《Monsters Engineering》 System termination Inside the arena, two entities battled for dominance in the weekly fight to the death organized by the all powerful "Manager". The two gladiators flexed their muscles, each one assessing his opponent with narrowed eyes. The one clad in a gray armor, Trystan "Bonecrusher" Bonnell was lazily twirling a morning star in his hand in a deft show of skill. Not to be outdone, his opponent, Patrick "Souldrinker" O''Connor, clad in a blue armor, bashed his longsword against his shield. He was no doubt trying to intimidate Bonecrusher, akin to a gorilla pounding its fists against its chest. Bonecrusher rushed to meet his foe, shouting his war cry. "State of the art? Global Nearest Neighbor is the lowest level of association in data fusion!" His morning star impacted against the raised shield of Souldrinker. Souldrinker tried to withstand the terrible blows from his fated foe, but his arm was growing numb. The flurry of strikes rained on, unabated. "Who the hell uses linear interpolation to compute the standard deviation, huh? Ever heard of Kalman filtering?" The particularly puissant strike destroyed his shield, sending Souldrinker reeling. Souldrinker let the broken piece of protection slip from his hand then gripped his longsword in a two-handed grip. Enraged by the taunts of his opponent, he retaliated. He swung his longsword in a downward arc, intent on bisecting Bonecrusher vertically. "5% of false positive!" He yelled as his blade moved fluidly. Before Souldrinker''s eyes, Bonecrusher disappeared. His longsword hit the ground, doing no damage whatsoever. Souldrinker looked left, right, up and down but he couldn''t find him. Bonecrusher had just vanished. "Have you even read the specs?" Bonecrusher''s icy voice came from just behind Souldrinker. The longsword holder broke into a cold sweat. Souldrinker''s head rotated ever so slowly, and he looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, Bonecrusher was standing there with his morning star raised high in preparation for a strike. "The margin of error is 1%" Bonecrusher snarled. His morning star bashed Souldrinker''s head in, doing as its bearer''s namesake. Souldrinker''s body fell to the firm ground like a puppet with its strings cut off. Bonecrusher watched the corpse for a few seconds, then raised his arms upwards, and roared to the heavens. The crowd was delirious with cheers and praises for the uncontested victor. A figure in the VIP booth rose from his seat, and suddenly the crowd went deathly silent. It was the organizer of this event, the dreadful "Manager". The man clad in black cleared his throat then spoke with a steady voice. "Okay guys, that''s enough. Now, for the next order of business..." And just like that, the spell was broken, and the scenery reverted back to its original design. Trystan and Patrick sat back down on their chairs. The former sported a triumphant grin while the latter''s shoulders were slumped. The weekly meeting went by smoothly after this little bout between the two engineers. Once everyone had left, the manager pulled Trystan aside to review some of the finer points with him. After a long hour of tiresome exchanges, the manager finally broached the subject he really wanted to talk about. "Look Tryst, I know it''s been a hard year for you, but I need you to stop lashing out at newbies. Most of them are scared to the death by the idea of speaking with you. What happened with O''Connor earlier was a picture perfect example of that." Trystan scratched his cheek, a little embarrassed by his conduct. "I''m sorry Mike, I got a little carried away." Mike''s hand patted his shoulder. "I know you, we''ve studied and graduated together from Stanford. You''re still the hot-blooded little shit you were twenty years ago." Ignoring the indignant sputter from his long time friend, Mike''s eyes narrowed, his grip becoming painful. "You''re a great asset to this company, and a greater friend still. But if this goes on, I will have no other choice than pulling you from this project. A powerful engine--" "Is useless if it doesn''t fit inside the car, I know that." Trystan finished for him, a little sullenly. His brows were furrowed while his gaze was downcast. "What''s with the long face? Oh, I know what will cheer you up. You remember the AutoSmart project, right?" Trystan looked back at Mike, his interest piqued. Mike grinned, doing thumb ups with his hands. "It worked so well, Torque''s CEO is greatly interested in a lasting partnership with us. In fact, he was so enthusiastic we''ve got another contract on our hands... Worth 2 billion." Trystan swallowed his saliva convulsively. Two fucking billion?! That was insane! "What''s more!" if Mike''s grin was sparkling before, this one was blinding. "He has been pushing me to reveal the identity of the, I quote, ''Fucking genius who came up with the idea for the second batch''. Of course, I didn''t reveal your identity." Mike huffed. Then Mike looked at Trystan uncertainly. "What will you do though? Working for Torque would be a great way move your career to unimaginable heights, y''know?" Trystan laughed and shook his head. His eyes shined with mischief as he pinched Mike''s cheek. "I already told you, in for an ounce, in for a pound. We''re in this together bro, and where you go, I''ll follow. That''s what we decided all these years ago, right?"This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Mike batted away the offending hand though the relief in his eyes was obvious. "Yeah, right. So what about partying tonight? It''s all on me!" "You''re on!" Trystan answered enthusiastically, bumping fist with his team manager, who also happened to be the CEO of Smart Tech, an up-and-coming company in their field. Mike drove them to a famous pub downtown. They both ordered a beer, then another, and a third. During the busy evening hours, they met a pair of office ladies who also just came from work to unwind. Mike was laughing like a lunatic as he recounted a particular event. "And then, this sunovabitch took Cherryl''s hand and looking her straight in the eyes, said ''My Lady, if I were a horse, I''d let you ride me.'' -Ouch!" Mike held his side as he was elbowed roughly by the irate Trystan. The office ladies giggled. "Dude, I was twenty and wasted, not to mention horny as fuck. Besides, I thought it would stay between us!" Trystan glared at Mike, then he added slyly. "Want me to recount the time you threw up right on Sharon''s face ten years ago?" Mike paled and shook his head energetically. The women looked at each other, a little disturbed. One of them looked at her watch and said, "Oh I''m sorry but it''s getting late, we should get going, right Amanda?" With a few more parting words, the two ladies left, leaving the duo to bicker amongst themselves. The reason for conflict: who drove the beautiful women away? After a while, Mike sighed. "Look, this isn''t going anywhere. It''s getting late, let''s just go home." Mike paid his tab, which included everything Trystan drank too. They left the pub, with Mike heading to his car. He retrieved the keys from his pocket and was about to unlock his vehicle. "What are you doing?" Trystan asked. Mike looked at Trystan, puzzled. "I''m about to start the car..?" Trystan shook his head and took the keys from Mike''s hand. "You''ve drunk too much. Let''s just call a cab." Mike started to protest. "Tryst, it was only three beers. You know I can handle my alcohol." "Not taking any risk!" Trystan said seriously. Mike sighed in defeat. Trystan was right, he should not risk both their lives just for the comfort of riding his own car. While they crossed the large parking area, they made small talk. "Fine evening, is it not?" Trystan asked. "Could have been better, if some idiot had not blurted out about me regurgitating in front of the sexy ladies," Mike said. "Wow, you seriously need to get laid, dude." "I would if you were not such a moron," Mike deadpanned. "Says the guy who nearly was in an alcoholic coma from drinking too much, solely to impress Martha the Fat," Trystan rebutted. "Martha told me you pissed your pants in fright when that happened." Mike felt it wise to clarify. "System termination," a digitalized voice enunciated clearly. They stopped in their tracks, looking around for the source of the voice. Was the speaker talking to them? "Beginning teleportation procedure. 3. 2. 