The Three Part Tournament - II

Jenn watched several pass on ahead. Amongst them, Mo Xixi atop the now galloping Filly (which, with his rather human arms, seemed to be struggling).

She made her way to the entrance of the obstacle course. She charged in, eyes focused into fine, straight slits.

The first thing was simple enough. A five metre wall of stone. That she ran and jumped over. The second thing was simple too. A set of floating stones over a bottomless pit. She dashed across that too, never stumbling once.

This went on and on, for the third, fourth, and fifth thing that Jenn would encounter. All in all, a tad tiring, sure. But not a challenge altogether.

Then, all of a sudden, it was like the obstacle course had shifted genres. Up ahead was a suspended bridge, the old rickety wooden type. And in front of it was one of the boy wizards, still with a censer in one hand and a book in the other.

There was a small table next to him. There was a box on top of that, with a slit down the middle to reach in.

Two individuals stood before the boy. One, a ripped sixteen-year-old, who looked like he was twenty-nine and a bodybuilder. He was dressed in a sleeveless, black uniform, and you could see his muscled legs and arms. The other was a tall and leathery Spaniard, dressed in a traje de luces, with a red bolero jacket, and a white, wide-brimmed hat.

“Stop!” he said, hand in the box. Boy A drew a piece of paper. “To pass to the bridge beyond, you must first pass my question!” He reached into his robe and pulled a gun. It was a pistoleer, wood with metal outlines. “Number one. What does a revolutionary say before killing themselves?”

“私は英語を話しません.” the muscle-teen replied flatly.

“Since I do not understand Japanese, I will not take that as an answer!”

The Spaniard leaned in. “Listen, amigo. He is just trying to say he didn’t speak English.

“Failure! ‘Listen, amigo. He is just trying to say he didn’t speak English’, is not an acceptable answer!”

“¿Qué?”

“Nor is qué!”

A large X formed over the two, and they were sent flying through the sky. Next was Jenn. Having stood at a safe distance, she broke into a sudden sprint and jolted Numarei back into consciousness.

“To pass to the bridge beyond, you must first pass my question!” His gun was still pointed. “Number one. What does a revolutionary say before killing themselves?”

Numarei’s eyes grew into awareness. “Don’t shoot!”

“Correct.”

The Boy stepped aside. Jenn and Numarei made their way past the bridge, into the path beyond. While they continued, the piggy-backer asked a question.

“You smart girl.” She looked pleased. “How’d you know that was the right answer?”

“I’m not an American, Jenn. How am I supposed to react?”

“You can punch past the speed of sound, and you’re scared of a little gun?”

“Yes… I didn’t grow up in Detroit, you know.”

“How do you know about Detroit?”

“Americans love joking about it. Detroit. Chicago. New York. Guns. Gangs. Rats on the subway. Very scary. I read there were mutated rodents who ate pizza and learned martial arts, even.”

Jenn wasn’t sure if she was joking. “I fought them once.”

“Really?”

Jenn smirked. “Of course. Why do you think I am the way I am?”

“Lead pipes?”

“That too.”

The two did not laugh. But they did smile to themselves, in that, unwilling to divulge the joke sort of way. They breached a few more obstacles and came to the end of this walled obstacle course.

There was a path leading up two nearby hills. They were breast-shaped and tall, with plenty of yellow grass and flowers along the way. A boy stood at the centre of this intersection, wearing his tall cone hat and great overcoat.

“The third and final challenge awaits you,” said Boy B. “Once you ascend the hill, you’ll be met with another duo, whom you’ll be fighting.”

“How many more are there?” asked Jenn.

“I am unaware,” replied the boy. “But it matters not. If there are four left, there will be one fight. If there are eight, there will be two.”

“And if there’s six?” followed Numarei.

Pause. “There will be umm… one and a half.” He stopped for a bit longer, mumbling to himself. “I guess they can wait politely for their turn. I do have snacks if needed.”

“Can we go?” Jenn scratched her chin.

“When you want. A duo awaits you on each hill.”

The sea-wind was strong here. To the right, over the cliff-face, were mounds of grey rocks, and the waves that crashed against them.

A general silence had gripped the area. As Jenn glanced about, she could spot no sign of Filly, Mo Xixi, or anyone else. It was anti-climactic in the sense that they’d just disappear like this. Having lost some time along the way.

But it did make sense. Just because she knew them. Just because she’d given them some sense of importance didn’t mean the world did the same.

Her mouth was on the cusp of speech. She meant to ask something important, but stopped, as the sound of something fast came her way. The rhythm of a clip clop. The sequence of beats like something running.

“Why the glum look, friendo?!”

Filly and Mo Xixi appeared from the obstacle course. They ran to Jenn, their faces sheened with hot sweat. She hugged the horseman, and the horseman hugged back.

It was sheer coincidence that they’d made it so far. An haphazard convenience. Their expressions acknowledged this, and they all shared some quite warm as a result.

“Jenn,” said Filly, smiling. “I ain’t failed in this sort of thing. Not yet.”

“Filly’s one of a kind,” agreed Mo Xixi, looking upon their reunion with a grin. “Fast and stalwart. I have no doubt that he’d surpass Red Hare in fervour.”

