when everything was in a dark void. The silence would finally cease when two people, donned in pale green cloaks approached the skeleton, getting his attention. The voice that rang from one of them was that of a feminine voice, and she held a lantern that produced a small influx of... magic? It didn't seem like magic but it looked magical. "Bonesword. The skeletal warrior of the Machina."

The skeleton paused as he heard this. How did these two men know his name, and more importantly who were these people. The skeleton placed his hand on the hilt of his blade as he spoke back to the cloaked figures. "Yes...? Who are you?"

"We are representatives from the Inquisitional College. I trust that you got here safely?"

"I'd say that it wouldn't be... well... safe, more or less I got here."

"That's just as good. We've been watching your skills and prowess and we believe that you may be a strong opponent for an upcoming tournament that we are hosting here in the city. The Crucible."

The skeleton tilted his head as he brought his hand off his sword blade. "Go on."

The previously silent one started to advertise, his far more masculine voice ringing throughout the town. "Thirty-two contenders! Each fighting the others for their souls, all of it leading to the end of the tournament, where the one who holds thirty-two souls is allowed to obtain a single wish, granting them anything that their heart desires!"

The skeleton would have believed this as a false promise, largely due to the winner being able to claim a wish, but then he realized that this was incredibly similar to the trials of Hohenheim, where the winner was literally able to bring an entire race back from extinction. Maybe this would function the same way? It was too much to dwell on though, as the thought of his wish made a theoretical stream of drool fall from his jaw. He could bring Abigail back from her death at the hands of Rhine. He could do it.

He could win her back.

"... I'll bite. Get me to the registration."

"Automatically done. Follow me to the arena, and Trentus will explain a few things about this tournament."

Bonesword followed the feminine voice as Trentus began to speak to him about something that he wasn't really knowledgeable on. "This is held in the City of Echoes, but that's the unimportant part. The actual important part is that you have a place that's important to you and that will be one of the biggest factors in your wish. That's slightly more important, but the real big thing here is that everyone in this tournament has a soul you must obtain."

"What in the fuck?" Bonesword inquired, pulling a bottle of scotch out of his knapsack. Thank Eos it was still intact from the incredible entrance the swordsman made.

"Everyone must claim another's soul in order to proceed, and when someone gives their soul, they give all of their souls to you. You also don't need to kill someone to claim their soul."

"So I can make someone give me their soul from mercy? That's a relief."

"Oh, one for mercy are we? You'll be popular with the College, I know that."

"... when will I know who I'm fighting against?"

"No clue, hopefully soon."

"Here."

The woman stopped in front of a rather-large door, with smoke and fog creeping out from underneath it, it's knob a pristine glean of silver. It was clear that this door led to somewhere, but the skeleton just didn't know where it took him when it did. The woman also held out a small item for Bonesword, seemingly created out of nothing for him. "Take this phylactery and go through this door. "

Bonesword nodded as he grabbed the phylactery and opened the door, stepping inside and joining the other combatants in the area.

A crackle of laughter echoes maniacally across the battlefield as a ruined city blazes in the background. Just several hours earlier, this city was a thriving metropolis. People were simply doing their own business as they ran around frantically to get to their job. It was overall a peaceful city. Now, the city has been completely devastated, buildings crumbling down to the ground, the sky covered in thick black smoke, and the entire background ablaze with the furious bright colors of crimson red and orange fire. Dead bodies littered the street, some covered in scratches and bleeding wounds, some crushed under the weight of falling rubble, and many charred by the fire that engulfed them. What monstrous threat caused such grave destruction on such a massive scale?

A giant saurian creature howls in agony as he is thrown across the city and into a pile of burning debris. This giant hulking black mass was a resident of the now dying planet, standing over 100 meters tall with giant ragged spines on her back. She was Earth's hero... she was the planet's Queen of the Monsters. She fought countless of threats for over 60 years, from the military to even other giant monsters, and not once has she failed to defeat them. Her reputation soared with the death of every intruder that dared stepped onto her land... her territory.

But today was different. This time she was losing. The proclaimed immortal Goddess of this world, the protector of Earth, was getting utterly demolished by the enemy. Try as she might, she failed in almost every effort in her attacks. Even her friends had no chance against this new threat. To her right, a pterosaur-like creature lies on top of another pile of debris, with half of its body covered with a collapsed building. Blood trickled down its throat. To her left, a giant moth-like creature lies on its back with its once majestic wings ripped and torn to shreds. Even her head didn't survive from certain decapitation. The Saurian Queen looks at both corpses, just barely visible to the smoke that covered the entire city. Now, covered in deep gashing wounds and loosing tons of blood every second... the Saurian Queen was slowly dying. She groans trying to get on her feet, now on her knees, only to suddenly see from the shadows a monstrous leg that simply kicks her back down. Another groan of pain and she's back down to where she started. She attempts to get back up again, only to get her head smashed by another giant foot. She was pinned on the ground, growling helplessly as she eyes the invader from below.

Three pairs of golden eyes peer from the smoke, followed by the sound of a ghastly chuckle. It echoes around the fallen victim, soon beginning to get louder and louder, until it was simply maniacal shrieking laughter. It was simply unbearable. The victim attempts to fight the pressure of the attacker's foot, only for the pressure to double down on her head. For the first time in her life... she was defenseless. The immortal goddess had fallen and is now mocked by her opponent. With another growl, her teeth flare as her eye blinks and peers back up to the threat. All it did was increase the volume of the laughter, until simply stopping, as the golden eyes from the abyss blinked back.

"Miserable fool!" the attacker boldly hisses in unison with all three heads, "You and your pitiful allies are no match for my cosmic power! Look at you lying on the floor, once proclaiming as a Queen, only to be at the mercy of another! LOOK what has become of you!"

The Victim issues a guttural growl as her tail flings upwards for a brief second only to crash down a few seconds later. Her maw flares ragged teeth as her eye rolls over to look at the three headed terror with a grunt.

"W-Who are you...?" she asks in a deep hostile growl.

"Who am I?" the creature responds back, repeating her question, "WHO AM I?

Heeheeheeheeheeheehee...

I am known by many names across the galaxy. The Cosmic Bane, The Destroyer Of Worlds... Queen Of Terror. Oh I have many many names. But I'll give you the honor to call me..."

As she finishes, the eyes began to loom closer into the victim's face, revealing three golden dragon heads, with sleek spikes coming from their chins and head, the middle having a horn on its nose. A smile seemed to form on all three mouthes as they stare directly into the fallen victim's soul.

"Queen... GHIDORAH."

Once again, the maniacal laughter began, only to become louder and more imposing. Victory belonged into the Golden Dragon. Victory belonged to Ghidorah. And there was simply nothing that the fallen Saurian could do about it. But as blood began pouring from its mouth, it begins to repeat her name.

"Queen Ghidorah... Ghidorah... GHIDO~

---

"~RAH!"

Suddenly Ghidorah opens her eyes and rapidly looks around her surroundings, breathing heavily. She identifies herself being inside some large room. Was it a castle? It looked like one. She even seemed to be sitting upon something. A throne?

"Ghidorah! Your majesty! You're finally awake."

The dragon then looks down upon the throne and identifies the individual as a slim female with a sparkling golden one-suit. Then it hit her. The Queen Of Terror was in her own Castle on her home planet. She sighs in annoyed anger as she rubs her head, along with the horns on her head. She was dreaming again. Yet she wasn't a dragon... at least not in dragon form. Currently, she is in her human form, with two amber-yellow eyes, a crown with horns sticking out of her head. She wears a sparkling golden dress, made of golden scales, going so far as almost to her knees. Her two massive wings were folded to accommodate with her sitting posture as a human, with white non-see through leggings and white heels Her two other heads reside as shoulder blade-like armor, simply as hollow husks. And her twin tails wisp calmly by the base of the throne.

Her world was gone, demolished, barren, all due to her power-hungry nature. Ever since, she had sucked every nearby planet of their golden-mana dry, once was simply to gain infinite power and immortality, now is the life blood that keeps her from aging and weakening. But for the past several years, she replayed this same dream over and over again, rampaging through her head every night since that fateful day... on the planet known as Earth. Merely a week ago did she try and capture this planet, rich of life and resources, with an extremely plentiful supply of the liquid nectar. At first it seemed easy enough, the individuals of the planet were weak and defenseless against her might. Not even their tanks and jets could harm her. Everything seemed all according to plan...

Until THEY came...

Three of Earth's protectors came straight from the ocean and fought her in mortal combat. The fight was long and grueling, each side sustaining heavy wounds. But in the end, only one side became victorious. And it was the first time... that Ghidorah lost. She was almost killed on that planet, but thankfully she was able to escape and return to her own. It was a necessary gamble to save her life and she succeeded. But that was at the cost of all the energy she still had left in her body, making her much weaker than before. While still powerful in her own right and while that energy can be regained as much as long as she keeps sucking planets, these "Destroyer of Worlds" capabilities are for the most part gone. While most of her powers are still in tact, they had been weakened by a huge chunk. It could take decades or even several millennia to regain her prime state. Now ever since that day she planned on returning to Earth and to kill their protectors and suck their planet dry. Vengeance shall be her's. But that will be done another day...

Ghidorah eyes her servant below, squinting her eyes as her venomous eyes gleamed down on her.

"What is it?" she growls as she slowly wakes up.

"It appears that someone wants to meet with you." the servant responds bluntly, "He's waiting outside the gates. Shall I have him enter?"

There was a slight pause as Ghidorah simply looked bored and slumped her cheek onto her fist.

"Let 'him' in." was her response.

The servant nods and bows before heading towards the Throne Room entrance. She opens the door, revealing a strange alien figure enter the room. At first, he didn't recognize the creature, who was surrounded in advanced-looking armor plating from head to tone and slowly approached the throne of the Queen Of Terror. Then she found out that the alien was... a human, just like those on planet Earth? Ghidorah snarled to herself mentally but took some interest of the figure as she corrected her posture slightly, to make herself look slightly bigger. The alien figure would stop just two meters away before it spoke.

"Queen Ghidorah." it spoke, a deep monotone voice echoing through the Queen's chamber, "Such an honor to meet you in your full glory."

Ghidorah simply rolled her eyes at that statement.

"Ohh, what do you want?" she sarcastically responded with an annoyed tone as she glares at the alien, "Who are you?"

"Who I am does not matter." responds the figure, "What does matter... is your capabilities."

One of the golden dragon's eyebrows perked up in curiosity.

"We have been watching and monitoring your actions. We, the Inquisitional College, have watched you from afar. You hold much potential with your world-breaking attributes... yet you've seemed to have faltered slightly after that event~"

The Queen banged her fist on the throne's handles and hisses menacingly.

"And what do you know about that incident?" she barks out.

"No matter." the alien continued without any change of tome, "That event does not matter. Since then, more planets have perished and bounded to your rule. Your powers and ambitions are important to a cause. One that if you survive... will grant you the one thing you've been trying to achieve for the millions of years you've been alive. Immortality and world cleansing is closer than you think."

This caught Ghidorah's attention to a drastic degree, as her faced calmed into a more curious look. She pauses briefly before responding.

"Oh?" she responds while touching her index finger on her chin, "And what might this cause be?"

"A tournament." responds the visitor, "A tournament that will test your worth against opponents from across the galaxy. We call it... the Crucible. If you succeed and come out on top, your most dearest, hungering wish will be granted under your command. Any wish is valid... no matter how radical or simple it may be."

A tournament he says? To her it wasn't exactly what she was thinking. But to finally conquer the entire galaxy, hell even the entire universe, all under one wish? It seemed to good to be true. Then again, the Cosmic Dragon has not been in major fights for quite a long while. Even if it turns out to be a hoax, she could easily crush her opponents that get in her way. Or, of course, so she thinks. She paused one last time and sincerely thought about it for a longish while. Then she chuckles evilly as she looks at the alien figure.