1. Execution." the voice from earlier continued. One moment they were there, then they were in a big ass lab which would have made the NASA''s, ESA''s and Israel''s top labs blush in shame. Mike and Trystan looked at each other. Neurons fired their spikes, and they came to the only logical conclusion. "Quantum theory?" Mike asked. "Quantum entanglement," Trystan elaborated. Mike nodded wisely, crossing his arms as he looked around. The equipment here looked nothing like either of them had ever seen. "We''re not on Earth anymore, are we?" Mike said, as any being capable of reason would deduce. "Probably not. The most we have been able to clone is photons. Though I seem to recall there was a lab which had developed a method to clone atoms using ultracold Bose-Einstein condensates. Not enough to explain our current situation though." "Aliens, then?" The answer came to them in the form of a door in the corner of the room opening, letting in a small robot. It had wheels instead of feet and a flat screen in lieu of a head. It rolled toward them with a slight screeching sound as its wheels moved, making Trystan slap his forehead. "They have the technology to teleport people, but they can''t be bothered to oil joints." Mike chuckled, then bent down to look at the screen of the robot, saying jovially, "Hello little buddy, can you tell us why you brought us here?" "Do you wish to activate voiceover?" The robotic voice answered. Trystan shrugged, "Sure, why not?" The screen which was turned off till then blared to life. Two lines were printed on the screen in a standard font. Arial Bold. Michael Brandt Reviewing major events of candidate''s life. As new writings appeared on the screen, the digitalized voice read it aloud. Peaceful childhood. +150 points. Graduated from college. +300 points. Founded a company which led to a breakthrough in the field of sciences. +400 points. Total: +850 points. "850 points does not seem bad, but out of how many points max?" Mike mused aloud. "Who cares? I bet I will pulverize your score!" Trystan said cockily. "Ha! We''ll see." Mike answered with a grin. The assessment was not over, however. Positive score. You will be reborn as a human. What kind of human, though? "Reborn? What the heck? I don''t want to be reborn!" Mike wailed. "Might not be that bad." Trystan shrugged. Highest stat: Leadership Result: Elite Infantry Captain Computing potential Then a flurry of words appeared and disappeared on the screen before the writing finally settled on ''Emperor (Archangel)''. Mike nearly choked on his spit. That was surprising. Emperor? Quite the big expectation for the measly CEO of an SME. And Archangel, what the flying fuck? The robot then glided toward Trystan, and similar writings appeared on the screen. Trystan Bonnell Reviewing major events of candidate''s life. Peaceful childhood. +150 points. Stayed a virgin until the age of 23. -5 points (-1 point per year above 18). Mike burst out laughing. "Dude, you told me you totally lost your V-card at 18 in a rave!" "Shut up!" Trystan said, crossing his arms. A blush colored his cheeks. Graduated from college. +300 points. Major contribution in world-changing projects. +550 points. Drove a colleague to suicide. -1000 points. Trystan blanched. This couldn''t be true, certainly? "What the fuck, Tryst?! What''s with this suicide thing?" "I don''t know dude, I seriously don''t know!" Total: -5 points. "Fuck!" Trystan gritted his teeth. You will be reborn as a monster. What kind of monster, though? "I don''t want to be reborn a monster," Trystan said sullenly. "Might not be that bad." Mike shrugged, a sly smile on his dumb face. "You little twerp," Trystan said, punching him on the shoulder playfully. Even though he said that and acted nonchalantly, he was still quite worried. Highest stat: Intelligence Result: Novice Skeleton Mage. "Well, that sucks balls," Mike said. "You''re telling me!" Trystan pouted. Computing potential. Once again the titles flashed too fast for him to see. After a long while, it stopped. The title read... It read... Xanthur ? What the hell was that? It looked like a weird font on Microsoft Word. When the robot read it aloud, it was obviously in a foreign tongue, which, translated to human phonemes, would yield something like Xanthur. Soon after reading the title, the robot shook madly then broke down. Its screen actually exploded, sending shards of glass across a twenty feet radius circle. Thankfully, it was more surprising than hurtful to the two men. "Now what?" Mike asked. "Initializing rebirth procedure. 3. 2. 1. Poof!" Chapter 2 - The Skeleton and the Wyrmling As soon as the digitalized voice had finished announcing the rebirth cycle, there was a blinding flash of light. Trystan suspected was more out of aesthetical design than practical purpose, but the fact remained that he was teleported, again, to somewhere else. This time, however, he was not in a futuristic lab, but inside a humongous, dimly lit cavern. How clich¨¦. He inspected himself and, sure enough, he was all bones and wizardly fabric. Skeletonkin, Banza?! Though, as he touched the robe draped over his body, he felt a measure of distaste. It was coming apart at the seams. "If a torn apron can be called a proper wizard''s belonging," Trystan scoffed. "You shouldn''t judge a book by its cover. This robe belonged to Mal''Azar," A high-pitched voice echoed in the cavern, making it hard to pinpoint its origin. He looked around, but couldn''t find anyone other than him inside the cave. "Down there, you simpleton," His Squeakiness croaked. When Trystan looked down, he was distinctly unimpressed. The speaker was a two feet long, intricate jumble of bones, which resembled a Lumbricus terrestris. In other words, an earthworm. If he remembered his biology lessons, worms didn''t possess skeletons though. Not the same type of skeleton as human beings, at least... From whence it came then was a mystery Trystan couldn''t fathom. Hydrostatic skeletons aside, there were two small protuberances in the upper part of its back, two inches apart. "Oh, a talking worm," Trystan said the first thing that came to mind. He was slightly surprised that the tiny thing was capable of speech. "How rude! I''m a Wyrm, not a worm!" It thundered, which was quite ridiculous given its squeaky and nasal voice. "Ain''t that the same thing?" Trystan asked, taunting the tiny entity. He had been a big fan of RPGs in his youth, so the word Wyrm immediately rang a bell. He just said that to piss it off. "Not at all, you imbecilic skeleton! Wyrms are Dragonkind, worms are not even monsters! Furthermore, I am not any kind of Wyrm, I''m a DreadWyrm, the strongest species of Wyrm there is! Well, DreadWyrmling, I guess," It suddenly deflated, its upper body flattening against the ground while its tail drew circles on the cavern''s granite. To diffuse the sour mood, Trystan decided to ask another question, "How come you can speak? Or even I for that matter? Oh, and what''s your name by the way; if you have one, that is." "Name''s Drak''Thul. To answer your other questions, your voice is projected through a combination of magic and willpower," Drak''Thul explained patiently, having regained a little verve. "Does this mean that when I run out of magic, I temporarily lose the ability to speak?" Trystan asked. "Yes, that is indeed the case." "Wouldn''t I just die if I run out of magic? I wager it is magic which animates my bones. This would explain why I don''t just collapse into a pile of osseous matter." Trystan rubbed his jawbone in thought. "There should be some sort of mechanism to prevent magic over-use..." Trystan trailed off. Drak''Thul assessed Trystan for a few seconds. This newborn skeleton was far more insightful than the average skeleton. "Yes, that is correct. A hundredth of your magic is locked and dedicated to ensuring continuous bodily functions, which includes sight, hearing and, of course, body integrity. This is the safeguard to prevent foolish skeletons from dying an untimely death." Trystan chuckled, his jawbones rattling, "You''re quite the smart little bugger, aren''t you? Well, why don''t you tell me the reason you''ve been so gregarious and helpful? What do you want in exchange for the information you provided?" The Wyrmling hissed in pleasure. Yes, this host would be a perfect choice. "DreadWyrms don''t behave the same way other, lesser kinds of Wyrm, do. Unlike other Dragonkind species, we have to establish a relationship with a willing host in order to evolve." "You mean a parasitic relationship?" A sound of grinding stones rose in the cavern. "No, and I would like you to refrain from calling what I offer, or my person as parasitic. The kind of symbiosis my kind offers is mutualism." There are three typologies of interaction between two individuals in a symbiosis: mutualistic, commensalistic or parasitic. In the first case, both individuals benefit from each other. In the second case, one individual benefits from the other without harming or bringing benefits to the other species. In the third case, one individual benefits from the other while harming it. "You might be wondering what I can offer... There are two main boons I can provide right now, and one which will come a little bit later. The first one is a wealth of information. You know next to nothing about the human world or this dimension, don''t you? I can be your guide. The second advantage is specific to Dragonkind. We have the ability to accurately sense magic. For instance, I can tell you precisely how much magic you have left, and how much each of your spell costs to cast." Trystan hummed, "Wouldn''t I also be able to have access to this information, without your help?" "How very astute. Yes, with time and experience, you will be able to get a feel for both elements. However, you won''t be able to tell which conditions are to be met to unlock a higher tier in your spells. Or how to reach a higher monster tier. Of course, you could always try to guess..." A strange, hissed laughter accompanied the declaration. "Wouldn''t grinding be the way to upgrade spells, like in most RPGs?" Trystan asked. When he was met with a heavy silence, he elaborated. "Ah right, you don''t necessarily know what these words mean. Grinding is repeating an action, and RPG is - oh, nevermind!" Explaining it would be a waste of time. "Why would casting a spell, again and again, upgrade it?" Drak''Thul asked, genuinely confused. Trystan shrugged. "Well, I suppose it makes sense it is not the way to go to improve spells. So, what kind of requirements are to be met to reach higher tiers?" He asked, perplexed.