Chapter 1959 (Patreon)

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

Alright! Just one chapter today, but mostly because I was drawing up the final 32 bracket. Starting tomorrow we will be getting into a few actual fights.

Ahhh, I love writing fight scenes ^_^

Images hung in the air above the island, lingering even after the battles had ended. They didn’t have physical presence, but their mark had been left on the fabric of reality. If the users of those images returned to that location and fought, they would have a slight advantage. A massive spear, a pure spinning crystal, the overwhelming force of the sea- all these twinkled in the sky.

Yet what was even more horrifying was the currents of Nether that spun around the area, steadily erasing those images. Just passively, the presence of the Ghosthound invalidated all the warriors’ efforts. It did not bode well for the chances of the top 8 fighting against him.

Illdan Thai sat at the edges of the patio, looking up at the remnant images in the sky. His own image had already been wiped away, leaving him with a hot coal of frustration in his chest. To distract himself, he looked down on the crowded streets below. The night was surprisingly bright, lit by a luminous moon that add a bit of polish to the whole island. Inwardly, Illdan assured himself he should feel proud; he had made it to the top 124.

Yet the time and watching the image’s being wiped away made him anxious. A break of three days was being taken before the next round of the tournament would begin.

And honestly, no one had yet pushed his image to the limits. He knew he could continue to climb further. Perhaps, if he went all out, his image wouldn’t be so quick to be washed away by the tide of the Ghosthound’s Nether-

The grating laugh of Daemont Scythe echoed out behind him. Nearby, most of the significant amount of Tellus warriors sat at a massive table, their cups raised in a toast. A legion of empty plates and glasses lay before them. Illdan turned and watched them, noticing the flush on Daemont’s wrinkled face. “To the Spearman Reborn! And to the glory of Tellus, seizing forty out of the remaining spots in the tournament. At this rate, won’t the end of the tournament be dominated by Tellus warriors?!”

The warriors in question hooted and pounded their fists on the heavy wood of the table. Their zeal wafted off of them like heat, becoming a part of the celebratory night. Yet after only a few more seconds, Illdan couldn’t watch them any longer.

His mood was morose as he turned and looked out across the island. Yesterday, his new friend Zack Krum had been eliminated from the tournament, which was why Illdan celebrated now with the Tellus contingent rather than his new group. Illdan had watched the entire match from start to finish. Krum’s opponent had a similar enough skill set that it wasn’t some innate advantage that made the difference. But when the two had clashed, Krum had been immediately outmatched.

Both in terms of Skill, but more importantly in image. Illdan clenched his fists. Krum’s opponent's name was Paolo.

Paolo’s image of indomitability had faded quickly, yet now somehow remained in the sky. It was an ember that refused to be quenched.

Just like the middle portion of the tournament had stripped away those who didn’t have specificity in their image, Krum’s match made Illdan realize that a new culling would happen as they proceeded through the next round. Except no longer would detail or ingenuity or application could save you. No, in the next round, the only thing that mattered was power.

No one had made it to this point that didn’t deserve their spot.

“Illdan,”

Twisting in his chair, Illdan found Clayvo standing with a glass half full of golden liquid. His face was carefully neutral; he had unfortunately been one of the Tellus warriors eliminated in the previous round. Due to their failures, they now served as servants and lackeys, for bringing dishonor to the planet. Clayvo raised the glass, offering it to Illdan. “Would you like another? I believe there will be more toasts in the near future.”

Illdan shook his head and turned back to the street. More than anything else, these breaks in the tournament gave the warriors from Tellus time to develop a taste for alcohol; all of them imbibed vast amounts, competing more eagerly in this diversion than they addressed their training. Even when Illdan had pointed out that many showed signs of inebriation, they had just laughed and laughed, content in their new pursuits.

Abruptly, Illdan stood and walked past them. Daemont’s eyes instantly fixated on him, but Illdan flippantly waved a hand. “I just had an insight; I’m going to train.”

“Yes, it is exactly that dedication to Tellus that will allow us to seize victory!” Daemont’s red eyes bulged in ecstasy. “We have the Spearman Reborn! We will let nothing stop us! Tellus will dominate this tournament and seize what is rightfully ours!”

The hooting resumed as Illdan left and headed toward the training area.

Several days later, Illdan stood on stage and faced off against a tall, blonde haired man with gleaming gold armor. The beginning of the fight was lightning fast- despite his heavy armor, the man moved with grace. His long bastard sword cut back and forth, weaving dense patterns in the air. Illdan narrowed his eyes and raised his spear in response.

His opponent released a golden aura that seemed to buzz at Illdan’s presence, attempting to forcefully oppressive him with the strange luminous the warrior released. However, Illdan’s eyes blazed with intensity.