"If what you say is true..." she replies in a more low-toned voice, "Then I accept this offer. But do be warned. I trust NOBODY. If I smell the faintest scent of treachery, you and everyone in that tournament... will perish."

She then stands up and walks down the four steps to her throne, "Just take me to this damn place."

"Very well..." the human replies. And with that, he opens a portal into a glowing green mist... from the other side, laid a courtyard of stone.

White.

The whole world is white. Snow is falling heavily, the powerful wind stirring the flitting crystals in a whirlpool that swallows the horizon.

Down is white.

Up is white.

North, east, south and west have lost all meaning. The whole world is snow.

A small girl wades through the blizzard. Her skin has a deathly pallor, and a blue coloration has begun to spread from her fingertips. Her thin sleeping gown is the same color of her surroundings, and makes it difficult to tell where her body ends and the white starts. The only thing separating her from the snow is the wind-whipped black hair on her head.

The sound of bell chimes rings through the storm, but she knows the sound to be in her head. She would not be able to hear them so clearly through the raging wind otherwise. She is less sure about the words riding in the wind.

“It’s not enough. Never enough.” A woman’s voice. Frustrated. She sees injustice before her but finds herself powerless.

“Death is rarely dignified,” came another whisper, lilting as if holding back laughter. Knowing. Mocking.

It was all nonsense, but familiar nonsense nonetheless. Where had she heard these voices before?

She has lost all sensation from her legs, which she supposes must be a mercy. She does not remember setting out on this path, but she knows she was barefoot when she did. The snow reaches her thighs, so she cannot see her feet, but she suspects they have the same color as her fingertips by now. It faintly occurs to her that she is dying, but cannot think of anything to do about it. The bells make it hard to think.

“This has gone too far. Can’t you see that?” What a strange tone. Both accusing and pleasing at the same time.

At least she can still move her legs, which is more than she had any right to expect. Still, she is afraid to look behind her. She knows she would see no tracks where she to do so.

“Warmth, is it? That is your wish.”

Where the other voices had been but whispers, this one is stronger, seeming to reach from beyond the storm. And the girl somehow knows it is addressing her.

She tries to answer that yes, she would trade anything to escape the cold. The words do not even reach her ears, swallowed by the storm the moment they leave her mouth. Swallowed by the chimes.

“Come to my arms, then. I will embrace you, but know that I shall take everything you have to give.”

The girl cannot help but be confused at that. She has nothing to her name. Everything she could have had belongs to another.

Still she raises a trembling hand forward, as if to part the blizzard. The prospect of succor is overpowering.

Just then, there is a great tremor, and the girl looks back in surprise. A wall of white crashes against her, and the words in the wind titter in her ear.

“Such wonderful opportunities can be born from such an arrangement!”

---

Lightning thundered outside, disturbing the sleeping figure’s rest. With some effort, a single blue eye fluttered open, drifting towards the window. Rain pitter-pattered against the glass, filling the room with a droning sound.

Like a thousand tiny bells.

She dispelled the intrusive thought, drawing herself up on the bed. She raised a hand up to part the stream of black hair that had fallen in front of her and rubbed at her temple.

She winced as something hard touched her brow and groggily looked down at her hand. Translucent, crystal digits looked back. Her breath caught on her throat. She blinked reflexively, and when she saw her hand again, pale skin and thin, ladylike fingers greeted her.

She let out a long breath and clutched the hand to her chest, willing the beating of her heart to slow. The dread at the back of her mind would shadow her for the rest of the day. The feeling had become a constant companion as of late.

Just how much longer did she have?

Thus roused to wakefulness, Pithy slid out of her bed before going about her morning rituals. At the time of dressing herself, the woman studied herself in the room’s mirror as though seeing her reflection for the first time.

The woman in the glass stared back at her with icy blue eyes. She was tall and svelte, with sculpted physique and features that gave her a sharp quality. Her swath of black hair fell to her back, and had been arranged in such a way that it obscured the right side of her face. The ears poking out at the sides of her head ended in sharp points.

She trailed a finger down her side, smoothly following the contour of one of her ribs, ending the exploration just below her breast. Not two days ago, there had been a long cut there, courtesy of a mad duelist with eyes much like her own. There was not so much as a blemish there now. The healers of the city of Bren, well-loved by the gods, were skilled in that regard. The duelist had scored another slash climbing up the right side of her jaw. No wounds remained there either, but Pithy had no desire to touch that patch of skin. Hair might have obscured that side her face, but she knew where to look to spy the glittering surface hidden beneath.

She took up her clothes and began to dress, slipping into her white shirt and leggings.

Not two days ago she had participated in a competition presided by the Eight Elemental Lords, great beings that ruled over nature. Rumor (more than rumors if one asked the locals) indicated that the chosen winner would be granted a boon by their chosen Lord. Pithy had participated and killed her opponents—had seen first-hand the divine intervention of the Lords—but she herself had not been chosen.

Next came a black belt, followed by long black boots and leather gloves. Even in the rain, she needed to go out. Make the rounds. She had pinned her hopes on the intervention of a god to heal what ailed her, and now most of her leads had grown cold. She needed to find new ones or somehow pick up the old trails.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and she glanced at the room’s entrance.

The knock came again. “Miss Pithy? Are you there?” came the innkeeper’s tentative voice.

Pithy approached, grabbing the slender rapier resting against the foot of the bed as she passed. She unbolted the door and cracked it open, then opened it fully once she saw the short, balding man waiting outside.

“What is it?” she asked curtly.

“Apologies for the inconvenience.” The man took stock of the woman’s mood and the weapon held in her hand and smartly decided to keep his message brief. “Two men just arrived and asked for you personally, miss.”

Pithy’s brow rose, surprised, then furrowed in consternation. A good portion of the city had come together to spectate the competition she had been a part in. It only occurred to her now that people who had seen her might now seek her out.

But for what? To offer me mercenary work? Or could it be someone who knew me from before?

“Did they leave their names?” she pressed.

“No, but they don’t seem to be from these parts. They struck me as scholars.”

Pithy wondered at that. It was not the kind of crowd she thought her spectacle would attract. But then, she noticed the innkeeper hesitate. “Is there more?”

“Yes, miss.” The innkeeper frowned, as though he found what he was about to say distasteful, then added. “They asked me to tell you something. That they could offer you a second chance for a wish.”

Pithy immediately understood the reason behind the stout man’s reluctance. There were only two kinds of people who fought in the Elemental Lords’ competition. First, there were those who sought to honor their patron god, and second were those who sought a wish. By then, the innkeeper was no doubt aware that Pithy had been a participant.

It was common knowledge that among the surviving losers, multiple would be approached by poachers looking to capitalize on their desperation for profit. Pithy seethed at the prospect of being singled out by such people.

“Turn them away,” she said icily. “I don’t have time for such nonsense.”

“Let’s not be hasty.”

The innkeeper started and turned to the stairs, moving to the side so that she could see a man calmly walking towards them. “Sir, I told you to wait at the lobby.”

The man’s most distinctive feature was the trimmed beard that framed his face, black save for a few streaks of grey running down its length. His eyes were sunken, and the steely grey orbs stared out like lights from within a cave. He was dressed in a style she didn’t recognize.

His clothes are dry, she thought distantly.

“I thought the Lady should hear our message directly,” the man replied to the innkeeper before looking back at her. She found the man’s stare decidedly uncomfortable. “After all, hers is a race against time.”

Her throat suddenly felt parched.

---

The trio sat on a table at the inn’s lobby. Pithy sat on one end, a blue robe worn over her clothes like a cloak, with her rapier and a pair of daggers strapped to her belt. The two men sat on the other. One of them was the bearded stranger with the sunken eyes, who was regarding her calmly. The other was younger and clean-shaven, and was currently casting nervous looks at the people sitting on the other tables. A lantern sat on the floor besides him, but she did not pay this too much attention.

The rain continued unabated outside, so many of the inn’s patrons had either remained in their rooms or walked down to the entrance for food, drink and chatter. With the competition and the celebratory festivals that were to follow, finding lodging in the city of Bren was nothing short of a herculean task, and this showed. The din of conversation filled the room, and most of the tables had been filled.

When Pithy had made her way to the table led by the first man, the younger one had stood up, flashed her a personable smile, and asked if it might not be better to have this conversation somewhere more private.

“No, this is quite fine,” she had told him before sitting on the table with an air of finality. The men had shared a look, one with concern, the other with resignation, and had sat as well. If this was dangerous business, the din would make it difficult to overhear the conversation, and the presence of other people in the room would serve to discourage violence from either party.

As they sat, the innkeeper approached and asked if they wished to eat breakfast. She asked for wine. Her appetite had been soured when the first man had spoken. The other two asked for water.

The pitying look the innkeeper gave her as he retreated irritated her. He was likely convinced she was being taken advantage of. She had an inkling that that was the case herself, but the words of the bearded one had given her pause.

She had told no one of her circumstances, and if someone had reached into her mind and plucked those thoughts from her, she was certain she would have noticed the intrusion. The idea that she might not have and that her mind was open like a book to the one sitting before her was too terrifying an idea to contemplate.

But then how? Did he simply guess? That was more likely. He had said nothing of the nature of her desires beyond her need to accomplish them quickly. Slipping time made a good bedrock for desperation.

Only a minute later, a waitress walked up to the table and left three wooden cups before her guests. Pithy took a hearty gulp from her wine and frowned, disappointed. It had been watered down. Did the innkeeper think he was doing her a favor? She put her cup down, and looked at the men.

“So?” she asked. “What do you want from me?”

The young man started, realizing he had been spoken to, and looked away from the other tables, giving her his best diplomat’s smile. He held his hands together in front of him. She wondered if it was to keep them from fidgeting.

“Right,” he started. “I am Michael Lambert. We apologize if we have put you on edge, Pithy, but our business required us to meet with you.”

It did not occur to her that him knowing her name was strange. They could have gotten it from the innkeeper, or from the competition’s roster if they had been there a few days ago.

“You already brought me to the table,” Pithy said coolly. “Skip the pleasantries.”

“Very well.” Michael nodded agreeably, then drew closer as though afraid others might be listening in. “Truth is, this is a simple matter. We have come to ask you to participate in a tournament held by the organization we belong to. We call it ‘The Crucible’, and the winner will be granted a single wish.”

A grand name, if anything. She was now almost certain her first instinct had been correct and this was nothing but a scam. “A single wish, you say? And shall it be granted, no matter how outlandish?” Pithy feigned interest.

Michael gave her a conspiratorial smile, as though they were accomplices of a crime. It made her want to slap him. She brought her cup to her lips and took a moderate sip to quell the urge. “Indeed. It might even be used to soothe that thing you brought into yourself.”

Pithy had to try very hard not to choke on her wine. She closed her visible eye and slowly brought her cup down.

“Why?” she asked, steadily.

The man’s smile faltered, as though he had expected his revelation to have sealed the deal. Indeed, the fact that the men knew of her circumstances shook her, but this alone was not enough for her to risk life and limb. She was not yet sure the men had a solution for her problem.

Pithy opened her eye, giving Michael a calculating stare. “You are aware that this city holds a yearly competition with a similar premise?”

The young man nodded impatiently. “Yes, we heard from the other patrons that it took place recently, but—”

“The wishes that a god grants to others are of no use to themselves. But you said your Crucible is held by people. So why does this organization bother with a tournament when they could simply fulfill all their wishes? Or are the leaders of this group so starved for entertainment that they’ve wished for this Crucible to take place?”

For the first time since they sat down, the man with the sunken eyes spoke.

“You misunderstand, Lady.”