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. "I shall tell you if you agree to a symbiosis." If it could, Drak''Thul would have grinned. Trystan made a noncommittal noise, waiting for the other shoe to drop. If a deal seems too good to be true, it probably is. "What do you require in exchange for this partnership?" Drak''Thul slithered on the ground until it reached Trystan, then it proceeded to climb astoundingly fast, finally wrapping itself around Trystan''s bony shoulders. "Oh, nothing much. You just need to open a Soul Link between us. That is all I ask." Drak''Thul drawled as if it were a simple matter. "What will opening this Soul Link do? For both of us, that is." Trystan asked, ever cautious. "Many things. It shall allow us to share our thoughts. We will also be able to transfer strength from you to me and vice versa, though that is heavily regulated. Finally, I will take a portion of your growth potential. This means that, when you evolve into the next tier of monster, I will evolve into the next tier of the DreadWyrm line, too." "And the drawbacks?" "Maintaining the link shall consume, at all time, around five percent of your magic," Drak''Thul said hurriedly. These talks were getting tiresome especially since they hadn''t bonded yet. They could talk all they wanted after having established the link. "Is the 5% magic consumption done after deducting the 1% ''locked'' magic, or is it 5% of the total magic pool?" "What''s the difference? 5 percent and one percent equals to six percent of consumption..." Drak''Thul was not well versed in mathematics, but this much seemed obvious. The damn Skeleton was wasting Drak''Thul''s time. "Not really. Let''s say I have 100 magic. 1% is dedicated to vital functions; it means there''s 99 left. 99 - 0.05*99 = 94.05." Drak''Thul let out a surprised ''Oh'', then completed the explanation, "100 - 6% = 94. There''s a difference of 0.05. And you''re nitpicking for such a small amount?" Trystan shrugged, making Drak''Thul''s small body rise with the gesture. "That''s on a hundred magic basis. For all I know, I have millions of magic, which would make the difference much more significant. However, the point was not to know the exact figure." "Then, what was the point?" Drak''Thul huffed, exasperated. "It was to assess your level of understanding of the basics of calculus. And you, my slithering friend, have a lot of catching up to do..." Had Trystan possessed eyes, they would have gleamed with promises of unending torments. For a second, Drak''Thul''s body trembled. "O-Oh, really? Haha, well, is it okay if we bond now?" Drak''Thul asked, though he was quickly coming to regret this choice. For a few seconds, Trystan contemplated the answer. Then, at last, he nodded. Immediately afterwards, a weird feeling came unto him. If he had to describe it, it was like something cold and heavy pushing against him, trying to invade his very being. Instinctively, he tried to reject it and push it away, for it was causing a tremendous amount of pain. "Do not reject it!" Drak''Thul hissed. Gritting his teeth, Trystan forced his body to remain immobile and to cease fighting the intrusion. A sharp pain registered somewhere in the back of his brain while a flood of conflicting sensations washed over him. He felt unbearably hot, then much too cold. He was complete but also part of a whole. It was a maddening experience. Then all of a sudden it stopped, and all his aches and pains were washed away, like some kind of healing balm had been applied to his soul. ''There, there, it''s over.'' a soothing voice rumbled lowly. How in the nine hells- ''Oh, telepathy. Does it work like that?'' Trystan thought in wonder. ''Yes. Now, I believe I owe you a few explanations.'' Drak''Thul chuckled at the other''s exuberance. It must be a novel experience for the Skeleton. ''Much appreciated,'' Trystan thought sarcastically. ''First, summon a Fireball,'' Drak''Thul ordered. Trystan''s teeth clinked, ''And how should I do that?'' Drak''Thul''s body shook, ''Just say "I summon thee, noblest of all elements, come and do my bidding.", that should do the trick." Trystan looked at the Wyrmling blankly and spoke tonelessly, "You''re kidding, right?" ''Of course, I am,'' Drak''Thul huffed, amusement lingering in its voice still, ''Just hold out your hand and focus on the feeling of fire. Your body instinctively should know the rest.'' Still a little skeptical, Trystan reluctantly did as he was told. Surprisingly, he felt something rushing out of his body and coalesce until it formed a small, flickering flame. Such as one produced by a lighter. "Well, that was disappointing," Trystan said. ''Of course, you''re only a novice mage, what did you expect? That is why we are going to work on it. There are a few components you can work with. The main ones are Heat, Radius, and Luminosity. Increase one of these significantly, and your spell shall be upgraded. Depending on the axis of improvement, a different spell will be created.'' Trystan bobbed his head in understanding, though his mind was quickly analyzing everything he knew and had learned. He came to a simple conclusion. "Drak''Thul, two questions. Is there a way for you to send me a simple, Yes/No type of message without speaking or thinking? The simpler and more distinctive between the choices, the better. And can you accurately gauge, to the decimal point, for instance, the amount of magic each Fireball spell I cast, consumes?" ''I can send you a pulse of magic, which you will feel as hot or cold. And yes, my ability to gauge magic expenditure is quite accurate.'' "Alright, then tell me the exact amount," Trystan said He cast the Fireball spell twice, resulting in 9.53 and 10.38 expended magic. He cast it four more times, resulting in 10.42, 10.39, 10.35 and 10.40. Just to be sure, he cast one more, resulting in 9.55. "Hmm, it''s not as simple as I thought," Trystan said, crossing his arms. "It does not seem to follow a law, but is it really random? It should take 10 magic given the results. Right?" Drak''Thul sent a mental nod. It was a little surprised by the results, he had thought it would cost exactly 10 magic. "Is there a way to tell me precisely how much magic I use for the spell before it has already been launched?" ''No, I can only tell you the magic you effectively deployed after the spell is formed.'' Trystan shook his head. Then, that means there is nothing much that could be done... ''However, I can tell you, while forming the spell, whether you use too much or too little magic. If that is any help.'' "Then let''s do it like this. I''ll do the spell, then just before it is formed, inform me about magic usage. Then I will withdraw or add magic until you tell me the amount is goo- " Trystan began to say, then his mouth clamped shut suddenly. He shook his head. "No, this way is not efficient. It would drain too much of our concentration to be of any real use." Then, looking back at the figures of magic expenditure, he had another idea. "If we look closely at the results, minus the regular cost of the spell, we have 0.38, 0.42, 0.39, 0.35 and 0.4 for the positive values, and -0.47 and -0.45 for the negative values. Let''s approximate and say if we use too much magic, it is 0.4 too much and if I use too little, it is 0.45 too little." Drak''Thul bobbed its ''head''. "Then just send me a cold pulse if it too little, hot if it is too much, okay?" Trystan could feel excitement bubbling. ''Let us proceed this way.'' Drak''Thul agreed. It took a lot of trial and error, and a lot of rest between tries to regenerate magic, before they found the exact way to withdraw or add the minute amounts of magic. Trystan panted. That was actually quite exhausting. "Alright, one more and it should be good." ''Yes.'' Trystan focused on summoning a Fireball. Before the spell was formed, he received a cold pulse. He added in the amount he had calculated. The spell was formed. Trystan grinned at the result. Even Drak''Thul felt a lick of pride. For in front of them floated a scorching ball of flames, five feet in radius. ''Oh...'' Drak''Thul communicated in his mind, surprised. "What is it?" Trystan asked, intrigued. ''Rather than telling you, I''ll show you,'' Drak''Thul thought. He projected a mental image. Your Fireball (I) spell has evolved. Fireball (II) spell created, Dark Fire (I) created. Magic filtering (I) spell created. You have devised a way to refine magic. All your spells are and will be heavily affected by this process. Your intelligence and wisdom have grown accordingly. A new job had been created. 