While Grima had initially planned on simply fully leaving the Pools before her next match began, the vessel instead returned to the stands, watching the various fights within her early brackets. Admittedly, she only had time to watch two, but she chose to at least see what she could potentially be dealing with in the future.

The first match was one that was… Entertaining, if embarrassing. A battle between a trio of men with cat ears and a massive man with a hanging gut and extreme mohawk, primarily wielding a massive chain. The fight was a chaotic mess, featuring both sides throwing random items at the other while the two cat men fighting alongside the primary one by running at the other. The overweight man, meanwhile, answered with his chains… And by tossing cans at the assists to knock them away. In all of Grima’s years, she had never seen a fight this stupid… Until the trio pulled off their ‘ultimate move’, yelling about a “human pyramid attack” which simply consisted of the two assists holding the primary one up, eliciting shock within their foe as they upped the pressure.

But it was the second match she watched that got her attention, even if it was in the throes of its final match.

A battle between a pair of individuals that caught Grima’s notice for different reasons. The first was some kind of… Bear mascot, a wide lifeless grin etched onto their face and their entire body unmoving as they somehow fought. But the other, relatively more tame in comparison, was the one that truly caught her eye due to the similarities between him and her current ‘associate’. Though the suit was far more messy, the hat was missing, and they wore a distinct yellow cloak, the man fighting the bear was distinctly familiar to Hazama, enough that Grima was almost certain they were the same person. Yet their movement and manners were anything but, as the man she presumed was one ‘Yuuki Terumi’ fought with reckless aggression, relentlessly attacking the bear while laughing with hate and maniacal glee,

“Seriously, they brought a BALLOON to a tournament?!” Terumi yelled as he tripped the bear and proceeded to stomp on their head several times over, their heel grinding into them, “They really just let anything join up. I barely even get to have fun cutting you apart” the green haired man stated as he slammed his foot into the head one more time before casually kicking the bear away, a distinct sound filling the air as it hit the ground.

ROUND 2, TERUMI WINS

With the sound of his victory, Terumi’s joy immediately vanished, the man taking out an elegant butterfly knife and twirling it in his hand with expert precision, “Tch. Damn waste of my time” he muttered, turning away and beginning to leave the arena… Before his yellow eyes glanced up, spotting Grima within the stands overlooking the pools. In that moment, Terumi simply grinned at the scholarly look from the vessel, before his eyes vanished underneath his hood.

That alone was enough reason to cause Grima to turn on her own heel and begin leaving once again. There was a distinct spark that she felt when the two had made eye contact… Or rather, what their true self had felt. A rivalry.

The Fell Dragon could sense a fallen god when they saw one. And if they were meant to be one of their future foes, then she would have to prepare herself. With their similarity, perhaps her ‘patron’ knew more about him…

—
Blue Suede Go ran a comb through his black hair. The extended pompadour that sprung preciously horizontal from the top of his head swept up at the end. He adjusted the high, oversized collar of his light blue jumpsuit and ensured his sunglasses fit perfectly on his rotund face.

Across from him on the other side of the wooden platform of pools was a young woman Blue Suede Goo would describe as a ‘babe’, or perhaps a ‘hot mama’, even if he didn’t usually go for chicks with short hair. From the way she was looking at him, Blue Suede Goo could tell the feeling was mutual. He would show off and strut his stuff and maybe hit her up later. After he hit her up with his amazing moves, of course. Hoo-yeah!

’I never thought I would fight a fat Elvis made out of clay.’ Sakura thought to herself, scratching the side of her head. She watched as he struck pose after pose, pointing this way and that. It was…kind of like the real Elvis? ”I like your cosplay!” Sakura called out.

“Cosplay? Hoo, mama, you’re lookin’ at the real deal. I’m the genuine article baby, the King of Rock and Roll flown down from outer space to rock your world, mama.” He said, turning and spinning. His whole body jiggled. And not because he was overweight. Like, his fingers jiggled, too. He wasn’t made out of meat. Also, he only had four fingers. “I’m the one and only Blue Suede Goo.” He said.

”Blue Suede…Goo?”

“That’s the name, don’t wear it out. Oooh, mama.” He said, eyes wide beneath his sunglasses.

’Okay. So this guy’s nuts.’ Sakura thought to herself.

“So, what do you say you and I hit up the movie theater after this, baby?” ‘Elvis’ asked.

”Uh, no thank you.” Sakura said. She looked at the clock, wishing the fight would start soon.

“What, you don’t like movies? How about a deal: I win, I get to take you out to the movies.”

”...and if I win?”

“You get to take me out to the movies.”

”That’s the same thing!” Sakura protested.

“No it ain’t, baby. You’d have to pay for the popcorn.” Blue Suede Goo pointed out.
”I don’t have the money for that. Movie popcorn is way too expensive.” Sakura said.

“Guess you better lose, then! The King’s got dough to spare! Hoo yeah!”

”Sorry, I don’t plan on losing.” Sakura said, cracking her knuckles with a smile.

The Heavenly Principles auto-referee spoke out, the time ticking over to their allotted battle.

ROUND ONE! THREE, TWO, ONE…FIGHT!

“Hoo, mama!” Blue Suede Goo struck a pose, raising his hands but pointing his sausage fingers down. “Get ready for the SONG OF DEATH!”

”I thought you wanted to go to the movies!” Sakura’s eyes widened. Unsure of what was coming, she covered her ears and braced herself.

Blue Suede Goo flung out a single floating musical note. It floated slowly towards Sakura. ”O-oh.” Sakura said, a little relieved. It had a little bit of tracking, but she dodged it nonetheless.

“Hope you’re ready for the reprise, baby. Here comes the Song of Death!” He said, and threw out another singular music note that slowly floated towards her.

”I think you’re suffering from special move name inflation.” Sakura said. This time she met the note with her forearm and destroyed it. She charged up a fireball and blasted through the third ‘Song of Death’ and followed after it. He destroyed her fireball with his own second Song of Death and now they were in relatively close range.

“Hey, watch the hair, man!” He said. He leaned forward and his long pompadour came to life, smacking Sakura harshly across the face and tummy in a one two combo. She didn’t expect his hair to do that.

Sakura stepped back and shifted under a swipe, then another.

“Hey, watch the hair, man!” Blue Suede Goo said, swinging out his Hair Blade again.

“Hey, watch the hair, man!” Blue Suede Goo said, swinging out his Hair Blade a third time.

“Hey watch the hair, man!” Blue Suede Goo moved his head about like a broom sweeping dust.
”Okay, I get it!” Sakura said. ”I’m watchin’ the freakin’ hair!” She was starting to get the idea of how this guy won his first pools match. The range on this move was nuts! A real noob stomper. But Sakura was no noob.

“Hey, watch the-” He began again. Sakura stepped back, right out of range, and snatched the thicket part of the pompadour with a fist.

“Hey, watch the hair, mama!” He said, much more alarmed this time as he reeled his hair back in like a fishing hook. Sakura used the momentum against him and came in with a spin kick.

”Shunpu!” She smacked him across the face and watched his skull cave in. It was a little disturbing, but his head reformed in a moment, though Blue Suede Goo definitely didn’t enjoy it.

She beat on him some more, crouching and wrenching her fist into his stomach. It was cold and soft, like he was made out of, well, clay! Still, his eyes bulged.

”Shunpu!” She rose up into another spin kick that knocked him away. She dashed after him. He blocked her elbow and swung his book shoe towards her head, but she ducked and swept his feet out from under him. He bounced back to his feet, only for her to hip toss him hard onto the floor. “Ooof!” He grunted.

He rose up suddenly with a dramatic backflip of hair slices, but Sakura side-stepped it with minimal motion. The wind blew her hair and headband to the side. He gently floated back down into Sakura’s waiting combo.

”Shunpu! Shunpu! Shunpukyaku! Shunpu!” It was a whirling series of kicks and double fisted punches that sent Blue Suede Goo flying. He flattened onto the ground, face down.

KO! SAKURA WINS ROUND ONE!

Sakura stood, and crossed her arms. ”I only fight people who are stronger than myself.” She said, voice serious, like Ryu. She couldn’t keep the tone up, and broke out into a giggle. ”Just kidding!” It was decidedly mocking.

“Hoo, mama. You’re in for the show of a lifetime!” Blue Suede Goo declared, rising to his shiny shoes once again.

ROUND TWO. FIGHT!

“Get ready…for the Song of De-” He was cut off as Sakura lit up with ki energy and arced across the entire arena, slamming both of her fists down onto his head and turning him into a pancake. ”Here I come!” She warned, a bit too late.
She grabbed him by his big collar while he was still on the ground, turned, pitched, and rolled him over herself once, and then twice, doing a full tumble weed circle before flinging him up and away. ”See ya!”He crashed outside the ring with a tremendous splat.

RING OUT! SAKURA WINS!

Sakura kicked back up to her feet and dusted off her hands with a cocky smile. ”Fast, cheap, and quick. That’s Sakura.” She said, looking over her shoulder at her defeated opponent.

When Sakura’s opponents were this weak, they didn’t push each other to the limit, so an actual KO was unlikely. Thus, Blue Suede Goo rose to his feet, dizzy. “Now hold on a minute! Remember our deal! We’re going to the movies!”

”I’ll buy you some popcorn if you want to watch my Winners Bracket run.” Sakura said. Blue Suede Goo didn’t have a good answer for that, so Sakura just waved and skipped out of the arena. She wanted to see if she could catch up with any of her friends.

Like Heismay, Roxas was also unaware of the revealing conversation that took place in the Orbital Space Station. Sandalphon herself seemed somewhat tight-lipped about the exact details of what happened up there, too. Roxas was curious, but not curious enough to pry the archangel about it. Instead, the Nobody took a final look at the Raphael Space Center before ultimately departing with the Seekers. He chose not to ride on the stagecoach, and instead decided he could simply ride on Turbo. But first, there was something he wanted to finally get out of the way.

Roxas let Scamp out of his Poke Ball and pet the Boltund before digging a certain Orb from the confines of his backpack. It was a spirit he had been holding onto for some time, unsure of what it was he wanted to do with it. If he recalled correctly, it was originally one of Primrose’s prizes from the Orb Machine back in Carnival Town. But the dancer had since given it to him, and even now it was essentially burning a hole in the Keyblade Wielder’s pocket.

”What do you think, Scamp?” Roxas asked his Boltund, ”Should I…?” While Roxas had gotten over much of his initial fears and anxieties about fusion thanks to Blazermate easing him into it, the Nobody still found himself only really using that function of Spirits a sparse few times. In fact, even now he had only fused with a total of three spirits in all - RockTrans, Infinite, and Ramza. That would make this spirit the fourth. Scamp gave the orb capsule a curious sniff before wagging his tail and giving a bark of approval. ”Alright, if you say so…” Roxas replied as he cracked open the orb and palmed the Spirit contained within. He held it up for a closer look before pressing the spirit to his forehead.



When the flash of light faded, Roxas found himself looking almost unchanged save for his clothes becoming predominantly dark blue and his eyes becoming yellower, although he couldn’t see that change for himself yet. The knowledge and instinct of the spirit that flooded into him was one of a martial artist of all things, albeit one who was also known for tinkering. Roxas felt like he could channel the moisture in his body into powerful new attacks if he kept fighting and getting stronger. Fighting with his fists was something he never really considered before, but given that Ramza also possessed abilities that stemmed from a Monk job, maybe those two would end up synergizing?

”How do I look, Scamp?” Roxas asked his Pokemon, which elicited a sniff followed by a bark of approval. ”Glad you approve. Okay then, we’d better catch up with the others. Wouldn’t wanna miss meal time, would we?” Roxas playfully said as he recalled Scamp back to his Poke Ball and released Turbo so he could hop onto her back. ”Alright Turbo, let’s ride!” The Revavroom revved her engines and sped off to catch up with the stagecoach where Roxas could look forward to a hot bowl of stew.

It occurred to him that he hadn’t had time to do any berry hunting, and since it was getting to be time to settle down for the evening, it was probably not a good idea to be wandering around the snowscape at night in this cold weather. He would just have to let his Pokemon share in the stew for tonight instead. He could already imagine Scamp appreciating that a great deal. He loved to snag people food after all, that was something he hadn’t quite outgrown yet even as a Boltund. What a day, he thought to himself. Krat Zoo, catching a new Pokemon on the Midnight Walk, Spire 04. It was a lot, and just thinking about it made Roxas wanna yawn and fall asleep.

Time flew while the kids were having fun, to the point that Zeus had to bid them farewell. Eventually, however, all the running and sailing around the pools caught up with them, and it became high time they took a break and refueled. Which to say, more simply, that it was high time they had lunch.

With the when being now, that inevitably raised the question of: where?

”We could portal over to Shinjuku? There were alllll those nice looking places in the… Shinobi district? No wait, the Sotenbori district!” Rika suggested, before adding/asking off handedly that”the cops’ll probably have stopped looking for us by now, right?”

”ehhhh, probably not” Jr replied with a ‘so so’ gesture regarding the latter question, before asking Pit ”Been anywhere good around here?”

"Uh, well... Yesterday we had lunch at a cafe with a big gold dragon, where we met Xilgrev. I think after that Sakura and a couple others found some kinda teahouse... And there's another couple places Terry mentioned before, barbeque and stuff." Clearly the angel remembered the food better than the names of the establishments. He looked out over the edge of the Pools Tier, where the sprawl of the Low Tier stretched out beneath them. "Most of them were down there, but since we're in the middle we could go up too."

Since it was such a big city, there really was no lack of choices for foodstuffs. There were street stalls, grocery and convenience stores with pre-prepared meals, taverns and bars, and restaurants ranging from homely mom-and-pops to corporate franchise locations to high class 'gastronomic experiences.' From where they were the group could even see a large establishment in the Low Tier, obviously more funded than many of its neighbors, with the tell tale signs of a restaurant being a giant fork and knife emblazoned on its side (along with a crown).

"What're you in the mood for?" Pit asked. Personally, he was kind of a glutton that would be fine with most anything.

Although after a beat he blinked and said, "wait, what happened in Shinjuku? You guys got in trouble?"

”Oh. I stole Seek, and then some bandit stole Jr’s phone and ran into this weird place called a hollow, so we followed him and ran into his friends who we killed a bunch of but then the cops showed up and didn’t like that even though they also didn’t like the bandits” Rika replied, clearly confused about why they’d taken issue with that.

”So we then ran away, hid, followed them back out of the hollow, juked past them by abusing the fact that they thought we’d do the whole Galeeming fight to the death thing. Then we got disguises, went to try and find out the cassette beast stuff, but got into a fight due to the whole Galeeming thing screwing up a friendly fight we were doing, and the cops didn’t like that either even if we made peace by freeing the people we were fighting. After that we mostly avoided any trouble by hanging out watching robot fights, ‘sept that one issue with those ninja kids I stuck to a wall with the gum that shrunk me which the cops probably also don’t like” Rika then added in an extended ramble, which Jr summarised as ”So yeah we stole n fought n ran away and they took issue basically. Mostly worked out in the end though”

The summary was appreciated, as Pit had started to get a little lost in Rika's vague, quick explanation. It definitely sounded like trouble alright, but the angel wasn't inclined to scold the royal siblings or anything. Honestly, it was kind of par for the course at this point. He did recall that besides their thoughts about lunch they had mentioned returning to the other city for supplies, so he said, "you think it was serious enough to put up wanted posters of you guys? You might have to get some disguises after all if you go back!"

Which would bring everything back around to something that had been brought up when they first arrived in the Forbidden Kingdom, and might be pretty fun to put together.

Before that though was the aforementioned lunch, as Pit's stomach let out a soft rumble. He blinked down at it, then back up.

"C'mon, let's head down a tier - and you can tell me more while we walk! Like why'd you steal Seek in the first place?"

”He seemed neat. Also, like, I just kinda asked how we’d copy them onto the phone, and then did that thing, and then everyone freaked out about that” Rika replied, having somewhat blundered into the first link onto their chain of criminality.

”Yeah…. They’ve been handy though. You kinda need a netnavi to use that place’s internet apparently. Didn’t really get it first, seems kinda a weird overcomplicated way to do it to be honest. Especially with how there’s like, demons and monsters and viruses all in there that can attack you. Buuuuut turns out having a little buddy who knows their stuff speeds it up a lot” Jr explained in more detail

”Mmm hmmm. So it all worked out” Rika agreed, before snapping her oversized metallic fingers before saying ”Oh, and for disguises, we already did that a bit using those cassettes. Here, see”

The ship girl tapped the cassette player at her hip, and in a blur of static had turned into a very suspicious looking monster. She toddled along in this form for a few moments, before the static consumed her once more and she changed back.

As she did this, Jr explained ”We headed back to the Under and nabbed that one. Worked great till we got into that cassette beast fight and misunderstood the rules, got in an actual fight, and that way the cops knew what our disguises were. So we’ll need new new ones I guess”

The whole transforming into a monster thing was pretty neat every time Pit saw it, even if it still didn't beat something like a robot's ability to transform and combine. He couldn't help but laugh a little at the sight of it though, since it was probably one of the least inconspicuous looking disguises he'd seen. Still, he guessed you couldn't beat becoming an entirely different person to evade being caught. He almost wanted to ask how it all worked, buuuuut there were already a lot of things he had to keep in mind. He'd already just chalked the talk of how the internet worked over there up to him apparently misunderstanding what the internet even was in the first place.

So instead he just said, "probably won't be a big deal to get another monster. We passed all those ones outside Esaka... maybe you could even get one in Esaka? You think those Yokai count?"

”Oh for sure. Problem would be weakening one in a fight without causing a whole load of trouble” Jr said, prompting Rika to suggest ”Maybe some’ll get mad and go out of town to cause their own trouble like when we came here?” which did seem like a safe bet, assuming they could find out when/where one was happening

At that Pit shrugged his shoulders. "If you head out of the city I'm sure there's plenty of other stuff you could use too. Oh, but make sure to show me any cool ones you get!"

As they talked the trio made their way to one of the lifts between tiers, a feature that all of the Seekers were becoming very well acquainted with. It was nice that inter-Tier travel wasn't restricted even if there was a clear economic divide between them. In that respect, and many, many others, Pit liked this city more than Midgar. Once the elevator came to rest on the ground of the Low Tier and let them as well as a handful of other people off, the Eastern aesthetic urban sprawl was available to them once more.

”Soooo, where’s this place you were talkin about?” Rika asked.

"The dragon place or the tea place?" Pit questioned right back, as he'd mentioned a couple. "I didn't see the teahouse, but that cafe... maybe around here?"

Since he'd just been following Amaterasu the first time as the goddess' nose had led them to the rest of the Seekers (and food) at the time, Pit wasn't entirely sure he was headed the right way. There were places and little landmarks he thought he recognized, but ultimately every corner he led them around failed to reveal Pao Pao Cafe anywhere.

Pit paused and scratched his head. "I guess it was on the other side? Hold on, I can definitely get us there!"

”Uh huh” Jr replied while not even looking up from his phone.

Though they could continue their search, there were other options. The large building they'd been able to spot from the tier above loomed on the next street they tried, conveniently close to one of the city's gates. Ease of access for those coming and going, perhaps? The bold sign outside showed the building's name along with the subtitles Esaka Branch, Culinary Dojo and Haute Cuisine and Dining Room Open, informing people passing by what its function was. There was an additional sign too, this one temporary and hung by the door, stating: Tournament Specials begin today.

”Specials? That sounds neat” Rika said when she saw it, before asking Pit ”Do you think they'll do something extra special because you're in the tournament?”

Having not considered that, Pit's eyes widened in excitement. "I hope so! Let's eat here and find out!"

The 'culinary dojo' was more upscale on the inside than one might expect, but not so much that it would make the common customer uncomfortable. The front of the house was quite large, and with a dining room on each side and a hallway leading to the back of the house, which was even bigger. Glimpses of kitchens could be seen, along with smaller cook stations at the back of the dining rooms... on raised stages, with a long dinner table in front of each. There were a few scattered guests seated already on each side, but the majority of activity seemed to be behind the scenes where the trio of Seekers could hear yelling, shouts of frustration and encouragement, and the clattering of pans.

Rika tilted her head at the sound, wondering what in Galeem’s world was going on back there.

They also could see a pink haired dwarf dressed in an ensemble somewhere between a chef’s coat and a cleric’s smock with a large meat tenderiser on her hip escorting a young man out by the ear. She marched right past the kids with him.

"Ye know what they say, if ye can't stand the heat...!" she said, shoving the man toward the door. He stumbled out of it while the woman dusted her hands off. As she turned to head back to where she'd come from she spotted the three guests, her demeanor changing slightly to be more friendly.

"Welcome in. Are ye here to eat or compete?"

”Eat!” Rika said at once, while it was Jr who asked ”Compeat in what?”

"The tournament of course," the woman responded. "Ye didn't think the only battles fought here in Esaka were with fists, did ye? Here in this branch people come from all over to try their hand at becoming a certified Battle Chef! Facin' down the toughest monsters for the most exotic and flavorful ingredients, makin' only the strongest meals fit for the strongest of fighters!"

Her words certainly enticed Pit, not so much trying to become a Battle Chef but getting to eat their food. "Ooh! Is that what the specials are for?!"

"The Specials is what we call our version of the Pools. But, we do have a few regular tourney specials on the menu this week," the woman laughed lightly. "You three are in time if ye want to sample our trainee Battle Chefs’ dishes for the tournament too. Ambassador Akebo's just about ready to judge."

Rika, who’d looked a little sad about the lack of specials, perked up right away about the fact that there was food available right away and instantly agreed to the sampling idea with a ”Yes please!” despite Jr looking a little hesitant at the idea of eating ‘trainee’ prepared food.

For what it was worth, Pit was completely on board with the idea. "I'm in! I'll eat anything you put in front of me!"

The dwarven chef laughed again at Pit and Rika's enthusiasm. If she noted Junior's trepidation, she didn't mention it, though she did say, "you're all in for a treat then. Hey, host! Seat these three, will ye?"

While the pink haired woman returned to the back of the house, a well dressed host ushered the kids to a table in the right-hand dining room. Now that they were in the space properly they could see that there were a quartet of people behind the raised cook stations in various states of sweaty or flustered. The last of the dishes they'd all prepared were being collected and distributed to the guests seated in the dining room, though the first of each went to the judge's table at the front of the room. There sat two men, one a distinguished older gentleman in ornate yi fu with a serious expression, and the other a more cheerful blonde man who had only just made it to his seat.

"Sorry for the wait!" he said. "Let's get started with the Specials! The chef who prepared the worst rated dish will be dropped from the tournament."

On stage, the four competitors on this side of the Brigade's building came out from behind their stations to smile at the guests, each of them confident in themselves. A muscular man already decked out in chef's attire, a cheerful woman in red, a turtle man who was certainly more of the former than the latter, and a young woman who was practically vibrating with anticipation.

At the table Rika, Pit, and Junior were seated at (along with everyone on the other tables) were pens and scoring cards that listed each of the four dishes along with a row of numbers from one to five. Moments later, four small plates were set before the three of them.

Akebo spoke again from the judge's table, clapping his hands together once. "The theme for today's match? Fire!"

”Why are they so small?” Rika whispered to her brother who replied ”It’s like samples, or whatever. We try a little bit each”

She thought about this for a moment, and then decided she liked this idea. All of the new flavor experiences, none of the hassle of getting lots of stuff being “too expensive” or worrying about the whole “not being able to finish your food” issue.

Then, wasting no more time, she picked up her cutlery, took a sample of the first dish, a dragon shank meatball, and then popped it into her mouth, before rolling the food around inside to get a good sense of the flavor. Jr, much less of a gourmand, just scarfed it down a solid helping of the same one with little hesitation. Which left Pit who happily stuffed the whole thing into his mouth at once.

It was good. More than good, even. Those looking to become Battle Chefs were not amateur cooks, so any worries they may have had about the quality were swiftly assuaged. It was also spicy, the meat hotly seasoned beneath the even hotter pepper-based sauce. Only the dollop of sour cream and the little piece of bread on the side did anything to cut the heat, though there was a pitcher of water and a few glasses provided for the diners as well.

Pit let out a puff of breath, color already coming to his cheeks. "Uuf! It's hot, but it's tasty!"

”Oh, wow, yup hooot” The girl who had lived on the blandest of rations for all but her last few weeks of existence agreed, having to (reluctantly) go for the water already, while the boy who could breath actual fire rolled his eyes while saying ”It’s not that hot, jeeze”

They'd arrived too late to have watched the live cooking processes, pans on high heat and bursts of flame from flambé, but the theme still came through just fine in the rest of the dishes as well. Armarock heart menudo, lantern fruit rellenos, and baurun spare ribs awaited the group, ranging from mildly spicy to pretty hot, touches of sweetness or creaminess making the flavors more complex, and each one as delicious as the last. As they ate their way through the Tournament Specials the dining room buzzed with pleased diners and the soft voices of the judges making comments to each other.

Once they were finished all that remained were the score cards, about which Lau announced, "once we come to our decision we will take the dining room's opinions into account if we have need of a tie breaker."

”Oh we’re just the backup? Takes the pressure off I guess” Rika said, mostly to herself, as she fiddled with the pen, before finally settling on the menudo for her first pick, while Jr rather predictably went for the spare ribs.

Once they'd decided their favorite food of the bunch and scribbled in their rankings, members of the wait staff came by to clear their plates and collect their cards. Right before lunch the three of them had just been standing on the edges of the Pools and judging various different matches going on, and this really wasn't much different besides the venue likely looking down on loud cheering or critiques shouted out. Even so, in the dining room across the hall they could hear some muted, scattered applause and voices of congratulations as that half of the Tournament Specials wrapped up. If one cared to look, the culinary competition's schedule could be found on a free standing sign by the entrance or online: similarly to the martial arts tournaments being held, it would go on over the next couple of days with two competitors eliminated each time until the final head to head. Opening day featured a lunch and a dinner round, while the next two were dinner only. Eight hopefuls, out of which only one would join the ranks of the culinary elite and be bestowed the honor of becoming a Battle Chef - the victor declared on Saturday night, since both participants and brigade members still wanted to catch the finales of Esaka's martial spectacle on Sunday.

To be honest though, Pit was not very invested in the kitchen battleground. He could make a mean latte for Lady Palutena, but he'd never been much of a cook, his appreciation for the art limited to enjoying the end results. Plus there was the fact that he didn't even know which chef had created his favorite of the four dishes (the rellenos), and since his next match in his own tournament was going to be held shortly this afternoon he didn't want to spend a lot of time in the brigade building trying to find out.

"Maybe if we come back in a couple days we can see who ends up winning this whole thing," he said, though so long as he got to eat something good he didn't mind if they eschewed the brigade's tournament and stuck to take out. With a grin he added, "y'know, right before me and the others win all the other tourneys!"

”Yeah, if we can we should do that for sure!” Rika agreed enthusiastically, the set of mini-meals being exactly her thing as it turned out. Jr wasn’t particularly enthused by the prospect of having no choice in what they were served, but he liked seeing his sister happy so he shrugged and said ”Yeah, sure why not?”

With their meal finished the trio made their way out of the building. The afternoon had worn on, but there was still plenty of daylight left. The rest of the day was open for the royal siblings to do whatever they pleased with, and as for the gold team's captain? His 2nd match in the Mortal Kombat series would be coming up soon.

"Alright! I'm all fired up now, heheh!" Pit said, stretching his arms up over his head and then bouncing on the balls of his feet once he let them drop back down. He certainly didn't want to risk being late again, so he planned to head right back up the Pools. Before that though he asked, "What're you guys gonna do now? Wanna come back up with me and watch some more fights?"

”We’ll come see yours” Jr began, before glancing at his sister who nodded after a moment, and then added ”But maybe we should, like, do some productive stuff this afternoon? I was thinking of finding out more stuff about that G-corp group on the net. You know, do some snooping n hacking, find out what their deal was, see if people are actually trying to go after them, that kinda stuff”

”Maybe we figure out a way to record a Yokai as well? That way we can sneak back into Shinjuku some time” Rika suggested as well, as she wanted to ”Get some more money for robots n stuff”

Pit nodded; either or both options sounded like a good use of time to him. If they were going to spectate his next match too then maybe he'd even tag along to help them out afterwards, although... he should probably look into some new lodging for everyone, assuming bunking at individual dojos would be an issue. Briefly he thought up a convoluted plan to use Lady Palutena's power to warp Junior up to Skyworld where they could try and convince the goddess to let a little graffiti in the temple slide so that everyone could spend their nights up there.

Not a chance. These temple walls stay spic and span.

Well, local lodging it was then.

"If you guys need any help later just let me know! Now c'mon, let's head back up!"

The battle inside the space center had been rough, but they'd made it out - and now that the entirety of the White Team was back together they could all get moving again. Following the inexplicable defeat of Belial (which Ganondorf was actually privy to), Ace had gotten himself patched up by Blazermate since the Juggernaut had been taken care of as well. It saved him a potion at least, though eventually he'd probably have to dump some stuff into his Alchemy Barrel and restock a few items he normally carried. There were a few other things on the hunter's mind as well; what they could have done differently, what he could have done, what he had available to him, what they'd have to face going forward and what he'd have to do to be better equipped to help everyone handle it. Physically and not. He had a few ideas.

For now though Ace simply shoved the sort of grotesque great sword into his logicless backpack, downed a bowl of stew, and heeded Sandalphon's suggestion to find a good spot to make camp. By the Cadet's estimate it was probably late afternoon at most, but it wouldn't do to travel in the dark in unfamiliar lands no matter how early it was.

He pushed out of the back of the stagecoach, letting the cold air blow in momentarily as he hopped down. They were approaching another forested area, which would be a lot better than an open field for camping. Wanting to make himself useful, Ace jogged around to the front of the carriage while calling out, "I'm gonna go on ahead a bit, see about finding an area to hunker down in! Anybody wanna come with?"

