An hour later, Yama reached the summit of the castle and stood beneath the horseshoed hooves of the statues. “Business or pleasure?” the sentry at the gate asked.
“Business,” Yama said, figuring that saying pleasure would not go over well with how many weapons were in his pack.
“The form checks out just”—the guard sighed, looking at the metal detector readout—”please try to keep those weapons in your backpack. You’ve a license for them, but there’s enough trouble dealing with drug fiends already in the city. Stay on the sidewalk obey the stoplights, and only eat food with a fork and if it’s on a plate first.”
“Will do,” Yama said, stepping into the city.
Palace is an understatement, Yama thought as he took his first steps towards the center of the city where the real palace was. Shuttles—cleaner and more organic in their design than in the rings below—still raced through the sky and skyscrapers of steel and glass still thrust themself out of the ground until they could be seen no longer. It was a city by all accounts.
(A nipple city,) our hero mutters before giggling.
The girl rolls her eyes at this. (All of that samurai nonsense and you’re still just a boy who has never seen a pair of tits,) she says before giggling herself.
The palace village was a walled off circle in the center of the small city, with a square palace circumscribed like a coin inside. We never even got close to these outer walls, Temujin, and there’s still room for a cruiser before the inner walls. We’d pay a blood tax for every inch and you’d probably just torch it anyway, you mad bastard. Yama thought before beginning his trek to the inner wall, jogging so he could make it before all of the solar satellites around Ulaan had dimmed or gone out
Yama arrived at the inner wall as the sky faded to a warm amber. Where is everybody? he thought, finding less hopefuls than he had been expecting. I’d expect a line from here to the Embassy Sector with the money on the line. Yama dismissed the thought. Less competition for me then.
The guard looked up from his laptop and ran his eyes over Yama before nodding; what other reason would such a giant be here? “The tournament isn’t until Onesday,” he said. “I could point you towards one of the hotels if you are looking for lodging, but do know it will be well outside the walls of the palace.” A stack of stapled forms loomed ominously to his right and Yama hoped it was one of those for employer’s copy type documents instead of one of the ok, tell us about yourself documents.
“I was looking to join. Is the entry still open?”
“It is, but if you truly wish to enter, you must surely know that entry requires a gift.”
Yama posed a front-double bicep. “I bring strength and sport.”
The guard shook his head. “As impressive as that is, I do hope you can think of something better. all of the lessers are in the barracks below and their gifts are quite grand, but, tell you what, we’ll go through the other forms while you think on it.”
“What would you have me do?”
The guard grabbed a form from the stack. “Physical, I think we can skip that one,” he mumbled as he flipped through the papers. Yama felt that he should object but was in no mood for more paperwork. “Can you handle weapons form, skip that as well. Criminal history”—he laughed—”we don’t actually need to know, nor do we particularly care, given who’s competing.”
“What do you actually need to know?”
“Name, nickname, gift, and routing number,” the guard rattled off.
“You have all of those forms for that?”
The guard shook his head. “No, but you’d be surprised how scary a form can be to some people. Since you would obviously pass the physical and weapons test, that leaves name, nickname, gift, and routing number.”
If I use my name, Father will know I’m here.
But I want Kano to know who is killing him and why, Yama reasoned. You have many weapons in your arsenal. Deception need not be one of them, Yama remembered his father saying. “For name, Yama Kikuchi.”
The guard scrawled the name onto the appropriate line. “Nickname?”
“What do I strike you as?” Yama asked as he posed a front-double-bicep again.
“I’d say Ogre, but Orphiel already has that taken,” the guard mumbled. After a moment of chin stroking, the guard looked up. “How about the Grey Blade of Western Space?”
I don’t identify with home anymore, Yama thought, not with the queen, that’s for certain.
But I need to show that we are the true samurai, not Kano and his ilk. “How about something more samurai in theme?” Yama suggested.
The guard shook his head. “No. We already have samurai checked off with Kano and we can’t go with Ogre, since, again, Orphiel has that locked down.”
“How about Katana Kikuchi?” Yama said.
The guard sighed. “Again, we already have a samurai. You’re lucky I don’t just put Mysterious Stranger and send you on your way.”
No to samurai then, Yama though sadly. Ok. What else do I have?
The weight of his sword on his hip skyrocketed, as if the blade was trying to shoot through the sheath and into the ground. Pick me! Pick me! Pick me! the sword called out like a school child.
Ok. Sword. That starts with S. Sword Samu—nope, can’t do that. Sword Shino—nope, not that either. Yama reasoned. Nothing from back home. Sword Slayer? Yama mused. No. I’m not fighting swords, I’m fighting with a sword.