1/300 Engineer. Completing this job will yield tremendous rewards. Trystan smiled. Now, that he could work with. ------ Meanwhile, in the human realm, another hero awoke. "Where the bloody hell am I?" Chapter 3: Cerberus and Hades(es) Mike observed his surroundings cautiously. A small amount of disgust was made apparent on his features as his eyes caught the interior decoration. With their heads caught in nooses, the ropes secured to the rafters wooden beams above, human corpses balanced precariously. They were swept into some kind of draft, like grotesque bells swaying in the wind. Other than the wooden parts of the ceiling, the walls of the large room were made of exquisite white marble. It reminded Mike of the Greek temples of old. A few paces away from the ghastly arrangement of bodies, two figures sat on matching high-backed chairs made of a white, sturdy-looking material. Ivory or some kind of bone, Mike hypothesized. The figures were seated opposite each other, with a low table positioned between them. They looked to be engrossed in a kind of board game, though from this distance his did not discern what kind of game that was. Suddenly one of the players¡¯ head turned his head to face Mike, twin pools of liquid fire peering into his eyes. Dizziness overcame him as the room seemed to rotate and blur. When he gathered his wits again, he was standing directly in front of the table. A few feet away from the two aforementioned figures. Repulsion spread through his being like wildfire as Mike beheld the creatures, which were far removed from humanity. Their hair was long and white, thick and silky. Their faces were¡­ Mike had to avert his gaze and take a deep breath in order to alleviate the deep unease he suffered when he detailed their facial features. They were both skeletal looking, completely dehydrated. Rotting, purple skin covered a skull which showed at a few spots where the skin was too thin and frail. The ''mummy'' on the left had its eyes sewn shut while the creature seated opposite it had its mouth sewn. It was looking at him with dead eyes in which, deep within a sea of placid indifference, perversion lurked. Its partner¡¯s head was still bent forward, contemplating the board upon which laid eerie pieces of foreign geometry. As if it could see the game, notwithstanding its disability. ¡°You are not supposed to be here. No matter, no matter,¡± The being which was staring into his eyes spoke even though its mouth was still firmly shut, the stitches still a horrifying sight to behold. ¡°They are getting careless. Or maybe it has been foretold. I have not foreseen. Hohoho,¡± The other eldritch creature said. It picked one piece with spindly, purple fingers and moved it to another part of the board. The piece flickered and disappeared. ¡°Who,¡± Mike swallowed his saliva. His throat was especially parched. ¡°Who or what are you?¡± The human corpses laughed in a way which was both alarming and unsettling. ¡°We are the god-kings of dead eons. Hohoho!¡± Another piece was moved and disappeared from the board. ¡°The embodiment of Sin.¡± Mike felt as if the word was capitalized, indicating an entity rather than a noun. ¡°We are known to mortals as - No matter, no matter.¡± It abruptly cut its speech off with its monotonous catchphrase. At that moment Mike heard a very loud sound in the background as if a great horn had been blown. The god-king with the eyes sewn shut dropped the piece it had been inspecting. It shattered like glass against the floor, a horrific wail resounding immediately afterward. It tilted its head curiously, in an oddly human gesture. ¡°Time is running scarce. This, I have foreseen. Hohoho.¡± ¡°No matter, the bestowal is underway.¡± Bestowal? Why did that sound so ominous? Mike got his answer when a crippling pain tore through his body, lighting his nerves on fire. He screamed long and hard. It was as if his flesh¡ªno, his whole soul¡ªwas being branded by an impossibly hot iron. He fell on the polished ground, his legs no longer having the strength to support his body weight. ¡°The Crest of Sin. No matter, no matter¡­¡± The mute abnormality decreed; its words physically burdening Mike. ¡°The Gift of Sight. Hohoho...!¡± The blind mummy chortled. Once the pain receded, Mike focused his bleary gaze on the preternatural creatures. He couldn¡¯t contain a gasp at the information his eyes conveyed him. Muk-Thal, the Blind god-king of Prescience The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Level 2^(a+sqrt(e^b)) His wide-eyed gaze fell on the other being. Royengav, the Mute god-king of Knowledge Level e^(a+sqrt(2^b)) ¡°You have been blessed twice. You should feel honored, mortal. Regular humans would kill and sell their own family for even one of them. No matter, no matter,¡± Royengav spoke dully. ¡°In exchange for these gifts, you shall bring the Kindred one to us. The Crest ensures you shall do as told. It is written. Hohoho...¡± Muk-Thal chuckled somberly. The god-king of Prescience moved one last piece and Mike flickered and disappeared. ------------------- As they left the cave, Trystan and Drak¡¯Thul faced their first hurdle. It came in the form of a huge dog of some kind. Trystan was torn between the itch to throw a Fireball in its face, and the urge to run away from the menacing hound. The canine was only sitting on its haunches, growling lowly in the back of its throat. ¡°This is bad,¡± Drak¡¯Thul said. ¡°How bad?¡± Trystan whispered in order not to spook the beast and provoke it into attacking. ¡°There are basically two outcomes. Do you want to know the optimistic or pessimistic one?¡± Trystan shrugged. At this point, it wouldn¡¯t matter much. ¡°You will die a painful death, devoured by this Hell Hound.¡± If it had shoulders, Drak¡¯Thul would have shrugged helplessly. ¡°And the optimistic scenario?¡± Trystan asked hurriedly, slowly backing away from the hungry creature. ¡°That was the optimistic scenario.¡± Drak¡¯Thul deadpanned. Trystan didn¡¯t have the time to curse as the beast sprang forward in a display of nimbleness and speed which Trystan couldn¡¯t hope to match. Trystan jumped to the side at the last moment, narrowly escaping the Hell Hound¡¯s path of destruction. He felt something heavy smash into his back, definitely breaking a few ribs and pulverizing his shoulder blades. He fell to the unyielding ground in a great clatter of bones. Drak¡¯Thul had fallen too. It shook its head slowly and looked at the accursed beast in awe. ¡°Light-footed Grace,¡± Drak¡¯Thul uttered almost reverently. ¡°You can admire it later, when we¡¯re out of this stinking pit full of shit we fell into,¡± Trystan snarled uncharacteristically, managing to get up with much difficulty. ¡°You moron, that¡¯s the name of its skill!¡± Drak¡¯Thul hissed in agitation, ¡°It is a rare Hell Hound skill which allows it to swerve to the side, instantly changing direction while maintaining the power of the charge. It must be coupled to the Wide Sight perk to negate the tunnel effect induced by the charge. I know of only one type of Hell Hound with this skill and perk; the Hell Hound Alpha. A rare variant¡­¡± As if a regular Hell Hound was not bad enough! The Hell Hound Alpha snarled and barked, seemingly annoyed by the incessant yapping of its prey. It was on the verge of lunging again when a silky voice commanded, ¡°Stand down.¡± The oversized dog immediately laid its belly on the ground, though it alternated between growling and whining pitifully all the while. A futile show of resistance. Trystan also had the compulsion to bow down, which he painfully resisted. He tried to see where the voice was coming from though all he could see was the entrance of the cave behind and a narrow path framed by thick trees in front, with more shrubberies on both sides. ¡°Use your Dark Fire!¡± Drak¡¯Thul ordered hastily. Without thinking, Trystan cast the spell. A stream of tarry fire shot forth, colliding with the Hell Hound Alpha¡¯s face. The creature howled in agony as it writhed on the ground. Amazingly, the hound¡¯s flesh seemed unscathed. ¡°Fireball burns the body, Dark Fire scorches the soul,¡± Drak¡¯Thul answered his unspoken question. After a few seconds of helpless thrashing, the Hell Hound Alpha moved no more. Trystan might have felt pity for the beast had it not assaulted them unprovoked. ¡°Hmph, not bad. Not particularly good either,¡± the voice from earlier rose once more, without either Skeleton and Wyrmling managing to pinpoint its origin. The mystery was unveiled when the shadows concealing the hidden person slithered away, revealing a woman wearing far too many dark pieces of clothing. --------------- Another dimension ¡°They are going to stake their claim,¡± Jar told the others. ¡°Who gives a piece about these pieces of trash. I say we go over there, and we smash them to pieces!¡± growled Sanah, his hair becoming a furious red which matched his passion. ¡°Where is Jenna?¡± Airheaded as always, Brist asked her comrades, not paying any mind to the conversation at hand. ¡°Who cares about her? She prolly went to some dimension or another to find some entertainment. A damn loony, that¡¯s what she is!¡± Sanah snarled. ¡°Order, please.¡± Mordred slammed a small hammer against a wooden plate. ¡°This is not the time to be discussing such things. Jar, do what is necessary to stop their scheming.¡± Jar nodded, writing something on his notepad. ¡°Now, for the next order of business. The Great Tournament will begin soon. Is everyone accounted for, Jar?