Geralt’s head poked out of the Stagecoach, followed by his shoulders and torso. “I’ll go. Between the two of us, shouldn’t exactly be a challenge.” He fully emerged from their carriage, climbing down to the ground and looking to the forest. “We run into anything too nasty, I can call Sandalphon and give them our location too.” Taking Ace’s distaste for magic into account, he’d rely on his more physical capabilities, and handle any messages to the team’s leader as well, while they were out.

Ace looked back at the Witcher, a bright smile on his face. He'd always liked Geralt, and having fought together since the Land of Adventure (save for the Cadet's previous stint in the Highlands) it felt to him like they'd known each other for years already, despite the actual time frame. Plus it was as the other man said: with the two experienced hunters on the case, finding a secure spot to make camp shouldn't be hard at all.

"Groovios, sounds good," the Cadet said, and slowed so that his senior slayer could catch up with him. A moment later and the two of them were shoulder to shoulder and trudging through the snow ahead of the stagecoach, making tracks to scout forward. Those staying with the carriage could watch them go until the forest ahead swallowed them.

Almost as soon as they'd crossed the treeline, quiet fell over them. It wasn't an oppressive silence by any means, simply the foliage blocking the wind that had begun to pick up and had started whistling over the snowfields they'd just come from. The flurries themselves were caught by pine tree branches above them, making the walk less arduous. It was an old, strong forest; the kind many a monster might lurk in, but that also supported all kinds of life. Currently though, the two hunters appeared to be alone and unhassled.

Ace's scoutflies seemed to confirm it when they spread out wide, their soft green glow never changing hue. Even so they kept an eye out, though after another glance around Ace broke the silence. "I don't think anything's around, which would be a first today," he chuckled.

“Gladly take a few minutes’ peace.” Geralt sighed, pushing aside a branch and stepping past it. “Dealt with enough crap today.” He was, quite clearly, just about done with the constant moving and fighting in the frigid landscape. “Not used to being out in this kind of weather. Back home, when winter comes, us Witchers just all come back to Kaer Morhen and wait it out, swapping stories from the Path and drinks to pass the time.”

That seemed to take Ace by surprise as he looked back over at Geralt with a curious look. "Huh, really? I just assumed you worked all year round... do your monsters take the winter off too?"

He spoke with a humorous, light tone, but he was genuinely interested to know what the cold weather situation was in Geralt's world if its monster slayers shacked up once the snow started.

Geralt let out a small huff of laughter, shaking his head. “Moreso that everybody takes the winter off. Nobody out in the fields means nobody being slaughtered by a Fiend. Wars just about break for the winter, too, so no fresh bodies for necrophages to hunt. It’s another matter in the cities, but outside the more dangerous, or foolhardy, monsters, not much would show its face in a city. And if something does happen to show up, locals are usually enough to deal with it. Only call a Witcher in if it’s something truly dangerous, or hard to find.” He shrugged.

“Not many of us, either, for that matter. Monsters and Witchers are a dying breed on the Continent. Skellige’s still got plenty to hunt, but it’s harder to get work there. Skelligers are a rough bunch. Half of ‘em can fight monsters just fine, and the other half know somebody who can fight. Seafaring people, and not above piracy, especially against the Nilfgaardian Empire.”

Though the names were unfamiliar it was easy to put together the picture that Geralt was describing. The only thing Ace couldn't as easily imagine was a dwindling population of monsters or those employed to hunt them. The Hunter's Guild of his home world was always bustling with people eager to take on requests or to supply their services to those coming and going. Guild halls all over the continent and abroad were lively places with hunters gathering in every season to share meals and stories only to go right back out into the field afterward. Still, Ace nodded along.

"Makes sense. If there's no prey there's no predators," he said. "Us hunters never get a break like that. I mean the established hunters, sure, they can pick and choose what quests they want, but the newbies and vets? Always on assignment! Fetching supplies in the wilderness, securing village borders, getting sent to tundras, swamps, the tops of mountains, and inside volcanoes after aggressive monsters that start wandering a little too far out of their territories towards settlements..."

The Cadet sounded almost wistful as he listed things, ending with him ducking his head slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck, a little grin on his face. "To be honest I don't think I'd even want a season off. Might get too boring, heheh.

"...but I do wish all the merchants that put in hunting requests would learn not to try and force shortcuts through the wilderness.”

“That’s a problem that transcends worlds, I fear. Always looking for the easiest way to ship their goods. I’ve delivered and recovered plenty of lost goods, either bandits or monsters. Ugh.” Geralt sighed, shaking his head. “And I can imagine you hunters are much more busy. Could hardly leave your outpost without seeing a dozen monsters. Wish people on the Continent were as content to live with them, but I don’t blame them either. Even corpse carrying is a deadly profession on the Continent. Lose focus for a minute and a Nekker’ll be enjoying you along with what you were carting off the battlefield.”

“Won’t lie. Didn’t much hate your world. But it wasn’t where I needed to be. Wasn’t where I was supposed to be. In another life? Think I’d have enjoyed it.”

"Yeah?" Ace's smile had brightened even more, a touch of color beyond just the cold clinging to his face. "...I'm happy to hear it. I guess it's like being kind of proud to show off your home town, right?"

Never mind the fact that discussing entire worlds, their similarities and their differences, had become a common pastime for the Seekers as a whole when just weeks ago the thought might have been completely alien to them.

"I'd have liked to show you more of it, too bad you ended up in Astera instead of Dundorma or Val Habar. Y'know, back when we were at Alcamoth and did those spars for fun and they had those stage-picker things, I got to show Sakura a little bit of Val Habar. I wonder if we could set something like that up in the Avenger? It's so high-tech, I bet there's some kind of..." the monster hunter grasped at nothing for a moment, trying to pull the word from thin air. "...I dunno, illusion type of thing they could pull off."

He glanced at Geralt. "Some people -not naming names here bud- like to make it seem like the world they came from giggisux, but I'd still like to get a real glimpse at it. Yours, Nadia's, Edward's... a whole bunch of places I'd love to be able to visit."

Geralt huffed. “It ain’t all bad, trust me, just…last few years? They’ve been pretty terrible. War. Plague. Pogroms.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah, really selling that it isn’t all horrible. Point is, it is a beautiful world, but there’s a lot wrong with it, too, and I’ve been in a position to see a lot of it. Just end up focusing on what needs to be fixed too much.”

And who could blame the guy, really? Especially if he was one of the few both willing and able to help fix it in the first place.

"Bet you'll go back with a whole new perspective though, huh?"

“Not as much as you might think,” Geralt confessed. “Always known there were other worlds out there. While it's been nice to see what comes from them, unless everybody else accepts that we need to be more cooperative…don't see much changing. Call me cynical, I guess.” He admitted. “Though maybe if we can recreate some of the technology we've seen, might make it easier for a lot of folk. That'd be good, at least.”

Ace mulled over Geralt's words for a moment. He made a good point, cynical or not. Though Ace preferred to call it realistic instead, even if he himself tried to be more on the optimistic side of things. If they were all going to go back to their own worlds after this adventure, he did hope things changed for the best everywhere. Even in his own world, where he agreed that copying over the things he'd seen would be really beneficial.

"Guess you're right," the Cadet said. He added, sort of more seriously than needed considering what he was about to say, "I know I'll be bugging all the wyverians to try to make a bunch of stuff. Starting with a bicycle."

While the two men talked they made sure not to neglect the reason they'd gone ahead in the first place. Loosely following a path through the trees as more light bled away they poked around for any areas that might be suitable to park the stagecoach and weather the night. So far the forest had remained tightly clustered with pines, ever-green shrubs, and snow-covered rocks with nary a clearing in sight, but it was still much too early to give up looking. Eventually they came to the conclusion that they'd have to strike out further away from the Midnight Walk, and ahead of them there were two options more interesting than just the forest scenery. West of the path was the sound of slow moving water, leading to a foot bridge over a shallow creek, while east of it was a slightly wider area with the remnants of wooden stairs and other buildings that stood alongside a separate trail.

Geralt paused, looking at both paths. “Don’t know how much I trust that bridge. Stagecoach is pretty damn heavy. Hate to see it break the wood underneath it.”

"Then let's head the other way, see if we find anything." The coach was probably large enough to just roll through the creek bridge or no, but there was no reason to test it out if the easier path led them to a good camping spot.

They veered east, climbing over a small snowbank and making their way to what must once have been a road, though now covered over with snow and shoots of frozen weeds and fir saplings. It was a little bumpy maybe, but far from impassable. The broken fixtures along the route suggested that at some point people had lived and built in the area, so it wasn't far-fetched to think that maybe they were on the right trail.

“Doesn’t look bad,” Geralt offered, following along the path. “Coach should be able to roll right along here. Now we just need to find a spot for it to sit while we make camp.” They continued along the snowed-over road a short while longer, keeping their eyes out for any clearings or perhaps even a partially-intact building that they could shelter beneath.

As luck would have it, the keen eyed Witcher did eventually spot something that looked like a building through the trees. As they approached, a small twinkling light beckoning them closer, the full shape became clear to them. It appeared to be a house, a rather large one in fact, made of wood and stone. No smoke rose from the either of its two chimneys and no light besides the one hanging by the door shone out of it, but it was intact. If they cleared some space in front of it they could probably even fit the stagecoach in what might have once been the front yard.

It was a lucky find; even if Ace’s armor protected him completely from the cold, the same couldn’t be said for the rest of the Seekers. If they could all stay here, they wouldn't have to be miserable in a cold weather campsite tonight (and as such they could save the camping supplies for if they really needed them).

…maybe it was even too lucky? The thought did cross Ace's mind, but it didn't stop him from strolling up to the door and rapping his knuckles on it. No one came to answer, and there were no sounds of movement from inside. The Cadet looked back at Geralt.

"Last abandoned house we found, back in Snowdin? Full of zom-bots," he stated. Though whether this one was actually abandoned or the owner was just away remained to be seen.

Geralt hummed as they approached the house. The place looked abandoned, for all intents and purposes. He saw no footprints in the snow, though all that meant was that it hadn’t been traveled to recently. The lack of answer from the door cemented the thought that the place was likely abandoned. Of course, they couldn’t know, but Geralt wouldn’t lose too much sleep over squatting in a veritable manor for a night. Climbing the steps to the door, Geralt tried in, nodding when the door remained stubbornly closed. He crouched giving the entry a good look. “Wouldn’t do us much good to go through, let out the heat. Let’s look around, find a window. Worst case, we have to break something anyway.” Dismounting the stairs, he waved Ace after him.

They took a path around the side of the house, where several squat egress windows allowed access to the ground floor. The only question was if any of those were unlocked. He tried each in succession, growing resigned with having to break at least one, when the last window budged. “Found our way in.” He said, fingers finding purchase under the bottom of the window and slowly prying it open. “I’ll boost you. Leave your weapons here, I’ll pass them through.”

Ace stripped off his backpack and set it down in the snow, part of his arsenal following soon after (earlier he'd tucked Yato into the pack too, keeping one short and one long range weapon on him). He would have asked Geralt if he was sure since the hunter was still muscle dense even after his one fusion, but he was also currently the smaller of the two of them, so up he went. After crawling in through the window and ending up in what served as part of the house's basement, he reclaimed his sword, shield, and gun from Geralt outside.

Peeking back out from the way he'd come in, the Cadet said one of his worst puns yet with a wiggle of his eyebrows, "go back 'round to front, icy you there soon to let you in." A quiet sigh followed him as he turned around.

Ace made his way quietly up to the main level, finding that the interior of the house was open concept with multiple levels. It really did appear empty as he couldn't hear anything besides his own footsteps and the creaking of wind against wood.

"Hello?" he tried once, but again there was no answer. A minute or two later and he was unlocking the main door to let his fellow hunter in. They could both see that the place had plenty of large, spacious, well furnished rooms with a modern aesthetic. There was a thin layer of dust on most of the furniture suggesting once more that no one had used it in a while, along with the fact that the fireplaces were barren and it was cold. Compared to the elements outside, though? It was basically a haven. If they found firewood or some other things to burn it would be perfect.

"What do you think? Wanna sweep the place real quick and call the others if we don't find anything?"

“Yeah. If we find nothing, perfect. If we find something, two of us ought to be enough to deal with it. If not, I’ll call in Sandalphon and we’ll make a break for it.” Loathe as he was to speak ill into existence, it was better to have a backup plan.

Thankfully, their sweep of the residence revealed nothing but a small, furred creature which had curled up in a cabinet to escape the cold. It was quick to run, and soon after the pair had finished and met back up in the foyer. “Sandalphon, this is Geralt. We’ve located a large house that seems to be abandoned. Managed to find an unlocked window and sneak in, so we can leave the place intact for if the owner does manage to find their way here down the line. There’s ample room for the Stagecoach to be left out front, and plenty of rooms for people to take.” Describing the path they’d taken to reach the manor, Geralt spoke at a fair pace, making sure Sandalphon heard every word loud and clear.

Once the report was made Ace stopped inspecting the knick knacks and came back over, hands on his hips as he looked towards the upstairs level where the bulk of the bedrooms were. With ten members of the White Team there weren't enough for everyone to have their own spaces, but the home itself was large enough that they could all spread out if they needed some privacy.

"Scouts get first pick of rooms, yeah?" he joked, then turned to Geralt properly. "Also wish we had stuff to cook in that kitchen. Honestly I could drain that whole stew pot myself right about now. Twice."

“Don't think anybody could deny us that,” Geralt joked back. “Got some meat as well from earlier, could give that a go. Know what you mean, though, starting to get hungry again myself. Big as it is, that pot isn't enough to keep us all fat, just alive. Alive's good, but as cold as it is here, I could do with some more energy.”

Actual meat? The prospect of a more filling meal sparked bright enthusiasm in Ace, showing clear in his eyes. He was ready for someone to try their hands at cooking it even if it had to be him.

Geralt took a seat on one of the steps, looking around the home. “It's nice, though. Not too big, but plenty of room.”

"Real nice," Ace agreed. Certainly more spacious than the dorms on the ship and a lot of other places they'd stayed in. Even the hunters' lodgings back in Astera, save for the Sapphire Star's quarters. Ace turned his gaze towards the stairs leading down. "Once everyone's settled in we could even do the whole stories and drinks thing! If we can find some. Place like this might have a wine cellar? I'm sure whoever was here last would hate to have it go to waste."

Geralt's mouth broke into a smile at the prospect of a wine cellar. “Well, what are we waiting for?” He asked rhetorically as he stood, making his way towards the set of stairs they'd discovered earlier. “Been a while since I've had a good drink. Wasn't much around at the Satisfactory, and before that, Z interrupted the last one I had.”

Grinning, Ace fell into step beside the man. "Guess we'll just have to make up for that then!"

---

Somehow, after the chaotic skirmish with Belial came to an end, Tenna’s screened face was producing large sweat droplets as he panted in fatigue. While the CRT knew his support in combat was more than appreciated, he still felt particularly winded after such a long kerfuffle. Either that or he was beginning to short circuit after a long day.

Originally, Tenna’s intentions were to rest for the duration of the trip in the confines of the Stagecoach until they arrived some place to camp for the night, however, a particularly stern robot had also made his way into the carriage just as he was planning to play a game of cards with two of his Shadow Guy minions. “In what world do you think this is the best time to be playing games? Go. Make yourself busy.”

The Shadow Guys would toot a sad saxophone noise before Tenna wrapped them in a three person embrace. “Don’t let this GLOOBY fella rain on our parade! Let’s explore!” Though he genuinely believed he was too exhausted for any last minute adventures, Tenna stood up and struck a fantastical pose as a spotlight shone down on him from seemingly nowhere. While holding composure from his tiredness, Tenna also didn’t want to get into an argument with Ramattra. The Omnic stared at the absurdity for a moment before taking Tenna’s seat with his own matters. It seemed like Ramattra was busier than him anyways!

Now leaving the safety of the Stagecoach, Tenna thought about the possibilities of where he and his minions could search to make the demanding Omnic content. Scratching his chin as dots began to appear over his head, he was quick to admit defeat. Throwing his hands into the air, Tenna dramatically shook his fists. “This is so boring!” Sighing, he looked around, thinking that he could maybe ask somebody for ideas of what to do.

He peaked his head in at the Omnic, who had since tuned the CRT out since he began his work. Tenna had yet to understand how spirit fusion and crushing worked, so he ignored Ramattra’s actions, and simply chimed in. “I’m not sure what to be looking for. Just lookin for ideas.”

Ramattra looked up at the aloof TV man, raising a figurative eyebrow at the blank stare Tenna blinked at him with. He wasn’t necessarily upset, but found it troublesome to be distracted from his work. “There was an armory that was destroyed in space while I was outside orbit. Maybe some of its ruins and contents survived the plummet down. I’d start by seeing if anything survived the crash.”

Tenna cheerfully whooped at the Omnic as he left Ramattra alone to his business, tailing backwards from the Stagecoach for a while to find any remains of loot.

For a while, he didn’t see anything, trying his hardest to predict where remains could be hidden in plain sight. If there was anything to be found, it would have been scattered around, if not still floating freely in space. Sending his Shadow Guys to investigate around and spread themselves out a little more. A short wait of searching later, one of the Shadow Guys would cheer excitedly, the eruption of saxophone indicating he found something.

As Tenna approached, he was able to see something similar enough to something he might have found amongst Natiyba infestation. With a lack of knowledge, the chest would spring open and begin rapidly jumping and throwing itself at Tenna and his henchmen! One of his minions faded away sadly from its rapid attack, which gave the CRT and his last minion a chance to dodge. The minion would equip a saxophone and begin playing a musical attack of notes that began chasing and damaging the mimic.

Tenna, who had mistaken this for more Naytiba biomass, had half-expected whatever loot they found to be guarded, but the convincing appearance of an infected chest was clever for a monster.

For a moment, Tenna panicked, remembering that he sucked at fighting, and would be a weak and quick target for this mimic to pick off. He needed to defend himself, and defeat the angry monster. Tenna reminded himself that he was not under the limitations of the Light World (from his world), and was under the same rules as if Galeem’s world was a Dark World.



Tenna rapidly grew larger in size as he posed for an unexplainable spotlight on his position. As the mimic closed in, he swatted the creature on the head with an enlarged Snap-cut, disorienting it immediately in its tracks. The Shadow Guy who still lived would start a barrage of aggressive musical notes, stacking up as much damage as possible before it could collect itself. "Oh yeah!! Stretchy time!"

Tenna felt more at ease knowing he was now able to alter his size again. Though it was extremely limited, he could feel the power of his more “cartoonish” properties growing.

Winding his arm around in a circle, he began to power up an enlarged punch into the chest monster, sending it back at least a foot before it began rapidly fading into ash, its lesser spirit floating idly. Before heading back, disappointed the creature had not provided anything of significant value, Tenna was dedicated on not turning up empty handed. He scoured the snowy landscape for any pieces of value, and was able to return with a small haul of (mostly damaged) equipment in container on the trip back to the Stagecoach.

Still full of excitement and riding the high from her clash against the cyborgs, Nadia led the much less expressive Robo-fortune away from the arena at the tier’s edge and to a nearby rest area. In addition to the typically free-standing platforms, rafts, and islands where the competitors fought their qualifying matches, the Pools boasted many smaller structures that served as the hubs connecting the network of stone bridges and wharf-like wooden walkways which pedestrians used to traverse the tier. These ran the gamut between purely decorative, with burbling central fountains and picturesque flowerboxes, and purely functional, with such amenities as food carts, drinking fountains, trash cans, and restrooms. A few were dedicated observation decks for viewing the fights below, some surprisingly tall. Pretty much all had benches for the duelists to sit and rest on between their bouts, though, and most also featured a gilded bulletin board to provide up-to-date information about the ongoing tournaments–fighters need only ask, and in a shimmer of golden light the board would shift to display whichever tournament bracket they wanted to see.

The nearest rest area for Nadia and Robo happened to be a simple stone cylinder at a four-way crossroads between bridges, with different arenas in the other quadrants. One of the other matches had concluded before the catgirls’, evidently a quick and easy stomp for the victors, but battles still raged on the other two, and Nadia couldn’t help but pause and look over on her way to figure out her next match.

The first fight to catch Nadia’s eye was a slugfest between two strange beings: a bipedal green ant with an armored exosuit, supported by a and a man with teal skin, blue pants, and silver hair. While the latter commanded ice powers, which he unleashed in the form of frigid boomerangs, the insectoid held him off with an extremely defensive fighting style. The ice man (Freon, according to the nearby bulletin board) preferred to keep a distance and chuck projectiles, but after the ant (Cyclic) established an early life lead with a snappy combo, Freon needed a lot more than the chip damage from his ice-a-rangs to retake the lead. With no good options to open his opponent up, he had to take risks to try and freeze Cyclic for a combo, which led to mistakes, taking stray hits, and falling even further behind as desperation mounted. Nadia figured Cyclic would probably take the win, but it wasn’t all that exciting to watch, so the cat burglar looked away.

Meanwhile, the other duel involved a maroon-clad, sai-wielding assassin lady, supported by an elegant princess in blue, armed with bladed fans. Their main opponent was another blue person, this one striped, redheaded, and possessed not just of a gleaming twinblade, but a minimalistic purple fashion sense. In her corner was a pink warrior woman with a sword, a shield, and four-horned helmet. They looked fierce, but unfortunately for the two barbarians, the opposition -who did look similar enough to be sisters, now that Nadia thought about it- appeared to be beating the snot out of them. Armed with not just superior skill and training, but practically effortless teamwork, Mileena and Kitana anti-aired every jump-in, punished every whiff, and shut down every attempt to grasp victory from the jaws of defeat. Nadia watched, impressed and just a little intimidated, as the sisters crushed the opposition in their second straight win.

“Whew,” Nadia remarked, tugging at her collar. “Wouldn’t wanna get on that lady’s bad sai-d.” When Robo just looked at her, her deadpan stare questioning, Nadia rolled her eyes. “I’m kidding, ro-bro. We got this.”

When the cat burglar went to consult the tournament bracket, her bravado quickly turned to disbelief. “Huh!?” She scratched her head, squinting at the listing for her next match-up. “One-thirty? My next fight’s in the doggone afternoon!”

Robo-fortune crossed her arms. “Plenty of time to rest and prepare. After multiple combo drops, it seems like you’ll need it.”

Scoffing, Nadia brushed her off with a dismissive wave. “C’mon, I got it eventually. I’ll pre-purr, all right…” She sighed and looked out across the glittering water of the pools, where countless fighters were still fighting, some still on their first pool matches while a lucky few got the chance to proceed to their seconds. Her eyes came to rest on a long, rectangular stone platform a few hundred feet away, where a familiar diminutive dark knight stood waiting for her next opponent. Nadia narrowed her eyes, then nudged Robo-fortune with her elbow. “Hey, we got time to kill. Wanna go see how the others are doin’?”

With a nod, Robo opened her mouth to deploy a small radar dish to ping her surroundings. “Affirmative.” Naturally, the sounds she emitted had no relation to the movement of her mouthparts. After her head spun around to the southeast, her body did an about-face as well. “Annie and Filia registered for World Warrior. We should proceed to that section of the pool.”

The two catgirls got moving, traversing the tier at a leisurely pace. Now that a number of matches had concluded, plenty of fighters were in a similar boat, either loitering around the rest areas, heading to their next matches, or leaving the tier. The number of spectators had probably increased a little since the tournaments commenced, but it was impossible to tell registered fighters from Esakans just here to watch, so Nadia couldn’t say for certain. Bit by bit, she and her Kameo made their way out of the Mortal Kombat portion of the pools and into the much more expansive World Warrior section. There was less of a marked shift between the two groups than she expected; kombatants she expected to be vicious and bloodthirsty, but plenty of street fighters still fought like belligerent hooligans, dashing forward and attacking with reckless abandon in a bid to seize and keep control of their fights’ momentum.

There did seem to be fewer non-human World Warrior competitors, and fewer who used weapons, but there were still plenty of outliers. Not long after she entered the section, she spotted a strange white being in the middle of a brawl. While it could be mistaken for a human in a milk-colored body suit at first glance, the sight of it morphing its body parts into blades, whips, drills, wings, and needles shattered that illusion. Nadia spectated as she walked along a pier parallel to this creature’s stage, captivated. When she reached a two-story observation platform, she made for the bulletin board to find out just what this thing was. Twelve, she read. With an arsenal of bizarre, long-reaching attacks, it seemed to control space well, especially in the air. The more Nadia watched, however, the more obvious Twelve’s disadvantage became. Its opponent, an only slightly less white girl in a fancy dress, could summon weapons as even better pokes, had a slew of defensive techniques, and had some surprisingly long-range grabs as well. Moreover, she had one thing the shapeshifter definitely didn’t: the ability to combo. Even if it did land some pokes, Twelve could never link into a combo. When Artifactor converted a stray hit into yet another combo, her target on its last legs, Nadia shook her head and moved on. “No wonder they call that guy Twelve. He ‘dozen’ do damage!”

Nadia tried not to get too distracted with other fights until she finally spotted Filia’s distinctive raven-black hair. Her fellow NMO representative was embroiled in a heated duel with a tomboyish Japanese teenager in a white karate gi. Thanks to Samson, the parasite that inhabited Filia’s hair, the girl wielded solid movement and unpredictable techniques. As Nadia looked on, she jammed her hair into the ground to create a ringlet drill beneath her foe, then rolled up into a hairball to dodge her jump-in. What her opponent lacked in supernatural abilities, though, she made up for with excellent instincts and sheer aggression. The martial artist pushed forward with alarming boldness, forcing Filia to scramble to keep up. Nadia wondered why Filia seemed to be jumping so much until the tomboy seized her in a command grab and lifted her into the air by her throat. After squeezing, she followed up with a combo that left her foe floored and senseless.

Grimacing, Nadia sucked in air through her teeth. A quick look around confirmed the presence of Annie nearby, also watching Filia’s duel with crossed arms and pursed lips. Nadia trotted over, waving. “Hey! How’s it goin’?”

“Fine for me,” the Girl of the Stars replied, offering a curt wave in return. She then looked back at Filia, who was picking herself up as Samson dusted her off. “Not so good for her. Filia won her first match against some guy named Hakuowlo, but that Makoto girl is dynamite. She’s got skills and power…Filia’s a round down, and I’m worried she’s too shaken to pull the momentum back.” Although the girl couldn’t hear her from this distance, Annie kept her voice down, just in case. As the second round kicked off, Annie turned her one eye toward Nadia. “Won your match?”

“Yep!” The catgirl grinned as she put her hands on her hips. “Fought a couple cyborgs. They kept it interesting, but we cleaned ‘em out. Two rounds straight.” She gave Annie the double finger guns. “How ‘bout you?”

Annie just nodded, impassive. “Yeah. Some tasteless soldier lady.” The two turned their attention back to the match as Filia, already on the back foot again, woke up from a knockdown with Fenris Drive. Not knowing about Filia’s reversal Blockbuster, Makoto got taken by surprise and snapped up in the empowered Updo. Samson formed his fanged face and his host’s hair into the head of a wolf, chomped on Makoto, and then dove to the ground for a final slam. The moment the martial artist regained her feet, though, she grabbed Filia and headbutted her. Filia stumbled back, groaning, with Samson’s eyes wise and his tongue sticking out. Without delay, Makoto fired off a light punch, then light kick, then launched forward in a zooming dash punch. On hit, she planted her foot as her energy seemed to flare. After a strong low punch, she hammered her opponent with a flurry that ended in a dramatic launcher that left Filia’s head ringing from the combination. When she dashed up, Filia tried to cover her retreat with jumping hair attacks until her back was to the water, at which point she launched a desperate Updo. Makoto blocked the reversal, making Nadia wince. No way Filia wasn’t going out of bounds. Instead of taking the easy ring out, though, Makoto decked her foe with a strong chop, and the other girl slumped to the floor, defeated.

Makoto breathed in deep, bowed to her opponent, then turned to go. The next moment Nadia landed on the stage, then jogged over to Filia’s side to crouch down. “Hey, you okay?”

“Ugh…” Filia clamped both hands on top of her scalp, her expression tightening. “I think so. Ow…”

“I’m good, thanks for asking,” Samson growled gruffly, wriggling beneath Filia’s touch.

Nadia looked over, brows furrowed, at Makoto as she left the arena. “She’s cracked or somethin’, I dunno. Guess you’ve had your fill-ia?” She focused on one face at a time, but neither looked amused. “No?”

Samson clicked his tongue as he extended Filia’s hair to pick her up onto her feet. “Can it, kitty cat. Things just got a lot harder for us.”

“Well, we probably weren’t going to win anyway,” the girl admitted, brushing her hair back. “There’s just too many fighters. We mostly wanted to see if we’d improved any thanks to Annie’s training.” As her mentor jumped down and walked over, Filia smiled sheepishly. “Sorry…”

“Nah, you did fine,” Annie assured her. “It’s like Fortune said, Makoto’s just that strong. Bad luck running into someone like that early.” She jabbed a thumb back toward the boardwalk. “We better clear out for the next group.”

The three rejoined Robo-fortune on the walkway as two more World Warrior competitors took Makoto and Filia’s place. As Robo ran a quick scan to make sure Filia would be okay, Nadia looked around. “Where’s Beowulf, by the way?”

“In Tekken,” Annie replied. “Said he wanted to see how he stacked up against King, one of their famous wrestlers. Go say hi if you want, but we’re gonna be up again pretty soon. Never a moment to rest in World Warrior.”