As he had suspected, this was a turning point where those without potency would be pushed around. And in this match, it was not Illdan that lacked potency. A strange darkness seeped out of his back and dominated his portion of the arena.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. Shadows danced across the arena, cutting wide pathways through the light the man released. Illdan’s opponent stuttered, realizing the sudden shift. Perhaps he recognized that he had underestimated Illdan due to his mediocre performance in prior matches. But by then, it was too late.

His spear methodically carved away the heavy armor until the man surrendered. Illdan paused and simply breathed, lifting his chin and allowing the pounding cheers of the crowd to rain down around him.

The sky hummed, still raw from having the Spearman Reborn’s image etched into it. Snorting at his own foolishness, Illdan refused to look up and compare the mark he made to others that were already present.

The next day around lunch, after all of the matches had been fought, saw a very different sort of of disposition out of Daemont Scythe. The group of Tellus held only a small table, with three individuals attending. In the round to cut down to 64 competitors remaining, only six of Tellus’ forty warriors had won. Generally, they had been crushed by their opponents with no remorse.

Some of their losses were so massive that you could feel their anguish in the image scars hanging over the island.

Finally, the Alpha Cosmos barred its fangs. Illdan sipped at a glass of water and kept his attention on his food; the mood around the table was heavy, with Daemont pounding glasses of amber liquid with an altogether different vibe than previously.

Illdan twisted his lips, looking at the unfamiliar names of three of Tellus’s representatives that hadn’t chosen to attend this ‘celebratory’ dinner. Considering that Daemont hadn’t brought up their absence, he suspected it was those three strangers that he hadn’t recognized earlier, led by the middle aged woman.

The ones who hadn’t needed to be tested in Tellus’s application tournament.

Pressing his eyes shut, Illdan tried to push them from his mind. Right now, he couldn’t be distracted. The competitor had become stiff. If he wanted to win in the next round, he needed to be at his peak state.

*****

Randidly made the request that after the matches to cut the final participants down to 32, they take a one week break. Tatiana pressed her lips together, but ultimately acquiesced. Randidly understood why she would hesitate; in a way, the Alpha Cosmos was already tiring of the extended tournament. A month had passed since it had began, longer since the preliminaries. A lot of powerful individuals were concentrated in one area during that time, while the threat of monsters and newly born Chimeras remained constant.

While the tournament churned forward, public safety began to dip in certain border areas. The jovial feeling around the pageantry of the tournament began to sour, somewhat. Still, Randidly knew that lack of anticipation would shift somewhat as they honed themselves down to the truly elite.

Because now, there were no longer so many people that you had to essentially pick a few favorites to watch and allow the marathon of matches to pass you by. The accomplishments of many of the top groups spread throughout Expira. Betting houses finally had some data to use and were pushing gambling very hard.

Randidly sat at the edge of his skyisland and rubbed his neck. His Nether gurgled unpleasantly, still teetering on the brink of a qualitative shift. He pushed himself off the edge, several nearby moonlight spirits seeing the movement, believing it looked amusing, and following him into a wild freefall. He allowed himself to accelerate until the wind-blasted past him, the distance between himself and the dark ocean waters rapidly decreasing.

Then the Stillborn Phoenix spread its wide maw and seized the gravity in the area. Randidly’s drop transformed into lateral movement, so he skimmed across the surface of the ocean waves. Water exploded with the force of his passage,

Unfortunately, he had a bit of extra homework before he could take a rest tonight. He sensed his intervention was necessary.

He arrived at the massive main arena on Tournament Island, which was completely deserted. Sometimes participants would come here at night and lay on the stage, looking up at the stars, but dark clouds had come with the evening, masking the sky. In addition, Randidly suspected the grand Nether Ritual he had put within the planets had guided everyone away.

The process of refining Nether Weight had gone quite well; the rewards were being prepared for the lucky winners of the tournament. However, the Nether Ritual had realized a problem it didn’t know how to handle: the burden on the recipient’s bodies.

The Nether content in the Alpha Cosmos was higher than the Nexus for sure, but it still was mostly an Aether environment. Suddenly being injected with some Nether Weight, without a Nether Core to house and process that energy, was akin to having a steel bar inserted into a person’s rib cage. The energy would figuratively alter their conversation in unpredictable ways.

So Randidly sat in one of the high observation boxes around the arena and concentrated on the stage. He took control of the swirling flows of Nether in the area and began to wrap them tightly around the central area.

Congratulations! Your Skill Precise Nether Ritual (L) has grown to Level 663!

He wove together a tight dome around the stage and nodded in satisfaction at his work. Not only would it suppress lingering images slightly, thereby lowering the danger to the audience during fights, but it applied a certain amount of Nether pressure to the participants. They wouldn't be exposed for a significant time, but this pressure would prime their bodies to receive rewards.

“Almost time.” Randidly’s emerald eyes glittered. “Who will come together to challenge me, I wonder…?

With that, he turned away and returned to his island. He needed to spend some time training while he had the chance.