The Tournament [A Non-Traditional Fantasy]

Bemean – Isolated Farm (20 days before the Tournament)

Amidst a sprawling field of half-harvested potatoes, a great entity of cosmic turbulence gently set down its straw-hat.

The Noumenon had delayed for long enough. It turned to face its manufactured family and copied the human affirmatory action of waving.

Now, it was time to visit its other family.

And this time, it would not lose.

Country of Smiling Skies – Border to Golden Country (19 days before the Tournament)

He never thought the day would come. He was finally going to leave his home. He was finally going to wander back into the realm of the humans and let them again ponder over the use of his powers.

This time it would be different though.

He would win the Tournament and bring nature to the world.

Cataclysmic,

Destructive,

Nature.

Aegis – Abandoned Safe House near Cruor Swamps (18 days before the Tournament)

The one-armed woman removed her porcelain wolf mask and ran the fingers of her only remaining hand through the knots in her wheat-coloured hair. From across the room, a lithe man stepped through the doorway, a fox mask concealing his face.

She gave a hopeful look to the Fox, desperate for any kind of good news to come out of this day. "Has Turtle woken up yet?"

Sadly, her prayers would go unanswered, and the fox shook his head in the negative.

A third voice responded. "Shame, I always liked Turtle."

The woman instantly redonned her mask and both the Wolf and Fox spun around, bodies taut with alarm.

The Fox and Wolf found themselves facing a person wearing the porcelain mask of a yellow octopus and they immediately tensed in fear.

"Relax-" The Octopus tried to soothe, lifting both hands in a pacifying gesture. "As it turns out, I'm in the same boat as the rest of you."

The Fox scoffed bitterly. "Oh yeah? And which boat would that be?"

The Octopus answered matter-of-factly. "I too have been abandoned by the Masks." It shrugged its shoulders as if it thought the outcome to have been inevitable. "To be expected really, after I let the Lamb die. Just wasn't expecting it to happen so fast."

The Octopus shook its head, almost disappointed. "Didn't even get the chance to empty my office."

The Wolf's remaining arm shimmered faintly, silver light coiling down to her fingertips as she readied herself. "If you're not with the Masks," she asked with a low growl, "then why are you here?"

The Wolf couldn't see through the octopus mask, but she knew that the person behind was now smiling.

"I come here with an offer, of course!" the Octopus said, sweeping its arms out wide like a showman addressing a stage. "We may not work together under the Masks, but that doesn't mean we can't work together outside of it."

"And why would we want to work together?" The Fox spat.

"Because, for now, our goals align."

The Octopus paused—just long enough for the Wolf to recognize the deliberate theatricality of it.

"You want the Rabbit," it said smoothly. "I want his briefcase. Why don't we help each other out?"

Aegis – Hengist Island (17 days before the Tournament)

Three moons watched over Hengist island that night. Two hung low above the slumbering volcano, intently scanning the forest below. The third lingered higher, its pale face half-smothered behind a gauze of cloud.

Then the lower moons twitched.

With a jolt, they vanished. Only the veiled moon remained, casting a cold, colourless glow over the trembling lands below.

Sodality of Rain – Bathos Pool (16 days before the Tournament)

The Bathos Pool was as tranquil as ever, its surface a flawless pane of glass. Not a single ripple marred its stillness, allowing the water to reflect the world with perfect clarity. Unfortunately, that reflection now included the very loud argument taking place beside it.

"Then that just means we have to strike the Pleurothallidinae now before the Tournament even starts!"

Firn couldn't believe that his supposed guards were just idly standing on the wayside while this woman berated their prince. Maybe the fact that this woman sported more muscle mass than his two guards combined and could probably make minced meat of them with a single hand helped encourage their passivity. Regardless, he was getting quite irritated with how his own people were treating him.

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Had he really fallen so low in the eyes of his people?

Firn tried to placate his subject. "I'm afraid that simply isn't feasible, Ms. Weltschmerz. The warband won't be ready in time, to send our troupes on an assault now would be suicide." He could sympathize with her, he really could. He didn't want the Pleurothallidinae corrupting their territory any more than she did. But at some point, pragmatism had to prevail.

Weltschmerz wasn't having any of it though. "Why are we even going to the Tournament?! Let's just ignore it and fight our own battles!"

Firn released an aggrieved sigh, rubbing his ear as if it might somehow dull the sting of her yelling. "The winner of the Tournament gets any wish they desire granted. You could just fight in the Tournament, avoid risking the lives of your countrymen, and then simply wish for all mokoi to be extinct. It would be less risk, and higher reward."

Weltschmerz was about to retort but was interrupted by another contestant present. "Weltschmerz, please. Think about it. If you want to stop the Pleurothallidinae with the least number of casualties… the Tournament is your best bet."

In her passion she had entirely forgotten about the other contestants, she rapidly swung around to face Errant.

The young man with the frankly titanic sword had been sitting off to the side. He still wore the burgundy garb of the Banausic Cardinals and had been pretending to study a pebble that a strange rock-creature was enthusiastically showing him. He'd done his best to ignore the argument between Prince Firn and Weltschmerz. He wasn't a citizen of the sodality; this wasn't his conflict to intervene in, but his friend was in distress. He could see her now, clenching her bandaged fist, holding back tears.