After wishing Filia and Annie luck, Nadia set off again to watch more World Warrior pools matches on her way to the Tekken section of the tier, with Robo at her heels. The feral figured that she and her doppelganger probably ought to spend some time on their teamwork, maybe even get a couple Kameo combos figured out, but for now she was caught up in all the excitement. Locals might not think much of pools, but Nadia felt like a kid in a candy shop, with fascinating fights in every direction almost as far as the eye could see.

---

Following his rather annoying match against Rasputin, Band decided to take a rest. He wasn’t actually gassed yet, as tiresome as that last bout had been, but the detective knew that he’d need to take every breather he could if he wanted to make it through this bracket. Unfortunately, the various benches that populated the Pools’ rest areas wouldn’t be much better at supporting his weighty frame than the chairs in Quick Rise, so he’d have to make do another way.

Luckily, it didn’t take long to find a spot where he could hunker down and park his bell-shaped body. The pools matches in his vicinity were a tempting distraction, but rather than spectate his fellow competitors’ qualifiers, Band tried to tune them out in order to focus. Even if he’d completed only one match so far, he could still learn a thing or two from every exchange of blows. No amount of late-night combo practice against motionless target dummies would make up for experience, after all.

So, what had that last duel taught him? Thanks to his powerful body and huge arsenal of weaponized instruments, he did wield a great deal of strengths, but his weaknesses were just as pronounced. His low mobility and large size made him susceptible to faster, projectile-happy opponents. Keepaway was a well-established art, and Rasputin had been a disciple of that school, if not a master. In fact, he’d been neither particularly fast nor especially skilled with those rather limited spells of his, so even though the detective did ultimately win both rounds, it probably should have been easier.

Then again, idealizing what ‘should be’ was a mental trap that meant one would always fall short, so maybe Band didn’t need to dwell on it. His answers for zoners would be the same as always: Brass Knuckles, Emergency Break, and a forward tech after a careful whiff of 5000 LB Slam. If he could calmly keep a hold on that game plan, it would hopefully serve him well in future matches. It would only get harder from here though. Truth be told, he worked best in a team. If he had someone like Peacock around to cover his weaknesses, he could easily become a nigh-unstoppable juggernaut on the battlefield.

After a couple minutes, Band took a final deep breath and picked himself up in order to consult a bulletin board. It displayed the current World Warrior bracket, and it took the detective only a couple seconds to find his next matchup. He would be facing a competitor by the name of Rhajang on stage S-51 in…twelve minutes. Band’s eyebrows went up as he noticed that last detail. “No rest for the wicked, huh?” He looked around at the expanse of the Pools dedicated to the World Warrior tournament, then shrugged. “Guess we do got a lot of fighters to get through, huh?”

To get there on time he figured he better get going now, since navigating these bridges and walkways could get a little tricky when many weren’t much wider than he was. He set off, his passage through the tier marked by intermittent mutterings. “Scuse me…comin’ through…scuse me…beggin’ your pardon…” Some of the fighters, whether in between matches or here just to watch, didn’t exactly appreciate his disruption, but the Pools were no place to pick fights. Fortunately, most people in his path didn’t really care. One elegant woman with a long purple braid and lavender kimono even shot him a smile as he passed, which really stuck in his mind. Band seldom found himself on the receiving end of any smile, after all, especially from a lady as pretty as her.

Seven minutes later, Band stood on a pier staring dubiously at the unremarkable raft floating in front of him. It didn’t look very sturdy. “This thing gonna hold my weight?” he wondered aloud. Even if it held, whether or not it would survive repeated impacts from different competitors was another matter. Well, if it was still in one piece after all this time, it would probably last a little longer. Plenty of stuff in the World of Light was tougher than it had any right to be. Himself included.

Band double jumped to the stage. It shifted and creaked beneath his weight, but he didn’t break through the planks. If this raft didn’t drift around, it probably had a rope or something that anchored it to the bottom of the pool. At the sound of a growl, he looked up to see a bulky tiger leap down onto the stage. Not a humanoid tiger like some of the anthropomorphic animals he’d seen around the World of Light, but an actual tiger, albeit weirdly proportioned. The big cat mad-dogged him with gleaming red eyes, its killer intent implicit, and Band could only stare at it, shaking his head. “You’re kiddin’ me.” Rhajang curled its lips at him in response, and Band sighed in resignation. “Well…at least it won’t be playin’ keepaway…probably.”



Although the warmth and aroma of the invigorating stew tempted Sandalphon, she did have a couple administrative duties to take care of before she would permit herself to recharge. A number of her fellow Seekers were of like mind as they took inventory. Many itemized the spirits they obtained during their battles against the Naytibas, but a couple seemed interested in fusion, as nasty as those mutated monsters had been. Sandalphon was not eager to see the result of Ramattra’s fusion with the abhorrent Democrawler, but if that was what he wanted, she saw no grounds for interference. He at least stepped outside the stagecoach to come to grips with his new form with plenty of room to spare. The same could not be said for Ganondorf, who climbed through the stagecoach’s rear exit with the proof of his victory over Belial in hand.

Sandalphon had known that the sword-wielding Naytiba would return sooner or later, so with the heroes on the verge of escaping Spire 04, it made sense that Belial reared its ugly head soon after she departed for the space station. This time, it seemed like there had been enough of them to put the monster down. “Well done,” she remarked, her eyes on the Naytiba’s spirit. At the very least, Belial had been more or less humanoid, so if Ganondorf did not mind becoming a cyborg, fusion with it would probably work out. Sandalphon sympathized with him about the healing deficiency inflicted by the Gravemind spirit. If they continued to face stronger and more skilled opponents, the Seekers would continue taking more and more damage; if their bodies and equipment did not improve at a similar rate, it was up to the healers to make up the difference. Being unable to restore Ganondorf did stress her to a surprising degree, so if he could find his own ways to regenerate, that would be a weight off her mind.

She watched as he transformed, filling the stagecoach’s interior with a dazzling prismatic lightshow. When it subsided, the warlord boasted a more technological appearance, his proportions, hairstyle, and left arm most altered by the change. For a moment she thought his left arm completely replaced, but the alloy armor plates seemed to be grafted onto his skin. For now, he still seemed predominantly biological. Maybe he would stay that way, thanks to the Gravemind spirit. Regardless, the being before her projected a more pronounced aura of danger and power than ever. Sandalphon felt distinctly uncomfortable, especially once ghostly purple fire flared up within the stagecoach’s confines. This king of darkness, fused with a handful of strong warriors and now two mutagenic flesh plagues…he might as well be a demon, perhaps even on par with Lilith. When Ganondorf went to help himself to some stew, the archangel gave him plenty of room.

Somewhat put off eating, she turned her attention to the conversation with Edward. As someone who always wanted as much information about the things around her as possible, she listened closely as the strategist filled in the blanks for her about the conflict between androids and humans in Eve’s world. Others came, ate, and went as they talked, and it didn’t take long for their chat to turn into philosophical musing that ultimately didn’t go anywhere. The reminder of her own expiration date, impending but indeterminate, as well as her makeshift plan to defy it, left Sandalphon stiff with a dreadful feeling of doom.

By the time that her mind stopped racing, Ganondorf was gone, so she tentatively ladled herself a bowl of stew as well. Maybe not every angel needed sustenance, but at the end of the day Sandalphon was a dragon, and every dragon needed to eat. Unfortunately, with no ingredients found and added to the stewpot over the course of the team’s trip through Spire 04, the stew was thin and lacking. Even if it did sustain her, it did little to invigorate her. It would probably be necessary to use some of the expedition’s travel rations to keep the bigger, more physical members’ strength up.

Though the warmth of the stagecoach’s interior had been sorely missed during her time in the Raphael Space Center, orbital space station, and especially in that rinky-dink spaceship, Sandalphon did not sit still for long. After about half an hour, she noticed that the stagecoach had gradually slowed down, and decided to stretch her legs.

Once the parka-clad archangel opened the vehicle’s rear door, shivered as the chill wind caught her, and stepped out into the wintry night, she found herself in a pine forest. It was tall, ancient, and very, very quiet. It was snowing, and though the evergreen boughs overhead deflected the worst gusts, plenty of flakes descended to the fluffy white frosting that coated the underbrush and blanketed the forest floor. Thanks to the Highlands’ cloud cover, neither moonlight nor starlight filtered through the trees, so the darkness was absolute. Only the lamps and lightning rods of the stagecoach beat back the gloom. If not for the hooves of the Shieldrix, the creaky rattle of wagon-wheels, and the occasional murmur from the ratshaker rat, the silence would be absolute. It felt much less evil here than in the haunted Reaver Woods that morning, but Sandalphon didn’t exactly feel at peace, either.

She walked after the stagecoach as fast as she could reasonably manage, very determined not to lose the light. A quick look at the wagon’s roof confirmed the presence of Heismay, sitting in his customary spot as a lookout with a light coating of snow on his hooded head and shoulders. Though he sat in a relaxed position, the eugief certainly wasn’t asleep. His big ruby-red eyes scanned the darkness between the rows of gnarled, knotted trunks on either side, alert for any sign of danger. Sandalphon assumed that he must be as tired and hungry as the rest of the team, but it seemed like Heismay would stray right where he was until the Seekers found somewhere to camp for the night. She wondered just how long the hermit had lived alone, without anyone to watch his back, forced to sleep lightly and jolt awake at the slightest disturbance. Hopefully he could get a good night’s sleep tonight, now that he was among friends.

Eventually, word reached the rest of the team that Ace and Geralt’s two-man scouting party had found something in the midst of the dark forest. It turned out to be a two-story lodge, sitting in neglected silence not far off the beaten path. The hunters reported no signs of life, only layers of dust and that it was just as cold inside as it was outside. Although seemingly abandoned for some time, the house itself and all its furnishings were in remarkably good condition.

With no dangers around that Ace’s scoutflies or Geralt’s superhuman senses could suss out during their search, Sandalphon’s decision was a no-brainer. Virtually anything would be safer and more conducive to a good night’s sleep than tents and sleeping bags out in the snowy woods. Even if the team couldn’t heat up the place, its walls and roof provided some much-needed security against the elements and any potential threats that might stalk their way in the dead of night. “Excellent. Let’s inhabit this lodge for the night,” she told the team before relaying the directions provided by Geralt. Once the stagecoach pulled to a stop at the building’s doorstep, the Seekers could disembark and begin to make the house into a home.



Heismay climbed up the steps to the door warily, pulling his hood off so that his long ears could pick up any sounds that the others might have missed during their perusal, however unlikely that would’ve been. He paused as he peered at the porchlight by the door. “We’ll want to douse that before retiring,” he recommended. “It’s visible from the Midnight Walk. I’m surprised we’re the first to have seen it.”

Once inside, he pattered through the utility room, then entered what appeared to be a kitchen. The counters in here were almost at eye-level for him, but not quite, so he couldn’t quite see atop the granite surfaces. This was no surprise to him of course; out of everywhere in Euchronia, only dedicated Eugief villages were built with his tribe’s diminutive stature in mind. The other Seekers had entered the house by now and were exploring the place. Some stomped up the stairs to scope out the second floor, while others opened all the doors to peer at the rooms inside. There were a couple bathrooms and half a dozen bedrooms, definitely not enough bedrooms for everyone. He wondered who would stake their claim to one, since he certainly didn’t need that much space. If one or both of the hunters really did want a room, he figured they’d probably earned it.

Heismay proceeded into the living room, a rather lavish two-story affair with cushioned couches arranged around a couple sculpture-laden coffee tables. He hopped up onto a loveseat, then sat down, his legs dangling over the edge. Overhead, a large decorative object, made from a number of interlocking metal hoops, dangled from a rope attached to the ceiling. “Tis spacious, and well-furnished,” he observed. “The property of a well-to-do noble house, I should think. Yet…uninhabited, and oddly insecure.” He looked over as Sandalphon stepped into the room. “I’ve heard it said that rich families occasionally purchase additional dwellings, which they inhabit on a seasonal basis. One home for winter, another for summer.”

The archangel nodded. “That could be the case. If we are truly as fortunate as it seems, we should be grateful.” She looked around with narrowed eyes, crossing her arms for warmth. “We should also endeavor to secure it ourselves, and make it warmer in here.” Putting two fingers to her ear, she manifested a sigil in order to contact the team’s strategist. “Edward. How feasible would it be to deploy drones to keep watch over the premises? If not, we’ll need to establish a night watch rotation.”

“I can see about heat,” Heismay volunteered, sliding down from his couch. “Perhaps the owners had a furnace somewhere. If we’re lucky, they kept a stockpile of fuel. If not…well, there’s plenty of wood outside.” Chopping logs sounded brutal after such a long, exhausting day, but the Seekers didn’t have much choice.

Heismay made a beeline for the door that Ace and Geralt entered a minute prior, and descending the steps beyond it brought him to the basement. It was no wine cellar, so unfortunately Ace and Geralt would probably return empty-handed, but it did seem to be the storage space for various practical objects. It was nearly pitch black down here, but like the bats his tribe resembled, Heismay had no trouble seeing in the near-total absence of light. He did not find a furnace, but among the various tools and materials stored in the basement, he did discover both a bag of charcoal and a stack of logs, probably set aside for the exact purpose he wanted them for. “Hm…’tis our lucky day after all.” He scratched his head. “Though, thinking back on it, I suppose we do likely have some coal left over from creating those creatures earlier.” Shrugging, Heismay lifted the bag, then retraced his footsteps. If the coal bag was this heavy, he’d need some help to get those logs to the fireplace.

After returning to the living room, he set the bag down by the fireplace, then paused. He could hear something new: the sound of little footsteps. By now, he knew the pattern of his allies’ footfalls (minus some of Edwards’ new creations and acquaintances) so he felt confident in saying this didn’t belong to any of them. In truth these footfalls, light and barely audible, were much harder to hear than the click-click-click of their accompanying toenails against the floor, and this sound was getting louder. Heismay turned in the direction of the back door through which everyone entered, and after another moment, a little white dog trotted into view.

“...Oh.” Having unwittingly tensed up, Heismay allowed himself to relax, but only just. “When did you slip in, little one? Or were you here all along?” Either way, neither Ace nor Geralt had mentioned any animals, and it was stranger still that such a creature would be alone in an abandoned house or the inhospitable woods outside. The dog padded toward him, wagging her tail, and stopped about a foot away. Thanks to Galeem’s influence, her black eyes gave off a gentle sunset red shimmer as she stared at him expectantly. She let out a soft bark, springing a few inches into the air.

A moment later, Sandalphon appeared at the upstairs banister. She’d been examining the master bathroom, where she’d just determined that the kiddie pool-sized tub was fully operational, when she heard the sound. “What’s this doing here?” she asked, her pupils in the shape of question marks.

Heismay shrugged as the dog yipped again. “Not sure when it got in. Or how it evaded our hunters, for that matter.” When he looked back at the critter, he noticed a disconcerting fact: her eyes were redder than before. She barked, then jumped again, twice in quick succession. “Ah. That’s…not good.”

“Her eyes are glowing,” Sandalphon acknowledged as her pupils became exclamation marks. The dog grew more impatient, barking and whining. “She wants something. Can you calm her down?”

Heismay looked increasingly uneasy himself. “How?”

“Pet her?” Sandalphon ventured. She'd never owned a dog herself, but she knew that most enjoyed physical touch. She thought of that retriever she helped to catch back in Midgar's Quarantine Valley.

“I don’t like dogs…” Heismay scrunched up his nose, but he obliged, reaching out and stiffly patting the dog on her head. He half-expected her to bite him, but instead she gave off a bunch of little hearts, leaning into his hand to be pet more as the glow in her eyes subsided. Relieved, Heismay continued to give her attention, scratching her behind the ears. “How peculiar.”

Sandalphon came down the stairs, keeping an unblinking eye on the little beast. “Although her vital signs are a little erratic, I’m sure we could deal with her if she became aggressive. That said, if there’s no need for violence I would rather try to keep her happy. Perhaps some food would satisfy her.”

Sighing, Heismay looked around to see if anyone else could help. “If she must be doted upon, I’d much rather somebody else do it.”

With that situation defused, everyone could continue settling in for the night. If Blazermate didn’t use her tinderbox to light the coals and logs Heismay found, it’d be easy enough for Mokou to fire them up. Either way, the living room would be heating up before long, its warmth slowly radiating outward to fill the lodge.

“Ryu! Ryu! Ryu!”

It was that time of the year again. As usual, every fellow fighter gathering around the makeshift arena had been nothing but perfect to him. They chanted his name and cheered on him, making it loud and clear that they were rooting for the erstwhile World Warrior champion simultaneously. It was no wonder when it’d been a year since Ryu ever graced the World Warrior tournament with his presence. Not only was he a fan favorite, Ryu was also the original champion and the tournament’s biggest attraction, so his return was surely anticipated.

Tightening his grip around the string of his duffle bag, Ryu made his glorious entrance to the spacious traditional boat, his bare strides combing through the sea of combatants. While he wasn’t quite bothered by the roar of the crowd, he still smiled and gave the nearby spectators a gentle wave, appreciating their support. His attention, however, soon shifted towards his first opponent: the masked figure clad in skeleton spandex, a red scarf worn around his neck. Said gimmicky masked man stood right across from him, gloved knuckles on both hips as a theatrical laugh escaped his mouth.

“Ryu,” the masked man called, “we meet again, my fellow seeker of justice!”

Even Ryu couldn’t help, but cackle along. He knew who Skullomania was. Once upon a time, the comical vigilante was part of the Street Fighter Dojo alongside Ryu and the likes. Well, that was, until a Street Fighter alumnus named Garuda opened the Fighting EX Layer Dojo by the city’s middle tier, attracting the likes of Skullo, Kairi, Hokuto, and several other street fighters with similar fighting styles to apply for the dojo. Unlike others, however, Skullo’s reason in leaving the Street Fighter Dojo was more to do with pursuing the very man he deemed to be an evil-doer, reassuring that the Fighting EX Layer Dojo would be rid of Garuda’s influence once and forever.

“Yosh! And it sure has been a while, my friend,” Ryu agreed with a nod and a smile. “How is your training going, so far?”

“Spectacular, of course! Amazing even!” Skullo reciprocated, his cheery voice muffled by the dark fabric of his mask. “It’s been fun kicking evil-doers’ butts and keeping the city safe. And I assume you’ve been training as hard, yes?”

“Well, you can say that again,” Ryu simply confirmed, then added: “I don’t recall seeing you in the World Warrior tournament two years ago. Suppose there is a criminal you’re chasing after?”

“Why, of course!” Skullo confirmed, his expression one of determination. “I’ve made a vow, fellow Ryu. I can’t just rest while evil is still around the corner. Especially this past week. Haven’t you checked the news lately? Banishing Flats were bombed. Dozens of innocent people were killed! And it’s not to mention the missing King of Fighters participants yet to be found in recent years. If what Sharon told me is to go by…” The masked hero hummed, thoughtfully caressing his mandible. “...Then, perhaps, one of those vile Kings has to be the culprit!”

Speaking of the devil, as Skullo gestured towards the towers overlooking the area, the swirling energy streaks had knocked and brought each tower to life, drawing all the Four Kings out of their hideouts. Gazing up, Ryu could only pay attention, as the Kings made their respective announcements with Heihachi bringing up the recent explosion incident taking place at the Banishing Flats. Knowing what happened, it made Ryu feel horrible about himself that he chose to spend the entire night at the lower tier, instead of doing what needed to be done.

However, it was Bison who Ryu paid more attention to than all the other Kings—not only because he was the sponsor of the World Warrior tournament, but also due to his claim. An attempt had been made on his life, apparently, and while he was left unscathed, the news was enough to make nearly the entire area gasp in horror. If only they knew that Bison had a collection of empty vessels ready to be used for this exact occasion—the fact that part of the Street Fighter Dojo was already aware of.

“I see… It seems like this city has been having a bad year while I left,” Ryu remarked, then lowered his gaze back to glance over the masked vigilante across from him. “I’m sorry, Skullo, but did you… happen to be the person Bison was talking about?” He made sure to drop his voice slightly below a whisper to avoid nearby fighters from eavesdropping.

“Nope. Not at all!” Skullo reciprocated with a shaking head. “Do not mistake a costumed crime-fighter for a menace, fellow Ryu, for true heroes know that great power comes with greater responsibility. Although, I must admit, I do look forward to locking M. Bison behind the prison bars if and when I win this tournament.”

“Hmm… Well, I believe you, but that certainly is odd, isn’t it?” Ryu mumbled almost to himself, as he caressed his mandible. “Not that I accused you, though, but if it wasn’t you or anyone like you, then… who might it be? Some tourists?”

Questions aside, Ryu was convinced that somebody as morally righteous as one Skullomania would, indeed, use his fighting prowess responsibly, instead of committing the unthinkable. Not that he pitied Bison, either, but it certainly was off-putting that both incidents took place back-to-back, as if they were orchestrated by the same individuals. It wasn’t even to mention the fact that—in nature—the incidents seemed to work against everything that the Heavenly Principles dictated. However, before Ryu could get an answer as to who the culprits might be, a streak of glittering gold surrounded him and his opponent overhead, only to halt between both street fighters to display…

---

---

At the cue, Ryu dropped the duffle bag on his shoulder almost automatically, tightening his headband then sparring gloves. The floating letters reverted back to their glittering form, only to spread and transform into a timer, a pair of health bars, and a pair of empty power meters, each measuring the duration of the round and both competitors’ well-being and stamina respectively.

“Well, then. May the strongest win,” the original World Warrior champion wished, subsequently entering his karate stance. “Koi!”

At the beckoning gesture, Skullo didn’t waste a chance. Shortly after assuming his own stance, the masked vigilante launched himself head first in Ryu’s direction, vaulting and drilling forth.

“SKULLO CRASHER!!”

Reflexively, Ryu leaped back, his gallant frame curling. Just as he unfurled his frame and landed on his feet, the headbanded warrior summoned a sphere of energy between his strapped palms, thrusting his arms out and firing a blue fireball towards the diving Skullo.

“HADOUKEN!!”

Just like that, Ryu managed his first attack. Skullo’s crown was only inches away from connecting with Ryu when the latter executed his iconic special move. The collision between cranium and flying projectile managed to push Skullo several feet to the back, depleting a small fraction of his health bar. Once he halted by the cabin behind, the masked crime-fighter shook his head, then sprung up, quickly entering his stance and striking his clawing hands out.

“Nice one, fellow Ryu!” Skullo complimented before adding: “But I cannot lose just yet. Not when—”

Before Skullo could repeat his earlier statement, Ryu had already leaped in his direction, ambushing him with a flying, downward kick. Imaginary eyes going wide, the goofy crime-fighter had to, unfortunately, swallow the kick, allowing the erstwhile champion’s bare foot to connect with his veiled face.

“Oof!”

The kick instantly jolted Skullo back, forcing him to lower his guard. As his bare feet touched the deck again, Ryu slightly shifted around, then swung his leg overhead, delivering a high-angled roundhouse kick onto his opponent. This time, however, Skullo was quick to place his forearms over his own face, preventing the slamming foot from knocking his temple. He continued to maintain the exact defensive approach when Ryu delivered a firm jab and a short uppercut, each alternating strike still managing to deplete his health bar through the barest hints of chip damage.

“Keep it up, fellow Ryu! If you think you can breach through my mighty block, that is…”

“Talk is cheap, my friend.”

As fast as the wind, Ryu surprised Skullo with an axe kick, bringing his leg upwards. The impact of the upward kick was so strong it began to falter his opponent’s defense, forcing him to jolt back with a hit spark. After a heel drop, the headbanded warrior instantly cancelled his attack into a Joudan Sokutogeri that was sure to close the gap separating both street fighters.

WHAM!

The heavy side kick managed to break through the crime-fighter’s defense, shoving him towards the boat’s cabin again. Eyes wide, Skullo was forced to collide with the cabin’s wall on his back, the harsh impact rocking the boat and rendering the roaring spectators unsteady. He eventually bounced forth, landing harshly on his front.

THUD!

“Ungh!”

Despite the grueling beat down, thankfully, his power meter continuously charged itself whenever he received an attack, now close to entering Level 1. The same could be said about Ryu since he was only a moment away from filling up his power meter completely. While Skullo still attempted to steady himself, Ryu wasted no chance and closed the distance with a leaping, spinning kick, executing a heavy…

“TATSUMAKI SENPUUKYAKU!!”

Like a hurricane, Ryu was close to drawing and launching his opponent towards a nearby crate box, nearly depleting the latter’s health bar tremendously. Unfortunately, before the hurricane kick could connect, Skullo had already anticipated it with his own special move—not to counter Ryu’s Tatsumaki Senpuukyaku, but to slide beneath his spinning form with his leading leg striking out. His battle cry was shouted.

“SKULLO SLIDER!!”

Ryu was slightly taken aback. In an instant, he cancelled the ramming hurricane kick altogether, safely descending on both feet. With the erstwhile champion now standing against him, Skullo seized the moment and closed in on Ryu with a dash, ambushing him using a special move similar to Shoryuken with a miniscule twist. Instead of using his fist, Skullo utilized his head to perform a spiraling mock uppercut, managing to catch Ryu off guard as his cranium met his back. The leaping uppercut propelled the costumed crime-fighter out of the ground, prompting him to follow up the special move with a diving headbutt.

“SKULLO HEAD DIVE!!”

BAM!

“Gwahh–!!”

At long last, the masked hero managed to topple the once undisputed champion on his front, the impact depleting a quarter part of his once loaded health bar. As he landed and steadied himself before the laying Ryu, Skullo taunted him with a laugh and an exaggerated akimbo pose, triggering the power meter at his heels to fill itself completely.

“Ho ho ho, fellow Ryu! At long last, you’ve learned the greatness that is the power of one Skullomania!” he boasted, lifting a finger close to his dark temple. “And now that you’ve witnessed such greatness, allow me to show you my ultimate technique!”

Ryu, seemingly unfazed, carefully picked himself out of the deck, turning against the cabin to face the comical crime-fighter in front of him. A smirk was shot, albeit slightly.

“Oh, is that so?” the headbanded warrior asked, gradually assuming his ready stance. “I’m surely interested to know. Show me your strength!”

Simultaneously, both street fighters were shrouded by flickering lights, activating their respective power bars. While Ryu brought his palms together to retract a massive wave of inner force, Skullo, on the other hand, hurled himself head first towards his opponent, executing a multi-hitting, diving headbutt.

“SUPER SKULLO CRASHER!!!”

“SHINKUU… HADOUKEN!!!”

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

WHAM!

Stupidly enough, by lunging head first towards the more seasoned street fighter, Skullo had allowed himself to be caught by the swarm of multi-hitting fireballs Ryu had just unleashed out of his palms. The Level 1 super move was strong enough to drain what was left of the crime-fighter’s thinning health bar, sending him flying towards the boat’s precipice. As Skullo laid flat on the deck unconscious, a metaphysical bell rang aloud, its echo prompting both the pairs of bars and the timer to regroup and form the following message:

---

---

As the spectators roared in joy, Ryu closed his eyes and folded his toned arms together, the tails of his headband whiffling along the wind. It wasn’t too shabby for his first match in a year, he thought to himself.

“Now that’s what I called a street fight!”

By the time he opened his eyes and turned his face towards the boat’s precipice ahead of him, Ryu was welcomed by the sight of Skullo raising his thumb up, his laying form maintained (at least, for the time being).

“Y– Yes, yes, I’m good! Just a little dizzy. Don’t worry about me, fellow Ryu!”

Once he started to recover, the crime-fighter performed a rather theatrical spin-a-roonie to bring himself back on his boots, standing out of his prior laying position.

“That was, indeed, an entertaining battle. Just not the one where I showed you my true capabilities,” Skullo admitted, then rubbed the nape of his neck, both his face and voice subsequently sinking. Fortunately, it didn’t take long until he managed an optimistic exterior again. “But don’t you worry, fellow Ryu! Because I, Skullomania, an emissary from Esaka, will not fail you in our second round!” Then, a series of dynamic, perhaps hero-like poses, which elicited a grin from Ryu. Even the spectators giggled along at the gimmicky sight, equally amused.

“Well, I believe you. I, too, expect you to fight better in the next round, Skullo,” Ryu encouraged, tightening his black belt before assuming his karate stance again, small hops taken. “C’mon… Fight!”

DING!

DING!

The metaphysical bell rang again, bringing the glittering streak of gold back to life. It floated and swirled around the boat before gathering between the readying competitors, shifting into another announcement that read:

---

---

Both the bars and the timer returned to accompany both competing street fighters, now with a V-sign emblem appearing next to Ryu’s health bar to symbolize his victory in the first round. Just as it was the first round, Skullo refused to take a moment to size his opponent up and try to read his mind. He quickly leaped into action, launching and hurling himself towards Ryu with the prior spiraling headbutt.

“SKULLO HEAD!!”

Ryu, ever so calculating, had already anticipated Skullo’s reckless tendency and over-reliance on special moves. Bare feet leaving the ground, the original World Warrior champion leaped and lunged forth with a flying uppercut, closing the gap separating them.

“SHORYUKEN!!”

POW!

Head met fist, as their special moves collided, erupting an abrupt hit spark that managed to separate the two. The impact left both the headbanded warrior and the masked crime-fighter jolting, quickly sending them back on top of the boat’s deck, albeit a little unsteadily. It surprised Ryu how Skullo hadn’t suffered from a concussion just yet after abusing and injuring his head the way he did.

Once they stood back on their feet steadily, the two—once again—closed the gap that their respective special moves had created, exchanging rounds after rounds of flails and kicks. This was one of the best parts in any tournament match, some hysterical spectators believed, as the two competing fighters demonstrated their respective combo maneuvers—each one gradually charging up the power meters hovering at the bottom. Surprisingly, though, Skullo managed to overwhelm Ryu with his latter set of normal attacks, comprising double flails, a front kick, and a high-angled side kick. Seeing that he managed to knock Ryu back by his dark temple, the crime-fighter followed up said string of attacks with a sliding kick, hoping to falter and crumple his opponent.