¡± Jar opened his notebook and, after watching it carefully, nodded. ¡°Yes, everything seems to be in order. Although everything has been done perfectly, I still wonder. Shub¡¯Naglr¡¯Goroth is supposed to be only for beings of a certain¡­ Caliber, let¡¯s say. I have two Death Knights, one Archlich, three Mad Bombers Goblins, and more surprisingly, a Novice Skeleton Mage.¡± Sanah guffawed, slapping his thigh. ¡°Bahaha, that¡¯s rich. I know someone who¡¯s going to get his ass handed to him.¡± Brist stared at the ceiling and mumbled, ¡°You never know what might happen.¡± ¡°Enough,¡± Mordred said, ¡°Even though this is unfortunate, it is too late to make any last-minute change. The fate of one lone Skeleton Mage matters not. What is the worse that could happen?¡± Famous last words, Mordred. Chapter 4: Of Honey and Assassins It was hot. Hot as Lavia¡¯s crack, Baldr would add. It was on days like these that Baldr¡¯s scars hurt the most. A phantom pain, true. But pain nonetheless. It wasn¡¯t that bad, though, since it reminded him of the days he had been a foolish youngling, barely out of the family house. Why? To have a taste of life. Wanderlust was a strong impetus. Baldr sighed. Why was he suddenly reminiscing? While one of the most devastating wars involving the Enlightened Empire was being waged, no less. His gaze hardened as his eyes detailed the map lying on a table. This was bad. They were not lacking in quantity but in quality. A competent Field Marshal; that¡¯s what they needed. There was a slight shift in the air. Barely a displacement. Baldr, however, was not called the best of the empire for nothing. With reflexes far surpassing the usual grunt¡¯s comprehension, his sword was drawn and his stance, ready. Upon seeing the intruder, his shoulders relaxed and he lowered his weapon. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s you, Mike. Tell me, what¡¯s the situation on the field?¡± Baldr questioned his best Infantry Captain. --------- After his uncanny encounter with these eerie god-kings, Mike found himself inside a tent. He felt a comfortable weight against his hip. Casting a quick glance downward, he found the origin. A sword. Now that he thought about it, he was supposed to be reborn as a soldier of some kind. There was also a man in front of him. Maybe a general, or at least a highly graded soldier, given his various decorations. He looked kind of gruff, with a crisscrossing mass of scars marring his face, and piercing azure eyes. A gray beard was eating most of his lower face. Baldr Level - 510 (+/- 50) He nearly jumped when he saw the text above the man. It would take some time getting used to it. He asked a question which left Mike¡¯s mind reeling. He knew his name. Furthermore, he seemed to believe Mike was somehow one of his subordinates. Diplomacy should be the best option here. However, Mike had no idea what would happen if he revealed that he knew nothing about any war, nations or any other basic knowledge of this world. Nothing good, he assumed. If this were a game, it would have been the opportune moment for a tutorial, or some ¡°Would you like some help?¡± option. ¡°Well?¡± The general asked impatiently, crossing his arms. Think. Think about it rationally, Mike told himself. He could see a map behind the man. White pins and blue pins dotted the map. The white pins were superior numerically, but white arrows drawn on the map toward the East seemed to indicate a weakness of some kind. Unfortunately, he couldn¡¯t see the whole map. Part of it was hidden by the man. ¡°The situation¡¯s not good. We are being pushed back on the western front. The problem is that we lack quality,¡± Mike told him, his face grim. He prayed to whatever gods these people worship that his analysis was correct. The general growled, running a hand through his ashen locks. ¡°Dammit, that¡¯s what I thought too. If only we had a skilled commander, on that front¡­¡± And saved. Alright, time to fish for more information. ¡°If I may, Sir, what I know is only a small part of a whole. Could you give me an overview of the situation? That way, I could bring some more insight to better the situation. Two brains are better than one. Plus, we could have some synergy,¡± Mike added as an afterthought. ¡°The whole being better than the sum of its individual parts. Right. You know, that information is way beyond your pay grade,¡± the general said, challenging Mike with his piercing gaze. ¡°With all due respect, Sir, if we are defeated such considerations are useless,¡± Mike retorted carefully, his gaze clashing with the man¡¯s. After a minute of a silent contest, the man¡¯s steely eyes were the first to break away. ¡°There¡¯s something in your eyes that¡¯s more potent than many commanders I know. Very well. Let this old Baldr tell you what the truth of the situation is.¡± And Baldr told him everything. The reason for the war was the possession of the Honey Wells. It might sound silly like this, but Honey was the nerve of war in this world. It was not literally honey, but a substance which tasted like it. Once consumed, you could improve your stats by more than fifty percent. Therefore, a 10,000 soldiers battalion became worth 15,000 men, or more. The kingdoms and empires had their set borders. They all possessed about the same amount of Honey. The problem was the area dubbed Honey Wells. It was a neutral area, inhabited by the ferocious Long-armed Tribe, whose population worshipped the Wells like they were gifts from the gods. The problem came when the Wager Empire made a bid to annex the territory, claiming that the Long-armed tribe belonged to their Empire due to various historical reasons. Behind the scenes, they colluded with the corrupt leader of the Long-armed tribe. They promised him many gifts in exchange (Baldr said even he was not privy to it). And he accepted. Therefore, the Honey Wells would belong to the Wager Empire. Naturally, this was an unacceptable outcome. The Enlightened Empire, their neighbor and the empire Baldr and Mike belonged to, gave them an ultimatum. They would either renounce their annexation campaign, or Enlightened soldiers would retaliate in the most severe manner possible. Thus, the war which the folk had dubbed the ¡°War of the Honey Wells¡± had started. After having heard that, Mike took a few seconds to think, before saying, ¡°First, I need to know what our quantity of Honey is, and how much one needs to improve their capacity, for what duration, and how it has been shared until now.¡± And so, Baldr told him all the information he had been missing. After mulling it over carefully, Mike spoke. They were sharing the honey equally between every soldier of the empire. Obviously, to Mike, that was a huge flaw.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Think about it like that. Let x be the strength of a common grunt. Y would the strength of a commander. A captain, being ten times more powerful than a common grunt, we have the relation Y = 10x. Now, if you increase his capacity by 50%: 1.5Y = 15x. Therefore, you can see that the global power has been increased by 5x, whereas if you gave it to a soldier, it would have only increased by 0.5x. This is a very simplified calculation, but that¡¯s the gist of it. It would be more beneficial to give a greater quantity to the best soldiers in descending power ranking.¡± ¡°I see what you¡¯re saying, and that¡¯s actually a fair point. The problem with this approach is twofold. First, the morale would drop tremendously. If we only gave boosts to the elite, the soldiers not benefitting from Honey would begin to ask questions. Are they willingly sending me to death? Also, the second and bigger concern is the quantity of Honey consumed. Stronger people need more Honey.¡± Mike scratched his shaved chin. ¡°Is it a linear increase?¡± Baldr crossed his arms. ¡°Not really. It all depends on the quantity of skills, bodily constitution, and various other factors.¡± ¡°Then why not do a ratio? Assess the strength of the soldiers on a 1 to 100 scale. Divide the increase in power induced by Honey by the quantity they need to improve their ability for a certain time. You have your efficiency ratio, then. Take people with the highest ratio in descending order and give them Honey. Keep 20% of the Honey and give it to random soldiers from the remaining pool. A lottery, if you will. Of course, you should also keep 5% for the best soldiers, even if they don''t have the best ratio.¡± If the government organizes lotteries with Green Cards, why not do it with Honey too? ¡°That is not a bad idea. The numerus clausus would encourage soldiers to do their best, while the lottery would make the pill easier to swallow for those without this potential and latent talent. This won¡¯t solve all our problems though, I reckon. We are losing this war.¡± ¡°You know, a great man once said, ¡®To fight and conquer in all our battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy¡¯s resistance without fighting.¡¯¡± Mike said, quoting Sun Tzu. ¡°And a wise man, certainly. I would like to meet him someday. What would you do?¡± Baldr asked. As they spoke, he began to reconsider what he knew about the man in front of him. ¡°A war of attrition. Cut down their supplies. Or better yet, eradicate the source of the problem.¡± Mike slammed his hand on the table, making the furniture groan. He pointed to an area in particular. ¡°The Long-armed tribe, you told me they worship Honey, right? Why is it so?