Chapter 1952 (Patreon)

ToC: https://www.patreon.com/posts/23899958

Merry Christmas! Lets get ready for the tournament next week.

Illdan felt quite good. The night stretched around him in every direction, full of possibilities.

He looked over at Merrick and grinned. His companion was now trying to make a tower out of all of their empty shot glasses. They had left the relatively noisy Moondust and proceeded further down the road until they arrived at a cabana right on the beach. Now they sat underneath a rooftop of dried palm fronds and sipped from cups with fruit adorning the rim between the shots that had become a stable of their interactions. Everything had a pleasant, warm rind that made Illdan release the subconscious clenching of his stomach that he hadn’t even noticed start.

But now, with a new best friend, with his presence in the tournament locked down-

“I feel great,” Illdan hit his fist against the low wooden table. It made a satisfying noise. He felt the air and floor hum in agreement.

Merrick nodded cheerily, a similar smile of contentment stretched across his face. “Too true. Can’t let loose like this too often, but sometimes, nothing hits the spot like the right sort of alcohol and some good company.”

Illdan swayed slightly. Through the pleasant haze, his forehead pinched. A word lodged in his mind that he hadn’t expected. “...alcohol? What does alcohol have to do with it? I’ve never actually had alcohol before, but I thought that our Stats are too high for alcohol to affect us. Vitality burns it off before you can feel anything. We are invincible!”

“You’ve never had alcohol before?” Something flickered in Merrick’s expression. Illdan’s new friend looked at the table, covered in empty glasses. He cleared his throat awkwardly and rolled his jaw for several seconds. “Well, yes, alcohol can’t actually affect us. But the intoxicating agent in modern alcohol isn’t actual alcoholic compounds, but Skill Levels from brewers. Its like being under the influence of a low-grade illusion, or briefly hosting a foreign image. Made easier by the fact that people drink alcohol knowing what they are doing. So… yeah.”

“Oh,” Illdan’s head spun as he tried to make sense of this information. Some of the glitter of the night flaked away and left him feeling raw and strangely nervous. But before his thoughts could spin too much out of control, two individuals pushed their way through the purely symbolic doors of the breezy establishment. Illdan tilted his head to the side. Because while one was an athletic seeming young man with red hair, the other was one of the servant class metal-beings that handled the serving on the island.

Next to Illdan, Merrick raised a hand. The young man’s expression brightened and the two new arrivals hurried over. Merrick stood and offered a hand. “Krum, you slippery bastard, you made it into the tournament?”

“Not going to let you walk away with another easy victory,” The man teased. Then he slapped the brass humanoid beside him. “I’m not sure if you have met, but this is Zeta, one of my best friends. Its having a bit of girl trouble, so I figured we would try drinking.”

“I do not possess the proper organic tubes to be affected by alcohol,” Zeta muttered, but it allowed itself to be guided to a seat while Krum raised a hand and gestured for another one of the Brass Automatons to hurry over.

“As I was telling my companion,” Merrick sat back down and reached over to squeeze Illdan’s shoulder. “Most of the intoxication doesn’t come from the alcohol, but Skills from the brewer. Since you possess… well, intelligence and free will and a soul, it should theoretically affect you in the same way. Do you have places to pour liquids? That’s really all you need.”

“Technically yes, but usually they are only used to store dangerous materials,” Zeta hummed. The other brass automaton arrived and released a quick series of clicks that Zeta returned. After a short bow, the servant departed.

Krum’s gaze swiveled to Illdan. His eyes were intense and honest. “You. You are pretty strong, aren’t you? Just being near you is enough to tell. And one of the Tellites, where the Ghosthound went to train for quite a while.”

“Oh,” Illdan felt heat come to his cheeks. Once more the light around them became glimmery and reassuring. The happiness flowed back through his body. The world pulsed with pleasant pride. “Yes, thank you. You seem powerful as well. I hope we can both do well in the tournament. But did you say you were having girl trouble? I have had trouble with a girl as well.”

Merrick, Krum, and Zeta all looked expectantly at Illdan. The moment of being the center of attention was oddly satisfying, much apart from the feeling of being picked apart he had felt in front of the cheering crowds from Tellus.  The intimate setting and the easy relaxation of the liquid environment gave him confidence. The automaton returned, bringing with it a trail filled with twelve shots.

Strange, Illdan’s eyes flicked across the shots. Not only does each contain a small berry, which we didn’t receive previously, but it appears there the amount of liquid in each glass is marginally more. Could this be a different shot…?

The group, without needing to consult each other, took a shot. Zeta hummed contemplatively but then poured it down an opening in its mouth. Then, for good measure, they took another. Illdan quite liked the inclusion of the berry, which did a lot to cut the bitterness of the alcohol on his tongue.