WHAM!

“SKULLO SLIDER!!”

If there was one advantage that Skullo had over Ryu, he was—in several respects—faster and more acrobatic than the far more methodical street fighter. However, Ryu’s reflexes and agility weren’t to be underestimated, either. Instead of connecting with his lower limbs, the Skullo Slider, instead, was greeted by the headbanded warrior’s perfectly timed low parry, his flickering forearm clashing against the crime-fighter’s leading leg with a distinctive noise. The special move was foiled.

“Nani!?”

By the time both competitors rose out of their lowered forms, Ryu quickly turned the table by shoving the wide-eyed Skullo back with a short “HADOUKEN,” the impact surprisingly lighter than his prior attacks. Once a space was maintained, the original World Warrior champion closed in with a leaping, downward kick, connecting the sole of his foot with his opponent’s cranium.

THWACK!

“Oof!”

A hit spark surged, jolting the crime-fighter back rather dramatically. When he reached the deck again, Ryu bombarded his barely recovered opponent with a combo of his own, starting with a crouching kick then followed by a left hook, a roundhouse kick, and finally, a stiff Joudan Sokutogeri to the torso. The latter successfully launched Skullo several feet to the back once more, sending him towards one of the spectators sitting by the boat’s precipice.

“Nani!?”

“Hey!”

SPLOOSH!

While Skullo was only close to getting thrown out of the boat, the same couldn’t be said about the elderly Vietnamese man who so happened to be the owner of the boat. Thankfully, it only took seconds until his paddy hat came to view, signifying that he was already out of the water’s surface. Soaking from head to toe, the elderly man climbed back onto the boat, subsequently snatching the hat around his crown to smack the stunned Skullo with it.

WHACK!

“Oww–!!”

“Idiot!”

Fortunately, the smacking hat did absolutely no damage to the crime-fighter since it came from a spectator, instead of the other street fighter. He could feel imaginary stars and cupids spiraling around his head, as he caressed his cheek, still struggling to stand on his boots. The sight of Ryu was blurred from beyond the boat’s corner, only showing a pixelated concoction of black, red, and dull white. As far as he could tell from beyond the center of the stage, it was jarringly apparent that most spectators sided with Ryu throughout the bout, with some of the most notable chants being “Fight, Ryu, fight!” and “Beat him up, Ryu!” which further discouraged Skullo. Certainly, some were more elaborate than the others.

“Dude… he’s sooo cooked!” said a blonde, spike-haired boy with a can of ‘Java Tea’ in his hand, clearly referring to Skullo.

“I know right?” asked a verdant woodpecker sporting a red, cowboy-like neck scarf.

“He’s everything I wish to be,” said a headbanded girl sporting a traditional judo uniform, obviously referring to Ryu.

“Likewise,” said a dark-haired lad who looked like he could pass as Ryu’s long lost brother. “First Terry, and hopefully, Ryu is next.”

“Mhm… I can sense stronger inner force radiating from this very arena,” claimed a silver-haired man donning a visage-like mask and a traditional silat uniform, pensively caressing his mandible. “Perhaps, it is much stronger than the one I encountered back at the Teahouse. Soon, my fellow fighters, I, the ‘Village Champion,’ shall challenge the ‘World Warrior’ to a match. Our battle will be legendary!”

“Not bad. I have to admit he’s come a long way,” a cross-handed fighting game developer assessed, his fractured glasses shimmering at the sight of Ryu being enveloped in a burst of energy and lightning triggered by his Denjin Charge. “It appears that he fights better than I remember. Though, still, I’m yet to understand what makes him so appealing. Not only does he move like a stiff board, he’s not even the best Shoto in all of Esaka. Even when compared to other, flashier top-tier fighters like Jin Kazama, Kyo Kusanagi, and Sol Badguy, Ryu just always strikes me as the most—should I say—basic of the fighting champions. If you need a precise definition of ‘vanilla,’ then look no further than the man in front of you.”

“Hold on a minute… Aren’t you the same guy at the K-64 arena?” asked an eccentric punk with a rising blonde hair, standing right next to the geeky man.

In reciprocation, S-Kill frowned at the punkish brute named J, his glasses emitting a furious shimmer. “Yeah, so what? Do you have a problem with it?”

“Nah, mate, but seriously, why do you always whine about everything?” J asked back, throwing his open hands to gesture at the geeky man beside him. “Who cares about having gimmicky moves and flashy combos? Ryu’s still the best fighter there is. Just stop over-analyzing and watch the bloody match like a normal person would!”

S-Kill clicked his tongue. “Oh, yeah, is that so? Who’s whining here? It’s called giving an objective assessment, you uneducated plebe!” he argued, his voice raising. “Say that one last time, and you’ll be banned from entering the Divekick Dojo forever!”

As it was the prior round, Ryu didn’t seem to be bothered by the makeshift commentary and, instead, focused on the masked fighter ahead, his glaring eyes yet to leave him. However, to say that Skullo barely had his own supporters (or, at least, anybody reacting to his action at all) was an understatement since some of the members of the Fighting EX Layer Dojo were present to watch the showdown.

“C’mon, Skullo, you can do it!” said an exotic Middle Eastern girl in a blue, sleeveless vest and baggy pants, dancing and cheerleading in support.

“Yeaahhh!! That’s right, Skullo! Get ’im, boy!” said a ginger man in a blue karate gi and red undershirt.

“C’mon, buddy, don’t just stand there! Rough ’im up and make yourself famous!” said a fedora wearing brunette, as he swung his fists and shadowboxed.

“Go, Skullo, go! Go, Skullo, go!” chanted his female counterpart, cheerleading alongside Pullum.

Just knowing that a few people were still behind him uplifted Skullo, even though he didn’t want the cheers and (especially) jeers to distract him from the street fighter ahead. Especially not when Ryu had already closed the distance with a leaping roundhouse kick.

“Seiya!”

In mid-air, Ryu assumed a spinning form, aiming to knock Skullo’s temple with his ankle. Unfortunately, before it managed to connect, the crime-fighter had already crouched underneath his leaping form, reflexively whiffing the hard-kicking leg. Already having a similar move whiffed in the prior round, Ryu instantly drew his leg back and descended once the kick hit nothing but air, only a foot away from pushing the boat’s owner back into the water. If Skullo was quick-witted enough, he could’ve utilized this moment to punish Ryu with his own maneuver (even though, given the final half of the prior round, he wasn’t exactly easy to punish).

While Ryu still stood against him, Skullo jokingly poked his shoulder from behind, already noticing that he’d gained access to his Level 1 super move. The same could be said about Ryu, and fortunately, it might be a matter of time until both street fighters loaded their power meters for the second time.

“He he… Behind you~”

Already on high alert, Ryu was swift to turn and face his opponent again, his face and posture hardening. Instead of executing Shinkuu Hadouken for the second time, however, the more technical street fighter attempted a different approach. After having charged himself with the Power of Nothingness, Ryu didn’t wait further to bring his hands together and create an amplified Hadouken between his palms. Skullo, meanwhile, went all out and activated his Level 1 super move immediately, running towards Ryu just in time to execute…

“SKULLO DREAM!!!”

“Gwahh–!?”

POP!

Hilariously, his ‘New Skullo Dream’ technique instantly teleported them back to the center of the stage upon execution. To say that it was a martial arts technique might not be entirely true in a conventional sense, as it felt more like a collection of scenarios combining elements of action and humor. Two of the most notable scenes included Skullo shooting a comically large heart at Ryu and… what was that again? Both street fighters having breakfast in the middle of a bout?? Even funnier that a tea table and a small fridge had been summoned for the occasion. It appeared that Skullo understood Ryu’s love for food.

“So, fellow Ryu, what would you like to eat?” Skullo asked, sitting cross-legged just across from Ryu at the tea table.

Then, Ryu caressed his mandible and cocked his head to a side pensively, quietly humming. “Let’s see, uh… Do you happen to have Mizuyokan or stale bread in there?” he asked, gesturing at the fridge next to them with his thumb.

“Oh, sorry, I’m afraid not,” Skullo instantly denied. “However, I can think of a better meal that I can offer you for this occasion. So, just sit back and sip your tea, will you? I guarantee you’re going to love this!”

“Well… Thank you, I think?”

Despite his initial hesitation, the puzzled Ryu ended up taking the small cup of tea provided in front of him. It really couldn’t help when he was still in the middle of getting bombarded by an unusual super move, making him even more uneasy. As Ryu had already expected, this particular scene was all just an illusion to give him a false sense of security. When the tea was barely sipped, Skullo held the tea table by its rounded edge, flipping it right in front of the other street fighter. The scene immediately transitioned before Ryu could anticipate, depicting Skullo locking him in a modified Sharpshooter where he held and squeezed his opponent’s leg tight around his arm.

“How about this, fellow Ryu? Do you like what I’m cooking?”

“Huh??”

Thankfully, it didn’t take long until the scene transitioned again, now showing Skullo striking a pose with his curling hand raised to the sky, while Ryu found himself launching back several feet behind the larger-than-life persona.

“Gahahhh–!!”

If only the initial attack didn’t connect, Ryu would’ve been able to prevent the entire ordeal with ease (if this oddity of a super move could be considered an ordeal, anyway). Stupidly enough, it was the lightest variant of New Skullo Dream that Skullo had just executed, so the best it could do was depleting Ryu’s health bar by roughly less than a half.

Seeing that the headbanded warrior had started to stand on his feet, the masked crime-fighter ran forth with his balled hand extending, imagining himself hovering forth like one of those comic book caped heroes. Once close, he attempted to tackle Ryu with his shoulder, hoping to fully load his power meter again.

BAM!

“Hah! Nani!?”

Unfortunately for Skullo, Ryu had, once again, anticipated his attack upon recovery, letting his parrying, flickering forearm connect with his tackling shoulder. With the Skullo Tackle now foiled, the masked crime-fighter cancelled said special move into a back-flipping kick, only for Ryu to prevent its impact with a high parry for the second time. Thankfully, both interconnecting special moves were all he needed to obtain access to his Level 1 super move again. A gathering blue light was drawn around Skullo, as he activated and concentrated his remaining inner force into performing his second super move. However, upon execution…

“Kono kobushi de...”

From beneath his mask, Skullo was left wide-eyed and swallowing hard at the sight of Ryu gathering and charging swirls of ki-energy into his hands, activating his Level 2 super move when the crime-fighter least expected. Once concentrated, the original World Warrior champion formed circles with his hands, then drew them back, converting the swirling energy streak into a sizable fireball. Not giving Skullo a moment to carry on with whatever the ultimate technique he had in mind to execute next, Ryu thrusted his clawing hands forth to jolt Skullo with a short-ranged yet devastating Shin Hashogeki, an enormous energy spark shoving his opponent towards the farthest corner.

“HADOUKEN!!!”

DING!

DING!

By the time Skullo laid flat on his back, his health bar had been completely drained, meaning that the Shin Hashogeki had effectively knocked him out cold. At the ringing cue given by the invisible bell, both the bars and the timer regrouped and reverted back into letters of gold hovering overhead, displaying the following announcement:

---

---

“Mada tachiagaru no ka?”

As expected, no response was given. At least, not yet. After the latter beat down that he gave his opponent, Ryu wasn’t even sure if Skullo could still stand up with ease. As the crowd rejoiced, the original World Warrior champion raised his balled hand triumphantly, facing and smiling at each and every spectator by the sidelines. But then, before he could carry on with the celebration, he sensed something—the barest hints of movement from afar, perhaps. As it turned out, once he shifted his gaze towards the source, he found that Skullo had regained his consciousness, clumsily sitting on one leg by the other end of the boat. The defeated street fighter forcefully snatched the red scarf around his neck, then tossed it on the deck, his frustration evidenced.

“This can’t be real. Not when the city needs a hero,” Skullo mumbled to himself, then as he hammered the deck with his fists, yelled: “I’ve failed! I’ve failed! I’ve failed!”

Perhaps, it was only a matter of time until Skullo broke down in tears, evoking a strong sense of sympathy within his opponent’s heart. Seeing how the masked fighter had been crashing out, Ryu decided to approach, his face smiling and softening. He halted and held out a helping hand, dark eyes locking upon the hero’s veiled visage.

“Don’t be discouraged,” Ryu emboldened, his voice calm and reassuring. “You still have one more chance in the Losers Bracket.”

Skullo sighed, then weakly shook his head. “I was so close. I thought it would’ve ended differently, but alas, my ‘Nishikoyama Luck’ had struck again,” he said, then lifted his gaze, eventually reciprocating Ryu’s helping hand. “Apologies if I haven’t lived up to your expectations, fellow Ryu. I thought you deserved a better first opponent.”

“Ah, don’t say that,” Ryu told Skullo, still with an encouraging smile as he drew and helped the masked fighter back on his feet. “You’ve fought well. I feel honored. Let’s do it again some day, should we? Once you get better and stronger, that is…”

Even when Skullo didn’t quite give his best (at least, what he convinced himself), Ryu didn’t judge. Instead, the more seasoned fighter lifted him up and gave him the much needed advice. It wasn’t everyday he met somebody from a top-tier dojo as humble as Ryu was. Still holding on to his hand, the masked hero shook hands with the headbanded warrior, their grips firm on each other.

“Well, thank you, fellow Ryu,” Skullo told the other street fighter. “I’ll keep that in mind for my latter match.”

Ryu simply nodded, smiled wholeheartedly, then joked: “And thank you for the tea, too. I might like to eat with you someday, just not in the middle of a fight.”

Skullo snorted in a snicker, which prompted Ryu to do the same, as well. “You fell for it, didn’t you? Frankly, I didn’t expect the tactic to go accordingly,” he admitted. “So, I suppose, this is it, huh?”

“Perhaps,” Ryu simply answered with a nod, releasing his firm grip on Skullo’s hand. He then picked the duffle bag laying across the deck by its string, loading the bag on his shoulder. “Here’s hoping that our paths cross again, my friend. Whenever that may be.”

Patting his shoulder, Ryu began strolling past Skullo, strengthening his grip on the string of his duffle bag. Once the boat’s farther end was reached, he stopped a passing gondola next to the sizable boat, stepping onto the former to leave Skullo and the celebrating spectators behind. Even as the gondola became more and more distant from view, he could still hear the spectators cheering and chanting his name, their joyous noises spreading across the vicinity. Eventually, they showed Skullo the equal amount of attention—not only out of adoration, but also out of sympathy.

“Ho ho ho… Don’t worry, my fellow seekers of justice, for I, Skullomania, the hero who fights for the sake of justice, will continue my crusade against evil!” Skullo proudly stated, as he absorbed the growing cheers, puffing his chest out and pressing his fists against his hips. “Whether it’ll be in the Losers Bracket or outside of the tournament. For I am a hero! And true heroes never give up!”

FIN.

@Lugubrious

Harry Dubois

𝒦𝒾𝓂 𝒦𝒾𝓉𝓈𝓊𝓇𝒶𝑔𝒾

Word Count: 402/637
Level: Lv: 6 EXP: (3/60)
Lv: 4 EXP: (5/40)
Location: Esaka’s Middle Tier - Pool Arena Round 1.

Harry, deciding to get serious, put his arms up and got into a fighting pose. In his mind, he decided that he should be working on disabling Bob’s legs. As Bob started performing a series of flips before ending it with a series of kicks, Harry countered with his own attack. Allowing a few of the kicks to hit him, but again, he grabbed his leg and got him into a cloverleaf hold. He held onto Bob’s legs, but Bob tried breaking out of it by trying to elbow or punch him. Bob screamed in pain and tried getting out of Harry’s grip on his legs. After a while, Bob eventually got out of the hold by loosening one of his legs and kicking Harry in the nose.

Bob resumed his fighting pose and continued attacking Harry. But Harry kept working his leg, kicking or slamming his body into his leg. Each time he tried targeting Bob’s leg, he was rewarded by Bob kicking him in the head. Harry felt quite dizzy and started to stumble from the concessions. Harry retaliated by widely punching Bob in the face, neck, shoulder, and upper body.

The detective was having trouble countering Bob’s attacks. The younger man was much quicker than he was, so it was challenging to defend himself. But his earlier attacks somewhat weakened his kicks. Harry took the advantage and delivered a flurry of punches, winning him the second round. With the tie, it was down to the wire on who would win the third round.

At the start of the third round, Bob was becoming quite aggressive. He tried to kick Harry in the head to try to knock him out. But Harry kept swatting away his attacks. The detective was starting to become quite tired from the fight once again. And it was an advantage Bob would take. Bob kicked Harry in the head with another devastating side kick.

However surprising, even Bob was not enough to knock down the alcoholic. Harry once again started pumping himself up before grabbing Bob by the neck. Slamming him into the ground with a powerful slam onto the ground.

After a few more moments, it seemed Bob was not going to get back up. The Heavenly Principles signified that Harry had won the match. The tired man held up his arms in a show of victory over his opponent.

=====================================

Spinal angrily got back into the arena as the second round began. Kim seemed to start things off by performing a spin kick to Spinal’s neck. The skeleton blocked the kick and sliced Kim’s leg. Kim held onto his leg wound as Spinal was quickly approaching him and firing a projectile from his shield towards him. Kim rolled out of the way and produced his pistol from his jacket. Firing a couple of shots at Spinal, who tried blocking the shot. Spinal continued coming towards him while attempting to block Kim’s pistol shots. A few feet away from Kim, Spinal stomped his foot on the ground, making many green arms pop out of the ground. The arms grabbed Kim’s legs to try to stop him from dodging his attacks.

Spinal felt he should finish the match as soon as possible and would do whatever it took to do so. Spinal swung his sword downwards to chop Kim in half. And as the sword was coming down, Kim grabbed Spinal’s shield, taking it from him and starting to block the sword swings, and slamming the shield into the skeleton’s face. Occasionally, Kim stopped his attack to block Spinal’s sword. Doing this caused Kim to drop his gun onto the floor.

As Kim was blocking the Spinal’s attack, the skeleton decided to pull a dirty trick and knee Kim in the crotch. The blow staggered Kim, giving Spinal enough time to attack him again. This time, Spinal’s attack hit its target and nicked Kim in the neck. There was a rather long moment of silence before Kim fell on the floor holding his wound. The Heavenly Principle declares that Kim had lost the second round. And for a moment, it looked like he wouldn’t be getting back up.

But Spinal was surprised when Kim got back up. The detective took out his handkerchief and wrapped it around his wound. ” I’m not done with you yet.” Kim said between his heavy breathing before picking up his gun. Getting into a fighting stance as the third round started.

Kim started the round by firing the gun at Spinal once again and unloading the magazine before lunging at Spinal like an animal. He flew into the air and latched onto Spinal’s neck. Getting him into a chokehold. Quickly changing to a judo throw, which made the skeleton’s body slam hard onto the ground. Kim thought this would be the move that would put the skeleton in the ground. But surprisingly, Spinal responded by slashing his sword at Kim’s leg. Cutting into his leg and making him stagger before Spinal summoned the green arms again. Spinal once again slammed his shield into Kim’s chest before cutting into Kim’s flesh. But this didn’t deter the detective. Who was quicker than the skeleton. Kim kept dodging each time Spinal swiped at the detective.

Using his quick stamina to wilt down his opponent. Targeting Spinal’s arms and legs. His efforts were wearing down the undead warrior. But Spinal was ahead of the curve from his many years of combat. Spinal’s blade was creating more wounds on Kim’s body. Kim’s punches seemed to be whiffing, with Spinal finishing off Kim with a flurry of slashes of his sword and skull projectiles.. There was a moment of silence, and it seemed Kim was not going to get back up again. The Heavenly Principle signalled that Spinal had won the match. Spinal, who respected Kim for doing so well in the fight against him. Helped Kim with being carried off by the tournament’s medics. And even snuck an old-looking charm inside of his jacket that could be useful in the future. Kim was now out of the tournament, but there was a possibility of Harry winning the Street Fighter tournament. A big quotation mark on "possibility."

---

The Avenger would pick up an unusual object in the Fulton bay. Namingly, one Juri Han, hooked up with limbs and head dangling. Not an unusual state to receive people in given the extreme circumstances of the Fulton recovery process. But what might be unusual was how Juri stayed unconscious. That had unusual implications, given that the Seekers were capable of healing people. Those who spotted her in such a state were free to speculate, though. Her attitude and activities aboard the Avenger had hardly gone unnoticed; in fact, thanks to onboard security footage, her brawl with Pit two days earlier was a matter of common knowledge to whom it was concerned, namely the Lost Numbers’ leaders. After all, with so many irreplaceable souls aboard, figureheads like SJ, Hope, and Vandham had to run a tight ship. Nevertheless, Juri was a Seeker, and due all the medical attention she needed. With some help from Gronk, who made sure to be exceedingly gentle, the Lost Numbers’ healer Eleison moved Juri to the infirmary. There, she received a medkit to deal with the worst of her injuries, follow-up treatment for her concussion, fluids to combat her dehydration, and a combination of oxygen therapy plus blood filtering to assuage her alcohol poisoning.



By the time Juri regained consciousness, though, the more intensive treatments had ended. She awoke to find herself in a clean room full of hospital beds and high-tech equipment, all fairly close together since space was at a premium aboard the Avenger. Soft blue light above and warm yellow light below were enough to thoroughly illuminate the place without being too harsh. Fortunately, she would not awaken with a pounding migraine anyway. In fact, it might come as a surprise just how good she felt, with her body and mind temporarily cleansed of toxins and operating at a relatively normal human level.

For the first time in a while, Juri didn’t wake up with an angry-sounding groan. Her eyes blinked open and she tried to remember where she was and what had happened. When she remembered what happened, the angry groan happened anyway.

There were no other patients in the room, but there was a young man wearing a black outfit with a red, cross-shaped tie beneath a priestly collar and white longcoat. Thin and pale, with slicked-back auburn hair and horn-rimmed glasses, he sat at a desk in one corner with his eyes seemingly shut, though judging by the book in his hands he was probably awake. He’d looked over discreetly when Juri stirred, but then returned his attention to the book, without any apparent interest in initiating a conversation with his patient.

”Where the hell am I?” Juri demanded. Though, even as she did, she recognized the interior design of the Avenger even though she had never been in the infirmary. How’d she get here? Last thing she remembered she was laying down on the streets of Esaka. A Fulton? Must be.

Juri put a hand to her head. There was a bit of a headache, but no hangover. ”Motherfucker…” Juri growled.

“Avenger,” Eleison confirmed brusquely without looking up. “Via Fulton,” he then added, making two redundant answers in a row. Juri’s course language neither seemed to surprise nor disturb him, and if the healer had any questions about the conclusion she’d reached, he kept them to himself. A proper doctor would probably be examining and asking questions by now.

Juri frowned. ”Hey, Father Four-Eyes. Look at me when I talk to you.” She got up and walked over, lifting her foot and setting it on his desk with a thud. She leaned far forward with a sneer.

”Are you a doctor or what? Or just some creep?”

For a brief moment, Eleison glanced at the limb deposited on his desk, his eyebrows raised somewhat. Then he inhaled through his nose, closed the book and set it aside before pivoting to face Juri with a polite smile. “A doctor…pretty much. Though I don’t exactly have a doctorate. Or a medical license, for that matter.” His voice was dry, but soft. From this range, Juri could see bags under his eyes. She could also see the odd crossbow hanging on the wall behind him, within his arm’s reach but not hers.

”I’ve had more qualified doctors in back alleys.” Juri scoffed. She glanced briefly at the crossbow. Certain to say, she wasn’t intimidated by the medieval weapon.

”Just for the record, I didn’t need a damn check up. I’ve slept off way worse. I was just drunk.” Juri said. ”Thanks for ruining my buzz, by the way. Not.”

The young man nodded. “Duly noted.” He gestured toward the doorway. “I won’t keep you then. You’re free to go.” He then clasped his hands as he (presumably) looked up at Juri, as if waiting to see if she had anything else to say.

Juri crossed her arms and blew air upwards through her mouth, lifting her bangs for a moment as she waited to see if he was going to say something. ”...You’re not gonna try to charge me money?” Juri asked. ”I don’t want you thinkin’ I owe you any favors.”

“Nope,” Eleison replied, shaking his head in a nonchalant manner. “Not much of an economy aboard the Avenger. With what money we have, we Lost Numbers trade with the world down there. Up here, we all lift together.” He shrugged. “So no, you owe me nothing. The second you set foot out there…” with a quick nod, he indicated the extremity still occupying his desk. “It’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

She leveraged the foot on the desk to pull herself up onto it entirely, arms still crossed. Standing on the desk and bent over, looking him square in the face.

Apparently satisfied, she leaned backwards and smoothly backflipped off the top of the desk without making much noise. ”...No wonder you’re all so broke.”

”Sky hippies, flying around shooting morons at the ground. How long have you been at this, now? A zillion years?” She set a hand on her hip and extended the other out towards him flippantly.

Eleison watched her flip, mildly impressed, before offering his reply. He seemed somewhat surprised that Juri wanted to know more, and not just take her chance to leave this event behind her. “The Avenger only got off the ground within the last forty years or so. The City is older than that…well over a hundred. But I’m not versed in City matters. Never lived there.” He crossed his arms while answering, then shrugged. “I was eight when the Avenger picked me up. Been here for eleven years myself.” Though he intended to keep things short, Eleison now realized that he’d said more than he meant to, or ought to, given his audience. “Then again, who cares, eh?”

”You’re only nineteen? Sheesh. You look terrible.” Juri said with a frown.

Eleison snorted, then ran a hand over his hair in an effort to smooth it back, despite it being slicked back already. “I’ll bet.”

Then she rolled her eyes. ’”Who cares.’ You, obviously, string bean. God, don’t be such a phony. It’s embarrassing.” Juri said. ”Forty years of this crud. This bird won’t make it to forty-one though. Gonna get blown outta the sky any day now.” Juri said, checking out her fingernails.

”If you were smart, you’d run and hide to, uh…” Juri looked at him. ”The City?” Her heterochromic eyes narrowed. ”What city?”

Eleison paused for a moment, as if considering what he could and couldn’t say. “...A hidden colony for the Lost Numbers. We all get the same choice: run away and hide, like you said, or wander and fight. It’s mostly first-generation Lost Numbers aboard the Avenger, like me. With the memories of our parents burned into our minds…we can’t help it. But as decades pass, friends die off, and you maybe find yourself a family, it all starts feeling a bit futile.” He looked away, making a helpless gesture. “Resisting Moebius, I mean. Many would rather settle down and just…live.” Pursing his lips, he sighed through his nose. “But even if the Avenger does go down tomorrow, we’ll try and help you Seekers today.”

His imperceptibly narrow gaze returned to Juri as his eyebrows raised. “I mean, if anyone ends up needing it. Of course.”

Juri seemed to be listening, though she was looking out the door most of the time. ”...You probably think you’re better than me, huh?” She said.

”Normally that’d piss me off, and I’d grind ya to dust, but…eh.” She shrugged. ”Because yeah: I wonder how many freakin’ clowns you’ve seen come and go in just the last few years. More than you can keep track of, probably.”

”I’m sure there’s an endless supply of bozos that get picked up and dropped off who knows where. Cannon fodder. Meat for the grinder.” Juri grinned. She set her hands on the desk and leaned in. ”And when you get bored, you can retire. Live a full life. Sounds like a pretty sweet deal.”

Juri shut her eyes and smirked, before pushing away from the table. ”But. Not for me, even if I could. I gotta light this candle, quick.” Juri stood and moved to walk out the door. ”Trying to think if I should try and put Pit in a pit first, or what.” She chuckled.

Eleison made no attempt to stop her. Judging from Juri’s behavior, she didn’t seem to exhibit any signs of injury or symptoms of concussion. Neither dizziness, drowsiness, nor confusion affected her posture or speech, both nausea and amnesia seemed absent, she could do basic arithmetic, and clearly acrobatic movements didn’t pain her. If asked to pen a doctor’s note, he’d have written her a clean bill of health. Juri needed no such assurances, though, and the healer wasn’t about to insist.

Meanwhile, the interaction left Eleison feeling worse than before. The exchange could’ve gone a lot worse, considering Juri’s reputation, but nobody liked a reminder about their own mortality. Nobody knew how long they had left, least of all the Seekers like Juri, whose life expectancy had a much harder limit. In the World of Light, life tended to be miserable, cruel, and short, and in a world like that, being a doctor was a thankless task. Eleison reached out for his book, but it only got as far as his lap as he stared down at the floor, resting with one elbow on his desk.

Juri wandered around the ship. She ended up back at where she had been deployed earlier that morning, at the Hellpod dispensary. If no one was around she was going to try and get it working on her own. Unfortunately, all the mechanisms were inoperable, and the control terminal required authorization in order to allow any sort of input. Repeated attempts to bypass the system locks led to the activation of a nearby intercom.

Juri was about to get serious, tapping the side of her temple as her eye lit up green.

“The deployment bay is currently offline,” recited the electronic voice of the airship’s resident AI, Hope. “We are currently above Dihua Marsh, so descent via hellpod would have a projected fatality rate of 88%, anyway. To schedule a deployment detour, please coordinate with Avenger leadership.”

”Haaah?” Juri ‘asked’, confused. How long was she out for? ”The what marsh? Where the hell are we? I’m tryin’ to get back to Esaka.”

”Weren’t those other jokers going to some frozen hellhole? What are ya doin’ over a marsh?” Juri ‘lightly’ kicked at the machinery a few times, though at her strength level it resulted in some resounding thuds.