¡± Baldr answered immediately, ¡°They call it the ¡®Nectar of the earthen gods.¡¯¡± ¡°Then, it is not farfetched to suppose that, if there were a manifestation, or several for that purpose, of the earthen gods¡¯ wrath, they would think twice about allying themselves with the Wager empire. Am I correct in assuming that?¡± Mike asked, his brain formulating a plan. ¡°Of course, that would be the ideal outcome¡­¡± Baldr¡¯s brain quickly caught up with Mike¡¯s thinking. ¡°You¡¯re planning to generate earthquakes? No, that won¡¯t work. The area is heavily warded against Earth Magic, we can¡¯t do that.¡± Mike took it in stride, readjusting his plan accordingly. ¡°What about Water Magic?¡± Baldr¡¯s eyebrows shot up. ¡°Water? What do you plan to do with water?¡± Mike smiled, ¡°One of the less known ways of inducing an earthquake artificially involves injecting and withdrawing huge quantity of liquid into the soil. This alters the stress of the rocks, and the subsequently generated stress will be relieved by way of earthquakes.¡± Baldr stared at Mike mutely for a few seconds, his eyes widened and jaw slack at the man¡¯s knowledge. Finally, he found his words again. ¡°Brilliant. You sure you¡¯ve not been possessed by the spirit of a great scientist?¡± The thought struck him that Tryst would have been able to come up with a much sounder decision with much less uncertainty. And Mike would have grinned brightly, bumped fists and congratulated him for being the fucking genius he was. A pang of longing tore at him. As well as fear for him. He had been dealt a shitty hand. He just hoped he would manage not to get into too much trouble. He tried to dispel these thoughts, though they remained in a corner of his mind, stubbornly refusing to leave. ¡°More of a curse than a blessing sometimes, believe me. Rationalizing too much. If this plan succeeds, it should create a rift in the Long-armed tribe.¡± Baldr nodded, scratching his scarred nose. ¡°Two factions, the loyalists and the insurgents. If the insurgents win, the kingdom of Lothr would have no choice but to intervene. No, the Wager empire would have no choice but to back down, would be more correct. Besides, the only reason Lothr didn¡¯t step in was that their reason is somewhat legitimate. If the tribe chooses to stay independent, their reason for annexation is null and void.¡± Grinning savagely, Baldr added, ¡°What are we waiting for?¡± Mike nodded. Leaving the tent with the general, he looked upwards. Seeing the various stars shining brightly in the sky, he wondered aloud. ¡°Tryst, where are you?¡± ------------ ¡°Are you a thief?¡± Trystan blurted out the first words which came to mind. Long dark hard crowned the woman¡¯s head, cascading down her back. She was wearing a form-fitting blood red leather jacket, black leather gloves with small silver buckles attached, as well as criminally tight black leather pants. Her jade eyes were piercing, though not as much as the wicked twin daggers strapped to her brown belt. There was something peculiar about her, though. She was exuding a dark aura. A crest with a hydra embroidered was stitched to the leather jacket right above the left breast. She smirked. ¡°An assassin. Close enough.¡± ¡°Careful. She¡¯s way beyond your league,¡± Drak¡¯Thul warned mentally, watching the woman with thinly veiled apprehension. Losing his partner this early in the game would be rather problematic. He slithered toward Trystan, wrapping around his ankle. ¡°Oh, a pet Wyrm. How cute,¡± she cooed. Drak¡¯Thul hissed. Sensing his partner¡¯s irritation, Trystan got straight to the point. ¡°Look, lady. I appreciate your help. I really do. But if it doesn¡¯t bother you too much, we¡¯re going to be on our merry way.¡± Trystan cursed his own hot-headedness when she drew a dagger. Her aura had receded, though, so perhaps it was a good sign? She twirled the dagger expertly, showing much more dexterity than what was humanly possible. To Trystan¡¯s surprise, she did slash her weapon, but at her own wrist. Blood flowed down her arm. ¡°You might want to take it quickly. My regeneration rate is quite high.¡± ¡°She wants to form a binding contract with you. You would effectively be her subordinate. That¡¯s the last condition for your evolution. First was evolving a spell. Second was defeating an enemy. Third is forming a contract. And no, ours does not count. It needs to be a subordination contract, not a partnership. Master and minion. The question is, would you trust her? To me, she looks like the kind to dispose of her toys once they outlive their usefulness. She is a head from that Hydra, after all.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have much of a choice, do I? If I refuse, you could easily obliterate me,¡± Trystan said pragmatically. ¡°How very astute,¡± she chuckled. The wound was nearly closed and blood had begun to dry and flake off, falling from the skin like snow. Trystan brought a hand forward and with his finger bone, soaked his finger in the source of the wound. She did not even wince. ¡°If you are certain, say the words, ¡°I accept the contract.¡±¡± To be perfectly honest, there had been some hesitation before he said the words. Who else, though, would he form a contract with? A monster? He felt a tingling in his entire body after he had finished speaking. ¡°This is not good¡­¡± The wyrmling trailed off uncertainly. ¡°What is it?¡± Trystan asked, worry beginning to color his tone. ¡°Here, have a look.¡± Congratulations! Due to your actions, a special path has been unlocked. You have become an Intermediate Shadow-weaving Skeleton Mage. Your actions have been noticed by the God-king of Prescience. Your actions have been noticed by Drak¡¯Nokhtal. Good luck. You will need it. ¡°Who are these fine folks who noticed my actions? Not amenable people, judging by your reaction?¡± Trystan asked, dread beginning to creep into his being. ¡°The blind God-king of prescience, Muk¡¯Thal, is too far beyond your league to worry about it. If he wills it, he will find you. You won¡¯t like it when he does though, I can assure you.¡± ¡°What about the other one?¡± Trystan asked, rubbing his jawbone. Yep, definitely a bad feeling. Drak¡¯Thul uncoiled from his ankle and slithered a few feet away. ¡°Oh, him? He¡¯s my father. And he rules this dimension.¡± Drak''Thul squeaked sullenly. And Mike was not even there to say "Don''t worry, you''ve got that. Believe in yourself and everything''s going to be alright." Goddamn. Chapter 5: Of Tournaments and Wimps There were many boons to be gained by associating with Jenna. First off, she had a wealth of information which was similar, or perhaps greater than Drak¡¯Thul. Now, he wasn¡¯t one to cast the stone if you lacked such, and he recognized that his partner was tremendously useful, but it was indeed useful. Second, her palace. She had houses everywhere across the dimensions, or so she had told. And as her subordinate (Trystan refused to be called minion), he benefitted from basic amenities. Basic amenities was perhaps the wrong formulation, given the absolutely ostentatious lifestyle she seemed to live. Trystan was relaxing in the guest room, listening to the duet sung by a pair of Crooning Parrots, a rare species which grew in another, tropical dimension. The fact that she had brought them here, and that she possessed such pairs in all of her many living quarters was another indication of her wealth and connections. Trystan was lying in his king-size bed, his skull comfortably resting against the plush pillow. It was beyond bizarre to be feeling relaxed and warm, since he did not have any sensory apparatus. However, he dealt with it quite well, all things considered. Take everything in stride, that was the motto he lived by. You had to be flexible in life. If his ancestors had not adapted to their changing environment, he wouldn¡¯t have been there to ponder on it. Life had a knack for adapting. Did that make him weird? Trystan did not know. It had certainly spooked his former wife enough to drive her away. Among other reasons. Fuck, now he was reminiscing, memories flowing back as Trystan stared out the window. It was a clear night like this one when it happened. His day had been terrible. He had been stuck on a problem whose complexity was beyond common measure. It was eleven when he left the office and by midnight he got home. He took a cab. The driver was a chatterbox, which added to his migraine. His wife, Jane, was standing in front of the house, a suitcase on either side, set on the ground. He told the driver to stay there, then left the cab. A few hurried steps brought him in front of his wife, who had been standing with her hands on her hips, a scowl on her face. Trystan observed her for a few seconds. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not obvious? I¡¯m leaving.¡± Her voice was toneless. Dead. Trystan fought to repress an eye roll; he barely managed to do it. ¡°Why, I meant.¡± ¡°W¡­ Why?¡± Her expression morphed into a myriad of feelings, disbelief, anger, despair. Then, hurt. So much hurt something squeezed uncomfortably inside his chest. ¡°You dare ask me why? Do you know how many we spoke in the last two weeks¡ªno¡ªtwo months? I could count them on one hand and still have fingers remaining. For Christ¡¯s sake, it¡¯s like you¡¯ve forgotten I even exist! It¡¯s always ¡®too tired, let¡¯s speak about that tomorrow.