Michael seemed surprised by the interjection. “Doctor Hallow?”

“The Inquisitional College is not capable of granting wishes. However, we believe we have unearthed something that can.”

Michael drew closer to Hallow and whispered something that Pithy could not hear over the din. The man shook his head, and Michael sat back on his chair with a troubled expression.

Pithy ignored this byplay. “Explain.”

“We have discovered an artefact. A machine…” His eyes narrowed as something occurred to him, and he asked. “Do you know the word?”

Pithy nodded. In her head, she saw an amalgam of the clockwork toys that were quickly becoming popular in human cities and the strange weapons the lizard people of the south brought out from their domed cities.

“Good,” the man said. “In order to activate this machine, a specific ritual is required. This is what we have come to know as ‘The Crucible’. At first glance, it seems like a method to determine the worthiness of those who would use it.”

Pithy sat back, toying with the idea in her mind. She had never heard of a machine with such an ability, but her expertise lied elsewhere, and she had seen many strange gadgets before, in any case. If this Inquisitional College was attempting to activate a wish-granting machine the proposal made more sense.

However, there was still a problem in the premise. If the winner received the wish, what would be left for the people of the College? It is very likely that the winner will be double-crossed at the end.

Pithy peered at Howell’s unnerving eyes, and realized it did not matter to her. If there was to be a wish at all, she simply needed to play along until she found a way to secure it.

The problem is, does this machine truly grant wishes?

“Do you have proof for your claims?” Pithy asked, knowing the answer before the words left her lips.

“Only our word,” the man responded gravely. Then, he offered, as though he were doing her a kindness, “That said, you may find reasons to believe if you come with us.”

Pithy let out an unladylike grunt, unconvinced. “Would I not be better served by waiting a year here? In Bren I have seen divine intervention at work, while you cannot guarantee that your machine does as you suggest.”

“Have you a year, Lady? Two? Three? However long it might take you to succeed?” At this, the man’s façade of patience cracked. “I will not take kindly to a fool interfering with my work just so she might kill herself at her leisure.”

Pithy glared at the man, but found no retort. The man knew of her plight, so her last query had been nothing short of insulting his intelligence. All that was left was to either refuse, or take the plunge.

She drained the rest of her cup, wishing she had asked for something stronger, then stood up. The men followed suit. Pithy looked at them expectantly, then told them, “Well then? Lead the way.”

Michael Lambert brightened, his smile returning, and motioned for her to follow, lantern in hand.

The pair led her outside. Rain was still falling, the water streaming down her hood, and a bank of fog obscured the streets.

“Come along now, Pithy!” called Michael, the glow of the lantern making him easy to locate. “Perhaps you’ll be more inclined to believe us when you see this.”

Pithy moved behind him, hands close to her weapons. “If you lead me to an ambush, you will not be happy.”

For a moment, the trio walked in silence through the foggy streets, the only guiding light the lantern in Michael’s hand. Then, so quickly that she was almost certain her eyes were playing tricks on her, the fog and rain disappeared, replaced by a stone courtyard.

She knew before studying their surroundings, almost instinctually, that they were no longer in the city of Bren.

Before her stood a massive building, and far-off the alien vista of a sprawling city, larger than she had ever seen.

“This way, Pithy.”

Michael was ahead, motioning for her to follow. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the lantern in his hand, and comprehension dawned. Besides him, Doctor Howell gave her a knowing look from those sunken eyes.

She remembered an earlier thought. Their clothes are dry.

Shaking her head ruefully, Pithy strode towards the large building.

Like a marble statue that had come to life, Lucian Dante stepped solemnly through the hallowed chambers of Paladin order. Though the steadily burning braziers lit the soapstone walls with an orange glow, his body seemed to stand a void of all color. Ivory skin and snow-white hair, almost aglow like a full moon on a starless night. Two points of light, his ruby eyes, were cast downward at the polished floor. He had walked this path many hundreds of times before, and the floor had been just as clean and smooth each time. He wondered if just as his footsteps had not worn away at this path, if his many years and deeds had not lessened the evil in the world.

As ever, he was not alone. Monks, squires, and other clergy and retainers walked behind and alongside him. They carried candles and censers, murmuring prayers and other incantations. Dante reached the first waystone in the temple, and knelt upon it. As his bare knees pressed against the sacred symbol in the tile, a pair of monks showered his body with sweet-smelling ashes and sacred incense. This had always been his least-favorite past of the ceremony. Not merely because the perfumes itched his skin terribly, but because that itching was a reminder of his inhuman nature. The evil within his very flesh cried out against the purity of the symbolic anointment. But soon that would all change. It had to.

"In darkness, I shall be light." Dante spoke the first words of the Litany of Battle as white clouds of ash and herbs continued to rain onto him.

He then rose back onto his feet, and continued through the chambers. At the following waystone, his squires gathered around his kneeling form and draped him with his paladin's robes. A white tunic at the base, to symbolize purity of heart and purpose. A golden shawl, to symbolize the glory of the gods. A crimson sash, to symbolize the sacrifice of martyrs.

"In times of doubt, I shall keep faith." Dante spoke the next words, and continued on.

Before kneeling at this next waystone, Dante stopped to don himself with long, white stockings that reached up under his tunic. He then stepped into his sandals, and resumed his place kneeling. His squires assisted him then by pulling similar gloves that reached nearly to his elbows over his arms. Another humiliating necessity, usually disguised by his armor. However, if he was to attain redemption in the eyes of the gods, he would have to present himself to them as he was.

"In throes of rage, I shall hone my craft."

The following waystone had Dante adorned with the harness for his sword, the Glaive Encarmine. The leather straps were stained wine red and etched with golden filigree, to better match with Dante's ornate armor. Against his pure and simple robes, it stood out rather sorely. The straps were adjusted to accommodate Dante's girth outside of his armor, and he rose to continue on.

"In vengeance, I shall have no mercy."

The small party of monks and other clergy that had been following behind Dante now gathered around his kneeling form. With prayers for protection and some more casual well-wishes, they adorned him with amulets, trinkets, and even passages of scripture pinned to his robes. Friendly hands clasped his shoulders and patted his back, and an elderly monk placed a gentle kiss upon Dante's forehead. Dante kept his eyes to the floor, and merely continued the litany before carrying on.

"In the midst of battle, I shall have no fear."

At the final waystone, the master of Dante's order awaited him. Though Dante was of the highest possible rank in the Empire's military, in his paladin order, he was in fact a member of one of the lowest echelons. While he was of immense respect and renown, he could not abide by the doctrines that would allow him to advance further in the order. At higher echelons, paladins forsook the slaughter of their fellow man, turning their ire toward the unholy and unnatural. Without mentioning that Dante himself was unholy and unnatural, he could not survive without feeding on blood and taking the lives of his fellow men.

With sad but knowing eyes, the withered master of Dante's order handed to him the only weapon he would be granted for his trial: his personal sword, the Glaive Encarmine. Dante somberly accepted the blade with both hands, and sheathed it at his hip. Reaching back to a squire, the master then took a golden mask, and gently placed it over Dante's face. An expression of ultimate serenity and enlightenment, cast in gold. Though Dante had dedicated more years to the order than Saint Belarius, whose face he now wore, had spent alive, he still looked to the ancient martyr for guidance. Dante rose to his full, intimidating height, towering over the master, and donned his golden hood, leaving no part of his body uncovered.

"In the face of death, I shall have no remorse" Dante finished the litany, and stepped out of the chambers, following the strange man with the lantern to his trial across space and time.

Pieter LeGroning the Noseless and Jaroslava Fyodorovna Zaporozhneva, AKA Jaro the Monkeyboy, found themselves in the middle of a very foggy and stormy Prague, right outside a dock on the east side of the river Vltava. They stood there for a few seconds to survey their surroundings, looking for any signs of a "5-star hotel that looks like a medieval watchtower". Finding nothing of the sort, they looked at each other. Both lifted their eyebrow in question.

"You think it could be the fog or something?", said Noseless, a 2 meter tall man with a prosthetic leather nose strapped to his face to replace the one he lost in an incident involving alchemy, magic, and pair of extremely strong magnets. His features included curly black hair of medium length, a well-kept full goatee, high cheekbones and large, bushy eyebrows that would seemingly cover his eyes entirely when he frowned. Currently, under a long black cloak with the monogram of the Inquisitional College expertly embroidered onto it with a silver thread, he was wearing a hajduk's outfit with a dark color scheme. However, a black garrison hat with a visor sat upon his head instead of the traditional hajduk's kalpak. The emblem of the College was sewn onto it, along with a long, swirled feather. He had a tendency to wear out-of-place clothes like that, despite his serious, stoic attitude he also had. He was carrying an open umbrella in his hand and the Lantern in the other.

Jaro simply shrugged.

"'Dunno. Maybe that part with "medieval watchtower" was code for something. And I highly doubt there's a dragon smack-dab in the middle of Prague.", said the Boy and proceeded to look around again. She noticed all of the buildings looked like castles from ye olde times. She looked annoyed. "By Bethlehem, literally ALL of the buildings look like that! They could've been more specific about the place! "Can't miss it", my backside!"

The 1.60 meter tall girl was wearing a much less out-of-place set of clothing under her College Cloak - a brown waistcoat, a richly embroidered white shirt, a red tie with the College monogram sewn onto it in silver, a black suit jacket with the College emblem on the pocket, a pair of black trousers and shiny dress shoes. Her diamond-shaped face combined with her short brown hair, defined jawline and broad shoulders made her look even more like a 15-year old boy - as a matter of fact, she was in her late 20's. A pair of teashades hid her grey eyes and a wide-brimmed black fedora threw shade on the rest of her face. Monkeyboy fancied herself quite the tomboy - her childhood spent in the bad part of town forced her to adapt with the other meddling children, turning herself into the cheeky little monkey her colleagues know and appreciate - hence her nickname.
One of her hands held an umbrella and the other one held a mysterious-looking black briefcase.

[AWOOOO-GA] [AWOOOO-GA]

They turned to the source of the sudden sound - a shiny black Moskvitch 1965 parked just in front of the dock. The front window rolled down and a heavily-bearded man with sunglasses and a dark-green hotel driver uniform, complete with a white peaked cap, emerged from it. He beckoned the two colleagues to get in the car.

"That may be our ride.", Noseless said and walked towards the car. Monkeyboy followed. They sat down in the back and as soon as Jaro closed her door, the car drove onwards to their destination.

---

Jiang Zhao, the Angry Dragon

憤怒龍

Karlov Věž Hotel, Prague, Czech Republic

March 24th, 2018

Along the west side of the Vltava river was a very rustic-looking 5-story building with a tall, rectangular, wide tower which added four more stories on its left side. The roofs were fit with dark brown tiles. The tower was adorned with many pennants and standards of different colors, all of them the same 8 meter length. On the tip of the tower, a dark-green swallowtail flag with the hotel's emblem waved in the wind. On the main building, at the fifth floor, was a lit up window with a man standing at it, observing the central part of town from his room. As they were about to turn around onto the Mánes Bridge, Noseless' bony hand emerged from his cloak, holding a shiny telescopic spyglass. He unfolded it, leaned over to the front seats as he muttered a "would you mind" to the bearded driver, placed the spyglass on his eye, aimed it towards the man in the window for about 15 seconds, and leaned back to his seat. He turned his head to the left to find that Jaro had been staring at him expectantly. He simply nodded. Jaro nodded back in understanding. They had found their Dragon.

The entrance was beautifully sculpted like the front doors of a protestant church. There was an ornate sign just over the entrance which said "hotel Karlov Věž". The sign was adorned with five small stars on the top of it. A little bit higher over the entrance were a plethora of different national flags.

