Thanqol

Aristeia! Building a Champion

"You," said Titanomachia, "are getting very worked up over nothing. See, here?" she pointed at the webpage of the Taoist-Wiccan Revival Union. "It says the most important things about Majick is having fun, being yourself, and finding your own approach that works for you. It also says that positive thinking is the key to manifesting results."

"And besides," she focused. All business (albeit the business of the day was a mandatory sakura-blossom viewing office party with an open sake bar). "Taowu does this kind of stuff all the time. I may not have studied magic but I've studied her. I've got things," she banged open an overstuffed drawer, causing a bright pink flask to fall out and smash on the floor. "Itemsss," she opened a second one, packed with what looked like the Green Arrow's trick arrow stash. "Preparations - ah, this one," this drawer was full of enough religious kitsch to outfit the wagon of a Crusader camp-follower. She grabbed out a big golden amulet with a fist sized emerald and put it on.

"I've been meaning to do this forever anyway," she said, hopping back into position. "I still need a way to beat her. Can't do that if I can't understand her. So! Positive thinking! We're going to crack the secrets of the underworld wide open. Manifest it!"

Aristeia! Building a Champion

In fairness to Lios, her parry was perfect. The rock is soaked entirely in bloody red. However, that had done nothing to stop the projectile's effect. She stared at the broken pattern for a moment while she figured out what happened, and then laughed incredulously. "Of course. Play the game we are playing, and not the game I'm thinking about playing. Well struck."

She deactivated her blade, leaving the last slash of red to slice down upon the floor. "I understand, Ms. Madeleine. You have the most dangerous weapon anyone can possess, something that cannot be taught: Ambition. All else can be built upon that, and," she glanced up at the broken window. "I expect all else shall be."

Her wing array returned to her, blade after blade after blade, until everything was folded behind her. Autumn whirled away down to return to the mud's embrace. Even with her panoply stored she still looked like an angel, walking away down the street like the season's blessings.

*

It is not depression and despair that has overtaken Titanomachia. It is worse; manic energy.

She is wearing a bright yellow hanfu set with the black stripes of i-ching symbols along with welding goggles. Her right hand has a wand set with the long, soft hairs of her own tail like a whip, her left hand holds a bell, and before her she has constructed a crude astrolobe out of various junk, scrap and energy bar wrappers upon the floor.

She looks up, her goggles reflecting the blue light of a dozen monitors opened to various pages covered in alchemical displays and diagrams. "Material technology was a bust. Should have seen it sooner," she said, shoving aside a keyboard to make room for a roll of calligraphy paper. "I'm going to summon a new leg from an underworld ghost. Do you know anything about underworld ghost legs, by the way? I should have asked you sooner."

The Three Mountains

Your next meeting was with Eager Early, the head of R&D. This meeting could not be done over R&D - even learning Eager's location was need-to-know only, and involved more security than getting into your office. You, after all, could be replaced. Eager and his crew of poindexters, furries, and occultists were the things that would pay for your replacement.

Eager himself is an old NASA guy, and still has some of that astronaut sheen to him. Classically handsome, incredibly fit, piercing stare, square jaw, he overwhelmingly gives the impression of the very best humanity had to offer, from back when a time when that kind of person went into space exploration rather than finance. He's even aged gracefully, with the silver temples and rugged stubble of an adventure serial star. Another ex-Government pick from Everest - so much of Lhotse seemed to be pillaged from the old order.

Immediately, you knew not to trust Early. Authoritarian regimes went as far as fucking possible to avoid putting people like Eager in positions of power. Someone smart, capable, charismatic and idealistic? If he'd made a serious bid for it he'd be in your chair instead of his. He might still take your job if he set his mind to it. He might do worse. This person is a nexus of power inside the company unto himself, which means the only thing keeping him here is because the company is currently serving his interests.

"Good evening, Ms. Kade," said Eager pleasantly. He didn't volunteer or press anything further, he was secure enough to let you set the pace.

Aristeia! Building a Champion

"I agree entirely," said Lios, reapplying paint into the drained force-field in a sleek replication of a samurai cleaning her blade before sheathing it. She had chosen a radiant red this time. "She is a demon. Have you heard of the concept of the Reality Marble? I believe she has such a hell living inside of her, more real than reality."

She went through the ritual of returning the paint to her armour and resetting her stance. She pays particular attention to the precise arrangement of her wingblades. Something about them is not quite right - she does not use them for flight, they are too fragile to use as weapons, but whenever she has a moment of downtime she works on adjusting their position into an exact configuration with intense concentration. There is some secret to her device, more than just creating a vortex of air.

"I will ask a direct question in exchange. You say you do not know why she thinks you are the future. Speculate. What is her vision for you in the arena?" The further you drew back from her the more her attention focused - and you were sure that she considered hearing answer to this question to be more important than winning this training match.

Aristeia! Becoming a Champion

When they built the new magna-rail train track, the old steel and wood railway line was not cleaned up afterwards. It was just gently abandoned and slowly faded back into the landscape. The rain beat off the sharp edges, the sun beat the bright colours into greys, and winter frosts squeezed and snapped rusting steel. Old teeth of it emerge piece by piece from the rubble, leading in to a tunnel that has found an afterlife as a fungus farm. A bridge of interlocking arches stands nearby like a British aqueduct, a remnant of a cozy Rome.