Abruptly realizing the silence was stretching and the three still looked at him in askance, Illdan began to speak. “Ah, well, I fought a girl in the preliminaries. She was… much stronger than I expected. It was my second match. My only loss-”

Zeta stood up abruptly. The metal man’s optical apertures swirled and spun so quickly that the metal gleamed. He reached out and grabbed Illdan’s hands. “The very same situation has happened to me.”

“I doubt its exactly the same,” Krum reached up and rubbed his neck. Zeta frowned as the human continued to speak. “Basically, its a super long story. We rescued this… woman from prison after she had committed some war crimes. Kinda a weirdo, but her heart is in the right place. Well, she ended up coming to the conclusion that she needed to prove herself by joining the tournament-”

Zeta raised his hand. Across the bar, without even needing any further indication, the automaton servant began pouring more shots to bring to the group.

“-so I had to spend several weeks training her. It was… surprisingly difficult.” Krum shook his head. The automaton already arrived in the tray, filled with a gleaming array of more shots. The efficiency was bewildering. Krum stopped his story briefly to take one. The rest of the group joined him. “She has plenty of natural gifts and can utilize some of the Ghosthound’s Nether. Well anyway, this idiot encountered her in his first match-”

“You miss the most important part,” Zeta’s eyes still whirred, fascinating Illdan. “I find my inner workings to be less than ideal when she is in close proximity. In addition, I am oddly fixated on her responses and opinions.”

The whole table inhaled, finishing their shots while that prospect rattled around in their minds.

“...I don’t mean to be rude, but can automatons have crushes.?” Merrick frowned.

Zeta’s shoulders slump. “A crush? A crush? Yes, theoretically. In addition, I’m a bit different than most. However, I think that all Brass Automatons possess the ability-”

“They can drink too,” Illdan muttered, wondering what sort of tank the liquid had gone into within the machine’s body. However, what he didn’t want to acknowledge is the way he also felt strange about the woman who had taken him by surprise in the tournament. Did he also have a crush?

But no, that was impossible. Illdan just felt nervous because he was unable to figure out the actual combat ability of that woman-

“Crushes…!” Merrick blinked several times. “I haven’t even had a girlfriend since the System came-”

Krum pounded his fist against the table, pulling back all the attention before it dispersed in separate directions. “Gentlemen! We are getting distracted. We’ve had losses in the preliminaries, but we are past that point. We’ve been baptized by the Ghosthound’s Nether- we no longer have the luxury of failing. From now on, the tournament becomes single elimination. No matter our feelings for other people, let’s make a pact: to fight with all our energy. To refuse to concede or surrender. To push ourselves to the limit.”

“And if we face one another?” Zeta tilted his head to the side.

Krum nodded righteously. “We kick the shit out of one another. We have this bond which demands we give each other the respect of our full capabilities.”

Illdan’s eyes brightened. Truly, he got along well with these individuals. The night began to accelerate, between shouts and shots and the whirl of moving to other bars. For the next two days, the four were inseparable.

However, those two days quickly came to an end. Media arrived on the island and the participants settled either in their personal dwellings or in the training area in order to avoid undue attention. Illdan sat at the window of Krum’s room and felt more and more people pouring into the island, either to support or watch.

“There are so many people on Expira,” Illdan muttered.

Zeta looked up from a small piece of embroidery that it had been working on lately. “Indeed. This is a very special tournament. All of the Alpha Cosmos has been invited to participate. In addition, the Ghosthound will be overseeing it personally and challenging the top eight. How could the world not want to be here?”

“Is everyone ready?” Krum asked. “It’s almost time.”

The four nodded. As a group, Illdan, Merrick, Zeta, and Krum moved out into the hall and walked down to the street. They joined other participants, some moving in jovial groups while others walked alone, their eyes sharp and directly forward. Today was the day of the opening ceremonies, which was why the crowds surged into the island.

But for the participants, the day was even more important; today was the day that the tournament bracket would be revealed.

Before they even arrived, noise welcomed them. Shouts and screams and hooting laughter, the sheer mass of people waiting in the stands announced itself from half the island away. They walked into the massive arenas, their names checked off lists by automatons before they were allowed to proceed. Groups of audience members held back shouted to get their attention. When that didn’t work, they slapped their hands against the metal dividers.

Some of that clenching came back to Illdan’s stomach as they proceeded into the arena. When they moved out of the tunnels into the open arena, the noise was worse.

But waiting there on a giant board was the tournament bracket.

Illdan quickly located his name and found that his opponent was some being from one of the Nemesai worlds. But very quickly, his attention was pulled sideways by Merrick’s sharp intake of breath. “Shit.”

Illdan switched his gaze and find Merrick’s. And there, opposite his new friend, was a very recognizable foe.

Wivanya