The driver put on his green raincoat, got out of the Moskvitch, walked over to its right side and opened the back door. From it emerged Pieter, then Jaro, who both popped open their umbrellas in perfect unison. They quickly walked over to the entrance, where a uniformed staff member opened the door for them. A second one greeted them with a tip of his peaked cap and a "Welcome.". On the other side of the door, they were met with a quite lavish interior and a very cozy-looking warm color scheme. A bellboy in dark-green uniform offered help. They quickly gave him their cloaks and their folded umbrellas with a "Just hold onto these for a few minutes, would you?", he walked off to hang them up somewhere, and they found themselves at the receptionist's desk. The receptionist eyed them up and down.

"Nice costumes. The convention is in Grand Hotel Bohemia, if that helps.", said the receptionist.

Noseless, slightly annoyed, replied: "We're looking for someone named Jiang Zhao."

The receptionist suddenly looked visibly worried. "Uh...Are you sure about that? He instructed us not to let anyone disturb him until 10, and uh..." - he checked the grandfather clock behind him - "...It's 8:30 at the moment...Mr. Zhao already sent a very insistent journalist to the hospital just the other day."

"Do we care, Mr. Horacek?", Monkeyboy said, folding her sunglasses and placing her hat on the desk. She had a slightly threatening smile on her face.

Mr. Horacek responded, "Not visibly."

"So, where's his room?"

"Room number fifty. Be careful, please."

"Thank you. Don't worry about us."

The main staircase was very dark brown and expertly sculpted in the style of the baroque movement. This was the staircase that reached the high-class suite at the top of the tower. However, their goal was the 5th floor.
They reached the hallway. Its interior design was practically the same as the lobby's: high ceiling, baroque patterns, brown-orange-beige color scheme and gilded chandeliers along its length - the hallway had three of them. The room numbers alternated on each side, starting with №59 on one side, then №58 on the other, and so on, so forth. Each door had about 5 meters distance from the door on the other side. The two colleagues began slowly walking towards the other end of the hallway, where they presumed was the room they were looking for. They checked each room number on the way, just to be sure.

"So..." Jaro said, as they stood in front of №50, "We gonna "releasing the dragon", or what?" She smiled at her tall acquaintance.

He silently looked back at her, stoic as ever. "I guess.", he blurted out and immediately reached out to the brass, lion-shaped door knocker and knocked on the door.
...
No answer.
He knocked again.
...
He knocked again, this time more insistently.
...
!!!
Suddenly, they heard loud footsteps from behind the door. They quickly got louder and louder, until a clicking sound was emitted from the keyhole and the door cracked open. It was still locked with a chain. A slanted eye and a yellowish-olive face that had a good amount of wrinkle could be seen ferociously watching from the other side of the door. Jaro thought she felt the man's black eye pierce her soul for a moment there. A slightly high-pitched, yet gravely voice with a heavy East Asian accent insisted:

"Laowai! What do you want!"

"Ahem...Well, Mr. Zhao, we'd just like to talk to you about something impo-"

The door slammed in front of Jaro's face.

"Huh. I guess that's why they call him Angry Dr-"

[ATAAH]

The door was suddenly ripped off its hinges and flew into the other wall. Both colleagues were so violently surprised, they leaned back and fell on the floor. Through the dust, they could see that a man's leg had emerged from the door. Somehow, they could suddenly hear some sort of upbeat funk music, playing far too loudly to be just an earworm.

"STUPID LAOWAI! I SAID NO VISITORS UNTIL 10!"

"What in the seven pits of hell.."

==TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2==>

The skies were as clear and blue as the ocean itself, gently rocking to and fro wave after wave as though the water itself were some retired old man in a wooden chair. Days as peaceful as these were few and far between in the North Blue, and while some might wish for more action, one man was enjoying the peace and calm. The Guppy rolled along the wind currents, not a care in the world. Her crew were each engaged in a different activity. "Trickshot Jo'" swung lazily in her hammock setup in the crew quarters. "Malpractice" Doctor Ken sat in the mess hall, sewing his sleeves into his wrists, his drunken stupor dulling the pain. First mate "Flying Ninja" Smith Smithington III sat cross-legged atop the mast, keeping a lookout while practicing his balance. At the front of the ship stood the man that had brought everyone together, Captain Bartholomew K. Runch, the "Cereal Killer," though from his pose you might guess his name was Captain Morgan first.

Runch took in the salty air of the sea and gave a heavy sigh of joy. The wind stung against his face in the most invigorating of ways. A glance down and he noticed a school of fish traveling by the Guppy. The cap'n outstretched his left hand, keeping his right firmly attached to the weapon lashed to his waist, and made use of his bori bori powers. Small pellets of cereal flowed from his skin like an open box, dropping into the sea. The fish began to gobble it up in earnest, while Runch smiled to himself. Smith told him that a recipe made for fish would be... What was the phrase he had used? Oh yes, "self-indulgent." Well ever since he had come up with this recipe, schools of fish ollowed the Guppy everywhere, making fishing the easiest chore of the day! As much as he'd like to, it didn't matter how many different recipes with different nutritional values he invented, the crew couldn't eat cereal for every single meal.

"Cap'n," a soft but firm and low voice spoke from behind, startling Runch.

"GAH!" he yelled out, losing his balance and leaning overboard. The man comically flapped his arms around and spun circles on a single heel before he was able to throw his body safely back aboard the deck of the ship. Blinking, Runch's eyes refocused on the person who had nearly sent his heart overboard. The sun cast this man in shadow, but his tall body and lean form told Runch everything he needed to know about his accidental assailant. "Hachiro, what gives?! You nearly tossed me in the ocean with the fish! What woulda happened then? It's not like you'd be able to come in after me! We all know you take to water like a cat. Omnomnomnomnom!"

The slim figure of Hachiro "Beast King" Hachiro, ship navigator, failed to change his expression as he offered a hand for Runch to take. A man of few words and fewer expressions, he did not acknowledge his captain's obvious joke. "Cap'n, I would like your help training."

Runch could only chuckle in response to that. It was just like good ol' Hachiro to scare the bajesus out of him then follow it up with a request for training. "Alright ya spoil sport, I'll help ya out. Omnomnomnom!"

Hachiro gave a rare smile, then dropped on all fours, whereupon he began performing push-ups on the spot. Runch, shaking his head in that humorous disbelieving way, hopped up and perched himself on his navigator's back. Despite the extra weight Hachiro didn't budge or slow down even a little. This was certainly to be expected. After all, of all the crew Hachiro was physically the strongest. So how would the captain make this task legitimately difficult for the crew's hand to hand fighter? Pour on some extra weight, of course! Runch visualized the cereal he needed to make, a standard recipe nothing inherently special about it, but the physical properties, ah that's where the magic would happen! Pellets streamed down from the captain's hands, landing on Hachiro's upper back and shoulders, pelting him like rain. Unlike Runch himself, these had a noticeable affect on Hachiro's ability to continue his pushups, and it was little wonder why. Every single pellet, no larger than a marble, had the mass of a cannonball crammed into it. As dense as they were this cereal was harder than steel and exceptionally heavy.

Not the least dissuaded, Hachiro kept pushing himself up and down, fighting through the pain as this balanced breakfast kept pelting him continuously. It wasn't long before there simply wasn't any room left, so the cereal rolled off his back and onto the deck of the ship with an audible thunk! The little marble-like substances rolled off the side and into the sea, but the captain continued to rain his grain down on the navigator without letting up. Eventually Hachiro exhausted himself, and Runch was forced to let up.

"Bloomin' blueberries, you set a new personal record. Just a little over two hours!" Runch and Hachiro both brushed themselves off of wheat and grain particles, though the navigator had a more difficult time with all the residue caked on by his sweat. Breathing heavy, he gave the captain a nod. "Oh, it's just about dinner time, ain't it?"

The captain bellowed out loudly enough so that the entire crew could hear his announcement, regardless where they were on the ship. "Soup's on, everyone! Time to eat!" With that both captain and navigator strolled across the deck of the ship and into the mess hall, followed shortly by Smith. Inside Doctor Ken was already present, pouring whiskey onto the holes he had sewn into his own skin. A few moments later they were all joined by Joanne Schrodinger.

"Cereal again?" Joanne complained, sitting up in her high chair. "Man ain't you got somethin' else for us today, cap'n? I mean come on, I know it's infinite but don't we have fish or somethin'? Don't be a little bitch and hold out on us."

"Ish a'right, hic!" retorted Doctor Ken, as he poured a bottle of grog into his bowl. "Ish nutri... Nutri... Nutrititicious, y'know?" The drunken doctor quivered and swayed in place for a moment, his eyes clearly out of focus, before face planting right into his bowl of cereal. The layman might have assumed he had passed out on account of his drunken state, but he was in fact eating his food face first. The others paid him no mind. The doctor was always drunk.

"Well I might have been able to prepare somethin' else for you all if Hachiro didn't require my help training, omnomnomnom!" The captain bellowed a hearty laugh as he sat down with his own bowl, ready to eat. He had noticed that Smith had already finished. There sat the ninja, covered head to toe in black cloth, even his face a complete mystery. How had he eaten his food? Why was there nothing spilled? Smith never gave any explanation to this beyond "ninja tricks." A twinkle in his eye, the captain refilled Smith's bowl. The first mate was always happy to eat up.

"How long until we reach Reverse Mountain, Hachiro?" the captain asked.

"About a day of sailing," the navigator replied through a half-chewed mouth full of cereal. "Sunny the whole way through."

"Youshure about 'hat?" Doctor Ken gurgled through his bowl. Hachiro raised an eyebrow and glanced up to the nearest window only to find it completely clouded over. Something was definitely wrong about this.

"How far off course are we?" Runch asked, standing up and heading toward the door. The others all stood up with him (except for Doctor Ken, who was limbo-walking with a bowl still over his face). The navigator didn't answer, and he wouldn't until he could get to the helm and get their bearings.

The fog was so thick is could be cut by a cliche trope knife. Out on deck everyone took a separate position, with Hachi and Runch heading for the helm, Joanna taking position atop the mast, and Doctor Ken keeping his ear to the floor, literally, listening for any signs of trouble. Smith simply disappeared, doing what he did best. After a few moments looking over the compass and charts, Hachi turned to the captain with a furrowed brow.

"We're not."

"What do you mean? We're not off course?" Hachiro shook his head no, then turned back to the helm.

"Hm. Curious. Could our weather reports be wrong?"

"Oh, don't worry about it! That's just us!" called out a rather chipper and youthful female voice from deep within the fog. Two clicks could be heard as Joanna pulled back the hammer on each of her revolvers, focusing them on a small source of light slowly emerging from the mist.

Two figures came into sight, one a rather tall Hispanic man in his late thirties with a full beard. He had the look of someone that loathed nonsense and the whimsical. His partner was a shorter female with red pigtails and fair white skin, likely in her early twenties. Her green eyes shone bright with the joy and exuberance of youth.

"Oh no, please don't shoot! We're fellow adventurers, arrrrr!"

"We're not adventurers," the man cut in rather dryly.

"I'm Stormageddon Jones-" "Nancy Czevizch," the man cut in. "And this is my first mate, Grumpy-eye Pete!" "Rene Rodriguez." "And we're here to offer you the chance of a lifetime!"

The crew looked from Nancy over to Rene, as though expecting something. "Ah, yes, she's right about that one."

"Shall I dispose of the trespassers, cap'n?" echoed Smith's voice through the fog. To the keen observer, the ninja had suddenly appeared behind the two strangers, blades extending from his wrists less than an inch from Nancy and Rene's necks.

"No no no, not at all!" the captain cried out. "These two strangers are our guests, don't you think we should treat them with respect and hospitality?"