“It's been over a day since then, and we're currently en route to extract the twins from their investigation in Everdream Valley,” Hope replied matter-of-factly. “The Avenger must stay mobile to avoid detection from Moebius. And to stay aloft.” The AI paused before offering a helpful suggestion. “I can log a request to circle back around to Esaka at the first available opportunity, if you like.”

”Don’t say ‘the twins’ like I’m supposed to know who the hell that is.” Juri set her hands on her hips.

”Ugh. Fine. Whatever. Do that.” Juri waved a dismissive hand in the general direction of the robot voice. ”Can’t believe this crap. I’m gonna blow my brains out.” She complained.

Juri stomped around the Avenger. At this point she had memorized the layout. Bored, she ended up in the training area. It was oddly unfamiliar to her. How long had it been since she actually trained like a martial artist does? Probably since she was a teen. Since then, her only teacher had been experience.

Training rooms had a certain smell to them. All rubber, plastic and metal from bags, mats, and equipment. It brought Juri back. Standing in a corner, she settled into a Tae Kwon Do stance. Like second nature, her black belt Form came back to her. She punched several times, did a feinting hop kick, and settled back into a stance. Back when martial arts were for self-defense, for improving her body and making herself happy. Before she could fly across the room and rip out someone’s throat before they had a chance to say ‘help’. Before she could end someone’s life by just looking at them. (Though that skill had eluded her in this new world of light. She’d tried.) At some point, and Juri couldn’t pinpoint when, she had transitioned from martial artist to monstrous menace. It probably happened to everyone that got good enough.

That all being said: ”This is really boring.” She concluded, dropping her old Form and returning to her usual slouch. ”How do they do this crap for hours on end?” She asked herself, thinking of that cardboard cutout Ryu, or that little bratty dork Sakura, or that stiff pig Chun-Li. How did Jurii do it for hours on end? She used to. Why? Whatever the reason, she had forgotten it a long time ago. Now, on another world, an eon removed from the original Juri Han, her trying to find that reason now was like trying to grab mist. It slipped through her fingers and was gone.

”...Fuck this. I’m getting my buzz back.” Juri kicked over a punching bag with a flink of her ankle and let it fall to the floor with a heavy thud as she stormed out of the room. Time to put her hard earned bloody money back to good use.

While they were riding back up to the pools, Jr got a head start on their plan of being more productive over the afternoon by looking up G-corp online to get a basic idea of who in the world the seekers had managed to upset. Basic information wasn’t hard to find, their head honcho had only just been declared public enemy number one after all, and the fan forum he’d been uploading fight recordings too had a thread going where more gossipy information could be found.

”So. G-corp. Used to be a ‘biotech’ company till its ‘board’ tried to kill the boss (for some reason) and then he killed them instead and turned it into a military tech company that does ‘robots, genetic engineering, and animal experimentation’ apparently. Those Jack bots that attacked as well as ‘Gigas supersoldiers’ are their most notable ‘weapons’ looks like” Jr read out from the helpful notes Seek had been making as they browsed.

”For what military? There’s no war here, that’s what makes it a kinda weird place. Shinjuku was chill too but that’s seeing as it's got those hollows where all the fighting and dying happens” was Rika’s immediate question, to which Jr shrugged. That hadn’t been public info, or part of the rumor mill.

”Must be somewhere else. People in this town don’t really care about stuff outside of it” Jr speculated

"Maybe they were selling their robots to places like Midgar?" Pit guessed, looking in the vague direction of that city. He wasn't entirely sure they ever really found out where all those machines that were attacking the city were coming from, and Esaka wasn't that far away in the grand scheme of things. He really had no idea about the rest of it though.

Regardless, Pit had no qualms with the siblings looking into the bounty. It sounded like this guy and his company were pretty bad even before the bombing - who experimented on poor little animals of all things?! It would do Esaka good to be rid of it in the angel's opinion, and if anyone was going to do it and claim the reward then it was definitely going to be the Seekers.

"What else did you find?"

”Also looks like there’s a list of extra targets for taking down” Jr then added, showing them a list of ‘associates and accomplices’ that included names like Julia Chang, Nina Williams, Bruce Irvin, Sergi Dragunov, Brian Fury, Sergi Dragunov, Azucena Ortiz, Marshall Law, and Lucky Chloe all of which were basically meaningless without context.

It was a list that Pit didn't bother committing to memory, giving it only a glance. If he happened to see any of those people and remembered then he would apprehend them, but he had other things to occupy his thoughts with at the moment.

”Doesn’t look like there’s been any big attempts to go after them yet at any rate”

"Make sense, the announcement was only a little while ago," Pit said. By that time the lift had come to a stop at the next tier level, and the trio stepped into the Pools once more. "If you wanna get a head start, why don't you take someone with you guys?"

”Who? Isn’t everyone basically busy doing fighting stuff? I don’t think anyone’s been knocked out yet” Jr asked, briefly glancing at Seek’s list to confirm this was the case.

”That Therion guy was betting on matches, not fighting in them, right?” Rika recalled, trying to think through the list to see who was and wasn’t there, with the issue being that they hadn’t interacted directly very much with any of the members not on Seek’s list.

Pit opened his mouth to list off suggestions, but ended up closing it and furrowing his brows a moment later. Was the majority of the Gold Team really competing in the various tournament series? He could have sworn there were more earlier on that had been dubious about it or had said they weren't planning to fight, but he hadn't actually done the math until now. There was Junior and Rika who'd missed sign ups while in Shinjuku, Primrose and Therion who'd declined to fight, and... well, not counting Juri who'd definitely have free time from being disqualified if she missed her Loser's Bracket bout, that was it.

"Huh," Pit said, a little surprised. Even Big Band who'd cautioned against getting too caught up in the tournaments had signed up, and that was before they knew for sure that the Guardian(s) was even related to them.

He scratched his head. "I guess it is just him, and Primrose. Unless someone got done really early today, or decides to drop out or something."

If the latter actually happened he wouldn’t blame anyone for doing so, though he would be kind of disappointed.

”Oh right, her too” Rika agreed, ”and I guess they were pretty good in the Under. Right? I think?”

”Yeah we, uh, really didn't have much to do with them, huh? They just kinda seemed too…” Jr began to say, but ended up just waving a hand as he failed to find the words to describe the vague sense that Sandalphon might have added to her theory of thematic resonance before settling uncertainly on ”diffrent?”

”Still… It could work?” Rika replied, before adding ”Maybe they’re even looking into it already?”

Pit shrugged at that. He didn't know the Orsterrans much better after all.

"No clue. I haven't seen them since this morning either, but I'm sure they're around somewhere."

Since he was pretty sure that the two royal siblings could probably weasel their way out of any (more) trouble they ran into, Pit wasn't too concerned with if whether they wanted to form a posse or stick with just working as a dynamic duo. The angel himself would have to catch up with Primrose later anyway to see if she'd been able to find Ms. Fortune, and as for Therion, well, he wasn't really sure. Leaving the thief to his own devices seemed alright.

"Guess you can decide if you want back up during my match! I'm going all out from the start, so it might end up really one-sided," Pit said, throwing a couple of punches and one karate chop into the air. "if the other guy doesn't put up much fight and it gets boring, I don't mind if you guys leave early since we know how it's gonna end anyway!"

”I mean, we can also just call people while you’re fighting, right?” Rika pointed out, entirely unaware of how this would be considered rather rude by the other spectators. Not that they were expecting many of those.

”Probubly more productive than running around looking for em I guess, yeah” Jr agreed

If there did end up being any audience members they most certainly would give Rika the stink eye. After momentarily forgetting about the convenient magi-tech Pit unconvincingly said, "uh, yeah, that works! I was just gonna say that too!"

As they crossed into the Mortal Kombat section of the Pools and checked one of the boards for the exact location of Pit's next match up, they found that they had to pass under a stone archway connected to a columned tunnel. The only light source was what natural light from above shone in from glass-less window openings, eventually leading to a more dim area of the tier. This section was a little more well suited for the vibe of this particular tournament, a darker stage with decrepit masonry and ominous warning signs right out of a gothic novella. Part of the stone floor had flooded, making the boundary between the stage itself and the deeper water that would result in a ring out murky. There was however a clear divide between the stage and a small, slightly more raised viewing area from which spectators could safely oversee those battling in M-21, The Grove.

Though there was a small sign posted there too, easy to miss, which read: warning splash zone.

”Is this really it? Yeesh” Jr complained, while Rika stepped onto the water itself, intending to use it as a shortcut to get the spectator stand, before turning and asking Pit ”want a lift?”

"Sure," he replied with a nod. He hadn't gotten a chance to skate over water yet (or in this case tag along with someone doing it), and it seemed like it was pretty fun. Plus they'd gotten to the area just early enough that they might be the first there, besides a sleeping yokai. Pit had to agree with Junior; being so dank and out of the way it hardly made for the right battleground for a proper spectacle.

Oh well. It was his last scheduled match for the day, and like he'd mentioned earlier he didn't see it being that much of a challenge. He didn't know anything about his opponent besides the name, but now that he had plenty of time and energy he was confident that it was going to be a piece of cake.

He went over to Rika, pausing as he thought about how a 'lift' would work for just a moment before just asking. "How?"

In response the now rather short ship girl reached both oversized gauntlet hands forward, grasped Pit by the waist, and then hoisted him up over her head with a ”hup!”

She then almost immediately stumbled, but managed to catch her balance, complaining ”Ergh, I hate being less tall!” before beginning to skate across the water towards the arena proper.

As this was going on, Jr did little to hide his sniggering. It wouldn't have been as an embarrassing experience if not for that.

Rika's strength combined with Pit's light weight made it a pretty quick trek though all things considered, and when she set him down on the arena's stone he crossed his arms and fluffed out his wings. He sent the Koopa prince a weak glare before telling the boy's sister, "um, thanks, but next time could you not pick me up like a Pikmin?"

”Like a what?” Rika asked with a head tilt.

"A Pikmin?" he repeated, then paused for a moment. "Oh, right. Since you and Bowser Junior are always together I forgot you weren't always around. They're like veggie aliens from Hot-cocoa-tay-"

Hocotate.

"-that's what I said! But anyway they carry stuff around and-" also forgetting the rest of what Lady Palutena and Viridi had said about them, Pit sighed lightly. "-actually, never mind."

”Um… Ok?” Rika replied uncertainly and un-tilting her head, before agreeing ”Well I guess I’ll carry you like something else next time? It's just trickier to do that now that I’m sm-not as big is all”

”Yeah. Do a princess carry next time!” Jr teased mockingly, having followed them over the water thanks to his copying of shipgirl tech, before Rika asked ”Why’d you find that funny anyway? I carry you around sometimes”

”In piggybacks! Those are different!”

"Definitely different. Also I'm not a princess!"

It wasn’t long after they began discussing the least awkward way to carry someone that Pit's kameo partner emerged from the tunnel. Ashrah nodded at the three Seekers as she approached, leaping the distance between the walkway and the kombat stage gracefully. She landed with a light splash, most of the arena that wasn't made of broken stone fixtures covered in at least an inch or two of water. It wouldn't be long before the match's start, so in preparation she summoned her kris.

Pit smiled at her. "Ready for another win? Let's do this!"

Ashrah nodded once more, letting a small smile of her own form on her face. "Yes, let's."

That was the koopa kids queue to head on over to the spectator stands, Rika offering them a wave and a ”Good luck” of parting while Jr gave a thumbs up and a ”Kick their butts!” for his.

When their opponents arrived with only a few minutes to spare, both angel and demon turned their attention to the entryway before the rival duo could even be spotted, as though they sensed something. Ashrah narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip on her sword. Finally an eerie blue wraith appeared, its face twisted into an oni mask and something like a spectral heart caged in ghostly wisps inside of its body. Upon seeing its competition, Omen sneered. Behind him, a deathly pallid warrior adorned in chains and a mask shuffled in.

Pit and Ashrah had already taken their spots on the far side of the stage, leaving Omen and his possessed puppet to take the opposite. As the golden winds of the Heavenly Principles began to swirl again, the demonic entity held out one claw.

"Woe to those who stand against me, for I am his herald and the sign of things to come. I. Am. Omen!"

With her obligations taken care of for the day, the energy Yayama had dug up from within herself promptly dissipated a few minutes after she parted ways with Charlotta. It was all she could do to avoid tripping over her own feet on her way back down to the Low Tier, where she planned to return to the inn she'd been staying in before meeting up with the Seekers. In hindsight, the place - called the Roman Cancel - reminded her of a seedier Quicksand, with its impressive-looking columns bracketing humbler tables in the common area. "What in the seven flaming hells am I supposed to do with all this. . . ?" she asked the air.

I thought we'd already decided. Kill the one responsible and everyone in our path.

"Oh, shut it, you."

Well, of course, we have to nap first. Silly me.

Yayama rolled her eyes. She didn't have the energy to argue with anyone, much less a manifestation of her inner rage and sorrow given anthropomorphic form by a combination of trauma and ancient dark arts. The lalafell did feel that she should be doing more instead of resting, but the rational part of her had won out in this case. "Won't do anyone any good if I get gutted because I'm not rested enough for a fight," she muttered to herself as she rounded another corner, coming up on the gaudy facade of the inn.

Putting one hand to her ear, she reported her location to the rest of the group via linkpearl, before pushing through one of the overdone doors. The cheap decor was lost on her entirely, the dark knight beelining straight for the desk. "I need a room for another night." She slid some more of her coin over the counter, which the clerk made disappear with a smile.

"Of course, ma'am. We've kept one open for you."

One advantage of crappy hotels: A lot of them didn't ask questions, and right now, she really needed her name to not spread around. It was obviously far too late for whoever attacked the Seekers to think she was dead, but she didn't need to make it easier to find her. For the moment, the only foes she had to fight were the ones in her dreams. Opponents which, unfortunately, would only continue to outnumber her for what she supposed would be the rest of her short existence.

Edward agreed with Sandalphon’s request for drones to keep watch, promptly dispelling his enchantments and the regular golems, recharging his mana fuel cells , and then setting about making as many drones as they could support. This, as it turned out, was forty of the things (which was to say, twenty pairs of two).

As he was doing this, the Snoruyo finally caught up, along with, surprisingly, the SomnaDrix, which had been created at the same time as the sheildrix but more or less lost in the shuffle to get moving after. It had, apparently, been following them at a distance this whole time, and only now caught up.

Edward supposed it was his responsibility now as well, which very much heightened the need for pal-spheres. Thus, rather than have the drones sit idle, he had them fan out into the woods to both preemptively detect any threats, as well as to see if he could track down any of the ore needed to make the portable capture/transport devices.

While the Dreadnought had been securing their lodgings, Ace and Geralt had been seeking to find a way to actually enjoy them.

Unfortunately for the pair of hunters, they had not been able to track down the bevy of beverages they’d hoped to find. The basement level of the lodge was definitely large enough to house a wine cellar, but the section of the area that seemed like it would have led to one had been cleaned out. It was regrettable, but at least they had not come back up to the main level entirely empty handed, even if it was only a [url=
bottle[/url] they found. Factoring out the White Team members that didn’t (or couldn’t) drink or were too young, it was just about enough for everyone else to have a glass to take the edge off if they were so inclined.

While they’d been looking, Heismay had brought up some coal and pointed out the dry logs to the pair so at the very least they carried those upstairs along with the bottle of wine. Once the house started warming up and everyone started really settling in, there was little else to do but relax and, maybe, indulge. Perhaps even experiment in the kitchen since those with the more advanced metabolisms were really feeling the day’s diet of rations, stew, and the breakfast the Lost Numbers had been able to provide for them.

Regardless if they decided to try their hand at cooking something or not, some would be headed to the kitchen anyway since that’s where the wine glasses were presumably stored. It was just outside of it that Ace waved Edward over to join himself and Geralt, figuring that with one of the group’s most stressful roles in carriage navigator that the dreadnought might appreciate a glass.

…though since food was still very much on the monster hunter’s mind, he did ask both men with a half-hopeful, half-teasing smile, "so either of you handy with a frying pan?"

Geralt hummed, opening one of his many pouches and retrieving the four strips of horker meat that he'd received earlier from defeating the walrus-like beasts. Unwrapping them from the thin strip of cloth they'd been stored in, he turned to the others. “Had to cook plenty with all sorts of instruments. We just…need to figure out how this place works. Got a bit of meat, we can use a splash of wine to help season it. Won't be much, but it's better than just the stew. We’ll save a piece for Ganondorf, as well. He needs it just as much as we do.”

”I’m sure I could manage something. Using the open flame if nothing else” Edward said. The general had gone up and down in terms of status and access to cooks over the years, but had always made attempts to keep such essential skills fresh. He’d seen one too many a leader become entirely detached from the way the people they ruled lived as a result of being waited on hand and foot.

The Ace Cadet was happy to hear that the both of them seemed willing and able to try their hand at making something. Ace himself could handle something basic, though it would be the most straightforward and simple of dishes if they had left it up to him.

”There’s enough wild berries and cherries in the woods to make a very basic sauce I suppose, or a desert. Other than it's just giant spiders out there, which is something of a gamble” Edward added.

There was always someone in an army who thought cooking up monsters was a good idea. Unless they had the gut of a goblin, this often ended poorly. On the other hand there was that one time during a diplomatic meeting with a goblin arch druid where they’d been served vampire spider black pudding that had been spiced with the creature's own venom. He was fairly sure it had not been a poisoning attempt due to how good it had tasted.

Of course the one for whom monsters were just a part of daily life and whose culture was well used to eating parts of them seemed to misinterpret the gamble comment, saying with a confident smile and a dismissive wave of his hand, "nah, shouldn't be that hard to find out if they're venomous. The real problem is getting a good chunk before it turns to ashes... maybe a leg or two would be doable! I never tried one myself, but I heard they taste almost like carapaceons."

Testing that claim out definitely intrigued Ace.

”Still, there seems to be some of that Paldium out there as well, along with silver, so it might be worth investigating for those and spider samples at some point”

"Your drones can see all that?" Ace questioned, impressed. They had to have better visibility than a human, with the dark and snow both just getting stronger.

”I’ve made a lot of them to make up for all the environmental issues. A good thing too, given that half a dozen have gotten caught in spiderwebs already” Edward replied, before massaging a temple. The sheer volume of information coming in was a lot, even for him. Various subordinates and scrying devices were generally used to reduce the strain, but without an empire, he was having to parse it all with his own mind.

The hunter also agreed that gathering some more supplies would be worthwhile, and for that he didn't hesitate to volunteer. He was perhaps one of the better suited Seekers for it. "If the weather doesn't let up it'll be better to go sooner than later, right? I don't mind grabbing some things and bringing them back," he said. "Especially if your drones can lead me right to them. Might need to borrow one of the creatures though."

”By all means. Most are presently outside grazing or resting” Edward replied to the request for a creature, and then adding that ”I can forge a replacement for one of the ones that has become spiderbait that can act as your guide” with regards to the drone.

"Yeah? Radalos. I'll be back in a cold-snap! Make sure to save me some!"

Geralt nodded at the plan, focusing on getting the strips of meat into the frying pan and glaring at the stove, trying to figure it out. “Little dials down here, must control some kind of output…” he muttered, turning one. A slight hissing noise drew his attention, then his eyes widened as his nose picked up a scent and he quickly turned the dial to off. “Gas. Huh.”

"Flammable gas, perhaps?” Edward speculated, leaning in with intrigue to inspect the mechanism.

It was indeed a device meant to simulate cooking over an open fire, though with far more control over the flames. Beside the knobs that roughly corresponded to the location of the coiled burners on the stove top was a little indicator with the word 'ignite' written on it, each on the far end of the markings around each one that was unmarked but implied a scale of power from low to high. It would be good not to blow the lodge's kitchen up if they could help it.

“Assume so. Says ‘ignite’ at the far end from off, as well. Convenient.” Geralt said, leaning down to inspect the mechanism. “Well, let's see if it still works. If not, I can use Igni to light the gas. Carefully.” He added, spinning the dial around to the ‘ignite’ position, prompting a series of clicks to sound as the ignitor activated, lighting the gas. “Huh. Still works.” Admittedly a bit surprised, Geralt turned the gas back off, nodding. “Give Ace a bit to collect a few things. No point in cooking it long enough to make leather. Now that we know it works, should be easy enough to work it later.”

Stepping away from the stove, Geralt turned his head to Edward. “So, Ace and I were talking about our own worlds earlier, though I've seen his before, believe it or not. Was curious to what yours was like.” The Witcher asked, said curiosity evident in his tone.

"I can believe it” he replied, pondering for a moment, before beginning to both answer the question and explain why "My home world floats, along with many others, within a greater realm known as the astral sea. Think of these worlds as islands, or continents, and the astral sea as, well, the sea. Complete with sea monsters and sea madness. In the time before I was born, great works were done to seal the gates that connected these worlds in order to prevent travel between them. Recently, however, this was undone, and a great deal of chaos has resulted, to put things simply”

"The nature of my world, then, is rather different, pre and post this event. But I suppose what I think puts it apart from many is the level of magic? Especially after the worlds were rejoined, and magic flowed more freely. Rulers both great and terrible use it to gain some small semblance of godhood, and then wield it to transform the land, fuel industry, empower their armies and smite their enemies from afar. At the same time monsters roam the land or rise from the abyss, which must be driven back into the dark with sword and sorcery”

“Hm. A confluence of worlds, connected by an ocean of sorts. Have to wonder if mine isn’t in there somewhere.” he murmured, looking over the kitchen, rifling through cabinets and finding an old container of salt. “Doesn’t go bad, at least…” he said, looking into it and making sure there was nothing in the container itself other than salt.

Meanwhile Ace had slipped out of the lodge, still warmly dressed in his anti-cold gear. As promised one of Edward's fresh drones floated near him, ready to lead the way through the darkening forest. He'd nabbed a few little things from the house, like a few cloth bags and an empty wicker laundry basket, in order to tie them to his chosen pack creature - though he did wonder if filling a bag and then putting that bag in his backpack would actually work to save space in the thing.

As for the creature he ended up picking, after eyeing the bulbous snoruyo, the serpentine chillnath, and the strangely crocodillian somnadrix, he ended up simply going with one of the shieldrix whose body was better adapted both to hauling and moving through a forest. Plus not that he knew how the creature chamber actually worked, but he assumed it would take less resources to replace a shieldrix rather than one of the bigger creatures, not that he intended to let anything happen to it in the first place. With extra baggage strapped on he led the hybrid away from the resting herd. Man, monster, and machine strode into the trees, none of them particularly worried even with the worsening weather.

With Edward's drone network in place and Ace's own scoutflies always tuned to scent out anything dangerous in the immediate area, the impromptu forest shopping trip was pretty safe. Rarely would he see any foot-long spiderling, as they tended to shy away from anything larger than themselves on top of blending in with the snow. Much easier to see were the berries Edward had mentioned, their color standing out against the snow and trees, some orange and some red. The other plants were harder to spot, lillies and lichen that seemed less edible and more experimental, but even so Ace gathered whatever he was directed towards - even the tar of pine trees, which he could take in one of the canisters attached to his pack. Food and light weight things like this he took a lot of, though he tried not to leave any bush or shrub totally bare of its fruits.

After idly feeding the shieldrix some of the winter cherries they moved on, needing to go further out and deeper in for the ore deposits that stuck out from ground. The more crystalline paldium looked like chunks of strong ice, the only difference being its deep blue color. In comparison the silver veins were more difficult to find, taking the longest as it needed to be partially dug out of the snow. Normally something like a reindrix wouldn't be well suited to help gather tough things like ore and stone, but with a shieldon's armored head piece it needed only to bash the deposits with its steel a few times before pieces of them broke away and made it easier to Ace to take over. Eventually he ended up with several chunks of both, part of which he loaded the bags on the creature with and part he just carried himself. Recalling that the recipe to make a Pal Sphere was as simple as combining the paldium with pieces of wood and stone, he made sure to take some random sticks and rocks back too.

The route he'd taken through the forest had been sort of roundabout to hit as many of the resources as possible, and by the time the ore was packed up his trail had already been covered in snow. It would be a different route back to the lodge then, more of a straight shot there. It was on the return trip that the lantern-like cage affixed to his chest shifted from green to red. The hunter paused, bringing a hand up to rest on the shieldrix's flat muzzle to halt its steps as well. A few scoutflies scattered out into the air before coming together and hovering lightly a few yards away, their glow illuminating ice crystals arranged in a semi-tunnel pattern within a dense clump of trees. It was a web, and resting on the edge was a giant wooly spider.

It didn't react to the scoutflies even when one flew too close and got itself stuck to the frosty web. Maybe the vibrations were too small for a temnoceran of this size to notice, or -being an ambush predator rather than one that relied on its webs as Ace suspected- it simply didn't care, trying to weather the snow showers like any other forest native.

Ace could easily avoid it and continue on, but he lingered there. If the drone got close enough, its creator could probably see that he was thinking about something while he stared at it. Looks like its alone, not a surprise though. If we just swing a little wider it probably won't even notice us, but... Edward did say a sample of the spiders would be good to get. Since stealth was not the Cadet's forte, he doubted getting the sample would be as simple as sneaking up and plucking a few of its white hairs. Just one's fine, right? Crack the trochanter, twist, done!

He looked at the shieldrix, who looked back at him when he spoke lowly to it, informing the beast, "we'll just get one, then we'll go back. Stay here for now." before unsheathing his sword.

---

...eventually the door to the abandoned lodge opened once more, the outdoor light doused with a few random flicks of the light switches just inside the entryway. There was a brief gust of frigid air that dispersed through the house, but it was quickly melted away by the still blazing fireplaces. The inedible items Ace had procured had been dropped off in the stagecoach, including a little silk harvested from the spider's web. The man himself shuffled through the house and back towards the kitchen, stopping only to reach down and pet the mysterious little dog that had shown up (he had no clue how it had evaded him and Geralt earlier, but it seemed friendly) before it went to bother someone else. The red head showed up in the doorway with a bevy of fruits and flowers, a shimmery spider spirit, as well as a very large segmented limb covered in a hairy exoskeleton resting against his shoulder.

"I'm back!" he proudly declared. "And I made out like a Gypceros!"

"That’s good, because we might have had a slight incident here” Edward paused his scrubbing of the sink to reply, before explaining "I’m not sure if it's the unfamiliar equipment, some fusion downside, or the meat itself, but the results were not particularly edible”

The dreadnought looked rather distinctly pale after having taste tested Geralt’s cooking, while the man himself and the offending meal were nowhere to be seen.

"Apparently the man has quite the resistance to poisons, which includes the, ah, results of his attempt”

Ace blinked in surprise, setting the new ingredients down on one of the counters. He definitely hadn't expected to hear anything like that after getting back. "Really? I dunno if I should be happy or disappointed that I missed it!"

"It was certainly an experience”

He went over to Edward to get a better look at what remained of the cooking mishap. There was definitely a lingering bitter smell around the stove. After offering to take over part of the clean up, he asked, "anything left over? 'cause otherwise we'll get to try eating temnoceran after all."

"Fortunately the pan didn’t fit all the strips, so there’s some to spare, but it isn’t much” Edward replied, before with a sigh, saying "Let’s take a look at that spider meat then, and see if we have anything to work with”

The wooly spider was technically venomous, but its anatomy was similar to most worlds' tarantulas rather than the monstrous spiders of some - which was to say that its venom did not extend to its legs in order to be applied via its hairs or anything like that. Working with the assumption that if it allegedly tasted like a crustacean it should be prepared like one, Ace removed as many of these hairs from the leg as possible until all that remained was the hard shell - which the two men then folded and threw into a pot to boil. At the same time what remained of the horker meat was divided up into slightly smaller portions. Not all that confident that he could make any sort of sauce reduction out of the fruits, Ace left Edward to work that out while he gave the steaks a simple sear. Once the spider seemed finished they fished it out to cool down a little before gently cracking the exoskeleton and working it open. The inside really was much like one huge crab leg: a semi-continuous piece of pale meat wrapped around thin cartilage.

"Weirdest surf and turf ever," the Cadet joked as he pulled chunks of the spider meat from the shell.

When all the pieces were finished all that was left was to assemble it on some plates, though the presentation didn't really matter to the men so much as if it was edible, especially after Geralt's attempt had left Edward somewhat haunted. Thankfully this time it had come out pretty alright for two amateur chefs. The horker meat was fatty and flavorful with a beef-like taste despite the fishy smell, and in comparison the wooly spider had a juicy and earthy taste even with its crab-like texture. The few seasonings and fruit-based sauce gave it a little something extra.

It was far from a feast, but there were plates enough for a few other Seekers as well if the smell drew curious noses toward the kitchen.

As agreed, after visiting a currency exchange service establishment named ‘Conversion,’ the trio headed towards the northern end of Esaka’s low tier to eat out at Pao Pao Café. Thankfully, the break between matches for the KOF tournament was relatively longer than most major tournaments, so they still had plenty of time to grab some lunch and plan out the strategy for their next bout. As he pushed the front door open, Terry and his partners were—once again—greeted by the owner of Pao Pao Café himself, Richard, who’d been busy serving customers left and right. He went back behind the counter just in time to welcome the trio’s arrival.

“Ah, Terry! Welcome back!” Richard greeted with a pant and a smile on his face. “How’s your first match?”

“Ain’t so bad… I guess?” Terry reciprocated with the barest hints of snicker, a bit hesitant, as he took a seat just across from Richard at the counter. When he looked around, it seemed that the café was packed from corner to corner to the point where even the second floor was completely occupied. It was quite a stark contrast to when he visited the place two days ago, but it was to be expected since this was a tournament week. “Whew… Told you, right? Business is gonna do extremely well in no time…”

“Damn right about that!” Richard agreed with a hearty grin, all while multitasking with practiced ease. He’d been running this exact business for so many years, after all, just not in Esaka, initially. “Actually, I saw the highlights of your team’s match a while back, and suffice to say, I still have no idea why they mocked you the way they did.”