¡¯ Every single fucking day! It¡¯s no wonder I¡¯ve¡ª.¡± Then, she shut her mouth and looked down. ¡°You¡¯ve what?¡± Trystan probed. Her eyes, which had been avoiding his from shame, or so he thought when he pondered on it later, were blazing when she raised them again, ¡°I¡¯ve cheated on you! Because you are never here! Because I¡¯m sick and tired of it all!¡± Trystan froze for the briefest of moments before walking inside the house, whose door was still ajar. ¡°I see,¡± he said calmly. The signs had been obvious, he had just wondered when she would admit it. He removed his suit and put it on the coat rack. His tie was much too tight, he thought tiredly as he undid it. ¡°You ¡­ see? Is that all you have to say?!¡± She screamed with a seething anger which reminded him of the Erinyes. Trystan winced. His headache had been killing him for some time now, and it was now reaching a boiling point. ¡°Come inside. We can sort it out tomorrow,¡± he said rationally. A good night of sleep, and he would be fresh enough to tackle any problem, including this one. She laughed brokenly. Raking a hand through her hair, she asked shakily ¡°You don¡¯t even realize it, do you? Are you even human?¡± Then she slammed the door. She would have laughed, had she seen how inhuman¡ªliterally¡ªhe had become. Damn it all. He couldn¡¯t sleep now. Springing to his feet, he paced across the room, the corridors and the stairway. His steps brought him to the music room, from whence a soft melody was steadily rising and falling. There, Trystan found Jenna playing the piano with a mastery of the instrument bordering on prodigal. He could only see her back from his position, so he had no idea what she was thinking while she played. ¡°Is it surprising?¡± Jenna asked softly without looking back and without stopping. Trystan mulled the answer over before answering, ¡°Not really. Where I come from, people with aristocratic background tend to be well-versed in arts. Painting, music, and so on.¡± She laughed drily and answered tersely, ¡°I am as far from nobility as can be. I¡­¡± she hesitated for a split second, ¡°was born in squalor, from the union of a petty thug and a lowly servant maid.¡± The music got darker as she spoke, much more turbulent and conflicted. She pressed harder on the keys. ¡°My mother had her blood drunk until death ensued by her master, a Noble Vampire.¡± She spat the name like it was the vilest poison in the universe. The melody turned violent. If before, it was a soothing wave, now it was a furious tide. ¡°My father died trying to get revenge on this cunt. He got beheaded and they impaled his head on a pike, just in front of the castle. Awful. Then, I became nothing. Too young to work, too old and vicious to be adopted. I had to resort to thievery to avoid starving to death. But it all changed when the Tournament started.¡± Here, the melody turned deceptively calm, a shiver of water on moss, as Verlaine would have said. ¡°What is this tournament?¡± Trystan asked, perplexed. She slammed her hands on the keys, making a horrendous, disharmonious sound echo in the room. She rose from her bench and walked toward him with purposeful strides. Gesturing grandly, she extolled its virtues, ¡°Everything! It is the lifeblood of the multiverse. A chance to rise beyond your station. Leaving in the dust your shitty past. You know, you¡¯ll be taking part in the next Tournament. And you¡¯re going to win. I expect nothing but the best, after all.¡± She sniffed haughtily, her hands on her hips. ¡°And what does it consist in, this competition?¡± Trystan rephrased the question, as she had so obviously missed the point. ¡°It¡¯s a job competition. You will compete with other personalities from the multiverse; some of them coming from this dimension. What¡¯s your job, by the way?¡± ¡°I¡¯m an engineer,¡± In this life and the previous life, that¡¯s what he had been. She eyed him up and down, dubiousness filling her gaze. He clacked his jaw angrily. ¡°Whatever. The important thing is this: there are two steps. Peer review and inter-job ranking. Peer review is really straightforward. You are given a task which you need to accomplish before a panel of experts renowned in their field. For instance, for a knight, it could be defeating a strong enemy while protecting somebody. For a rogue, stealing a treasure. For a scientist ¡­ solving a riddle or inventing something, perhaps? At the end of the day, you are given a rating out of a hundred. The highest, the better. Inter-job ranking is pretty much self-explanatory.¡± ¡°I expected something¡­ Much bloodier, to tell you the truth,¡± Trystan admitted. ¡°This Tournament has been designed to scout out rising stars. It would defeat the purpose to make the recruits kill each other. It remains a tough competition, nonetheless. Plus, from time to time, attempts at sabotage do happen. And, by sabotage I meant killing the competitors,¡± Jenna answered. Trystan hummed. This heralded nothing good. Trystan had confidence in his know-how and knowledge though, thus did not believe he would fare poorly against the competition. Plus, there was always this excitement at being intellectually stimulated. No, the only element to be wary of was the sabotaging part. After all, his number of spells was quite limited. Furthermore, those he did possess might not be up to par, if compared to the standard other spellcasters might have. As it was, he had no certitude he would be able to survive a hostile encounter. In that regard, the odds were not looking good. Trystan sighed. His shoulder blades, which had been regenerated after the fight, rose and fell sharply. ¡°This means I just have to win and live to bask in the glory, right?¡± KISS in action.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Jenna smirked, a glint in her eyes as her lips curled into a smirk, ¡°Precisely.¡± Days went by quickly, with Jenna instructing Trystan on the various aspects of the intermediate skeleton mage and how he could potentially use his class variation. In exchange, Trystan taught her science, philosophy, and poetry. She had a curious mind and was quick on the uptake, both traits which appealed greatly to Trystan. Their daily job training got interrupted by a sudden presence in their living room, comfortably seated in an armchair, their fingers drumming against the armrests. Jenna tensed immediately, ¡°What brings you here, Sanah?¡± Sanah had a dumbfounded look, his hair turning from blue to green. ¡°Are you being dense on purpose? I¡¯m here to accompany the candidate to the Tournament.¡± Her cautious gaze turned murderous, ¡°I can assure you my intellectual faculties are high enough; certainly higher than yours, might I add. I believe it is my role, as his master, to bring him there.¡± Sanah barked a sharp laugh, his hands crushing the armrests, grinding the noble wood to dust, ¡°Bwahaha, na?ve, na?ve! As his patron, you can¡¯t intervene. So just stay there like the good girl you are and wait for the results,¡± he spat. Jenna growled, ¡°Last time I checked, there was no such law¡ª¡± ¡°There is now,¡± Sanah said with finality, his tone brooking no argument. A hot, blazing red aura flared to life, encompassing the whole room. It was exuded by Sanah, who rose to his feet and leveled a heated stare at Jenna. Jenna flinched when the wave of heat hit her. She countered it by letting her own dark aura spread out, a vicious miasma seeking to smother all life in the vicinity. Trystan could have sworn he saw the auras take the appearances of a roaring lion with a crimson mane and a hissing viper with emerald green slit eyes, belonging to Sanah and Jenna respectively. As it was, he was having a hard time remaining conscious between the stifling shadow and the scorching fire. Therefore, he did not know if it was a mere delusion conjured by his feverish mind, or reality. ¡°That is quite enough.¡± An icy voice interrupted. A bone-chilling aura permeated the air. The owner of the voice pushed glasses up an aquiline nose. Azurite blue eyes observed the two shivering bodies and clattering-jawed skeleton from behind thin lenses. ¡°La-Lazio¡­¡± Jenna panted, her lips turning purplish from the cold. Condensation made her breath visible as she expired. Meanwhile, Sanah was swaying dangerously. The glacial aura had taken its toll on him, or so it seemed. Jenna and Sanah¡¯s auras had dissipated as soon as the cold washed over the room. The newcomer, Lazio, sighed. He pushed back long strands of chalk-white hair with a pale hand. The freezing feeling disappeared as fast as it came, making breathing a lot easier for everyone in the room sans Lazio. ¡°Honestly, this is becoming bothersome. If you cannot curb your instincts for a few minutes whenever you meet each other, I will be forced to file a report. And I. Do. Not. Like. Paperwork.¡± Jenna bowed her head, her dark hair falling like a black sheet in front of her. When she spoke, the slightest tremble in her voice was audible to those who listened well, ¡°I have no excuse. I simply got carried away. You know how I get ¡­ antsy around nobility.