"I'd rather treat them with a cap in their ass," Joanna muttered. Smith retracted his arm blades, bowed for his captain, then once again vanished amidst the fog as though he were some intangible spirit. The strangers, for their part, took this quite well. Rene rolled his eyes at the antics about, while Nancy trembled with excitement.

"We were just in the middle of dinner. Come, friends, eat and be merry! Tell me, what are your favorite fruit flavors? I can whip up a tasty treat that'll explode with flavor in your mouth!" Runch gestured for everyone to follow him back into the mess hall, then held the door open like a gentleman. The crew entered, some complaining more than others, as the strangers approached, lantern in hand.

"I'm afraid we have no time, Captain Runch. My associate and I are from-"

"Orange banana strawberry mango cran-apple kiwi delight please!" Nancy cried out, running straight past her peer and the ship captain.

Rene groaned in frustration and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was looking like they'd be here for a while...

---

2 hours later...

"Amazing. A tournament to use a machine... That can grant wishes? Well blow my berries down!"

"Cap'n, that sounds really obscene."

"Yes. Your name came up in the ledger, so we are here to invite you."

"It'll be the adventure of a lifetime, fraught with danger beyond imaginings! You never know what could happen!"

"Indeed. So if you want a ship that can take you anywhere, you'll want to come with us."

Captain K. Runch mused for a moment, stroking his mustache with one hand and scratching his chin with the other. After a few moments he agreed. "Aye, I'd be glad to come and join this competition."

"Cap'n, yer life'll be in dan... Dan... Ger. Danger. Ash ship'sh doctor, I'll advise... You kick shome ass."

"Omnomnom, right you are, Doctor Ken!"

"I volunteer to battle in your place," Smith interjected. "I'm stronger than you are, and a better fighter. Besides, it is my duty to throw my life down to protect yours."

"Oooooooooh, eeeeeeeh, um, you see, that is," Nancy began, biting her lower lip. "Only the people that were written into the ledger can participate. It's kinda some advanced sciencey magic stuff." She then mouthed the word "sorry" to the ninja.

"Actually, there is another one of you that is to participate. The one known as 'Trickshot Jo'." Rene turned his gaze to the honey badger sitting up on the table, eyeing them with attitude.

"No problem, honky. I'll get involved and kick some ass too. Just tell me whose ass to pop a cap in and it'll be done in my sleep." The little badger adjusted her hat while thumbing the hammer of one of her guns.

"I'm Hispani-"

"I don' care if you're a reindeer, I'll call you what I want, you don' own me honky!"

A few chuckles circulated around the room, though Rene wasn't laughing. He bit his inner lip out of irritation, then stood up. "Very well then. We will be arriving momentarily. Captain K. Runch, Joanna Schrodinger, prepare yourselves. Everyone else must stay behind."

"What if'n I-hic-run outta booze?" the doctor asked from a slumped position on the floor.

"There'll be none of that attitude, doctor. Let's make sure we follow the rules, alright? Everyone else stays on the ship.

The doctor gave no indication that he had heard Runch's order, nor did he give any indication that he was even breathing. All the same, everyone stepped over the ship's physician as they followed the two strangers out the door and onto the ship deck. The fog began to lessen, gradually at first, but the air became more and more clear around the lantern carried by the strangers. Rene placed the lantern on the bow, and in moments all visual impairment was gone. Before the Krunch Pirates sat a great and magnificent city beyond what any of them had ever known to be possible. The Guppy came to a halt all on its own, no guidance required, on a dock at the edge of the city.

"Welcome brave souls, to the City of Echoes!"

The apocalypse was nigh, fire consumed the hiding, blood runs through the streets like a rapid, bodies littered the landscape like leaves, and the few screams of the living perpetrated through the smell of defecation of rotted bodies. It truly was the end for the denizens of the land, however, this was a paradise for the greedy and hungry. These powerful few were collectively called the Ogre Kingdoms, a nomadic race of conquerors that raid, pillage, and eat everything that doesn’t bow beneath their mighty girth. The few that try to defy these giants are quickly quelled with absolute force, an army with each soldier on average more than twice the size of a human while they march with malicious eyes and grins to the demise of a defiant people. At the moment, this was the case for the proud dawi people, an ancient race of dwarves with the voracity and strength to survive since the beginning of this eternal conflict of the Old World. However, with Karak Krak’s underground city desecrated beyond repair, the powerful tribe of the All-Maw after a several month long siege planted their corrupted flag at the throne room of the dead dwarf king of the mountain. Ogres were then laughing as they strolled through the destroyed city, gathering and snacking on strewn bodies like candy as the monsters were pillaging the last of what they had came for to collect from these proud Dawi, their beer.

Cheers! The sentiment echoing throughout the canyon, ogres of all size celebrating their hard-earned victory over the stubborn dawi. A feast of enormous size was happening outside the bashed gate of Karak Krak, ogres of the All-Maw tribe wandering about drinking and eating their fill of tough dwarf flesh and mouth watering alcohol produced by these dead brewers. In the center of all of this commotion was one giant ogre, they towered over even the largest of the tribe and had enough power to crush an entire city with the wave of a hand. Tyrant Sgrogbraogg Gaintbreaker Wallcrusher Mountaineater Drakedestroyer Gatecrasher Hoardmaster All-Maw the Large and Strong was savouring his victory the most, as the leader of the All-Maw it was plain to see that he would be partying the hardest of them all. This was quite apparent as Sgrogbraogg was firmly grasping an entire tank of ale between his two meaty hands, the giant metal container of alcohol would have most likely crushed any person that tried to lift the object, but Sgrogbraogg was no mere person. “Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” screamed out the surrounding ogres, watching in amazement as their leader was not only lifting the tank of ale but was simultaneously drinking all the contents with one single nasty slurp. As these great ogres were chanting with blood, meat, and spit escaping out of their slobbering mouths, the tank of ale had just reached an angle in which it was now perfectly vertical over Sgrogbraogg. Only silence was heard at this pivotal moment, the gluttonous slurping had been quelled and soon with concentrated strength of the Tyrant, the giant metal tank was soon violently crushed between his two meaty arms and slammed onto the ground with a grinning leader standing on top. The All-Maw clan then erupted in cheers, laughing heartily at the amazing feat that their Tyrant had just pulled off, this act cementing once again why Sgrogbraogg was the leader of the All-Maw.

“There are two thing that these Dawi can do right, give us tough meaty flesh and good ass tasting ale!” Sgrogbraogg yelled, the surrounding ogres toasting to their leader before resuming back to their endless feasting of the dwarven flesh. With that stunt over, the Tyrant walked his way over towards his personal hut. All ogres cheering and toasting their leader as he passed by the various soldiers of fortune. “Ugh, I think all that ale I just drank is heavier than what I am right now,” Sgrogbraogg thought to himself, the slurry of food and drink sloshing through his enormous belly as he stomped his way through the bloodied landscape.

Entering his abode, Sgrogbraogg looked around the hut to check if anything had moved but it seemed that everything was in place. Loosening his gut plate revealing a giant jiggling belly, Sgrogbraogg went over to his private ditch to take a mighty shit worth of being the leader of the All-Maw. Squatting near the trench, the Tyrant soon noticed his hut mysteriously fogging up as the misty clouds soon became thick enough which rendered his sight to just beyond his hands. “What’s this then?” Sgrogbraogg questioned, his voice booming across the hut yet was still squatting near his private trench. The Tyrant tried waved his arms, checking if anyone was near the leader finding that no one was stupid enough to get close enough to the towering monster. “C’mon, I don’t got all day. I’ll kill ya while I’m shitting and use your dead body to wipe my ass if you don’t speak up right now.”

A few moments of silence continued before a stranger’s voice perpetrated through the fog. “Calm yourself, Tyrant Sgrogbraogg Gaintbreaker Wallcrusher Mountaineater Drakedestroyer Gatecrasher Hoardmaster All-Maw the Large and Strong. We have come far to find you and offer up an opportunity that you don’t want to miss.”

“Heh, not a lot of people keep up with my name… What’s your offer? My men are itching for another fight, so if you’re hiring us then this better be a good price or your body will be sticking all the way in Hell when I’m done with you.”

“We do not offer this deal to anyone, Tyrant. Only to the few that we deem strong enough are able to participate and your strength has greatly peaked our interest. We offer you not one physical object to satisfy one desire, but we serve you an opportunity to satiate all your desires with a tournament to fight for a single wish of your choice.”

“A wish? A tournament? BWHAHAHAHA! You expect me to fall for such a poor ruse? I don’t know why you think I’m as stupid as an orc, but unless you are Gods, I’ll be getting up right now and pop you in my mouth for a crunchy treat!” Tyrant laughed, raising himself from his latrine as he finished his nasty business with cleaning the mess with several books of the Holy Book of Sigmar.

The Tyrant slowly stumbled through his home, waving his arms around being careful to not accidently destroy his stuff searching for the mysterious guest. However, this person seemed to avoid his fatal grasp at every turn while calmly continuing his elevator pitch to the man-eating monster. “I’d advise you to reconsider my offer Tyrant Sgrogbraogg. I know you are an ogre of great desire like others, but your desire is far greater than any other which allowed you to gain such strength and will. Heed my words once again, if you are able to crush this competition of blood like your earlier days, you will find yourself able to rule this world.”

“Bah! You have done your research well human, but what gives you the right to dictate what I can and can’t do? My strength is mine alone, I don’t need your stupid magic to give mysel-”

“Magic and gaining power? I wonder why that sounds so familiar Sgrogbraogg? Does it mean that the dark magic didn’t turn your frail body into the ogre you are today? Please, think of this like another upgrade of your strength provided by your glorious god, the Great Maw. I must say that it will be hard earned as the greater power you receive must be met with a greater trail. Through your unlikely survival to your adulthood you gained the power to rule over your tribe, and to receive the power to conquer worlds you must face off against the greatest powers across the worlds!”

The final words stopped the Tyrant in his tracks as his brain started to churn with thought, the stranger’s magical fog soon faded away revealing a gas-masked stranger with a seemingly smaller version of the human standing behind the masked stranger. The mystery man then gestured to the various weapons laid across the room, and with one look towards the masked human Sgrogbraogg began to laugh at the antics of the masked man. “I must say, you do make a compelling argument… Bah! You’ve made your case stranger, you’ve peaked my interest which means I won’t eat you… For now. Let me get my stuff ready.”

“My name is Doctor Linas Richards for future use. I must say it was my pleasure to convince you to join me. Most of the recruiters didn’t want to risk themselves to your high-risk profile, especially my daughter Mary here, but seeing and talking to you in person has enlightened me about your unique profile.”

“Heh, you talk funny human. Now, you best sneak off wherever you came from, I can say for sure that one of my men will try to eat and your little assistant if you reveal yourself to them… Like me,”

“No need Tyrant, just follow us out and we will be on our way to the Inquisitional College. You might want to watch your head at the door ways when we arrive, we never accounted for 16-foot tall people in the construction.” As Linas made his way out of the hut, Sgrogbraogg was slightly confused by his words as it would take some time to get out of these treacherous mountains, but as the Tyrant exited his home the ogre was suddenly flooded with new sensory information.

Wincing at the sudden brightness, he was confused for a few moments as the great feasting was at the dead of night, not in the bright afternoon. Sgrogbraogg further found himself in an unfamiliar situation as buildings of strange architecture crowded the Tyrant and in the distance was a city almost as large as Altdorf! In slight amazement, he looked behind him to find his hut was gone as well with Linas and Mary beckoning Sgrogbraogg towards the college with a pathway paved with brilliant white stone. “Hmpfh, maybe these guys are Gods,” Tyrant mumbled to himself, hefting his mighty weapons strapped to his back and readjusted his gut plate before stomping his way towards his next great adventure.