Terry snorted in a wry snicker, the sight of several fellow KOF participants screaming ‘this is ass!’ and trashing the makeshift arena with all kinds of rubbish solely directed to him during the bout’s aftermath still vivid in his mind. “Welp… me neither,” he claimed and shrugged, both hesitant and embarrassed. “But hey, don’t worry about me! If they didn’t like my performance, ’least they did enjoy my teammates’ performances, right, guys?” He patted both Falcon’s and Amaterasu’s shoulders, still managing a smile at Richard.

The divine wolf, who had spent half of her fight running away from her ridiculous opponent, supposed that anyone watching might have gotten a good laugh at the antics. She, for one, had not enjoyed the experience, and was dearly hoping she’d be up against a more sane and sensible opponent in her next round. Meanwhile Falcon’s experience had been quite the opposite. He rather enjoyed his bout against Kung Fu Girl. Not many fighters were brave enough to try going head-to-head against his Falcon Punch.

Richard nodded. “And all three of you survived it! That’s all that matters. God knows how awful the match could get with that Akuma imposter being involved,” he told the trio, “and I couldn’t be prouder of you all.”

That made the divine wolf feel a little better at least, while Terry just… smiled—more of a gesture of gratitude than anything else. In hindsight, his team’s first match did feel like a wrecking ship considering Rare Akuma’s involvement, but it was still entertaining, regardless of what the spectators wanted everyone to believe. While they chattered, his sky-blue eyes eventually fell upon the wall-mounted TV perching between a kitchen set and a liquor cabinet right behind Richard. What the TV displayed piqued the blonde’s immediate interest, as it showed News Combo 7’s coverage of some of the major tournaments’ second matches. One of them was a bout between a fellow Seeker named Harry and Richard’s protege Bob Wilson.

“I see, ya homeboy’s back, ain’t he, Richard?” Terry asked, then pointed a finger at the TV screen ahead depicting Bob executing a series of dance-like kicks onto the struggling Harry. “Man… Now, I dunno who to root for. I mean, Harry’s my friend, too.”

Richard was quick to follow where Terry was pointing at, perking up at the sight of his protege’s high-energy performance. He nodded. “Oh, that’s my boy, alright? I’m pretty sure they’re equal,” he remarked, grinned, then shifted his gaze back at his loyal customer. “But I’m pretty damn grateful that my boy’s okay. Turns out, he was just training and running a different Pao Pao outlet outside of Esaka this whole time. _{Thank God, Rugal didn’t find and take him, too…}”

“Say what??” Terry asked, his eyes wide and his eyebrows arching at Richard’s latter quiet statement. He seemed to know something that the blonde didn’t know, especially in regards to his missing former teammates.

Richard quickly shrugged it off, shaking his head. “Oh, nothing!” he reciprocated, then snickered, though the small fidgets he’d been making betrayed the beam on his face. “I was just digressing, really. Say, uh… can I get you and your team something to eat, Terry boy?”

Terry, too, shrugged his suspicion away, cackling and restoring that friendly smile on his face. He didn’t seem too alarmed. After all, he’d known Richard for a long, long time, so why’d he hide anything from him? Upon being asked, the blonde caressed his mandible, pensively cocking his head to a side. Being one of the café’s devoted customers, he didn’t need to bother himself to check what was in the menu book provided since he’d memorized every single one of the menu from the back of his head.

“Hmm… Let’s see, uh… Oh! Can I have a small Americano and a Bauru with extra beef, please?” Terry reciprocated with one of his fingers pointing up, raising just next to his golden temple. At the same time, the monkey on his back just played with the leathery fabric of his jacket, as if urging his bestie to get him something to eat, too. “Oh, and also, it looks like my lil’ friend’s hungry over here. Can you get him some banana fritters, too?”

“Not a problem, Terry!” Richard nodded and grabbed a pen and a small note stowed under the counter to start writing down Terry’s and Ukee’s orders. He then glanced over both Falcon and Amaterasu, his darker eyes darting between the two Seekers. “And, uh…”

“Captain Falcon and Ammy.”

“Oh, right,” Richard chimed in, pointing at Terry affirmatively with his pen. “So, Captain, Ammy, is there anything I could get you for lunch?”

The divine wolf stared at him pointedly for a few moments, before turning, grabbing a lunch menu in her jaws and putting it on the counter. Then she retrieved one of the forks and placed it on the counter, finally she poked at it with her paw a few times till it pointed at ‘Cachorro-quente’ on the menu (which was a hotdog which also sported tomato-based vegetable broth, corn, and potato sticks). Finally she placed a paw on the counter and, upon pulling it away, left behind the exact change for her chosen lunch.

All in all, a convoluted procedure, and the divine wolf briefly wondered if she could get a striker whose entire purpose was to do things like this for her. Then she dismissed the idea because, even if it was possible to get one, she could not think of a way she’d be able to ethically acquire the spirit of a hand maiden.

With his eyes, Richard quickly followed the direction Amaterasu was gesturing at with the fork, nodding at the mouth-watery Cachorro-quente pictured on one of the menu book’s pages. In confirmation, he also pointed at the picture with his pen to ask “this one?” before writing her order down on the small note in his other hand.

“Noted!” the café owner notified before gesturing at Falcon with his pen. “And yours, Captain?”

Captain Falcon perked up with a grin, ”Plate of beef tripe, if you don’t mind.” He said, wishing for another opportunity to indulge in his favorite dish before quickly adding, ”A nice, cool sparkling water to wash it down.” Most people would have ordered a hard drink like whiskey or bourbon, but Cap wasn’t much of an alcohol drinker but for very specific occasions. And besides, tournament competitors were mostly better off staying sober for the sake of their upcoming matches. Like Amaterasu, he too left some notes on the counter to pay for his order.

“Ah, a beef tripe again, I see,” Richard reciprocated with a small nod and a grin, also writing down Cap’s all-time favorite dish. “You know I don’t mind it, Captain. Terry’s friends are also my friends, after all.” And the slightest hints of snicker, his teeth partially bare. “Anything else?”

“I guess that’s all. For me,” Terry reciprocated, which was followed by his pet monkey’s squeaking confirmation.

“Alright, then. If that’s so, then let me repeat them to you one last time…” And Richard did as he told the trio, reading out every single menu he’d written on the small note from top to bottom. At the same time, his pen-wielding hand reached out to the change left on Amaterasu’s side of the counter, intending to count it later on. “Cacchoro-quente and… beef tripe. Is there anything I left out?”

“I don’t think so,” Terry confirmed, then gave Falcon then Amaterasu a sidelong glance each. “Ain’t that right, guys?”

“Ah, I see… Well, then!” Richard nodded again, calculated every order written on the notebook, then tore the paper out of its place to hand it to the trio and said “here’s your bill.” Terry was the one receiving the bill once handed, his gauging eyes scanning up and down to check every price listed.

“I assume you’ll only pay for your own meals after lunch, yes?” Richard asked Terry, while calculating the notes given to him by the furred deity, as if already used to his regular customer’s habit.

“Nah…” Terry denied with a grin, then settled the bill down on his side of the counter to reach out to the pocket of his jeans. He took his wallet, spread it wide open to reveal dozens of notes gifted to him by Ken earlier, then snatched and held out a couple of zennies to pay for his orders and Ukee’s. “Told you, I’m a changed man. Just keep the change, alright?”

Then, Richard took the notes provided in front of him. It wasn’t every day that Terry paid in advance. “And I don’t doubt that just one bit,” he said, smirking, then counted the notes in his hands before folding and stowing them all beneath his pocket. “As usual, I hope you all enjoy your stay and… I’ll be right back with your orders in about a minute.”

As Richard went to prepare their lunches, Terry shifted his attention back towards his partners, stowing his wallet back beneath his pocket with a subsequent small pat. When he peered over Ukee on his back, he realized just then that he hadn’t properly introduced the monkey to neither Cap nor Amaterasu (even though, unbeknownst to him, the latter had encountered him beforehand). And so, the hat-wearing blonde went on to initiate the conversation with an introduction, slightly gesturing at Ukee with his eyes.

“Oh, right, I’m sure I haven’t introduced my bestest friend to any of y’all earlier,” he told both of his partners before turning to look at them again. Oftentimes, he also glanced at the monkey on his back, running his hand over the latter’s head. “Cap, Ammy, this is Ukee. And Ukee, say ‘hi’ to Cap and Ammy!”

Ukee quickly perked up at the introduction. He squeaked happily and waved his hands at both of his human friend’s partners before immediately hopping towards Amaterasu, giving her a warm hug and a nuzzle from behind. The blonde couldn’t help but cackle at the affectionate sight, giving the little monkey an almost slap-like pat to the back of his head which he ignored almost instantly.

The divine wolf ignored any amusement the humans were getting, and craned her neck around to nuzzle the monkey on the forehead, wondering how in the world he had gotten all the way from the baths to the city on his lonesome. Perhaps, she theorised, he’d hitched a ride with some friendly fighter who was staying at the spa?

“Aww… Would ya look at that! I told you my boy would’ve gotten along with Ammy pretty well,” he joked, shaking his head. “But anyway, is there anything you guys wanna talk about while we wait? Maybe our next match or some other stuff?”

Cap then bumped Terry’s shoulder with his elbow, ”By the way, I caught a peak at the brackets on our way from the Pools. Looks like we’re up against the Breakers next. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll go ahead and take on Lee. Seems like he entered the tournament wanting a full match against me, and who am I to deny him that?”

Ironically, despite being the one recommending Cap to sign up for the Breakers Dojo, Terry seldom faced their fighters in any of the KOF tournaments. Usually, the Breakers either didn’t make it that far in the prior tournaments or that they were facing any other teams but his own in the Top 24.

As it was this year, either Lee or Tia was usually present to represent the dojo. Sho, on the other hand, tended to enter the World Warrior tournament, instead of KOF. This year, however, would be one of the rarest times he signed up for a KOF tournament. The last time the reigning FIST champion accompanied Lee and Tia in a KOF tournament, he carried the entire team and helped them advance to the Top 16, but that was about it. With this in mind, Terry might actually still be able to form a somewhat decent strategy with his team, albeit with a limited knowledge drawn from his handful of encounters with the Breakers.

“Hmm… Actually, you damn right about that! I can picture you putting up a great performance against somebody as fast as Lee, Cap,” Terry agreed before adding: “Now to be honest, I rarely fought any of these guys in the past, but since their dojo’s, like, a subsidiary of my dojo, I often heard stories about how they did in the tournaments from time to time, which means I could still tell you guys what we can expect in the second round.”

Then, Terry went into fuller detail about the team, breaking down each Breaker’s capabilities, weaknesses, and fighting styles in front of his partners. He didn’t forget to elaborate the team’s usual formations and history within the competitive scene (including their collective victory against a malevolent figure known as Bai-Hu in the FIST tournament), informing that Sho once acted as the closer of the team while Lee and Tia tended to switch between the opener and the middle fighter sparingly from match to match.

“Y’see, for a team who came from a demoted mid-tier dojo, these guys aren’t just some push-overs. Lee and Tia, like I said, are quite agile and reflexive and can cancel their attacks into each other fairly quickly. Well, I’d like to say that Tia’s a bit faster than the other guy is. As for Sho, though, he’s quite like your typical Shoto. He can hit as hard as a brick, shoot some kinda ‘Hadoukens,’ has every right tool to answer to most attacks, but ain’t exactly the fanciest nor the flashiest of them all,” Terry added before stating: “That being said, I think you guys know who my choice is gonna be. Yeah, that’s right, I’m comin’ right after the team’s anchor himself. Though I ain’t exactly a Shoto, I think Sho and I have a lot in common when it comes to our—let’s just say—playstyles. And I’d like to believe we could just make for a slightly better matchup than, say, me against Tia.” Then, the brawny blonde glanced sidelong at the deity, nearly distracted by the sight of Ukee resting on her furred back as if she was a pillow. “And that brings us to you, Ammy. I guess dealin’ with a kickboxin’ baddie would be a piece of cake for ya, wouldn’t it?”

Given that the previous debriefing had involved Terry overestimating her ability to handle the absolute monster that had been Rare, the divine wolf was a fair bit less confident in this assessment than she would have been otherwise, but she was going to do her best, that was for sure. Her pride was on the line here, on top of the obvious actual stakes, and so this Tia had better watch out, because she wasn’t going to hold anything back.

Well, to be truthful she would be holding back a bit. No sharp end of the sword and all. Plus the heavenly principles were holding her a fair amount more. Still, beyond that, she was going to give it her all.

“Guess I take that as a ‘yes,’ then?” Terry asked with arching eyebrows, noticing the glimmers of hesitation in Amaterasu’s eyes. It was palpable that her prior encounter with the mentally unstable ‘Akuma’ was still weighing her down, even though the bout’s chaotic conclusion was none of her fault. Moreover, he inwardly blamed the catastrophic showdown to the very King responsible for deciding the tournament’s bracket, believing Rugal might’ve just undersold his team’s collective capabilities. The blonde bruiser then shifted his attention back towards the captain, giving ear to his remark.

”Spot on about Lee.” Cap said, gesturing his thumb toward himself. ”Had a taste of what he can do when I signed up for the Breakers Dojo. Sawamura Sensei had me spar against him as a test. I’m looking forward to seeing what he can do when there’s a longer time limit than just 20 seconds.”

“20 seconds? Damn, buddy…” Terry reciprocated with his eyes slightly widening, though he refused to be surprised, knowing Cap’s impressive agility. “But that just goes to show that my assessment was right. Heard that Lee once scarred Sho in the face in their first ever match. Pretty sick, right? And Sho’s the dojo’s reignin’ champ, by the way, so I guess that was something…”

As they chattered, Richard approached the trio again from across the counter—exactly a minute later as he promised them. Though, he only came to deliver a glass of water Cap ordered earlier, then told Terry that “your Americano’s next,” which elicited a smile and a simple “okay!” from his steadfast customer.

He took a sip of sparkling water and then his expression grew more serious. ”There’s one other thing, Terry. You mind telling us a little more about Geese and Rugal? Clearly there seems to be some kinda story there.”

Terry’s expression, too, quickly went wry, not quite as bright as it was just a moment ago at the mention of two of the nastiest figures in KOF’s history. “Well, you’re not wrong about that.” After all, Terry’s entire existence revolved around Geese and his stooges, as the erstwhile South Town crime lord was directly involved in the death of his surrogate father. Not only that, even Geese was the driving factor that led him to joining his first KOF tournament. As for Rugal, though, we already knew the story a bit.

“Guess my explanation yesterday was a bit all over the place, wasn’t it? Wish I wasn’t so gloomy back then, but… alright. The thing is there used to be a lotta bad blood between Geese and I going back to when I was 10. Y’know, he, uh…” He clenched his lips, then sighed, a wave of unpleasant memories flooding his mind again. “He killed my dad. Right in front of me. It was a traumatic experience. Part of it was jealousy, part of it was also because dad had the secret Hakkyokuseiken scroll that he was after. And because Geese was such an influential figure in South Town where I used to live, nobody had ever dared to touch that case, even if they knew. So my brother and I took matters into our own hands and spent the next ten years of our lives training and fighting, waiting for the day when we could avenge dad for good. And that day did come, thankfully, when we came back to South Town and entered one of Geese’s KOF tourneys—back when Rugal hadn’t taken over the rights. We beat everybody in our paths, but it was me who ended up reaching out to Geese in the finals. I gotta admit, since he kept countering my attacks, I was kinda struggling at first till I found the right opening to punish him and boot him outta his tower. Dad was avenged that night, though I couldn’t help but feel a little hollow after almost killing the guy. So over time, I tried to learn to forgive him, even taking his son under my wing when he abandoned the kid. I thought I would’ve been able to bury the hatchet, but after learning that he was partly involved in the destruction of our world? I don’t even know if that guy still deserves forgiveness. Guess it was all for nothin’.”

Terry shrugged, jerked his eyebrows up, and pursed his lips, more pessimistic than usual. His mind immediately took him back to the revelation that he received at the Teahouse, as well as the heated argument between himself and Geese last evening. It was clear that those moments still left a sour taste in the erstwhile KOF champion’s mouth even until this afternoon. Around the same time, Richard re-entered the scene to serve Amaterasu’s Cacchoro-quente and Terry’s Americano, saying “here you go, lighten up!” as if trying to cheer them up. Instead of replying back, the blonde only smiled and raised the small cup handed to him in front of Richard, subsequently sipping the thick, dark coffee. He let out a relieved exhale.

“Okay, so where were we? Oh, right, Rugal!” Terry chimed mostly to himself, his face only perking up at the realization before turning grim. Ironic because, apparently, the King was more relevant to his current situation than even his eternal nemesis was. He settled the cup down, then cleared his throat, his voice lowering slightly. “I think I’ve been yappin’ about that scum all day long, haven’t I? But in case there’s something you guys haven’t known yet, I can explain. So, Rugal… I’d say that he’s ten times the bad guy that Geese ever wishes he was. While Geese is just your regular local kingpin, Rugal deals with even shadier stuff. He’s a cartel leader and an arms dealer, which kinda makes me think now that either he or Geese might be involved in the recent explosion incident. Not only that, but I suspect he might be after myself and everybody around me. I might’ve probably told you guys multiple times that most of my close ones—and even my brother—have been goin’ missing for a while now, and all it took was just me saying what I believed had to be said about the current state of the KOF tourney and even Esaka as a whole. Can’t help when Rugal legitimately finds pleasure in killing his foes and turning them into statues. Like I said, he even has an entire gallery dedicated to preserving those human statues at the top of his tower, and if what Geese told me last evening was to be believed…” His eyes went wide at the appalling notion of Rugal doing the unthinkable to his close ones, chills running down his spine. “No… No! That can’t be right! He couldn’t just turn them into statues, could he?”

As far as Amatarasu was concerned, it was entirely possible. Regions of her world had been cursed, and in those cursed lands, the people were turned to stone. At least until the curse was cleaned, at which point they were returned to life. Perhaps, she hoped, the missing people could be saved from the fate inflicted upon them.

Sadly, a lack of words meant she couldn’t relay this silverlining to Terry, and so she could only look on sympathetically as he went around in his own head about the truth or fiction of the rumor.

Hopefully, Terry thought, it wasn’t the case. Or so, it was? He couldn’t be sure until the top of Rugal’s Black Noah was reached where formerly human trophies were displayed for the winning team to see. And hopefully, the appalling notion didn’t just ruin his appetite because, by then, Richard had already come to serve their remaining orders, including his own. The Bauru looked tempting, he had to admit. A Brazilian-styled sandwich, it was a sliced bread roll stuffed with melted mozzarella and slices of thick roast beef, tomato, and pickled cucumber. After taking another sip of his coffee, he decided to give the Bauru a bite, a wild drop of melted mozzarella immediately glued to a corner of his lips. He hummed.

“Mmm… Y’know what, guys? Never mind. I just hope that y’all enjoy the meals here,” the brawny blonde said to his partners, his voice greatly muffled by the food in his mouth. Although he was still haunted by the possibility of his closed ones being encased in metal fluid, the delicacy did make him feel better, albeit faintly. “So, I hope that answers your questions, Cap. I can give y’all a bit more details if you wanna. Either now or after the second round, that is.” Since the Seekers might be close to running out of break time already.

”Hmm.” Cap had been quietly listening to Terry’s story. It wasn’t too dissimilar to some of the bitter rivalries he had firsthand experience with in the Grand Prix. So because of that, he could certainly relate to his teammate. ”Yeah, I think I’ve heard all I need to.” Falcon said somberly before clasping the bruiser’s shoulder with a reassuring grin on his face. ”No matter what waits for us at the top of Esaka, you’re not facing it alone, Terry. We’ll be right there with you.”

”And besides,” Cap said as he began to dig into his plate of beef tripe, ”bitter rivalries and bad blood? I’m no stranger to any of that. Let’s just say I’ve got some of my own experiences with it in the F-Zero Grand Prix I race in. We’re not that different, really.” His words weren’t intended to minimize Terry’s history, far from it. They were only meant to reassure him that Cap could relate and did indeed understand the bruiser and where he was coming from. And naturally, it was a promise to see this KOF tournament through to the end, no matter how messy things got.

---

---

Coming to terms with his new powers, Ramattra had made himself quite a considerable monster to achieve new strength. This had been a consequence he accepted since Edward had first explained fusion to him, though, as he stared at his missing left appendage, only then did he realize the repercussions of which Edward had warned him. While he did not regret his choice to accept the Democrawler or the Alchemist Boxer’s fusion, there was an obvious toll it had begun to take on him; his body was weak from the nearly dozen doses of the Alchemist Cocktail he had administered to his body throughout the course of the day, and his entire left arm was missing from his body, and his right arm weilded both the heavy Enchanted Buckler and his Nanite Staff. Not to mention, he now had three spider-like appendages for legs.

During the course of the night, Ramattra had worked with Sandaphlon to establish a comm link between the two, so that if he and the Archangel were out of range of one another, they would still have a line of communication.

And although he was tired, Ramattra did not want to waste the little amount of energy he had left before retiring for the evening. Throughout the night, Ramattra found himself alone in the woods around the housing, destroying trees with the Democrawler’s Scimitar into clumsily chopped logs. The Omnic grew frustrated with his lack of progress in precision with the new tool he acquired by fusing with the Democrawler. If Ramattra had learned to properly use the blade most effectively, he could serve another role to the group. He was self-aware enough to recognize the change the fusion made to his aggression levels, deciding to return to the lodge with his poorly dismembered logs from a further part of the woods.

The Omnic had chosen to take refuge in one of the smaller rooms available in the abandoned lodge, having taken quite the beating throughout their route out of Spire 04. While he wasn’t keen on having company in moments of solitude, the Omnic had recalled Edward mentioning speaking with him to Sandaphlon. After meditating on his thoughts of the events that transpired during the day, Ramattra stood up and abandoned the room he used, taking note of the odd dog that was following Heismay around. “Odd, that it seems to grow aggressive when you stop giving it attention.” He spoke behind Edward, resting his metallic hand on the commander’s shoulder, knowing he would be more than alert not to be startled by Ramattra’s sudden approach. His appearance with the Democrawler was immediately apparent; more than half his entire body was now modified by the fusion spirit.

The man, whose vision was presently split among just under 40 drones scattered around the forests (and whose stomach was carefully digesting giant spider leg after the previous meal went down… poorly) was a little less alert than the Omnic had assumed, but a wide eyed blink and a littoral ruffling of feathers was the only indication he gave of this. The traffickrab sat on the sofa beside him meanwhile very much ducked under its cone in surprise. It was still getting used to all the people its enlightener traveled with, especially with how they kept changing shape.

”Ah, Ramattra, good evening. Have you finished practicing with your new... adjustments?” the man with too many eyes asked as he stood and turned to face the machine man who, he speculated, was going to have issues using typical furniture designs due to his new lower limb arrangement.

He hesitantly pet the top of the traffickrab’s cone once he was up, not entirely sure if that would be reassuring or not, and then a moment later gave the (clearly a jealous) dog some as well.

The Omnic sighed, standing on his tripod legs as he clattered gently into the most comfortable sitting position on the floor. “Without much progress, but yes. I do not intend to be as unwieldy with my new strength as that monster was.” One of the benefits of his robotic form was his ability to modify his body later down the line. “Though I do not expect my lack of an arm to cause me trouble for the long term, I really would like to discuss with somebody whether a replacement is possible or not.” There was a lot to consider; if he accepted a new arm, it would not be compatible with his Nemesis form- If he fused with another enemy to gain a second arm, there would be different repercussions to face- and obviously, if he left his arm as is, he would need to learn how to fight with one arm.

Resting his staff on the ground, the Omnic, normally steeled and collected, seemed worn. It was true that his battle prowess was not one to be underestimated, but after a long day of trekking through an infested facility, there was little energy left in his reserves. The Omnic was also more of a strategist than a fighter; his leadership of Null Sector placed him in various “diplomatic” roles rather than directly fighting. “It seems I may have taken off a little more than I can chew!” The Omnic wasn’t known to be humorous towards those he didn’t hold in decent regard, so on that front, there was some level of mutual respect between the tacticians.

Edward looked briefly confused, then gave a short laugh as he got the play on words.

He then replied with ”Perhaps, though if it is a stable problem it could very well be addressable like you suggest. I believe we may even have parts in the armory for such a replacement? Or simply removing one from one of the winged puppets that have been stored away” while opening up an armory screen and locating the Legion Plug which he had been referencing, along with the two copies of the arch queen’s puppet they had acquired.

The Omnic raised his hand to the commander, refusing his suggestion from the screen. “While the arms of those puppets may work if integrated with my cybernetics, their size would impede my combat ability. Though, that odd mechanism may prove useful if we find somebody who can make sense of the amalgamation that is my body now.” He gestured to his disfigured form. While the Omnic was still mostly machine, most of his body was now comprised of side effects of fusion. This was not where he was planning to end his alterations either, and Edward knew that. “Perhaps, however, Sandaphlon could help me pilot one of those puppet shells. I used to command an army of Omnics. Maybe I could command machines from this world as well.”

”It may be possible, though I believe there is something of a magical element to the puppets that might get in the way of that. I got a good look at the actual mechanisms involved, but the interstices of the power source eluded me. Sandaphlon, I believe, had the research notes on the topic, and thus would indeed be the right person to go to when it comes to finding out if this is possible” Edward replied/agreed, before also suggesting ”As for the amalgamation, perhaps Ganondorf could be of help? I am not quite sure of the extent of the abilities he gained from absorbing the guardian of the dead zone, but its underlings also had a tendency to be both flesh and steel much like the Naytiba. He may have gained some insight as a result”

The Omnic nodded, taking mental note to later discuss these matters with Sandaphlon and Ganondorf. If he would be able to control even one of the puppets from Krat Zoo, the Omnic would very well be able to rebuild the foundation of Null Sector in Galeem’s world. But these were just thoughts for later. Ramattra returned his attention to the commander.

“Well, I suppose it would be best to gain a better foothold of what my ability to command in this world is. There’s no chance we’ll defeat any guardian without a small army behind us.” The amount of minions that White Team was now able to produce had increased since Ramattra and Tenna had joined their ranks, and with the inevitable battle against this region’s guardian getting closer with each passing day, the additional numbers would surely prove to be beneficial.

“Ah. But I’m getting ahead of myself. There was something I was meaning to speak to you about.” The Omnic’s stone gaze was fixated on Edward, who had been listening to his fellow tactician’s monologuing. Ramattra never hated humans, but often found it easier to befriend humans who proved themselves valuable assets to a greater cause. “You spoke of enchantments to me once when we spoke prior. Tell me, how does a human cast an enchantment in your world?”

”Same as anyone else, which is to say myriad of ways” Edward replied with a little bit of a grin at the trick answer, before answering more seriously ”Which is to say that there are numerous magical traditions that have been invented independently over the years. Still, there is a common baseline, or so it seems, likely drawn from the traditions of the beings who forged the worlds in the first place. Giants, dragons, acheons, and so on”

”As such, all magic is drawn from six comic forces which come in three sets of opposing pairs. Chaos and order. Nature and Shadow. Materium and Asteral. At a baseline, magic taps into one or more of these forces, draws out lesser aspects (such as say, fire from chaos) and then hammers them into a specific mold” he explained, ”Mana is then poured into that mold, taking on the desired shape while also granting fuel to sustain the shape, which would collapse without it”

As he explained, Edward demonstrated, retrieving the tome of pyromancy and drawing the runes on the page into the air as a demonstration. ”It should be noted that the ‘shapes’ are something of a metaphor. Hence the chanting you may have heard me do while casting these spells. The shape is more of an idea that we form with words, written or spoken, as well as intent. This can be formalised to a significant extent, but a certain amount of flair and force of will is still required”

The Omnic raised a hand. He thinks he understands, there was plenty of fiction in his world that described worlds similar. “Come with me outside and demonstrate. You can make allies stronger yes?” Ramattra stood from the ground, beckoning the commander to follow him as the two stepped outside. “And bring your… erm. Friends?” He didn’t quite know what to call Edward’s subjects of command. The world was still very new to him, and from his perspective they were simply monsters and minions from other worlds.

As it turned out, many of the creatures under Edward’s command were currently outside already, the spacious lodge not quite spacious enough to host more than a dozen hulking hybrids. Fortunately the Sheildrixdes and Snoruyo, with their predominantly ice type creature sourced parts, where perfectly at home out there, and were busy grazing away on the foliage.

The Traffikrab was quite comfortable where it was, thank you, and did not dain to join them.

As Edward followed Ramattra’s lead outside, he jutted his staff outward, before turning it sideways, offering the weapon to his ally. with the way the Omnic puppy guarded his belongings that they held great value to him, so this gesture was not to be taken lightly. “In my world, technology is where we flourish. Nanites, which I’ve explained before, are the technology that acts as a conduit in which I create barriers, transform my body at instant speed.” He hoped Edward was able to follow his explanation. There wasn’t a hint of demeaning tone in Ramattra’s voice. He was explaining this to Edward as an equal.

“Omnics are not the only people in my world who can utilize their ability. Humans use them for medical purposes, for cybernetics, for research and development.” By now, Ramattra’s motives for talking to Edward were clear. He wanted to teach the commander how to control nanites.

”I had indeed been wondering about those” Edward said, having graciously accepted the staff and now trying to be as courteous as possible while also indulging his curiosity, carefully turning the weapon over while inspecting it with a clinical eye.

”they appear to be similar to magic in appearance, in a way, yet as I understand it you are using an entirely technological basis for the ability?”