Even against her friend, Weltschmerz couldn't restrain her enmity, her face burned red as she snapped. "You're not even—"

She never got to finish her sentence as the great doors to the Bathos pool slammed open, crashing into the idle guards and sending them sprawling. "Oh, don't vorry about it, my little mizzy," a voice crooned, thick with mocking sweetness. "Ve can vinish our little curvuffle after the Tournament."

All eyes turned to the doorway.

An impossibly tall man stood there, nearly thrice the height of anyone present. His skin was so pale it bordered on sickly, stretched taut over his unnatural frame. Above his head, he held a massive yellow umbrella shaped like the day star. He wore a flowing, asymmetrical green sundress, one sleeve ending in a single gloved hand.

Everyone froze, recognizing the mokoi instantly.

"Vhat? Vhy do you look at me like zat? You don't like my drezz?"

Weltschmerz charged—screaming—and hurled her fist square at the mokoi's chest.

The mokoi twisted to the side, her blow glancing harmlessly off the flowing fabric of his dress and he leapt away, gaining some distance from the enraged warrior, smiling.

"Now now, darling." The mokoi laughed. "The Tournament iz only a few dayz away. No need to rush."

His voice dropped an octave—soft and venomous.

"If you attack me now, then my army vill retaliate and many vill die. Let uz fight vith honour at the Tournament and not make more trouble than nezezary. You humanz like zat, yez? Honour and lezz dead?"

Weltschmerz was in no mood to talk, and the mokoi was eager to play more. But then something stole his attention. His nose twitched—then again, catching something in the air. He froze. Tilted his head back. Sniffed.

Then his eyes bulged, bright with ecstasy.

"Vat iz that smell!?" he gasped, voice trembling with unfiltered awe. "Zuch vunderful blood." He swayed on his feet, nearly swooning.

Before Weltschmerz could recommence her assault, a sudden shadow poured across the Bathos pool. All eyes turned skyward—following the mokoi's reverent gaze.

The day star had been eclipsed, Blotted by a giant raptor with a near two dozen wings.

Firn groaned under his breath, shielding his eyes. "You've got to be kidding me… What now?"

The shadow thickened, as the beast rapidly approached. Then, with a single thunderous beat of its wings, the being broke its fall—sending a roaring wave across the pool. Water burst over the rim, drenching the garden and nearby occupants.

It landed in perfect silence.

Without the blinding light of the day star, all could see the full form of the creature. A naked woman, or at least a creature resembling a woman. She was tall with pristine skin and smooth blonde hair, but the woman's size and generous curves appeared more an artist's caricature of feminine beauty than anything really possible. The woman's eleven pair of gargantuan brown-spotted wings gave her an intimidating frame and clearly signified that they were in the presence of a devadoot.

The devadoot stood before Prince Firn, brown eyes staring into brown eyes. Her many wings folded inward, layer by layer, cloaking her bare form in a silken cocoon of brown-spotted feathers. Only her face remained visible, framed by the still-extended wings at her temples, flared like oversized ears.

Firn took an instinctive step back, both puzzled and vaguely unnerved by the creature's arrival. "Greetings, devadoot," he said, carefully measuring his tone. "For what do we owe the pleasure of your presence?"

He tried to sound diplomatic, but the title devadoot still caught in his throat. They weren't worshipped as gods anymore—at least not openly—but he still didn't want to offend beings who once commanded the heavens.

The winged woman lowered herself onto one knee and bowed low, her cocoon of feathers parting slightly with the motion.

"You need not watch your tongue in my presence, my lord," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"My name is Tartuffe. I have willfully cast myself away from the Divine Realm, and I no longer walk among the devadoots. If my lord allows it, I would like to fight in the Tournament as a representative of your sodality… and upon my victory, I wish to become human under your domain."

Firn glossed over the obvious arrogance of her assuredness at winning the Tournament and concentrated more on her submission. A devadoot, a once divine being of myth, bowed before a beleaguered prince: asking permission.

Of all the nobles, warriors, and generals in his court who denied him his due respect, If only one subject in his kingdom would bow to him, let it be the one once labelled a god.

And with that thought, he smiled.

Anhydrous desert – No clue where (15 days before the Tournament)

The man trudged through the dense sandstorm, each step swallowed by howling winds. His clothes were torn asunder, his skin baked into cracked leather beneath the merciless breath of the day star.

Why couldn't he have been invited to the Tournament arena that was located in the desert?

He didn't think much when going into it, but now that he had to leave the desert in a timely manner he was really regretting going in without a plan. Whatever path he'd carved into the sand was long since erased, buried beneath the constant shifting tide of dust.

A sudden gust caught his emaciated frame and hurled him backward, his body tumbling across the grit like a rag doll. He landed hard, groaning as he tasted blood and sand intermixing in his jaw.

He pushed himself upright.

The same valley that he had been trying to traverse for the past few hours yawned before him.

He wiped his cracked lips, said nothing, and took a step forward.

Again.