Completely at a loss, Cyril could find few choices but to follow the convincing strangers into the building he guessed must be the Inquisitional College. It was like nothing he'd ever seen; cleaner than a castle yet less grand than the cathedral of Malingurd, and more functional-looking than either, it awed him into silence with its sight alone. He didn't feel it necessary to lean upon his halberd like a walking stick as he ascended the steps just in front of its wide-open doors, but he indulged regardless. The inside, too, proved to be as utilitarian and professional as the exterior. Looking to either side, he spotted numerous hallways and closed doors, as well as a few desks, but barring any way but forward were the type of hanging rope barriers that one might expect to find outside a theater or hotel. They directed the new arrival forward, toward another pair of doors through which eked a bright whiteness. Instead of the usual double-door fare, they appeared to be saloon shutters, and around them the walls gave the impression of sudden renovation made to accommodate something of uncommon size. As badly as he wanted to pause to take in the interior, the Barnabys stood at the far end of the entrance hall beckoning, so he soldiered onward. One clinking, uneven step after another, he made his way after them, marveling at how little the stab wound in his foot seemed to matter now. Only when he reached the door did he realize he still held his shield, and after shouldering it, he placed his arm against the door, took yet another deep breath, and pushed.

He found himself in a great circular atrium, its walls embellished by mosaics and the edges sporting numerous potted plants. Still holding his lantern, Barnaby -standing about fifty feet ahead- gave a sweeping gesture across the place. “Here we are, Sir Boniface. This place is where the journey to a better world begins. We're not allowed to interfere with the tournament, of course, but I assure you that you have my own best wishes. Your desire is a noble one most worthy of granting. Would you find a podium, please?”

For a moment, Cyril stood still, but the sound of the odd doors moving behind him galvanized into movement. A moment later he stood behind a podium—one of thirty-two, though he didn't bother to count, arranged in a circle around a carpeted, lower region of the floor in the atrium's center. Above, an intricate ceiling of domed glass supported by steel girders that shone even in the stormy twilight made for a lot of overhead space. Cyril felt small, but the steady influx of new people into the atrium gave him something else to focus on.

First inside was a young woman in ceremonial attire that Cyril didn't quite recognize, though his eye was drawn more readily to her lack of an arm. Two little girls flanked her on either side, stopping a respectful distance behind her as she found her way to a podium as well. The knight found himself giving an approving nod, thinking, she looks tough, but I could take her. Something clicked in his head, and with a start, he realized that every new entrant not sporting a lantern was not just a competitor, but a complete mystery. Wait, what am I thinking? These are people from who knows where, with what kind of abilities. I can't afford to underestimate a single one. Next he laid eyes on a soldier-looking type with a spring in his step, his odd gear and unnerving presence bringing a frown to Cyril's face. He's got a gun too. More than one! Good God, I hope I'm ready for this. I need every advantage I can get. So thinking, he reached up and put down his visor, covering his face with a visage of metal.

One by one, the competition arrived. Cyril hardened his heart as he beheld frightening warriors, more armored gunslingers, people with inhuman features, and a good few monsters. In only a handful of minutes, his mind blew again and again, like the chain explosion of natural gas in a mineshaft, to witness beings beyond his imagination. And these are my opponents. He gave a teeth-gritted sigh, more resigned than fearful. I'm dead meat. This is a death even faster and more certain than Malingurd. Then, shaking his head, he chuckled ruefully. Whatever. My cause is worth dying for. If I'm gonna go out, it's gonna be like a hero. Looking around, he noticed the Barnabys standing behind him just as the little girls did for that one burly shrine maiden, and wondered what they were waiting for. Not for the first time, he glanced at the object on the podium before him. By touch, he'd already affirmed that it wasn't a real heart. At least, the part he'd prodded felt like rubber, and the little cog-filled window in the middle felt like glass. He did feel sure that he would find out soon, however.

Within twenty minutes, the atrium was not quite so empty anymore. It contained thirty-two contestants, some of them rather large like the walking machine and the immense, brutish ogre, as well as the recruiters who'd gone to get each one. There was so much variety and detail in the scene that Cyril couldn't possibly comprehend it all. Instead, he focused on one individual at a time. A remarkably busty woman who appeared to be made out of slime caught his eye for obvious reasons, but after observing with a dry smile that she looked even more lost than he felt, he turned his gaze elsewhere. He briefly examined a pirate, a skeleton, and some kind of well-endowed dragon woman, but before he could move on from that last figure, a voice resounded through the atrium.

“Good evening.”

He looked toward the source of the low, authoritative voice, noticed for the first time that the atrium had a second floor in the form of a ringed walkway near the glass, and discovered an old woman flanked on either side by College staff holding a megaphone. Before he could surmise that she was someone important, she continued.

“I'm sure there are many questions. No matter how much I say, my answers will only bring more, so I won't try your patience. You've come to the City of Echoes, a mysterious place, where time and space are convoluted. Even I don't know what you'll find. There may be dragons, demons, gods, or giants, treasure or torture, but I do know there will be fighting. You're here to lay claim to your one wish. To that end I direct you toward the items set before you.”

Spotlights from above turned on suddenly, illuminating the artificial hearts. “They are called phylacteries. Keep them on your person, and guard them well, for they will keep your souls. Your objective is to acquire the souls of all thirty-one of your opponents and to find the Wishing Machine. If one of you dies, your killer's phylactery will absorb your soul. There are other ways, but I can sense I'm going on too long already.”

Gingerly, Cyril picked up the heart. An hour ago, telling him that this macabre little instrument would bind to his soul would have earned a genuine derisive scoff, but this entire turn of events would still have been bizarre for a delirious nightmare. He pulled out the phylactery's wire and hung it around his neck, beneath his armor.

“In a short moment, you will enter the city. Your first opponent is in the same area as you, but it may be some time before the fight begins. You'll know, courtesy of our announcer, when an official duel is about to start. Do not attack a competitor against whom you're not matched up, and do not mess with College staff, but other than that you have free rein in the city. There's a lot to discover. Good luck to you all.”

---

Before Jonathan O'Connor reached the second-floor landing, Felicity became aware of the footsteps on metal stairs and turned to face him. His gray eyes held bad tidings, which did not bode well given the imminent departure of the contestants. With a furrowed brow she asked, “What's the situation?”

Jonathan clasped his hands together and took in a sharp breath before responding, “Everyone is in position. No lanterns were lost. However, there were two fatalities. Gurbanox killed Manfred Thöger, and Actaeon killed Cedric Fetter. Additionally, Mr. Van der Sloot is reporting some kind of break-in in the Vault during the staff's absence. The gate had been opened, an artifact stolen, and the gate closed. Whoever did it is an employee, has been passing as one, or has an insider.”

“What was stolen?” The director's voice had become a cobra's hiss.

The silver-haired man wore an indifferent look, but his voice could have cut glass. “The Vessel. And whoever it was left this.” He held up the ledger. On the front page, where the names of every competitor resided, a thirty-third had been hastily scribbled: Garbage.

“Ngh!”

Spinning around, Felicity leaned onto the railing and scanned the atrium with wide eyes. As she looked, searching desperately for someone who seemed out of place in a sea of beings who did not belong in this world, O'Connor murmured, “Whoever has taken it could theoretically cast their lot in with the Crucible. The Vessel does manifest and store souls, after all. Oh, the look on poor Rosenvalt's face when the x-ray showed where her soul appeared...”

“Quiet, Jon. The fog machines are seconds away from starting, and even if I called off the toss, we'd never find the culprit in that mess.” Venom welled in her voice, but the director pursed her lips and calmed herself. In an instant, her professional composure returned. “No matter. As soon as he picks a fight, we'll know who and where. Then we can deal with him. As for Gurbanox...” She sneered. "He will learn we can bite back, starting with his seed. Put him on track against the hunter. The wretched hound will have his comeuppance soonafter."

All around the atrium, vents in the floor beneath each podium began to spew out a thick white fog. As the clouds surrounded each contestant, so too did tension and anticipation fill the air; the tournament was about to begin.

"Oh hell, what did Enrico leave me this time?"

As he strolled toward the structure, his apparent shepherds walking before him, he found Enrico and Yukiko had both had the time to forward messages to his armor computer over the SQUADCOM. Enrico's was, predictably, his combat music playlist, while Yukiko's seemed to be a message, with the armor's computer informing him it was written text. Well, that was interesting, she wouldn't have had time to write much before he...vanished, teleported, whatever that was, and he resolved to take a look at it when he had the time. When they entered the building, it didn't take long for James to note this was definitely a professional establishment. He noted with a raised eyebrow the closed doors and ropes blocking their path, leaving them a set route forward. Safe within the confines of his own mind, James thought "Well these aren't exactly secure barricades are they? Must be magic I'd assume, I can't speak for the other competitors but there's no way they'd think to contain a Ranger with ropes and doors alone."

Captain Teller cleared his mind of the pointless observation and focused it on the task at hand. Almost as if he were a hostage, he counted turns and directions, making sure he'd be able to flee without stopping to ponder direction should things go south. Times like this, he wished he had the gear those SAD blokes got. The Supernatural Assault and Destruction teams got all the nicest kit, from smart AI to customized Heavy Assault Armor. If he had one of those AIs he could have it do this basic SF grunt task while he focused on other things, but he supposed there was no business worrying about what he didn't have. Shaken from his musings by the sudden arrival at a pair of swinging bar-room doors, his guides stood to the sides, apparently to allow him in first "Right in here Captain, take a podium as your own." the previously silent Déaglán quietly muttered

As Teller walked towards the doors, Amelia caught him by the arm and whispered "Fight hard, Captain. I hope you can finally go home after this."

A vague nod of agreement was sent her way as she released his arm and Teller strode in, the pair behind him. His eyes immediately began darting around, sizing up the room he stood in. The ceiling was glass, fashioned into a dome, and Teller immediately added that to his list of worries. An aerial breach through that would be as easy as getting a VTOL and some rope, and in here the glass alone could serve to kill the unarmored members of the assembly. Speaking of the other members of the assembly, James began sizing each one up as his potential enemy, or friend as circumstances may lead to.

Of the armored halberdier, James thought "Its been a few seconds and I'm already confused, but whatever. Whoever that guy is he's clad in medieval chic, full plate, may or may not be some flavor of enchanted but either way it'll stop something like shrapnel Regardless, that thing may be magic, if so it's a big problem, otherwise though...well, better assume the harder of the two."

Of the one-armed Shrine Maiden "Hm, injured already, but she wouldn't be here if she wasn't a threat. Still, she may be weak in close quarters, not that I'm eager to fight her. Hopefully we're all from the same universe, mine, if so she may know what a Ranger is and help out."

Of the hoodied gamer "OK, I'm trying hard not to underestimate anyone but what the hell is with this kid? No armor, the fact he seems pretty attached to those guns means no magic probably, and he sure as hell isn't a soldier. Alright Teller, don't think too bad about the kid, after all how's the saying go? Amateurs are dangerous because you can't predict them or something."

Of the power armored warrior ""Really starting to worry here. That armor looks thick, though its got some vulnerabilities around the neck it looks like, but look at those damn guns! Those matched pistols are massive, Gods only know what they fire, one of those pistols has what disturbingly appears to be a fuel tank attached and I don't know where to start on the last one!"

Of the armored swordswoman ""Another probable magic user, though I can't underestimate that sword. I've seen devil swordmasters at work, and I'd not care to get too close to anyone on that level. That armor may not take bullets but it'll stop grenade shrapnel I bet, no go on that then."

Of the Kitsune bombshell "Someone upstairs must be looking after me by leaving the squad back home, or I'd have to stop Salvador from chasing her like a lost puppy. Still, those fox ears tell me she's a Kitsune, and I remember the rumors about what that Kitsune from Team 2 could do. Best be careful around her, after all I'm not fireproof."