¡± It was not your fault, though, the thought swirled in Trystan¡¯s mind. Sanah watched uncomprehendingly, his hair a flickering palette of colors. Lazio watched silently, his eyes detailing Sanah surreptitiously, before focusing on Jenna once more. ¡°See to it that it does not happen again. Be ready to leave in one hour, skeleton. I leave the task of bringing him to the arena up to you, Sanah. I have urgent business to tend to. I apologize for any damage I caused.¡± With a quick murmur, he was gone. His presence had disappeared as suddenly as it had come. Trystan¡¯s gaze trailed across the room. The polished marble floor was already in an advanced state of erosion. Of course, depending on the silica content, the marble was more or less resistant to the cold. The fact remained, this was pretty impressive. ¡°Why?¡± Sanah asked a single question. He looked at a complete loss as to her reasons for protecting him. Jenna scoffed. Crossing her arms, she said, ¡°I didn¡¯t do it for you. There still has to be someone to take him there, and you are simply the least unpredictable variable.¡± Sanah looked like he wanted to say something, though he ended up shaking his head. Glancing at Trystan, he said, ¡°Come, we have to leave. We¡¯ve lost enough time.¡± ¡°Good luck for the theme of your trial,¡± Jenna said, ¡°And don¡¯t disappoint me.¡± He did not have enough time to answer before he was whisked through space and ended up in a lobby, of sorts. At least, there were no side-effects to the teleportation, unless you counted the slight feeling of discomfort at the sudden change of scenery. Sanah walked briskly. The crowd, which waiting in a long file to register at the front desk, parted like the Red Sea as he approached. Trystan followed right behind, paying close attention to the hushed whispers as they passed by. ¡°Hey, is it not the young Master?¡± ¡°What is he doing here?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t look at him! You know¡­¡± When he got to the front desk, Sanah slammed his fist on the piece of furniture to get the receptionist¡¯s attention. ¡°Registering Trystan, skeleton mage from Shub something. C¡¯mon, faster!¡± The paling receptionist quickly looked through his files and stamped the right one. ¡°Of course, please proceed to the arena. His trial is just after the Wimpy Knight¡¯s.¡± Who the hell chooses a name like Wimpy Knight? Sanah answered his unasked question. ¡°The master or their representative picks the scene name. Be grateful I didn¡¯t call you something like ¡®Trystan Boner¡¯. Bwahaha!¡± He laughed uproariously at his own lame joke. Har hardy har. He still despised this nickname, which had followed him throughout his childhood and early college days. Old habits die hard, he guessed. And fuck this rainbow-haired freak for hitting uncomfortably close to the mark. The so-called arena was a coliseum with a surface area of two acres. It stood a hundred and fifty feet tall. It was very reminiscent of the one in Rome. Their seats were in the VIP booth, which was guarded by terrifying men and women in armor with glowing aquamarine eyes and very sharp weapons. Death Knights, Sanah explained. Sanah plopped down on his seat, his feet propped on a footrest. ¡°Now, this should be good,¡± Sanah said, stuffing his face with some kind of food a servant had brought. Trystan, who was standing just behind the young man, asked, ¡°How so? With a moniker like his, I would imagine his performance to be subpar.¡± ¡°Amateur, amateur! The only reason he has stayed as a Death Knight and not evolved is simply that he¡¯s a coward. His strength, on the other hand¡­ Well, you should see it soon enough.¡± Down in the arena, a huge amount of knights surrounded the premises, lined against the walls in orderly concentric circles. ¡°The Containment Legion, hoho. This year¡¯s Tournament has really raised the bar.¡± A spectator to their left said, adjusting the binoculars she was using to better see the scene. Sanah smirked but remained silent, fully focusing on the upcoming fight. A young man stepped uncertainly inside the ring. He had a skinny fat morphology and mid-length pink hair. He was clad in faded jeans and a Tee-shirt with an ¡­ anime character saying ¡°I¡¯ll be strong someday!¡±. A nondescript sword was strapped to his hip. He nearly tumbled when he stepped on a small stone, eliciting the crowd¡¯s hilarity and jeering. ¡°The Wimpy Knight, I presume?¡± Trystan asked, even though confirmation was superfluous. ¡°Not even wearing any armor? How conceited can this one be?!¡± An older man with a long white beard cried out, ticked off. ¡°It¡¯s not that¡­¡± The lady from before answered, biting her lip, ¡°The armor¡¯s too heavy for him.¡± her head was bowed with shame. Ah, assuredly his master, then. Somewhere off-center, a few desks were lined up, with various people in assorted gear seated in plush armchairs. Some wore shining golden armor, other much more sober clothing. Should be the experts then, the thought hit Trystan. Once the Wimpy Knight stood in the center of the arena, a portal materialized a few feet in front of him. ¡°The Jury has decided to temporarily free Zok from his prison for the duration of the fight. The Jury will only intervene if we feel that the candidate is in lethal danger. Defeat your opponent.¡± Even though they were somewhat far, they heard the spokesman as clearly as if he were standing right beside them. ¡°Amplification magic,¡± Sanah said. Expressions of distaste were on the faces of many of the gathered people. ¡°Scum amongst scum. Murder, arson, kin-slaying, rape¡­ You name it, Zok¡¯s done it. It¡¯s impressive, really, in a twisted way,¡± Sanah elaborated once more. He was one of the only persons in the booth to be unperturbed by the announcement. Out of the portal stepped a colossus of a man. A huge armored frame with a vicious-looking, serrated ax strapped to his back, that¡¯s what Zok was. His eyes glowed crimson behind his helmet as he took in the boy. He glanced at the Jury over his shoulder. ¡°That a joke?¡± Zok asked skeptically. The women and men stayed silent. Zok cracked his neck, then shook his head. Focusing his attention on the pink-haired young man, he said, ¡°Then, so be it. Sorry, runt, I don¡¯t have anything against you, but it looks like we need to fight. What say you?¡± He asked almost chivalrously. ¡°Fighting¡¯s scaryyyy!¡± The Wimpy Knight wailed, shaking like a leaf. The ground trembled and what Zok said next was covered by static. Many spectators looked discomforted by the noise. ¡°Magic overload. The amplification magic should filter out the noise soon enough. Do I really have to explain everything?¡± Sanah groaned. Trystan would have raised a brow if he could. He had never asked for any explanation, though he was grateful to have gotten one. ¡°Looks like Zok doesn¡¯t want to be overheard,¡± a sickly-looking person of very short stature said. He looked like a gnome in the Warcraft games. Still ¡­ something had changed in the pink-haired knight. Whereas before he was slightly hunched over, now he stood ramrod straight. His hand went to grab the hilt of his sword. Now that he had a closer look at him, the young man reminded him of someone, though he would be hard-pressed to remember who it was, and where he had seen him. The world blurred, distracting him from this thought. The arena became splotchy, with spots of color filling his vision. Almost like he was seeing a watercolor painting. ¡°Aura¡­ No, it¡¯s not quite that. Skill manifestation? Of that level and scale...?¡± The bearded man said, disbelief pitched in his tone. ¡°Unbelievable. That is no death knight material,¡± the ill-looking gnome said with awe. ¡°Abstract Set¡ªPainting #1: Cubism,¡± the Wimpy Knight enunciated clearly though his voice was but a murmur. His figure blurred, before coming into focus again. A thin fissure appeared on the ground in front of him, spreading forth, between Zok¡¯s feet, then all the way to the stands. It had somehow managed to avoid the Containment Legion. The fissure sped up the wall, then up the walkways separating the arranged benches. ¡°Better call the cleaning crew. Man, that¡¯s going to be a pain to repair,¡± a middle-aged man with a curly mustache bemoaned, holding his forehead in a ¡°woe is me¡± pose. The world lost its watercolor quality. Zok¡¯s body resembled a cubist painting. That was the best way to describe the rearrangement of the body parts which only clung together for a second before falling to the ground in a messy pile. ¡°Why did Zok not move?¡± A curious voice asked. ¡°It¡¯s not that he did not move. He tried to escape but he was caught. A prisoner in his own body. A painting can¡¯t escape its frame, after all,¡± Sanah mused aloud. Meanwhile, the Jury discussed the events. Some shook their head, others nodded. Finally, they came to a consensus. The spokesman from the Jury got up and said, ¡°Minus five points for the straightforwardness of the skill. Minus five points for property damage. Final score, 90. That will be all.¡± Trystan was surprised, ¡°Property damage? Is it not a little too harsh, for this small fissure?¡± A great creaking sound echoed and, to Trystan¡¯s utter disbelief, the stands collapsed in a pile of rubble. The crowd shouted out in surprise. Thankfully, every individual had a protective bubble around them, allowing them to stay afloat. The VIP booth was also intact, somehow. Sanah guffawed, before saying mirthfully, ¡°Do you understand now? That¡¯s the level of the competition.¡± There was nothing Trystan could say in rebuttal.