Decima is sitting atop the bridge cross-legged, silver haired and serpent-eyed. Over her warm neutral grey synskin she wears a cape with a teal and black triangular camouflage pattern, an artificial cascade of colours that will be right at home in the neon of the Hexadrome - but somehow don't look fully out of place here. In front of her is a gun case, open to show two a single oversized pistol. It looks more like a toaster with a trigger grip, exposed red and white wires visible on the outside.

"I use a lot of different gun casings," said Decima by way of introduction. "But those are all for show. There's always something like this inside; sometimes the gun itself is just a low-yield holoprojector around this. You need to cut a lot of corners in your energy budget to make firearms work, and you need to walk a long way from traditional ideas of what a gun is and meant to do to make it effective in the Hexadome. But before I go into that further, what are you spending your energy budget on?"

Aristeia! Becoming a Champion

"Did she say that she, Maxima, was not your friend?" asked Creek thoughtfully. "Or did she say that everyone else wasn't? Because like you said, doesn't really seem like a co-workery thing to do. It doesn't even sound like she even said that Gata wasn't her friend."

"I thought they were friends," said Tammy, sitting down. "At least they played it on TV."

"Maybe Maxima wasn't playing," shrugged Creek.

"Well, not important!" said Tammy. "I don't think she gets out of her group, and you're gonna win, so you're not gonna meet her! But have you looked at your group? It's all over the place!"

"How are you going to train for that?" said Creek. "It's breaking my brain just thinking about it."

Aristeia! Building a Champion

"With Titan?" said Lios. "I don't think she knows what that is."

The calm that had come over her was eerie. Before there had been a certain awkwardness to her, the uncertainty of someone who did not know what foot to put forwards. All of a sudden this had stopped being a social situation to her; she had taken your question as someone trying to get inside her head in order to win an advantage in a contest, and that was certain ground for her. Her wings gently open, blade after blade, her gaze as steady as ice. Now she knew: She was a Knight, and you were a wicked specter.

She was not going to lose.

She settled into a calm defensive stance, refusing to be baited, refusing to be the aggressor. Her feet moved, lifting and tracing along the lines of ethereal roots. They stepped up onto the line of parked scooters, the sure-footed certainty of someone used to three-dimensional movement. The autumn winds swirled around her as she projected threat; she knew exactly the distance within which she was dangerous, and her stance became all about keeping that bubble of distance between you and the doorway.

"Titan's great strength and most frustrating trait is that she sees the tournament as a whole," said Lios, easing foot after foot, letting her sword follow predictive angles. "She sees every contender, every matchup, is not just thinking about each individual but how they all work together. When she looks at me she sees me fighting Argeltia, or Hammerhead, or how I would do on a team with Prysm. So she lays seeds and traps and lessons with everything she does. She has... inflicted certain humiliations upon me, but even then I did not get the sense that we were the only ones in that room," her weight shifted, the first imperfection in her stance so far. "I did not fully understand the nature of it until I fought The Kraken, and then - well. I won my match, at least."

Aristeia! Building a Champion

Lios comes out low with a sweeping horizontal strike. Her sword is an obviously artificial training blade - paint held in place by a weak forcefield. A solid physical object like a body can pass through the 'blade' without resistance, but will become covered in paint in the process, leaving marks perfectly tracking the pattern of strikes. But as she lunges you through a whirl of autumn leaves you sense that the attack is noncommittal, something about your lesson yesterday -

You swing around your arm just in time to take the paintball to the wrist instead of the face.

Lios finishes her arc, spinning a pistol in her off hand. "Good! Remember, everyone who markets themselves as a Sword Guy is packing. Even Musashi. Every close quarters fighter is aware of the possibility they might get immobilized, jammed up or mobility-locked and they all want to make sure that doesn't take them out of the fight. Even Musashi. She hates using it but she's got a one-shot Contender up her sleeve and you have to respect the possibility."

She tucked it away, folding her wings behind her back. "Still, I didn't land a mobility kill, so first point goes to you. Ask your question!"

Aristeia! Building a Champion

"As we are both out here," said Lios, why not make a contest of it? You acquire the tools and deliver them to the base of the stairs and I attempt to intercept with my sword. I imagine the reason for this challenge was for me to emulate Musashi, which -" her lips pursed self-critically. "I am passable at."

Passable. Passable at everything. Lios' success was built on her adaptability and broad range of talents - mobility, strength, durability, she was just a bundle of good numbers but without any standout area of mastery or unique capability. It was clearly not how she wanted to fight, she didn't like being a generalist - it was a role she was forced into because she simply could never beat Musashi with a blade.

"I will, of course, place your package either way," she said. "But were there any other stakes you would like to compete for?"

No Safe Port

"Shut your mouth," blared the Stormtrooper, scanning the ID. He takes Merskiv's too but doesn't return either of them. Pirate Captain Ruvert keeps his back turned to them but you can feel the lazy tension from him. You've seen standoffs before, and despite his hands being visible you sense that he's more ready to kill than the trooper with the raised blaster.

"You there! Where's your ID?" said the stormtrooper, reaching out to shove his shoulder too.