Sword savant? Yama asked himself. No. Bit too wordy. As soon as the thought came to Yama, the words left his mouth. “Sword Saint,” he muttered to himself with a smile. Oh yea. That’s it.
The guard looked up. “Say something?”
“Sword Saint, Yama Kikuchi.”
The guard grinned. “Sound like a fucking champion if I’ve ever heard one,” he said as he scrawled the nickname onto the form. “We can see what the costume department can rig up for you.”
Costume department? Yama’s skin crawled at the thought; any tailor would see his lumpy skin and crooked spine and throw their hands up in defeat. “Where would I go for that?” Yama asked as he looked over the guard for a sign with costume department written on it. There was none.
The guard chuckled. “You’ll go there if you manage to outshine the other lesser candidates,” the guard said. “I’ll take you there with some of the others when they show up. However, in the meantime”—the guard flipped to another page—”let’s talk about what gifts you bring, besides strength and competition,” he said mockingly. “We’re gonna need something extra.”
“I have a lot of weapons,” Yama said before moving his backpack onto the table so he could rummage through it. “Handguns, long gun pieces, shotgun pie—”
The guard waved him off again. “I already know what will work,” the guard said, eyes lingering on Yama’s sword.
Yama brought the sword closer as if there were thieves about and it was his baby. “No, not that, anything else.”
The guard shook his head. “The khan has plenty of guns, katanas, less so.”
“Well, wouldn’t I need a sword to be a sword saint?”
The guard shrugged. “We’ll give you a sword, if you prove yourself above the other lessers, but, to enter, you must pay.”
“Well, surely the khan already has a katana from Kano, much better than this one,” Yama said. That ought to convince him.
The guard leaned in with a wide smile on his face. “Who said anything about the khan?”
“You little sh—”
“Pay up or move along,” the guard hissed before angling himself so he could look past Yama. “Next!”
I should have just gone to Janus, Yama thought to himself as he turned to leave.
“Fuck that”, a voice said into Yama’s mind. The guard was gone, replaced with a night sky and campfire tended by the same man as before. “Give him your sword and win this thing. After that, you can get the khan to make him give you your sword back.”
“That feels incredibly dishonest.”
“And he isn’t?” the specter asked before disappearing, taking the rest of the campfire and night sky with him.
Yama spun on the ball of his foot, ripping his sheath from his belt. “Fine, you want it”—he slammed the weapon onto the table—”you can have it.”
The guard swallowed a gulp. “Ve-uh-very well,” he stuttered, pointing over his shoulder to a descending staircase. “Just continue on behind me.”
Yama lingered for a moment. I could probably get my sword back with how scared he was.
No. You’ve made an agreement. Now you must honor it, Yama told himself as he descended the stairs.
What greeted him in the barracks were tight rows of black plastic cots, lit by shabby, moth-covered light strips. More like a prison than a barracks, Yama thought glumly. as he found an empty cot. No lockbox either, guess I’ll keep my pack on me.
Yama turned to another candidate, a lanky Aurcourian man with gold skin and shoulder length white hair that almost hid his dagger-sharp ears. “So, what do we do now?”
The Aurcourian shrugged. “I suppose we just wait until they come and get us,” he said before adding under his breath, “whenever that is.”
“How long have you been waiting?”
“An hour and change,” the man said. “I don’t want to take a nap and miss my turn, but damn if this isn’t boring. It’s like they got us in a prison.”
I bet it probably was at some point. “Well, at least you can go to sleep. These cots are all too small for me,” Yama said, forcing a chuckle as he patted the mattress. “I’m Yama. What’s your name?”
“You’ll know soon enough, slate,” the man spat, turning his back to Yama as if the brute had killed his family. Given what Yama had done in Aurcourian space before fleeing his homeland, it was a distinct possibility.
Geez. No need to be rude about it, Yama thought. At the end of the room was an archway with two doors, each with glass slits showing a faint light beyond. Wonder what’s in there, Yama thought as he lumbered to the archway.
“That’s the trial ranges,” the Aurcourian called out. “They said they’d send someone from there and get us when they’re ready to see what we can do.”
“And don’t you think they would have by now?” Yama called back as he listened to the shots. Three round bursts, ten to eleven bursts a piece, Yama thought, his enhanced ears splitting the streams of sound like damn. What guns does that leave? Certainly nothing in the Tatan normal arsenal.