Suddenly, after a couple seconds of inspecting the staff, the purple aura radiating where the large orb was suspended in mid air disappeared, the ball and small fragments of its cracks tinkling sadly to the snow. For a moment, it almost seemed like Edward had broken the staff, as the silence between the Omnic and human extended.

Ramattra would burst into boisterous laughter, hoping that the expected result did not frighten the commander. “Unfortunately, one of the things about being human is that your body is not a machine, and cannot naturally harness Nanites. That staff was given to me by the monk Mondata, the late master of my monastery.” There seemed to be a hinge of sorrow in his voice explaining this, the staff’s intricate technology mixed with motifs of monk martial arts in its design. This was intended to be a multi-use weapon, for masters of its niche uses.

“Now, you’ve seen the way I wield my staff, correct? You’re a commander, so I’m sure you’re familiar with some martial arts stances. Just try your best. Aim for any target in these woods, like erm. A tree.”

”Let’s see” Edward said as he moved the staff to a one handed grip, then shifted the grip as he moved it out of the sort of halfway up the shaft grip used for magic staves, and to an imitation of Ramattra’s own grip up near the head of it. A moment after that he shifted the grip again, holding the weapon like a spear tilted upwards to meet the charge of a mounted foe. Holding it like this and then aiming the opening of the C shaped head rather than the nonexistent tip of the weapon took a moment for him to adjust too, but soon enough he had the foliage in his sights.

”There. Now. The activation method?”

Ramattra’s eyes turned off for a moment, as if in deep focus. He raised a open hand, his palm facing towards Edward as the purple energy surged around his hand. The Orb of Destruction began levitating and rotating in its regular position once again, suspended in the middle of the staff.

The staff began vibrating violently, as if being powered by bunch of moving parts within the confines of the weapon. From the tip Edward had worked diligently to focus sights on erupted a stream of purple energy, tiny particles and fragments launching at bullet-like speed. The wood of the tree began to splinter as Ramattra charged his staff manually from a distance.

That was certainly a task, the weapon being rather unorthodox in its construction after all. No actual sights to be seen. Once he stopped trying to aim the staff, and instead focused on aiming the stream, that was when he got control of the weapon, and began boring into the wood of the unfortunate target tree. Once he had a sense of that, he tried to get a sense of what Ramattra was doing to charge the staff. It was, he assumed, simply a form of energy, and turning mana into energy was, ultimately, one of the simplest magical tricks there was.

The Omnic ended the projection of nanites from his hand into his staff, the orb taking its stationary position in the snow once again. Ramattra walked up to Edward, his palm extended open, requesting his staff back. “While you are not a machine, you can use tools, cybernetics, or tinkering as a conduit for nanites, and delegate them with a variety of purposes. It wouldn’t take us long to create something like that, if you have anything that can ‘cast’ or shoot.” He recalled his conversation with Edward about enchantments. Maybe there was some way to blend high tech with magic.

Edward carefully handed the staff back with a nod of thanks, and then withdrew his magelock pistol from its holster, moving to hold it by the barrel as he explained ”This, in a sense, does both. One set of spells generates the round of this pistol, and then another set is used in place of gunpowder to propel it forwards. Hence why you will have never seen me reload this weapon, nor the rifle at my hip” he patted the Smiting Bishop presently store in a heavily modified quiver at his side.

The Omnic nodded in fascination, examining the weapon Edward held out for him to inspect. While the weaponry was archaic in comparison to the firearms used in his world, the ability to cast with the weapon meant, perhaps, that it could be modified to cast a spell that used nanites as a power source. It would be impossible to reprogram his own nanites to serve a specific purpose without the guidance of an expert in Omnic robotics, but Ramattra’s ability to withstand damage was already strong enough.

“I believe I can imbue your weapon with nanites, though there is a high likelihood it may corrupt it with some unknown power since we are fusing magic and technology from two different worlds.” His gaze returned back up at Edward, looking for his permission to tamper with his firearms. “Not that the results would be bad, just… probably something you wouldn’t be used to.”

The man raised an eyebrow at this. To him, the idea that mundane technology could produce unexpected results was strange indeed. These nanites were sounding more and more like magic as he learned more about them. But then, maybe that was a good thing, and the principles for controlling magic could be applied to these nanites to control them too.

There was, ultimately, only one way to find out, and that was to gather more empyricial data. As such, after that moment of thought, Edward offered the Omnic the magelock pistol, saying ”It’s lacking in additional enchantments, so it will be relatively straight forward to produce a replacement” as he did so, despite the fact that he’d probably not be able to do so till he had access to the avenger again.

Rammatra received the weapon carefully, his large hand almost engulfing the weapon in his grip. The Omnic looked back at Edward, as if checking one last time if this decision was okay. Fortunately for Edward, nanites being entirely technological meant their abilities always had a scientific basis, and could be separated and combined with magical abilities without any interference; at least that was the theory Ramattra had been working on, seeing other Seekers blend abilities from other worlds.

Clutching the Magelock tightly in his hand, a strong purple energy crackled from Ramattra’s hand, more intense than any ability he had used in combat, his blank robotic face directing every single ounce of focus to transform Edward’s weapon. A couple of seconds passed before Ramattra released his tight grip on the pistol, not yet unveiling the creation. Slowly, the Omnic held out his hand to return the weapon, no immediate changes present.

Suddenly, as Edward retrieved his weapon, as if from thin air, a thick black wire began rapidly materializing around a purple energy, where a magazine would go if the weapon took ammunition. Completing its transformation, not much seemed to change about the weapon, other than the wire, and the gentle vibrations purring inside the weapon, almost as if it were alive. Nanites were capable of self-replication when necessary, so “reloading” them would never be an issue. “And now, there are billions of microscopic machines within your firearm.” His voice hinted at the untested waters ahead of them. Ramattra had no idea what would happen if Edward tried to cast a spell with his modified weapon equipped.

The Dreadnaught carefully turned the weapon this way and that, before raising it and aiming it at the tree, only to pause halfway through pulling the trigger.

”On second thoughts…”

About three minutes later, both mage and machine were hunkered down a safe distance from a squad of copper golems. At Edward’s direct command, one of these released one hand from its spear grip, crouched down, and retrieved the nanite-infused magelock pistol. It then raised it, aimed (poorly) at the test tree, and squeezed the trigger. Now, with a basic understanding of nanites, Edward would be able to spectate the results of his weapon safely to gain a better understanding of its new changes.

A single firing of the weapon showed that it, for the most part, behaved normally, propelling a single projectile, which now radiated with ominous energy. One notable change now was that the weapon also fired a small spread of nanites, which could make for useful crowd control, but held its usual precision as a pistol. The golem also missed the tree completely in the process. “How interesting! Not too different, at least.”

”Fascinating. But why the magazine like structure?” Edward asked, as he raised it up to the Golem’s monocular eye to inspect now that the weapon had been discharged.

“Well, I assume it’s some integrated feeding mechanism for the nanites, since your weapon lacks any proper way to store and utilize them. It may sound complex from a world-view like yours, but I distributed nanites from my body to reconfigure your weapon, similar to how they allow me to reconfigure into Nemesis mode. Nanites are almost like single-celled organisms, in a way. They have one purpose: they carry it out, then reproduce through energy. There is no lifecycle, however, because they are machines without will.” Ramattra seemed frustrated at the end, as if remembering his world where Omnics were still treated without will as well.

The lengthy explanation was necessary to further Edward’s understanding of Nanites. “Now. This is the experiment I wanted to get to. Spells in your world, to what extent are their utility?” He inquired, wondering if there could be any way to integrate Nanites into spells and enchantments as well.

”You’ll need to explain what a ‘single-celled’ organism is some time, but I think I get the rest of the picture” Edward replied, all the magic in his world having not yet, it seemed, produced an equivalent to the microscope. Despite this he then went on to claim that the extent of magic’s utility was ”theoretically limitless”

”That said, it is mostly restricted by mana requirements, as these mana fuel cells I use can only do so much. With access to enough crystalised mana, a well constructed wizard’s tower and the right recorded wisdom a mage could, say, transform this snowy forest into a desert, freeze time in a small area or resurrect all the fallen on a battlefield”

Ramattra stood silent in wonder. Feats like that were only possible in worlds of fiction. In his world, they had only scratched the surface of time manipulation before deeming it too dangerous. Even having fought alongside magic-users, it all still felt like fantasy. “Ha! Maybe I could learn magic while I’m trapped here.” He half-joked, knowing it would be impossible to learn magic without fusion, or some other influence in this world giving him the ability to.

Edward was of the opinion that this would be entirely possible, if not for the likely rather short timeframe of the ongoing campaign. Within the month they’d have won or lost it, he suspected, and that was hardly enough time to learn more than the very basics.

“Now, nanites are also capable of healing, creating barriers, and acting as ammunition, like you saw with your pistol. All of the things you’ve seen me do on the battlefield are because of them. If you could, say, cast a spell, or what-have-it that works, that makes us stronger? Like a rally?”

”Entierly possible, yes, though I do not have such a spell in my repertoire at the moment” Edward replied, before thinking for a few moments and saying ”I believe the Tome of Rock had one that would briefly give a squad stone skin, for example”

Ramattra turned to Edward, hoping the commander was following his chain of thinking. “Would your pistol, now that it is powered by my world’s technology, be able to use nanites as a source for spells like that?” The anticipation was killing the normally stoic Omnic. Despite his collected demeanor, wondering how technology would work as a magic source was simply impossible in his world.

”I… Hmmm... hmmmm” Edward replied, before moving to retrieve the weapon and inspect it with his own eyes. He turned it this way and that, before forming a spell circle around the nanite clip which weakly glowed several colors till a yellow one seemed to agitate the nanites. Then he added more, one every inch, before forming another set around the chamber of the gun itself.

Both of these began to spin rapidly as energy was mana and information was pumped into the nanites, which rapidly forged a round into the magazine, which upon being completed was teleported into the gun itself.

After Edward discharged the weapon, the nanites rapidly built a replacement round, far faster than the weapon itself did, which Edward fired again, and again, weapon heating up until it singed the man’s hand.

He dropped it into the snow, shaking the injured hand, only to hold it up in amazement as nanites swirled around his palm and fingers, the tiny machines mending the light injury in mere moments.

”Fascinating. I wonder if…” he began, before forming a magic circle in his palm and requesting Rammeta fill it with nanites.

The Omnic would’ve raised a brow at the man before realizing what he was requesting. Resuming the stance he had taken prior, he focused nanites into the palm of Edward’s hand, allowing the Commander a surplus of nanites that he could use with magic. This time, however, Ramattra used his staff, giving a more precise stream of nanites into the magic circle.

The circle filled with the purple technological haze, which was in turn filled with mana and data. The swarm multiplied, strained against the binding circle, and then finally burst outwards, washing over the golems, Edward, and Ramattra with an impossible spell that granted them enhanced abilities. The Omnic could feel the unstable energy strengthen him, mending some of the wounds he earned from the journey behind them. “I believe we may have discovered something.” The Omnic looked at his hands as he focused nanites into the radius of the spell, expending nanites to strengthen its effects, immediately allowing Edward to fire more projectiles without reloading.




”It could likely do with some refinement, but it truly is remarkable” Edward said, while taking in their surroundings. The forest had taken quite the beating between the gunshots and Ramattra’s early sword work. The latter could do with some refinement as well, truth be told, and the process of refining it would be far less disruptive to those trying to rest inside than continued firearm discharges.

As such he holstered his pistol, and then half drew his Rainfall katana while offering ”Would you be inclined to practice your swordsmanship again? I might be able to give you some pointers. It's the least I could do after all you’ve taught me”

The Omnic chuckled heartily at Edward’s offer. “Some light sparring ought to get me the basics in, at the very least.” Ramattra reached into the cavity in his chest, revealing the long scimitar from within his own body. He challenged his blade at the commander, ready to follow his lead and learn how to best utilize the Democrawler’s blade. “It’s a little unwieldy, on top of unsightly; however, I do not plan to waste my fusion.”

After that, Edward and Ramattra had a couple of rounds of friendly spars, with Edward giving tips and tricks on wielding a blade shaped like a scimitar. Through these casual fights, Ramattra was able to gain a better hold on using his weapon and planned to use it in the coming battles to improve.

For the second time today, Grima found herself standing in the Pool’s proper fighting arena, watching the other end with clear disinterest as a smaller girl walked onto the arena, a large hawk resting on her arm, “My first opponent was an arrogant braggart. And my second is a child. They let anyone sign up for these tournaments for the slightest chance of entertainment, don’t they?” the vessel states with a shake of her head.

“I’m not one to fall for such insults, but I will admit that the amount of people shakens me” the girl, Nakoruru, admits, reaching up to place a comforting hand on the hawk on her arm, who was currently locked onto Grima, “Such wanton violence is distasteful for me, but even still, I have my purpose for being here. To help the people and cleanse the darkness that plagues these streets. A darkness that I can sense in your heart” she explains, drawing her kodachi as the hawk let out a screech and flew into the sky, “I do not know how, nor do I know why. But the air balks at your presence… And I cannot allow you to continue in this tournament so long as that shadow remains cast over your heart.”

Grima simply stares back for a moment, then lets out a dismissive laugh, “‘A darkness in my heart’? That is a statement I have heard many times, child. I have no darkness, I am darkness. If you wish to see that firsthand, then by all means…” Grima draws her blade, twirling it in her hand as she took her combat stance, “Step forward”.

ROUND 1, FIGHT

Nakoruru spent no time hanging back, instead dashing forward, her hawk diving just ahead of her like a speeding bullet. The sight of which caused Grima to smile slightly, her hand rising to create a small barrier that the hawk slammed into, only to push off moments before Grima’s blade swung through the air where it had been. The Fell Dragon’s vessel quickly stepped forward, using her momentum to swing the blade down as Nakoruru swung their own kodachi forward, the two blades clashing with a ringing of steel, though Nakoruru was forced to brace her own with her other hand. For a few moments, the two struggled there, with Grima pushing her weight down upon the smaller warrior… Before Nakoruru twisted to the side, causing Grima’s blade to slam down to the floor and open them up to a swift strike to their chest, a strike that Grima barely avoided by stepping back herself.

Unlike the first battle Grima had dealt with in this tournament, the flow of this was one she was comfortably familiar with. A dance of blades and magic, where her mastery was put against a gnat’s speed. This mastery was demonstrated by how deftly Grima was able to deal with the latter’s swift attacks, her blade a whirlwind of both defense and attack. The two were naturally able to land light attacks on each other, but for a significant period, neither could truly land a solid hit on the other, albeit Grima was clearly holding onto the advantage, seemingly anticipating most of Nakoruru’s moves as they came. For a normal spectator, it would seem like Grima had the match locked down.

… At least, if it wasn’t for the hawk.

While Grima focused on Nakoruru, the hawk circled around her, its eyes taking in every movement of Grima’s with eerie precision. It was only when Grima committed to another underhanded swing that it made its move, diving down and slamming into Grima’s vulnerable back. The force of the blow caused her to stumble… Right into a rising slash from Nakoruru. It was mostly thanks to the Heavenly Principles that the slash didn’t cause any lasting damage, yet either way the blow caused her to stagger back as Nakoruru took the opportunity given to her by rushing Grima down further, the hawk flying in several times to stagger Grima even longer between Nakoruru’s attacks.

However, as the flurry of attacks reached their crescendo, a small gap in the assault let Grima finally plant her foot down, twisting her body just out of the way of Nakoruru’s kodachi. The other girl had barely enough time to widen her eyes before Grima’s own blade slammed into her torso, a rising slash from Grima that sent both her and the vessel into the air, with Nakoruru landing harshly on her back and taking a moment to breath before she leapt back to her feet. Unfortunately for her, Grima was already on top of her by the time she did so, reaching out her hand as a black, coiling mist swirled around her hand and shot out towards Nakoruru, binding them for a few moments as the sensation of her very lifeforce was drained from her. The binding did not last long, but the effects were obvious as Nakoruru staggered slightly from the sensation… Only for Grima to follow up her attack by blasting Nakoruru’s face with a dark ball of magic, the force from the blast sending her flying and tumbling across the arena.

GRIMA WINS.

For a moment, Grima stood with her arm raised, letting out a heavy sigh. Then she brought her hand back, running it through her hair, “... That damnable bird is a nuisance, but a useful one, I will grant you that child” Grima says as she twirled her sword in her hand. With a few steps, she returned to her initial position, a hand on her hip as she waited for Nakoruru to get up and prepare herself for the next round, “A costly mistake, nearly. But a bird and a worm cannot hope to overcome the night by themselves.”

It wasn’t long after Nadia wished her fellow NMO fighters luck and went on her way that she got distracted again. Of course, it wasn’t like she minded, or that hunting down Beowulf in the Tekken section of the Pools tier was a pressing concern of hers. She’d been thinking about the city’s combative customs and finally came to a conclusion: that Esaka’s tournaments were actually kind of like a festival. Sure, there were plenty of differences, but the excited communal spirit was the same. New Meridian didn’t exactly host any festivals, but the Dagonians of Little Innsmouth had plenty of special occasions that they traditionally celebrated throughout the year, the dragonfish boat festival in summer and New Year. Once included in the Fishbone Gang, Nadia had always loved participating in those holidays, especially because she wasn’t a Dagonian herself. The key to having a good time was never following a stricture schedule for enjoyment optimization, but simply going with the flow. Getting lost among the attractions was just part of the fun.

One fight she stopped to check out involved two brunette teens, one in blue (with bug eyes and bunny ears) and one in yellow (who wielded a blunt sword and a sharp knife). There were a few more spectators in attendance than usual, and judging by both their chatter and the pace of the battle itself, the duel was one-to-one and nearing its conclusion. Linne, the girl in the yellow hoodie, fought with astonishing speed and excellent combat instincts. Nadia considered herself fast, but this kid seemed swift enough -especially in short bursts- to leave her in the dust. In the few moments she stopped moving, Nadia could glimpse her expression: a blank, deadpan stare, as if everything she did and experienced was just par for the course. In contrast, her opponent Arina fought empty-handed, armed only with an irrepressible spirit and never-so-die attitude. Her primary power appeared to be the ability to shoot out pink hearts and energy stars, though since Linne could run circles around her, Arina’s projectiles showed up mostly as combo extenders. It was a classic game of cat-and-mouse, with Arina trying to pin Linne down and combo her before the dual-blader put her down with a death of a thousand cuts.

Despite the very different power sets, the match was closer than it looked, and fairly exciting. Nadia didn’t intend to play favorites, but she couldn’t help but root for her fellow feral (or at least, feral-adjacent) who happened to be decked out in her favorite color. She supported Arina silently, of course, as she didn’t want to throw either fighter off her game. The off-duty fighters and yokai that surrounded the metal construction platform where the two fought were of like mind, watching closely as the bout intensified. The few lucky enough to snag benches in the neighboring rest areas were practically on the edge of their seats, while yokai like the mustached, helmeted Castelius and bearded, wispy Iloo naturally just floated. Nobody was more intent on the results, though, than the blonde boy with an impressive red sword standing a few feet to the right of the railing Nadia now leaned on. “C’mon, Linne,” he muttered under his breath, his fists clenched. “C’mon…!”

After a couple more quick exchanges, the match was down to the wire. Though she took an early lead, Arina had fallen prey to three mixups in a row and was on her last legs, with Linne coming back from a huge life deficit and only another stray hit or two from winning. The reversal of fortune had left Arina hopelessly overwhelmed, unable to grasp the victory already slipping through her fingers. With her mental in such a state, Linne probably didn’t even need to get fancy. Nadia held her breath as the dual-blader blitzed forward, somersaulted into the air over her target, then airdashed backward for a final mixup. At that moment, though, Arina surrounded herself in intense flames, then shot straight upward in a blazing punch. It powered through Linne’s attack and depleted the last third of her health in one explosive burst that left the girl face-down on the corrugated metal.

The Heavenly Principles quickly declared the victor. ROUND THREE: ARINA WINS!

A few of the spectators cheered, Nadia among them, though more gaped in surprise or winced in frustration. Hyde clapped a hand to his head, dismayed, then gathered himself to leap toward the stage and check on Linne. Not sure what to make of the crowd’s reaction, Nadia waved up at the nearby yokai. “Hey there! This fight a big deal or somethin’?”

As the Castelius floated off in a huff, his mustache quivering in anger, the Iloo drifted down toward her, looking mighty pleased. ”Hoo-ee! I’ll say!” he told her, his voice wizened with age but still full of joy. ”This is a pretty big upset! That Linne girl ain’t super famous, but she’s better-known than Arina, and she was the favorite to win for sure. Made myself a pretty penny off the doubters back there, heehee!”

Nadia crossed her arms, grinning. “Sounds like I oughta be placin’ some bets myself. You got any money on Mortal Kombat?”

The Iloo rolled his eyes. ”A little, just to keep things interestin’, but Mortal Kombat’s gotten pretty stale, li’l miss! If you ain’t bettin’ Scorpion or Sub-zero, it just ain’t worth your time, and Sub-zero ain’t even competitin’ this go-round!”

“Lemme give ya a little purr-sonal advice, then. Just hear meowt~” Nadia leaned forward, one hand by her mouth conspiratorially, and the Iloo eagerly floated closer. “You better put some money on this cute catgirl by the name of Ms Fortune, ‘cause her star’s about to rise! If anyone can beat Shao, she Kahn!”

The yokai chuckled. “Hehe, maybe I will!”

Nadia waved him goodbye, checked on the arena to make sure Hyde had Linne taken care of, then continued on her merry way.

---

ROUND ONE: FIGHT!

Rather than take the offensive right out of the gate, Band stepped backward to put a little extra distance between himself and the freakish burly tiger known as Rhajang. Unless this creature was a lot more sentient than it looked, with a keen mind hidden behind that stripy exterior, the detective expected nothing but pure aggression. And he was right to be cautious; as soon as the match began, the beast reared up to raise its forepaws as if putting up its dukes. No sooner was the tiger up (and somehow balancing) on its hind legs than it dashed forward to scrape him with savage claws like fistfuls of curved, four-inch knives. Rhajang dished out cruel slashes at a ferocious rate, the power of its bulging biceps behind every blow.

With such raw strength and speed, it was easy to see how Rhajang mauled his way through the first round. The tiger’s ferocious assault could easily make mincemeat out of an ordinary human in a dozen grievous attacks, but Band was made of sterner stuff. He hunkered down and blocked with the help of a steel music stand, the metal frame unfolding in front of him for an extra layer of protection. Rhajang struck his guard again and again, crawling forward just a step between each swipe to counteract the natural pushback and keep the pressure on.

Though each slash did appreciable chip damage, Band quickly began to see a pattern. For all its primal power, the musclebound beast lacked variety, attacking with only a left or right claw slash. It sure didn’t seem inclined to throw him. Band went for a pushblock, thrusting his music stand forward like a big palm to shove the tiger back in the middle of the attack. It reacted with something new: it stretched upward, then fell forward in a double claw slash aimed at his shins. Band intercepted the low blow, but did not feel confident in an interrupt at this distance, so Rhajang quickly crawled up to continue its onslaught of slashes. As clawmarks began to appear across his trench coat, Band clicked his tongue. If this animal wasn’t going to respect him, he would have to teach it to.

“Hey, listen here!” Huge tambourine halves arced outward from his body as he snapped up Rhajang in his reversal. “Beat…Extend!” Band shook the jingles to rattle the tiger’s brain and body with Sound Stun, leaving it to fall limply as he hopped into the air. “Shake, shake!” He popped open one leg to grind his opponent’s ugly mug with Jelly Roll. From there, he followed up with a giant clarinet spike, which he then twisted to both lift his target higher and floated himself slightly upward. “Swing it!” That set Rhajang up for a megaton drop kick, which Band canceled into a Blockbuster for the grand finale.

“You’re gonna get BEAT!” Still aloft, the detective deployed a set of timpani drums from his chest, then opened up his six sidecaps to extend metal arms tipped with drumsticks the size of morning stars. With each percussive impact, a blast of sound energy both juggled Rhajang and lifted Band higher in a sensational drum solo meant to leave the beat senseless. Spectators and off-duty fighters within a couple hundred feet in every direction turned their eyes toward the noisy spectacle, and though many looked away again just as quickly, some kept their eyes on the unusual duel as both Band and Rhajang dropped back down to the wooden raft with a loud clatter.

Guess cats don’t always land on their feet, Band mused. The tiger hit the deck hard, but wasted no time getting up. That combo had been a good start, but now he was flat broke on Dramatic Tension and would need to fight the old-fashioned way. This time, the detective threw himself forward with Brass Knuckle, guessing that a wild beast wouldn’t know how to handle his sliding punch’s armor. He did not expect Rhajang to crouch down and low-profile the move completely. “Huh!” With a snarl it leaped up, burying its claws in his upper chest. Its fangs flashed as it went for the jugular, only to close on the left-hand tube of Band’s respirator. Operating on instinct, it planted its rear legs against Band’s torso and then kicked off, ripping open part of Band’s chest along with his respirator as it sprang away.

The detective stumbled for a moment as air vented from the torn-out apparatus against his face, his expression tight. “Applesauce,” he hissed through gritted teeth. The damage to his respirator would not only make breathing more difficult, but also be a distraction that seriously impacted his focus, and Rhajang was already coming at him again. This time the beast leaped at him in a frightening jump, and Band, unable to use Beat Extend in time, had to settle for blocking. He tried to stop Rhajang’s assault before it could get started with a sudden blurt from his bike horn, but lost out and took a full-force claw slash. “Hng!” B♭ experimental oil mixture dripped from the deep grooves–Rhajang must have hit a circulatory tube.

In a lucky turn, though, the tiger seemed completely unable to combo, so its follow-up got blocked. It took another try and another painful blow for the detective to fully internalize the timing, but after that he cut the tiger’s savagery short with a double bike horn bleat. That allowed Band to chain into his Pneumatic Slide trombone kick, follow up with Jelly Roll into the first hit of Sweet Clarinet, land, and keep the pain train rolling with the same string of harmful instruments. Rather than loop a third time, he spent his Sound Stun on Beat Extend, allowing the catshaker to smack Rhajang with a double trombone thrust and finish off with a resounding Brass Knuckle.

Wham! The tiger slammed down on the raft again. Though clearly winded, it growled, rose, and charged, not beaten quite yet. Band rolled his eyes, then pounded the stage with Giant Step. The impact from the huge drum pedal launched Rhajang toward him with a confused yowl, only to meet his heavy Brass Knuckle head-on. CLANG! This time, the beast fell flat on its back, half-conscious and unable to continue–for now.

ROUND ONE: BIG BAND WINDS, the golden letters of the Heavenly Principles pronounced.

Band tried to steady both his breathing and his pounding heart, still struggling with his respirator. Despite the damage he’d sustained, he felt pretty good about this match. Rhajang was fast and strong, sure, but it had no real fighting skill or mental ability. As long as he kept calm and hung in there, Band felt confident that he could win this. He considered taunting the big cat as it shook its head and got up, but he didn’t have any breath to spare, and he knew that his words would be lost on it. More than anything, he couldn’t help but wonder: who registered some random tiger in this tournament, anyway?



Once the matter of the strange dog was sorted out and her teammates all busied themselves settling in, Sandalphon made her way back toward the upstairs bathroom, a little bemused. She couldn’t help but be amazed that some Seekers still had enough energy for Tenna-sponsored minigames after such a long, grueling day of travel and combat. The archangel herself was on her last legs but oddly hesitant to bed down for the night. Despite her fatigue, a reluctant uneasiness gnawed at her, a tense ache of both body and mind. That discomfort told her that even if she tried to rest, she wouldn’t be able to find peace. Not yet, at least. Knowing what she had to do didn’t make setting off on that path any easier, especially since there would be no going back.

In light of this inner turmoil, Sandalphon chose to do something rather out of character for her: treat herself. She didn’t plan to lay claim to any of the bedrooms, and in fact preferred to use one of the expedition sleeping bags, but ever since a rivulet of warm water revealed that the upstairs bath seemed operational, part of her had wanted to give it a try. Normally, she prioritized others over herself to the extent that even the possibility of someone else wanting to make use of a luxury would convince her to spurn it. Tonight, though, a little luxury sounded like a very good idea.

She turned on the faucet, locked the door, and then set about lighting candles around the room, already somewhat soothed by the sound of running water. Even if her skillset involved more ice magic than ever nowadays, she wasn’t any more fond of the cold. Her element was ultimately still water, and nothing healed or sustained life quite like it. After a few minutes, the candlelit bath was ready. Sandalphon switched off the flow, disrobed, and slowly immersed herself in the water. Immediately, her pupils became carets. The delightful warmth soaked into her weary bones, and she drank it in, like a bearded dragon beneath a heat lamp. At the same time, the combined light of her halo and the candle flames filled the bathroom with a hospitable atmosphere, allowing the archangel to sink up to her chin and finally start to relax.

Though she heard intermittent noises from her teammates outside, scattered throughout the lodge, Sandalphon enjoyed the serene silence. The snowy pine forest outside had been breathtakingly quiet, but with pitch-black shadows and unknown threats in every direction it had been anything but peaceful. In this secure room, this meditative moment, she had the solitude to confront her thoughts and misgivings.

With her physical form at peace, her mind could wander, far beyond the Midnight Walk or the Frozen Highlands. She could remember the long hours of quiet, concentrated study in the offices and libraries of the Lateran Church, and beyond that, the immaculate cathedral of the Illian church in the city of Grams. Although her conversation with Edward earlier about the World of Light and the Seekers’ campaign crossed her mind, she focused instead on a different subject in conjunction with the sordid task ahead of her. She found it unusually difficult to process her thoughts on the matter; maybe voicing them aloud to someone else would help her scattered musings coalesce. But who could she turn to? Right now, she couldn’t afford to divulge her plans to anyone, lest they try to stop her, or inform someone who would.