Of the fungal skeleton "Oh what in Sam Hill is up with THAT one? I am DEFINITELY not in the right fucking universe, because not even the deltas managed something THAT insane looking. Alright, I'll deal with the mushroom man via high explosive deliverance if I have to, not too worried."

Of the apparent dragon lady "I am officially, royally, fucked, if she is anything like the dragons back home. Shit, the smallest unit to get a confirmed dragon kill was a squad size element of UASD, and that was such a big fucking deal that it got Wolf out of the office to personally award them all a fucking medal. The only consolation prize is she doesn't look full fucking dragon but I still don't like this, best to avoid her."

Of the white-clad blademaster "Lots of women with swords here, I'm noticing. Well, she's got no armor and a light blade, so she must be a dodgy fighter. That's easy to deal with at least, not even a Knight can out run an explosion, and I'll bet you can't either."

Of the gluttonous demon "Well he's setting every instinct in me, and my armor's delta warning light, ablaze. At least a delta I can deal with, though he doesn't look like a delta from my universe and in that case then I might be bloody well fucked if I try my usual methods."

Of the towering paladin "Thor on a bike what the hell is that guy's deal? Is there ANYONE here I can try to engage in melee and beat other than the damn hoodie kid? Well, if there are, he's not one of them, and I don't think I want to try my R41 against him either. I've got more explosive-worthy problems than I've got explosives, at this rate I'll have to get creative."

Of the magical composer "OK, at least THIS GUY looks like he might go down with a good stab, but I'd bet my ass he's a powerful mage. Great, where the hell is Yukiko with the PER when I need her? Oh well, no worries, at least the R41 should drop him, maybe even the good 'ol LE if I get close enough."

Of the cereal killer ""He looks kinda familiar...wait..wha-....No. I've accepted a lot of shit but there is no way I'm actually fighting a pre-war fucking CEREAL MASCOT. By Odin's fucking beard this is bullshit! Alright, calm down Cap, just..just shoot him when you see him. Heavens above I need a drink."

Of the massive ogre "Oh this just isn't fair! How the hell am I gonna kill THAT?! He's so fucking big I'd have to dr-...Y'know that's not a bad idea, better save that one for in case it comes up. Glad I went to sapper school."

His conclusions reached, the time came for some speech given by an old woman, this tournament's overseer Teller was sure. As he absorbed the facts from it, his eyes were drawn to these 'phylacteries' as she'd called them, and he immediately processed what he was told. The one he claimed would hold his soul, and if he killed an opponent it would adsorb theirs. However, already, Teller's mind was thinking up ways to cheat the system, even as he reached his armored hand out and clutched his own, wearing it as he wore his dogtag chain, though taking care to tuck it beneath his chest plate so nobody could take it with a rapid grab and end his game before it even started. If he was right about how these worked, those fast and furious types just got a lot more dangerous.

So, they'd have time to explore the arena, that was good. He'd have time to get a rough feel for the locations in it he could fight from, maybe pre-build some fortifications with the trusty E-tool in the survival kit, and see if he could salvage some useful gear. By the sound of it, there'd be things laying around, and James couldn't help but grin as he uttered aloud the same phrase he and his fellow Marines had uttered so long ago "Gear adrift is gear a gift." As fog flowed up from vents at the bottom of the floor, James turned his mind to contemplating how to go about this. The inability to attack an opponent who he wasn't matched with made this harder, but not impossible, and the idea that he couldn't even engage someone he knew he was matched with until the go ahead was given made it damn infuriating. However, it hadn't sounded like there was a time limit within which he HAD to engage, meaning he could still work his tricks, and James felt one thought resonate both through his mind and out his mouth, the motto of UASD Team 8, HIS team

"Always outnumbered, never outdone."

Mountain casually hummed All Star by Smash Mouth as he walked into the building. When he and the Thule Twins entered, he immediately took note of its architecture. It looked like a cleaner and more modern version of Der Eisendrache from Black Ops III, but without the blood and zombies. And snow. But the map looked pretty badass already, or at least the pre-game lobby did. It was nothing compared to the Temple of Gaben, but it still looked badass. Mountain whistled in appreciation. "This place is dank as shit. Is this where the fighting's gonna be?" He asked.

Davian shook his head. "Afraid not. This is the Inquisitional College building."

Mountain nodded as he ran a hand through his messy black hair. The trio continued to walk, and Mountain noticed that there were numerous hallways and desks on each side, though they were blocked by simplistic rope barriers. They were probably invisible walls and world borders to prevent people from getting out of the map. It was probably for the best, though. Mountain had already glitched himself out of reality itself once.

He did not want to do that again.

Eventually, the quickscoper and the twins stopped at a door that was so white Mountain was afraid it would ask for a Pumpkin Spice Latte from Starbucks in a stupid Californian Valley Girl accent nobody liked. Except Americans. Those people were weird. Both Davian and Aralynn stood at opposite sides of the door and cocked their heads at the door. Taking the cue, Mountain mentally pressed the X button in front of it. The doors immediately swung open by themselves, and Mountain strode into a large atrium with a domed glass ceiling. The walls were decorated with large mosaics of things Mountain didn't recognise. Who made mosaics if they weren't pixel art? Mountain puzzled over this as he glanced over the potted plants in the area.

"Alright, Mountain," Aralynn said suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. "This is where the journey will begin. This is where the tournament will begin." She motioned towards one of the podiums.

Davian stepped up next to his sister. "Good luck, Chosen of Gaben." With that, the two turned away and walked off. Mountain shrugged. Guess he was on his own now. It didn't matter. Mountain worked alone and played with himself most of the time, sometimes with Daniel. He wondered how his best friend was doing back home. He got accepted into the Steam School of MLG, the most prestigious trickshotting academy in all of Mlgolia. Apparently he was doing pretty damn well with his Akimbo Model 1887 shotguns, but Mountain hadn't seen him since the Fall of Origin and death of Andrew Wilson.

But whatevs, it was time for a whole new adventure. Mountain looked towards the podiums and picked the one furthest away, before teleporting there. He disappeared in a flash of green light, before popping back into existence behind it. His powers hadn't been restricted yet since the tournament hadn't begun yet, but Mountain knew he had to think crafty when using his nerfed teleportation ability. Reaching into the dimension in his back pocket, he pulled out a can of ice-cold Mountain Dew Kickstart.

After all, he needed to be alert and awake before commencing the slaughtering.

Popping it open and taking a nice chug as the caffeine and electrolytes flowed into his body, he looked around and noticed that the other contestants had entered. He continued to take intermittent sips of the fruit punch-flavoured beverage as he eyed the competition with his eyes. Those glowing orange eyes were sharp; they helped him quickscope many targets and watched out for enemy throwing knives. Those same eyes had also seen boobs in real life. A rare achievement.

He examined the armoured halberdier. The guy wore what appeared to be plate armour and wielded a large halberd. Melee-type, Mountain thought. Doesn't seem to have any ranged weapons. Stupid Commando tactical knifers. Annoying shits. A headshot should do. Should easily pierce through armour.

Next was the shrine maiden. Her body was covered in scars, and she was missing an arm. Lol what is this? That one bitch from that crappy Japanese bullet hell game? Mountain smirked. And without an arm or weapons, she should be easy to take down. He rubbed his chin. Yeah, unless she doesn't have any melee perks.

The black-armoured woman. Hmm. That looks like a jetpack. Indeed, the white-haired woman had a large device on her back which looked like an oversized jetpack. Go for the weak point. Shoot the fuel tanks first. He looked at her guns. Whoa, those are some bigass guns. Gotta be careful around them. Wouldn't want to get cheesed by a noob dual-wielding OP guns. He scrutinised her armour. Looks tough. Probably switch to Doritos when needed. They're armour-piercing and explosive.

He sized up the guy wearing weird armour. He kind of looked like a Juggernaut from both Modern Warfares. His helmet was weird, though. What is this? Pyramid Head's brother from the future. He looks ridiculous. However, Mountain quickly noticed his guns, and a pit of slight fear formed in his stomach. Aw, shit. Is that an ACR? Shiiiiiiiit. The most OP gun in CoD history. Fucking no-skill noob. True, ACRs were absurdly overpowered with their lack of recoil and ridiculous damage even with numerous patches, though they were still no match for his legendary AWP.

After the Pyramid Head wannabe was the fox girl. Ohohoho, what is this? A weeaboo furry? Mountain snickered at the thought. Nine tails, huh? What bullshit anime is she from? Hmm... He examined her. Even though she was hot as fuck, she had nine fluffy tails and a pair of fox-like ears, and Mountain promised that he would never make love with one of those furries. Fucking furries. She had no weapons, though since the kitsuone or however it was pronounced was Japanese, she probably had some weird anime magic like shooting big blue balls from her tails or something. Suddenly, a song got stuck in his head. What does the fox say? Dingdingding- NO! STOP! THAT FUCKING SONG! Mountain took a breath to get it out and filled his mind with tunes from Linkin Park instead. Okay. Hm, fox spirit. Probably agile, cunning? I dunno.

Then was the weird man/woman in black armour. Mountain couldn't tell. What is this? Dark Souls? This one confused Mountain the most. He wasn't exactly what to think of her, but he assumed a quick noscope would do the trick.]But she has a sword. Might be harder to take down in melee. Stay at range and keep hardscoping.

Following up was the dragon girl. And boy was she hot. HOLY SHIT! THOSE BOOBS! Okay, forget about the no fucking furries before. This one is totally fuckable. He stared at her golden dress and hairstyle, almost missing the horns on her head. Thing is, she had a pair of massive wings. Shit. Flying type. Hate those. He frowned, before smirking. But she should be vulnerable in the air. Shoot the wings. Strange, though. She looked an awful lot like a humanised version of a particular monster from a movie, what with her colour pattern and dragon parts.

The white elf girl was next. Hmm, Elsa is that you? Mountain chuckled. Snow powers. Probably it. Rapier? Easy. One of those speedy types, huh? He hated those. They were so hard to hit. Gotta time my shots just right. If she freezes me, my mixtape should melt the ice.

The skeleton with a mushroom hat. Mmm, mushroom soup. Mountain reached into his back pocket and pulled out a Mountain Dew grenade. It looked like a regular can of Dew, but with a pin and spoon. Last time I checked, skeletons are weak to electricity damage. Shock should fry the shrooms, and I can go on a drug trip.

The thing that looked like a purple ball with a mouth and a pair of legs followed. Whoa! Pac-Man, is that you? Oh shit, he's gonna eat me! The quickscoper once again snickered at that as he shoved his grenade back into his pocket. Probably can kill him if I toss a grenade in there. Blow him up from the inside out.

Next, the huge-ass armoured giant. Big guy in armour. Might be hard to penetrate. No ranged weapons, though. Probably super slow. Huge enemies are always slow. And besides, the bigger they are the more that they'll bleed. Boy what is up with that armour? There's so much bling on it!

The Asian guy in a tuxedo, holding a conductor's baton. Asian guy! What is he doing outside a sweatshop? He stared at the man's conductor. Musical attacker, eh? Can't say I'm surprised. These guys are so tough for some reason. Like that one time I beat the Shrednought! He recalled that epic battle with Daniel where the two of them fought against the God of Metal. The two shredded so hard they ripped a hole in reality, banishing the Shrednought to an eternity of listening to Justin Bieber songs. Blast him with dubstep. That should work.

Next came the pirate. Whoa, Cap'n Crunch! I love that cereal! He thought of his favourite breakfast food second to Doritos mixed with Mountain Dew and weed. Is this guy even a threat? What is he- a cereal killer?