Maybe it’s a gift weapon then, Yama reasoned. The Nimese have the Hideyo 33, but that’s a laser weapon so it would be fizzing and it’s also standard issue, so it wouldn’t be a good gift, he thought, crossing the weapon off the list. Something expensive, what could that be? Yama racked his brain for a moment before another candidate came to mind. Skarbek series sniper rifle from Atlas! Yama concluded. It has three barrels for burst fire and would be a hell of a gift to have. I know I’d like one, Yama thought, warmth washing over his shoulders like a hot shower.
But those are precision instruments. No way they’re going to let us touch them.
Yama moved to open the door just a hair before he stopped himself. They’ll see me immediately. ”I don’t think they have the candidates down there,” Yama called out to the room quietly after he had turned around and moved from the door.
“What makes you say that?” a short and stocky Tatan man asked.
Because I can hear the bullets and know way too much about guns? They’ll think I’m nuts.
(Well, you are nuts,) the girl says.
(Look, I have a very in-depth knowledge of common and semi-common weapons, alright?) our hero responds. (Nobody calls you nuts for knowing a lot about mixing drinks, do they?)
The girl scoffs. (Please, nuts is hardly the worst thing I get called on a near nightly basis.)
(Suppose you’re right,) our hero says before continuing the story.
“Are you a soldier? I don’t think it’s Tatan guns they’re firing down there.”
“I am, yes, but maybe they’re gonna have the lessers use something from outside the empire.”
“I think they’re firing Skarbek series snipers down there,” Yama said bluntly.
“And I have a twelve-inch cock that pisses rainbows, what of it?” The short Tatan shot back, drawing snickers from the other candidates.
If anyone here has twelve inches, it’s me, Yama thought as he waited for the laughter to die down. Now, those twelve inches didn’t always rise to the occasion, or rise at all with how the steroid veins around them choked any such attempts, but hey, twelve inches. He’d have paid good money for six and a twitch, even more for a regular job, a body that was just tall, and a mug that was not so crooked.
“Whatever they’re testing down there, they’re not letting us look at or fire,” Yama said. “Don’t you want to know what it is, why it is that they’re keeping us down here?”
The Tatan raised an eyebrow. “Suppose you’re right about them keeping us here. Something smelly, that. What’s your basis for it being the Skarbek series though?”
Yama held up a finger. “Listen closely. Three round burst, 11 bursts in between reloads, that’s standard make for Skarbek series.”
“Could be anything with burst fire.”
“No, he may have a point,” an Atlasian female said as she stepped forward and pressed her ear to the door. Chin-length dishwater blonde hair hung from a head of blue, frosted-glass skin. When she turned back to the group, her skin shined with glee, as if lit by a distant and unseen sun. “Come here,” she said, beckoning the group with her hand. “Hear that kchink kchink? That’s the rotating barrels turning over.”
“Could be any gun part making that noise,” someone said.
The woman shook her head. “No. I was a sniper in Atlas’ 100th and 39th battalion—”in civilian lingo, this meant the 10,039th battalion”—and I am telling you that sound is unique to the Skarbek line.”
I don’t remember her, Yama reasoned, having taken a few jobs in the 10,039th. Let’s see how this plays out.
The Tatan scoffed. “Anybody can claim that.”
The woman sighed before rummaging through her bag and retrieving a midnight blue beret with gold threads and embroidery. “Look it over. That’s a genuine 10,039th special battalion beret right there, gold threads and all,” the woman said as the Tatan passed it around. “And if anyone still doubts me, I can take off my pants and whip out my rainbow pissing cock if anybody wants to compare.”
Genuine item, Yama thought, before passing it on. “I was going to peek my head in to see what they were firing and whether or not that really is a range for us down there or—”
“Or if they’re just holding us here until we get bored,” the woman finished. Yama nodded. “Not a bad idea. It feels like ages.”
“Like I was saying I was going to do that before I remembered I’m huge and grey and wouldn’t blend in very well.”
“So, one of us then?” Yama nodded again. “I’ll go.”
“Just check.”
“Got it. Be back in a few,” the woman said before she put her beret on and tiptoed inside.
When the door closed, Yama turned back to the group. “Who’s the best talker amongst you? We might as well see if we can get the guard”—he wanted to say dickbag—”up there to spill some beans.”
The short Tatan sighed and raised his hand. “I used to be a salvage salesman. I suppose I can turn on some of the old charm.”
“What charm?” the douchey Elf from before asked.
“I could charm your mother to go back in time and swallow you, but I think you do that just fine on your own,” the Tatan said, drawing snickers from everyone in the room, and in the range, and the guards up top.
The Elf’s head swiveled, counting those who laughed. “How dare you!”
Yama tapped the Tatan. “Go, and don’t return without an answer.”