As she mulled it over, an idea occurred to her. Aboard the orbital elevator, she hadn’t actually recorded her awe-inspiring ascent through the atmosphere through the use of any software. She wasn’t a computer, after all. She had simply bookmarked the memory in her mental database for future retrieval, since her screens could visualize her mental data for others to see. Since she could crystallize visual memories in such a manner, it should be no trouble to do the same for auditory ones. With that in mind, Sandalphon decided to create an audio log. The archangel figured that she could make a number of them over the course of her experiment, so for now, she would start in the abstract. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and began.

“Sandalphon experimental log zero-zero-one. In the years that I worked for the Lateran Church in Piltover, Midgar’s sector one plate, my duties were largely clerical. I could and did administer to the sick and injured with my healing miracles, but as the Angel of Information, I possessed rare talents that opened the doors to vast gulfs of creative and historical data, which I now know stem from countless worlds. Both at work and in my leisure time, a single subject occupied most of my attention: theology.”

“For reference, in the world I hail from, the primary form of organized religion is the Illian Church. The principal figure of the Illian Church is, of course, the goddess Illia. I myself use phrases such as ‘thank Illia’ and ‘praise Illia’ in the same manner that one might say ‘thank god’ and ‘praise god’, but…objectively speaking, Ilia isn’t much of a god.”

“For the record, I will bypass the notion of ‘blasphemy’ entirely for the sake of relaying my findings. The fact of the matter is, Ilia is not a creator deity. In the World of Light, I have read many accounts of other worlds’ gods to whom the creation of lands and peoples, or even entire worlds, is ascribed. The major deed ascribed to Ilia is forging the very first pact with a dragon, that being the holyworm, Elysium. For bringing the world out of an age of darkness and creating the human-dragon coexistence that defines the modern era, she became revered and eventually deified. It is not implausible that Ilia, prior to this act, was an ordinary human.”

Sandalphon paused. She thought of the woman named Ilia she met that day in Grundachdorf, along with the fairy who seemed to be the spitting image of the goddess’s iconography. In the end, though, it was impossible to draw any conclusions from that encounter. Even if it did get her thinking. “Of course, I myself am a dragon, less powerful than but still of a kind with Elysium. For some reason, I am unable to access memories prior to a certain point in my history. I have no memories of my own birth, or creation. Yet, I have heard whispers of primordial figures in my world’s history, to whom creator status is vaguely ascribed: the Progenitor, and the Origin. ”

“This is why I posit that Ilia is no creator deity.” The archangel pursed her lips. “Even if she was, though, it makes no difference to this me. In this world, I am a product of Galeem. That does not mean Galeem is my god, or even a god. The act of creation by itself does not imply deific status. In my studies, I have seen countless mentions of ‘creator’ gods that faded away or died, even killed by mortals, either in their original stories or in the World of Light itself. Primitivus, Sabboath, Demiurge, Ena, Jubileus, Chakravartin, Arceus…Galeem’s fate will be no different. Any being that can die or be killed, or was created by another, is no true god. Logically, then, that applies to any so-called god incarnated in the World of Light as well.”

Sandalphon stared into the flickering flame of a candle. “So, then. As I stand at the edge of a dark and stormy sea, with no far shore visible at the end of the painful path before me, with no vessel to sail upon but guesswork and hope…to whom shall I pray for deliverance?”

“Not Ilia, who neither created us nor sustains us, and has never intervened on our behalf. Not Galeem, which saw the beauty of countless worlds and molded crude playthings in their image. Not the dead or narrow gods of other worlds, who became Galeem’s subjects? And although I have yet to confirm their presence in the World of Light, what reason do I have to believe that the Progenitor or Origin are any better than the gods of other worlds?”

Slowly, Sandalphon breathed in and out. “Perhaps even Galeem, enslaver of countless gods, is merely the scribbled brainchild of another being, on an even higher plane of reality. And so on, and so forth. In the end, I can only place my hopes -my fate- in the hands of the hypothetical ‘supreme creator’. An ultimate source, from whom all the other countless layers of creation flow. The God of the totality, capital G, whom I may never in my wildest dreams be able to meet or know, however much I long to…” Her eyes settled on the bulging sack she set down by the door earlier, as faint bluish light eked through the mesh. “I pray that you, God, can hear me, whoever and wherever you might be. That You are a god of love and mercy, who will save this foolish and desperate angel at the end of my lonesome path.” A few seconds passed by as Sandalphon composed herself. “...End log.”

A few minutes later, Sandalphon was out of the bath and dressed for bed. She carried her sleeping bag and her sack to a secluded corner of the lodge where she wouldn’t be disturbed, put aside her fear, and laid herself to rest.

---

Though he briefly checked a handful of the guest rooms that the winter lodge had to offer, Heismay decided not to claim them. No Eugief could enjoy a good night’s sleep in a bed made for another tribe, after all. In the course of his solitary exploration, though, he found a smaller room tucked away at one corner of one of the larger bedrooms, separated by a set of narrow double doors with a number of diagonal slats in place of a window. When he pulled them open, Heismay discovered a small chamber with a handful of garments on wire hangars, mostly winter gear like scarves and jackets, although nothing of a quality that anyone would miss. There were also a couple unremarkable spare bedsheets folded neatly on the shelves. What interested him most, though, was the bar from which the clothes dangled. Now that would suit his purposes perfectly.

Heismay worked quickly to adapt the dark, cramped space to his needs. After shutting himself inside, he spread out and arranged the fabric to lie against the walls and window to help deaden the ambient sound. With such good ears, he could still hear people talking rooms away, and even the sounds given off by Ramattra’s woodwork and Edward’s gunfire outside. If anyone in the lodge snored tonight, Heismay would probably hear it, unless he managed to set up enough sound insulation to obtain some peace and quiet.

By the time he was happy with the layout of his closet, the old hermit was more than ready to go to sleep for the night. He felt like he could pass out any second now. Before he could retire, though, there was something he needed to do, and it wasn’t just slipping off his greaves. Kneeling on the carpeted floor of the closet, Heismay removed his amulet and set it down in front of him. From his pack he removed a bundle of cloth, from which he unwrapped an old ceramic bottle and little saucer.

“Another day draws to an end at last,” the former knight murmured as he poured a clear liquid into the shallow cup, his voice low. “The Midnight Walk is a treacherous path, and we seem to find trouble at every turn. I am fortunate indeed to have found such capable allies.” He stared off into the darkness for a moment, then took a sip of his drink. “This world is so much broader than the Euchronia I know. Tis no paradise, to be certain, but…being free from the yoke of prejudice is a true blessing.” He closed his eyes, bowing his head. “I wish you were here to see it for yourself.”

Sitting in silence, Heismay finished his drink, then put the tableware away. He reached up, took hold of the bar, and inverted himself in order to hang by his clawed feet. After folding his wings around his body, Heismay took a long, deep breath, then drifted off to sleep.

While on his trip out of Beautiful Bay, Ryu had been contemplating what Skullo told him earlier in their bout. The notion of ‘great power, greater responsibility’ had been weighing on him lately, especially after witnessing the hardships that people outside of Esaka had to endure everyday. While he’d always led a fairly modest life, he couldn’t help but feel that he might’ve just been spoiled with the attention and glory that most Esakans willingly gave him. He knew that not all the people out there were fortunate enough to be gifted with the ability to fend for themselves, which led the street fighter to believe…

What if my purpose isn’t just to fight for the sake of fighting, but rather… to fight for the weak?

Ryu clenched and tightened his gloved hand, raising it just beneath his pensive eyes. He’d never felt so conflicted since the aftermath of his first tournament victory against Sagat. Unlike fellow street fighters like Guile and Chun-Li, Ryu was hardly the one with the strongest sense of justice, so why did he want to play ‘hero’ all of a sudden? What was it that made him feel so… attracted to the notion of fighting beyond fighting? Was he really that tired of competition or was there something else?

No matter! As long as I reach the top of the ladder, I will find the answer to those questions.

Perhaps, he needed to focus more on the bout ahead, instead of his so-called newfound purpose. Thankfully, the break between matches for the World Warrior tournament was slimmer than the rest, so he could just move straight to the next challenge without having to bore himself to death waiting for the next bout to come. Not long after, the gondola brought Ryu to his eventual stop.




Enter C-134, a spacious raft loading a number of barrels and an anchor attached to a pier pole by its right. Overlooked by towering cliffs, the raft was the makeshift stage where Ryu was scheduled to compete against Tiger according to the billboard that he came across earlier. Funnily enough, despite being an early resident of Esaka, Ryu had never heard of that name before. He thought Tiger could be one of those gaijins flocking to the city lately. However, he had heard a glimpse of what Martial Masters—the middle tier dojo where Tiger hailed from—was all about, knowing how their fighters were the supposed experts of raw, physical strikes that made them more suitable for the Tekken tournament, instead.

Upon stepping out of the gondola, Ryu was immediately welcomed by the sight of a burly, blonde man in a clergy uniform baptizing and immersing a chubby dwarf in the water. Surrounding him seemed to be his dedicated followers praying along (or simply the fighters that the blonde had baptized, judging by their soaked state), alongside a blue-eyed nun with peculiar paws.

At first glance, the evangelist seemed to resemble Ken (blue irises, dark eyebrows, peak physicality, and long golden hair). However, as the street fighter closed in and took a thorough look, he noticed that the man’s hair was glaringly longer than his best friend’s—even more evident that his hair was kept in a ponytail. It wasn’t to mention that Ken had never done any missionary work in the past. Given the hairstyle, it was possible that this man was, instead, a different blonde gaijin—a friend he’d known for a long time.

“Terry, is that you?”

The prayers halted, as Ryu’s questioning voice drew the attention of the people around him. Hopefully, they didn’t find him ridiculous for assuming that each and every Caucasian man in the city with blue eyes and long blonde hair was either Ken or Terry. The evangelist didn’t immediately answer the street fighter’s question, though. It was only after he finished baptizing and whispering the words “repent to Jesus” to Donvalve when he finally approached Ryu, greeting him with a peaceful smile.

“No, brother Ryu, I’m Tiger of the Martial Masters Dojo,” the evangelist revealed, then brought his knuckles and palm together, bowing respectfully. “It’s a pleasure meeting you. Suppose you’re my next opponent, yes?”

Ryu bowed back. “That you are, indeed,” he confirmed, while straightening his posture. It was a coincidence that the man whom he thought to be the erstwhile King of Fighters was, in reality, his second opponent. “I’m sorry if I just disrupted you.”

“It’s fine, brother Ryu. I’ve been expecting you, actually,” Tiger reassured, his voice as soothing as his smile. “I’ve heard a lot of stories about you. They said you’re the best that the Street Fighter Dojo has to offer. It’d be an honor to challenge and fight the man himself.”

Ryu snorted, grinning at his opponent flattering him. “You’re only overselling it. I’m still on a journey to self improvement,” he claimed out of humility. Then, the street fighter looked around him, reciprocating the curious glances that some of Tiger’s followers had been giving the two. “I see, you have a lot of admirers. You must be the best of the Martial Masters Dojo, I assume?”

Tiger grinned, flattered, close to snickering. He reciprocated their glances, as well. “Oh, these people?” he asked with a gesturing thumb, then shifted his gaze back around the street fighter in front of him. “They’re not my admirers, frankly. They’re the admirers of God. These people are the lost sheep that God has told me to save from the influence of evil. After all, brother Ryu, I’m a servant of God, first and foremost. I don’t wish to participate for the sake of winning a championship. My goal has always been to spread the word of God through these tournaments. I feel that even the toughest of us still needs salvation more than anything, especially in these end times.”

Ryu nodded—more of a sign of understanding than anything. “Well, I suppose that’s pretty admirable, Tiger,” he told the martial master, then cast a glance over his own clenched hand. Once again, as the silence broke, he began contemplating. For some reason, his first two opponents had to remind him of his renewed purpose—the final piece of puzzle that he hoped to find through the World Warrior tournament. He drew a deep breath, then looked Tiger in the eyes, a hint of determination present.

“Frankly, although our beliefs are different, I share the same sentiment with you. As somebody who’s formerly blinded by what you might call ‘evil spirits,’ I can sense that the dark energy has been spiraling wildly around this city, especially lately,” Ryu admitted, then gestured and fixated on his clenched fist. “And that convinces me that these fists aren’t solely for competition anymore. There are people to be saved—some we have failed.” He closed his eyes and let out a stifled exhale, the recent incidents still lingering in his mind.

“I know, brother Ryu,” Tiger reassured with a pat on the shoulder, his hand still a little wet from baptizing Donvalve. “The world has grown colder and darker lately. It’s been burdening you, hasn’t it?”

Ryu opened his eyes wide. “Wait, how did you—”

“God’s wisdom has never been untrue, brother Ryu,” Tiger simply answered, the soft beam on his face still intact. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re hesitating. You’ve been unsure if the path you took is the right one. You just haven’t found your calling just yet.”

Ryu listened and pondered, raising an eyebrow slightly. “You… think so?”

“Mhm… I’m certain of it,” Tiger confirmed, only nodding once. “And just like all the fighters I met today, I hope that I can help you find the purpose that God wants you to pursue…” As his voice trailed off, the evangelist grasped the silky fabric of his clergy shirt, removing it in a blink of an eye to reveal his iconic look, comprising a long-sleeved shirt that was partly unbuttoned, a pair of red suspenders, and a golden cross necklace around his neck. He rolled each of the sleeves just below his elbows, more out of habit than practicality. “...Through the heart of battle, that is, as God wills it! You said it best, brother Ryu.”

“The answer lies in the heart of battle,” Ryu reiterated his iconic line, grinning almost to himself. He loosened then released his grip on the string of his duffle bag, letting it drop flat near his toes. His headband was tightened, his face stern and his karate stance taken. “Fine, as long as I can learn something from this battle. Koi!”

DING!

DING!

The metaphysical bell rang, and as they roared in anticipation, the nearby spectators flocked the prior gondola to give both competing fighters some space. A golden streak emerged out of the water, travelling towards the raft to display the following cue:

---

---

Then, the glittering gold dispersed into a timer and a pair of health bars floating above both competitors, as well as a pair of power meters lingering close to their feet. The street fighter and the martial master began to circle each other, gauging eyes locking as they waited for the right moment to score the first attack. Eventually, it was Tiger who broke out of his kung fu stance, dashing forth to deliver a light blow, then a heavier one, followed by an axe kick. In anticipation, Ryu dashed back, maintaining distance separating him from Tiger. Since the raft had been rocking uncontrollably, he might want to keep himself steady and avoid getting tossed into the water.

The more Ryu distanced himself, though, the more Tiger closed in with a dash to pressure his opponent. For somebody who preached ‘love thy neighbor as thyself,’ he was surprisingly ferocious in the ring. Like an actual tiger, so to speak. As he managed to corner Ryu, the martial master hurled a downward flail that was sure to bend his opponent down, a yellowish streak accentuating the motion of his slamming fist.

BAM!

CLASH!

Fortunately, Ryu managed to parry the downward fist with his forearm, resulting in a blueish hitspark. Swiftly, the original World Warrior champion retaliated with a three-hit combo comprising a body blow, a low kick, then a spinning sidekick, working on the martial master’s midriff and shin. It was the spinning sidekick which eventually knocked Tiger several feet to the back, close to plunging him into the water. When his back hit the ligneous ground, Tiger instantly reeled back, halting on all fours as if mimicking the stance of a tiger. He took a moment to glance skywards, noticing that his health bar had been depleted slightly, while Ryu’s remained whole.

“Heh. Impressive. I guess now I know why you were the champion. You always have an answer to anything.”

“Focus!”

A sudden burst of light radiated out of Ryu, as he charged himself with energy and lightning. He brought his palms together, drew them back, then thrust them forth once a blue energy sphere was created. An amplified fireball was unleashed, his battle cry exclaimed.

“HADOUKEN!!”

Thankfully for Tiger, he’d already anticipated the Hadouken, rising out of his kneeling position to evade the fireball with a dash. When it reached its range limit, the fireball dispersed into miniscule particles, hitting nothing but air just inches from the martial master’s position. He had now stood eerily close to the raft’s precipice, but not to worry, since he already had a plan in mind for when Ryu closed the distance. And it did happen. As the street fighter closed in with a downward, diving kick, Tiger ambushed him with a flying shoulder tackle, leaping out of the threatening position.

WHAM!

“CROUCHING TIGER!!”

“Gwahh–!!”

The shoulder tackle immediately connected with his torso, sending Ryu toppling across the shaky platform. The street fighter landed on his back rather harshly, both of his gloved hands thrown back just above the crown of his head. Surely, he was yet to be knocked out since the special move only depleted a quarter of his health bar. While still in mid-air, Tiger swiftly cancelled the Crouching Tiger into a heavy foot stomp, aiming to land just atop of Ryu’s front on both of his boots.

THUMP!

Unfortunately for Tiger, the foot stomp was immediately whiffed when Ryu reeled out of harm’s way, connecting with the shaky platform, instead. Although teetering at first, the martial master quickly bombarded him with blows and kicks, just seconds after the street fighter picked himself up. Oftentimes, he mixed them up with several clawing attacks, unleashing his inner tiger.

Ryu—having a better defensive approach—was quick to react to each and every attack with his blocking forearm, still receiving the barest hints of chip damage despite his effort. After clawing and attacking the street fighter with a flip kick, Tiger went on to swing his fist upward, delivering an energy-laced uppercut.

POW!

Then another one with an alternating fist.

BAM!

“TIGER… CLAW!!”

Yet both attacks still hit the forearm. Despite being blocked, the impact was enough to trigger a hitspark upon collision, faltering the street fighter’s defensive stance. Once the Tiger Claw was executed, the martial master quickly canceled it into a devastating body blow, jolting his opponent back and bending him down. He stomped the ground vigorously, his hand curling and raising.

THUMP!

“Hah!”

POW!

POW!

POW!

After a small pause, Tiger followed the body blow up with a quick succession of kung fu punches, his fists alternately working on Ryu’s torso and midriff. Eventually, he concluded the bombardment by propelling both of his fists forth akin to Sagat’s Tiger Shot, blasting the street fighter back upon contact.

KA–POW!

“Gahahhh–!!”

The impact of the last flail sent Ryu colliding with the anchor with a loud clank, prompting him to bounce forth then lay on his midriff. As he lifted himself on all fours, the street fighter placed a hand over his torso and coughed drops of red, noticing that the flails had formed fist-shaped bruises across his partly concealed torso. Seeing a chance to exploit his opponent’s vulnerability, Tiger didn’t wait a moment to close the gap with a…

“TIGER ATTACK!!”

…which saw the martial master shifting against the street fighter, then hurled himself forth with a multi-hitting shoulder tackle. Sure enough, before the ramming special move could connect, Ryu had already leaped out of his prior position, assuming his karate stance once again. He did have to swallow the Tiger Attack eventually, even though fortunately, he didn’t have to absorb the full impact. Why so, you asked? Because by the time Tiger’s shoulder collided with his front, Ryu had already executed the Kaze no Kobushi, gaining Super Armor through both the dark ink-like aura and the flickering light that surrounded him.

While withstanding his opponent’s lunging shoulder, the street fighter spread his legs and lowered his shoulders, charging and drawing his leading fist back. Once the light surrounding him began to flash yellow (and his opponent shifted to face him), Ryu thrust an ink-trailed fist onto the martial master’s barely concealed torso, the arduous impact creating an enormous hitspark separating the two.

KA–POW!

“Urghh–!!”

The Focus Attack was so powerful it immediately brought the martial master down on his knees, his health bar greatly drained. But before he could peacefully topple on his midriff…

“I’ll shatter you!”

After taking another quick Denjin Charge, Ryu brought his palms together to create an amplified energy sphere, bashing his opponent’s cranium with the short-ranged Hashogeki. The Hadouken-esque palm strike was enough to draw the stunned Tiger out of the ground, launching him far away from his initial position. He flew past the shore, then eventually, plunged himself deep into the water with an audible…

SPLOOSH!

…which caused splashes of water to spray wildly around the nearest vicinity, reaching out to a yo-yo wielding nun and some other spectators watching from the gondola. The martial master’s absence within the designated stage prompted the metaphysical bell to ring the second time, declaring that the first round had been concluded.

DING!

DING!

After the Heavenly Principles had decided to drain what was left of Tiger’s health bar, the metaphysical widgets dispersed and reunited to form floating golden letters that read:

---

---

“Your range is one fist short.”

As a huge portion of the crowd roared in celebration, Ryu flailed the air once, then raised an arm, facing in the direction of the spectators. Another battle, another victory for the original World Warrior champion, even though he still had one round left to win the entire match. When he looked ahead, he noticed that Tiger had emerged out of the surface of the water, his hair disheveled and his clothes dampened. Climbing back onto the raft, he was immediately approached by some of his supporters, including Felicia, Bridget, and a certain village girl clad in green and pink. Before they could make sure of his well-being, the martial master held out a raised hand in front of the girls, reassuring them that “it was only a small graze.” Ryu, equally concerned, decided to approach his opponent, forming the softest hints of a smile on his face.

“Looks like somebody has been ‘immersed,’ hasn’t he?” the street fighter joked with a smirk.

At the dry humor, Tiger snorted, close to snickering along. He shook his head, a gentle hand on the golden crown. “Ironic, isn’t it?” he asked. “Moments ago, I was the one immersing people in the water, and now here I am.” He spread his arms almost to gesture to his soaked state before bowing in front of Ryu. “Jokes aside, it appears that Father in Heaven has decided that you are the victor, brother Ryu. I’m not surprised with the outcome. You have Samson’s strength and David’s resilience. Surely, you’re the better fighter between us.”

In reciprocation, Ryu bowed back, amazed by his opponent’s humility. “You’re way too humble, you know that, Tiger,” he told him. “You’re not so bad. I can go as far as saying that you have the potential to be vouched for the Street Fighter Dojo. Besides, this is only the first round. You still have a chance to prove yourself in the next one.”

“Perhaps. Or should I say Amen to that?” Tiger agreed with a grin. “It’s not like I want to let God and His believers down, either. Hopefully, I’ll be able to perform better in the next round.”

“That you have and you will, my friend,” Ryu reassured his opponent. “So, ready for Round Two?”

FIN.

@Lugubrious

Harry Dubois

𝒦𝒾𝓂 𝒦𝒾𝓉𝓈𝓊𝓇𝒶𝑔𝒾

Word Count: 501
Level: Lv: 6 EXP: (3/60)
Lv: 4 EXP: (5/40)
Location: Esaka’s Middle Tier - Pool Arena Round 1.

Before his next match started, Harry had tended to the wounds that he sustained in his last match. The tournament’s medics tended his wounds, and he had stuck some booze to help with the pain in his body. Something frowned upon by Dr. Faust. But the hard liquor seemed to help with the pain that seemed to cover most of his body. As he came back to the pool arena, he noticed a kind-looking old man approaching. Harry stopped in his tracks, looking over at the Heavenly Principle. ”I'm gonna be fighting this guy? Seriously!” Harry said outloud to himself.

He would feel bad even thinking about laying a hand on the old man. The scientist was listening to Harry’s conversation and was adjusting his glasses. “I am more than ready for our fight. I hope you are prepared, young man.” The old man got into a fighting stance, to which Harry got into a similar stance.

The first round started Dr. B was slowly making his way over towards Harry. Dr. B flopped forward towards Harry, trying to hit him with his butt. But Harry got out of the way and responded by stomping on the doctor’s body. His foot landed on Dr.B’s torso, making him yelp in pain. Dr. B gave a sharp kick to Harry's knee before getting back up again. Harry held onto his knee while hopping around comically. Dr. B rubbed his hands together as electricity started to appear around them. Quickly, Dr. B extended his hands, shocking Harry. The remainder of Harry’s hair was standing straight up. The blow pushed the detective backwards, landing close to the edge.

”Son of a b!$&h.” Harry said as he slowly got back on his feet. There was no response, which angered Harry greatly. He took a moment to search for something inside his jacket. A moment later, he had a steel flask in his hand, and before long was chugging down the contents. Letting out a loud sigh, he put the flask back into his jacket pocket. Drunkenly, he stumbled towards Dr.B before throwing a punch at him. His punch landed, hitting the good doctor in the neck before kneeing him in the stomach. Using the moves he learned from Brad Wong. Dr. B quickly sidestepped Harry’s next punch and countered by delivering a shoulder tackle.

Harry was getting close to the edge of the pool and would need to be quick on his feet, or he would lose this round. This was a fact Dr. B knew of and would use to his advantage. The doctor tried to double uppercut but Harry dodged it out of the way, delivering a flurry of punches to the doctor’s body before finishing off the combo with a powerful kick. The kick was enough to end the round and Harry was declared the winner of the first round.

Well... It was time for Roland's second round. After seeing his next opponent, Roland didn't know what to think about them. What he could tell off the bat though, was this Dampierre was a con man. Just by the way he moved, the way he acted, it was clear to Roland he was faking everything and that made him dangerous. Well, if he wanted dangerous, the Floor of Literature was really dangerous.

Once the round started, right off the bat Roland learned this guy was someone who liked to be up close and personal. He also learned really quickly that he jabbed at Roland with quick kicks and stabs from hidden blades in his robes along his wrist. Roland had daggers, but he didn't rely on only them, but this man seemed to nearly exclusively rely on them and his own kicks. Roland found this out as he clashed with Dampierre's knives before he followed up those knives by flipping under Roland like a goofball, and taking his opportunity as Roland missed his downward hammer swing to kick Roland into the air and juggle him with kicks.

Round one ended with a Ring out by Dampierre after he used a fiery roundhouse kick to push Roland back, breaking his guard that he had raised with his Lance. These brief flurries though managed to get Roland to emotion level 2 and partway into 3. And this was the floor of Language, which spoke the universal language of violence. His first anomaly page was Fear of Water, a blood crazed vampire saying "Blood… I want vivid blood!", and his second power was The Role of the Wolf, a wolf's voice saying "No one ever wished to get close to the scary wolf…"

Round two started with Dampierre looking at how he was able to outspeed Roland and started to get an inflated head. So much so he went for larger, riskier moves that could knock Roland about and ring him out. However around this point Roland's slowdown from his spirit weakness had expired and his emotion level had gone up enough to start dodging these fast attacks. Fast attacks that Roland learned once dodged would cause Dampierre to fall flat on his ass and get easily one sided countered by Roland's followup attacks. This made getting emotion levels... difficult this round as Roland knocked Dampierre out with a blast from his shotgun after he had done a kick to Roland's jaw and missed, leaving himself open to said blast.

Round 3 started and Dampierre went back to faster, less risky moves starting to take things seriously again. Roland at this point was emotion level 4, getting Riddled Welts, a gruff girl's voice saying "The more scars you get, the stronger your will to survive becomes.", and Laughter, the voices of many corpses saying "All… are smiling… we… are happy…"as well as the EGO Smile and Cobalt Star. That last page spooked Dampierre. Instead of taunting Roland like he had been doing, he said "OK, I thought the first three voices were weird. But what the hell was that?" Not wanting to know what Roland was up to, Dampierre locked in this round countering both EGO pages with a skillful use of his daggers and attacks that would've normally knocked him on his ass, but by countering the EGO attack, would just cause a slight knockback as he clashed. While Cobalt Star and Roland donning what seemed to be a furry costume didn't bother Dampierre much, Smile and its accompanying outfit made of decaying bodies really took Dampierre back. Even though Riddled Welts made Roland stronger as he lost health, through some cunning and intentionally flailing to lure Roland in, only to capitalize with a sidestep, Dampierre got another win via ringout.

Now Round 4, and with it Roland reaching his final emotion level partway through as the two clashed with their blades. Roland getting Goodbye, the voice of a many faced monster saying in a child's voice "Is anyone… nyone… there?! ANYONE THERE!!!" as well as Mimicry. This made Dampierre start to freak out, asking Roland "Are... are you a monster?" with Roland only rolling his shoulders saying "I'm only human." in a confirming voice. He then went in with Mimicry, turning the stage into a breached containment unit with eyes and flesh everywhere, the eyes staring at Dampierre as Roland donned the horrific look of Mimicry and slashed at Dampierre with its scythe arm, a resounding "GoodBYE" coming from Roland, but in a voice of a calm man instead of his own and spoken as if someone who had never spoken before said it. Even while blocking, the chip damage from such a massive attack knocked Dampierre back and nearly off the stage. As he tried to right his balance, Roland knocked him off with a shot from his pistol ending round 4.

Final round, and this one Dampierre was convinced that Roland was some kind of monster playing with his food. But he did start out human... and with that Dampierre got a plan. Roland was fully powered up now and Dampierre had no hope of challenging any of Roland's attacks at this point, especially when Roland said "GoodBYE" at the end of every combo doing insane chip or damage. Nor would he fall for the ringout trick anymore as he'd pepper Dampierre with his guns if given the chance with even the guns getting that "GoodBYE" thing as well! But Dampierre had saved one move, his best move, a move that could make anyone cry if they had even the slightest bit of a heart to them. Making his way close to Roland, Dampierre started his final gambit.

Getting on his knees, he pleaded with Roland to help him. He started to spin a story about his sick daughter, whom he needed money for and who was the reason he was fighting here and tried his best to convince Roland to just walk away. This was when Roland came closer and told Dampierre "Thats just life in the City. It has taken far, far worse from me." and struck Dampierre down with a Furioso, the word "GoodBYE" being said every time Roland swung one of his weapons to finish off Dampierre and the fight with quite a bit of overkill. Roland didn't actually believe Dampierre's story, he had run into people like him in the City many, many times and had grown numb to their tall tales. He had a job to do, and he'd get it done.

With Dampierre on the ground, swirls in his eyes from the massive overkill that was Roland's furioso, Roland moved onto the next round.