They said no more. The silence became sweet and lingered for a good dozen seconds. Two figures with a painted red X soared into the sky, and Boy B nodded his hand in acknowledgement.

“No one else is coming,” said the Boy Wizard. “Shall we proceed?”

The horseman’s confusion must’ve been evident, as Numarei poked her head and pre-emptively explained. “Two against two. A duo waits on one hill, and a duo waits on another.”

Filly tipped his hat in thanks. “Suppose we ought to find ourselves a matching pair, don’tcha think?”

“Suppose we do, pardner,” agreed Jenn, in an imitation of a cowboy.

The duos shared one last look and smile, gazed out at the vast sea beyond, and then headed for their respective hills.

“Wait,” said Numarei, who hopped off at last.

“Feelin’ better, pardner?”

“‘Course.”

They ran up the soft curve of the path. The wind grew stronger as they did, tousling hair and all their bare bits.

“Don’t you regret wearing a swimsuit?” Jenn said.

Numarei shrugged. “Actually, it’s not so bad. Not getting my clothes drenched in sewer-river water is nice. These people are like, stuck in the 80s.”

“1800s.” Jenn corrected. “80s mean power suits and acid wash denim.”

“Right. Well, they probably poop and bathe in the river, so, yeah.”

They reached the tip of the hill. It was all flatland here, a circled space of grass, flowers, and a few stone mounds. The wind blew. The sea water continued to crash. At the side were mounted cameras, and a few spectators who would be judging.

Her eyes set at the far end. There was the King, bound in iron and chains. One eye open as always.

“Nap time’s over,” she mumbled. “Time for your wake-up call.”

Jenn stopped, and turned her attention to the field’s centre. There were two others waiting. Not along the perimeter, but a distance only a hundred metres off.

She did not recognise them.

“You know them?” Jenn asked.

Numarei shook her head. “I think I saw one of them in the battle royale?”

The other two must’ve felt similarly. Noticing the newcomer's arrival, they drew a few steps closer. They had a good, aesthetic look about them. The strange impression that, they lived equally fascinating and important lives.

“You know what comes next, right?” said the one in front.

He was outfitted in a mech-style exoskeleton, connected to his back and arms. It was both fantasy and cyberpunk. Sleek, but bloodied, with glowing, red symbols, and a smoothbore-esque cannon at the end of each hand. The pilot himself was half a skirt away from looking like a woman, with long grey hair and pretty features. Dressed in a red, high-collared jacket and long, flared sleeves.

—Anselm Alpenstein: Bloodrider

“Yeah. We’re supposed to beat each other up or something?”

The pilot nodded. “Um… should we set up some ground rules?”

Jenn chimed in as well. “Yeah. That sounds nice. Better yet, how about a little introduction? We stand in a circle, sing Kumbaya, and talk about our likes and dislikes like kids around a campfire?”

“Ooh, I’d like that! What’s a kumbaya?”

His companion had stepped in now. He was a robot in a white trench coat, with a floating, gas-giant for a head. Along his shoulders and limbs were narrow, venting slits, emitting short bursts of white gas, as he approached.

—Mr. Planet: Herald of Gas

“I DO NOT KNOW WHETHER IT IS SARCASM,” he said, voice like a robotic, airy contralto. “BUT I WOULD SUGGEST YOU REFRAIN. YOUR COMPLEXION HAS ADOPTED A HUE KNOWN AS ‘BEYOND NAIVE’. THE WOMAN IS TRYING TO GAUGE YOUR ABILITIES.”

“Is it true?” replied the boy, rubbing his two cannons against each other. “Were you really just trying to guess how strong I am?”

“Maybe,” Jenn replied sheepishly.

“Wow, I-I mean, zhat’s ok with me too! I’m kinda starved of female attention these days and you’re really pretty, so here I go. Basically—”

“I WOULD NOT ADVISE IT.”

“I have these two big cannons, right? And you see the runes? The way they work is tha—”

“I WOULD NOT ADVISE IT!!!”

Jenn stepped in. “Listen to your robot friend, won’t you? It takes two to dance the tango. Bloody or not.”

Anselm stopped and brushed his two cannons against each other. “That is true… And I guess he has been really nice to me, so I should stop, shouldn’t I?”

Jenn shrugged. “Do what you want. I’m just trying to keep it real. This battle wouldn’t be as fun if you two weren’t at your max potential, eh?”

Anselm smiled. “Oh, you’re a battle junkie?”

“Yep.”

“You love fighting, blood, and all zhat stuff?”

“All that and more.”

“Oh man, oh man, oh man! Now I’m really in love! Fraulien…”

“Jenn.”

“You’re totally my type! After I win, can we go on a date together?”

“Sure. And I’ll throw in a bit of tongue while we’re at it.”

“Gross,” Numarei said, shaking her head. 

“VERY.”

The boy’s cannons clicked into place. They were primed and ready. Pointed at Jenn, and glowing at the tip.

A red flush took his face “Okay,” Anselm said, “here goes!”

Jenn struck a pose for a non-existent camera. Her arm glowing red. “Come on, pretty boy!”