Finally, the gigantic ogre. Mountain stared at it, as if he was a loss for words. ...Well. That was unexpected. Mountain considered going for the usual strategy he used to defeat huge bosses: get underneath them and quickscope them in the balls. But the ogre had so much fat (he was fatter than His Holy Rotundness Gaben) Mountain doubted it would work. He was still convinced it would cause an 8 magnitude earthquake if it hit the ground.

Looking around for any more competitors and finding one, Mountain cracked his neck, finished up his drink, and tossed the can behind him, which exploded. Strangely, it didn't do any damage at all. A man came over the intercom, announcing what the City of Echoes was in the first place. There were going to be gods and demons and money and stuff, and Mountain was excited. It sounded like a really good open world RPG. He was probably going to get distracted by the sidequests.

Suddenly, the spotlights around the room lit up and illuminated several weird necklace things. Apparently, they were called 'phylacteries', and the souls of every competitor was bound to one of them, and if one was killed, then his or her soul would go to the one who killed the wearer.

Of course, Mountain wasn't listening. He was too bust playing around with the necklace to care. So, when the announcer read out the rules and regulations, he didn't really catch any of it. Though he caught bits and pieces like not attacking other competitors he wasn't matched up with and not attacking college staff, but he still wasn't really listening. However, he was sent back to reality when vents around the room started filling the area with fog. Mountain stared at it for a second before shrugging and putting the phylactery around his neck. He drew his AWP. "Let's play."

Lily has seen a lot of impressive sites in her life. Everything from humans turning into Dragons, to portals to different Realms. And yet, this transition and this place surprise her. Not half a minute had passed since she left to follow the two College representatives, and already they have moved what must have been immeasurable distances. Immeasurable in the sense that they weren't in the same plane of existence, but somewhere else. Undoubtedly where their College and this City of Echoes resided.

The massive building that greeted Lily upon stepping out of the fog seemed to indicate as much. So clean and immaculate that she at first attempted to peer through it and she would any other illusion, only the come up with nothing but the realisation that this building was actually as perfect as it looked. In a way the place reminded her of the Academy, with its seemingly utilitarian design, yet made with the intent to impress as much as it was made to be useful. It was a sight that tugged at her heart strings, reminding her of her blissful ignorance during the days when it was just training and practice. Reminded her of what they were trained to become: Soldiers and weapons, each with far more power than anyone human should ever possess.

She grimaced but followed Jonathan and Guðrún up the stairs that lead to an entrance, the door itself being just as grandiose as the rest of the building. Jonathan pushed open the door so let them in, waving the two women inside before he himself entered. "Ladies first," he said, then entered after them.

The inside was the same as the outside: Immaculately clean and an equal mix of form and function. The hallway they entered into was lined on either side by multiple pathways to other areas of the college, each warded off in such a way that one could easily pass through, but the intent that the places being off limits was still very evident. In a way, designing it like this came as no surprise to Lily. This was a place for the arrogant, and how did one show arrogance? Treat them as if you expect them to blindly obey, of course, but leave them an opening through which to disobey. That was what those flimsy dividers made of rope was designed for. They didn't want people to wander those warded off places, but didn't bother to actually make them off limits as if to show that they fully expected you to obey, or thought you incapable of resisting should they decide to stop you.

Lily flicked an ear in annoyance, forcefully dispelling the thoughts. She had had enough of arrogant individuals in her time, so now she just wanted this over with so they could begin the tournament, and she could get Max back.

She looked up to see the she and Guðrún stood in front of a pair of saloon shutters, with Jonathan nowhere to be seen. She gave the redhead a questioning glance, to which she was told that Jonathan had left them just prior, as something that required his attention. "Nevermind that," Guðrún continued, "The tournaments should start within the next few hours. Until then, go through these doors and stand on the podium of the other side. Wait there until the announcement begins"

Lily didn't reply verbally, but nodded and pushed the shutters aside to let herself in. What greeted her was even more grandiose than the outside. Potted plants, mosaics, and a cleanliness that should have been all but impossible dominated the room. Aside from a slightly lowered centre Stage, the circular room had dozens of podiums just like Lily zone forming a perfect circle along the outer edges, each with its own door behind it. Some of these podiums already had occupants. On the other side of the room she could spit something that looks like an amorphous blob, whereas on the left side of the room she spotted a woman far more well-endowed than even herself which would have been quite the accomplishment had said woman not been seemingly composed of sentient slime.

She let her eyes roam the interior of the room, I'm over every new contestant that appeared. Burly men, in-human creatures like a herself, armoured soldiers, and-- Lily froze, eyes widening in surprise. Long, raven hair, pale skin a hair's breadth taller than Lily. "Celica?" She whispered to herself. One of the people who had managed to become Lily's friend in the years on the Academy, someone with the power of a Yuki-Onna. Why was she here? What wish did she have that she would want fulfilled? Her eyes narrowed, studying the other woman closer.

When the woman turned ever so slightly, and Lily caught a glimpse of one icy, blue eye, she knew that this was not Celica. That made her breathe a sigh of relief. Celica have been among her first and best friends, one of the few who somehow managed to face Lily without provoking her anger. Her temper was still volatile if one pushed the right buttons, but on the greater whole she has learnt to control it and stay calm. It happened as saving grace more than once during the fighting.

Time passed slowly after that, but eventually every podium was occupied by someone or something, and the official announcement was about to be made. An older woman started speaking, detailing the premise and how the fighting would work. She mentioned phylacteries, said items resting on a small pedestal in front of the podium. It was a funny little thing, a heart made of rubber - a piece of glass allowing view of the inside, filled with cogs. This thing supposedly contained their soul? Bullshit. A soul was not something so easily contained. She was a Kitsune, she would know. The one outlawed ability of her kind, the ability to train the soul of someone else, carried with that risks to gruesome to speak of. She have done it once, in a fit of rage, as an act of vengeance against someone who had managed to wound Tsukiko in battle. She had felt their soul being ripped out as if it had been her own. It had been a horror that could not be described in words. She glared at the woman, doubt heavy on her mind.

But this was a different world, so maybe the rules with different here? She looked down at the phylactery again. Could this thing really contain the soul of the wearer? Could it enable others, who were not like her, to forcefully tear the soul from another living being? If that was the case, then this tournament just became a whole lot more terrible. But... She couldn't abandon it, couldn't abandon him. She had already resigned herself to return to a battlefield to get him back, what more was this? She had hinted that there may be ways of retrieving an opponent's soul without killing them. Maybe she wouldn't have to kill someone in such a gruesome way again?

She sighed and put the necklace on, letting the small, artificial heart rest against her breast underneath her shirt. She could only hope that was the case.

ID: Ryan Harper
Location: City Ruins
Time: 11:42AM

The rain had come suddenly as if somebody had simply started splashing buckets of water from the dark mass of clouds up above. It had made visibility close to minimal and navigation from inside a small security mech near impossible, which is probably why this one was inactive, parked underneath the sun-bleached awning of a decrepid store. Within the dusty building echoed the quiet but grating sound of chalk dragging across tile. A small figure at the back of the store sat hunched on the floor and drew, a pair of headphones covering her ears. The light was dim at best and nonexistent at worst among the rust-ridden aisles and racks but it was better like this. Better to know where other people are before they know where you are.

The violin wailed in her ears and her hand moved in time with it. Then it stopped. Two bright blue irises darted to the side where her peripheral vision had caught movement. It was a light, bright, warm, and beckoning, which was a surefire way to tell that she shouldn’t come close to it no matter what. She crawled over to peek in between two rows of rotting crisps. The light was right beside her precious Sentinel and accompanied by two figures clad in dark grey coats, too clean and new to be good news. Her heart could have exploded from the pressure right then and there. She couldn’t run towards them but what if they took it away? She sat there, frozen for a couple of seconds, until the figures started moving. They were headed for the entrance. That realization pretty much dragged all air out of her lungs and she scrambled towards a nearby aisle.



Gren Highgate peered inside the gloomy building, squinting a bit.

“I don’t know, Adelaide, doesn’t seem like anyone’s set foot in here for a while.”

He was a tall man and had evidently been the burly type in his youth – his shoulders were still quite broad and some muscle still clung to his frame. Wrinkles cut through his narrow, tanned face like canyons through the earth, but his eyes – vibrant blue – retained a youthful playfulness. His features were arranged in such a way that he seemed like he was always smiling. His hair, although silver, had retained its volume and waviness and was evidently well taken care of – clean and cut in a sensible, stylish manner.

“Nonsense, the robot is right there, she can’t have wandered that far away from it.”

The small middle aged woman pushed past him and entered the shop. She stopped, arms crossed in the demanding stance of a strict teacher, and slowly scanned the area through the small round glasses perched upon her sharp nose. Her stern gaze soon came across something that didn’t belong. She gestured for her companion to follow her and proceeded to the back of the shop at a brisk pace.

They were standing over a chalk drawing depicting a floral motif that appeared to be growing out of a bird’s skull. There were no other traces of life.



The two had spent the better part of the afternoon searching the area. The girl didn’t respond to any calls and they had checked in even the most unlikely of places they could think of. No luck.

Ryan lay completely motionless in the space between the rooftop and the large plates of plywood that hid the ventilation and electronics from view within the store itself. She did not know why these people knew her name and she did not know why they were so desperate to find her. It was terrifying. She hadn’t done anything and there were no documents that her name would have a reason to exist in.

She had to get to the mech.

The voices had faded a couple of times and she assumed it was because they were going in and out of the building. She resolved to wait for the next time it happened and make a run for it.

It took them a while but they eventually left once again. Ryan took a deep breath and slid out of her hiding spot and onto the dusty floor almost soundlessly. She peered between the shelves again, just to make sure they were still outside, put on the headphones with the volume at max, then dashed across the length of the store and towards the window.


Time: 17:24PM

“She can’t just be gone! This is absurd! How are we supposed to fill out the roster?!” Adelaide was fuming in the middle of the broad street, kicking small pebbles and pieces of rubble around in frustration. Gren was watching her but seemed rather absent, as if deep in thought. They were both completely drenched.

In this moment, there was a loud crash, followed by a mechanical whir that sent a chill down both their spines.

“You move, I pull the trigger.” The voice that crackled through the speaker was cold and unshakeable, yet almost childlike in tone. „Good. Now turn around. Slowly.“

They did. The mech was standing at its full height, with the gatling guns staring straight down at them and spinning with the same gentle chilling whir, ready to mince them at the first wrong move.

„Who are you and why do you know my name?“

Adelaide‘s throat released a sound first.

„We mean no harm. My name is Adelaide Oxton and this is my colleague Gren Highgate. We‘re here on behalf of the Inquisitional College. We have a proposition for you-“

„Why do you know my name?“ - repeated the voice demandingly.

„If you would allow me to finish...“ – there was a hint of annoyance in Adelaide‘s voice despite the significant number of barrels in her face, - „The College has selected you to be a participant in a tournament of sorts – the Crucible. Should you emerge the winner you will be granted one wish, any wish. Your name was given to us by an unknown entity that appears to be connected to the one giving out the grand prize. We are not certain how it works but if you‘d let me reach into my pocket I will show you the information it has given us.“

„Your hands stay where they are. I‘m not interested in tournaments. You may turn around slowly and leave the way you came.“

Gren spoke up.

„Aren‘t you sick of being afraid? Think about it. You could just wish it away!“ – he gave a warm smile.

Ryan stared at him for a long while. She was sure he couldn‘t see her from outside the mech but it seemed like their eyes met. They were the same eyes yet his were calm and smiling in the face of danger. And she could feel her heart trying to burst out of her chest and escape.

„You will walk in front of me and I am not getting out of this mech.“
Gren‘s smile widened.



ID: Ryan Harper
Location: Inquisitional College
Time: Error