The woman came back five minutes later. “Well,” she dusted off her beret, “big guy was right. They’re firing off Skarbek series guns.”
Yama resisted the urge to pump his fist in the air. “Who is they?”
“You were right about that too. Tatan soldiers.” She shrugged, “Kheshig, I’d guess or some other special unit.”
“Anything else in the room?”
The woman nodded. “Not so much what, as who. There were a few Atlasian officers down there, giving pointers, if I had to guess.”
“Any you recognize?”
The woman nodded. “Yea, actually, one Heidi Beck—”
Boots drummed the stairs like a class of children after a snowy recess. The short Tatan had led the entrance guard downstairs, a look of shame on the his face as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Well, we’re onto your little trick now,” the short Tatan said. “Tell them!”
The guard sighed and looked around for anything to help him get away. “Do I have to?” The short Tatan cracked a knuckle, forcing the guard into his shoulders. “Fine. I was told to send you here in the hopes that some of you would quit. There are problems in the palace that demand the captain of the guard’s attention over something like this.”
“This is bullshit!” one contestant shouted.
“You took my stuff for this?”
“Will there be trials for us at all? Will there even be a tournament at this rate?”
They can’t be bothered to hold trials or tests for us? Whats going on? Yama wondered.
The guard raised a hand to quiet everybody. “Look, I don’t know if there will be trials now or tomorrow or what, but I do know that the tournament itself will continue,” he guard explained before closing his eyes in case one of the lessers pounced on him.
“And what about our gifts? Will we get them back if there are no trials?” one of the lessers asked.
“Probably not,” the guard said, ducking further into his shoulders.
“Will there even be a lesser candidate chosen?” Yama asked. “Do you know that much, at least?”
The guard poked his head out of his shoulders only enough to nod before ducking back inside his shell. “Yes. The guard captain and the khan will choose two from amongst those who are still left.” The shouting immediately resumed, louder and without the decency to word itself as questions. “The captain will understand if you should wish to leave.”
“All of this for nothing. Will my travel be reimbursed?”
“I paid for a hotel. Will I get a refund?”
“How is the captain going to choose?”
With each question, the guard ducked further into his shoulders, and Yama knew the man was either going to have a breakdown or bolt if any more were asked. “Enough!” he yelled from the bottom of his 12-Liter lungs. “You will ask your questions at a respectable volume, one at a time, starting with you,” Yama said, pointing to one at random.
The lessers asked their questions and Yama would clear his throat when they got too rowdy. “So, what will you have us do to pick two from our number?” the woman asked several minutes later after a number of the candidates had left.
The guard looked over the remaining initiates and sighed. “Suppose it’s enough to whittle you down now,” he mumbled, “follow me.”
The guard led them through the arched doors to a large gymnasium split into four sections. One was dedicated to physical exercise, a second had been made into a firing range, a third had been made into an alterism testing arena, and a fourth had been made into a cage for testing melee weapons with mechanical servitors. “You will perform in each arena, and you will be given an arena score and later a composite score. The best composite scores will be chosen and everyone else will be sent home.
Yama couldn’t resist the grin creeping along his face. By luck, they started with the physical section, and while several candidates easily reaffirmed their membership in the 1,000, 2,000 and 3,000 clubs, they could only watch as Yama pressed and pulled his way into the vaulted 5,000 club. When it came to running, others had better gaits, but Yama had the mass to hurtle across the track. He was not the fastest, but he supposed a 600 pound Nimese barreling toward them like a meteor was plenty of motivation for the fastest among them.
“Not that anybody is really surprised,” the woman said besides him as they walked to the firing range.” She extended her hand. “Anna Schulz, by the way.”
Schulz. I’ve heard that name before, Yama thought. “Related to Philip Schulz?”
The woman’s eyes glowed. “Yes!” Anna exclaimed. “He is, was, my grandfather. Did you know him?”
Yama nodded. “I embedded with the 10,039th for a stint,” Yama said. “Nearly 30 years ago, it would have been. I’m Yama, by the way, Yama Kikuchi.”
“I have so many questions to ask you, Mr. Kikuchi,” Anna said, “after I show you all how to handle a gun properly.”
And the girl hadn’t lied, handling each weapon like they were nothing more than a longer set of arms and she was the queen of having longer arms. Yama considered himself a good shot and a quick hand when it came to reloading, but Anna was simply more accurate. He matched her shot for shot during the stationary section, but when it came time to run down a course while avoiding fire and returning it to unlock the next section, she was a landworm and he was a quickly stumbling Nimese nugget. Even the bastard Aurcourian was quicker than the lumbering lug, weaving over obstacles and sliding into position.
“That last part wasn’t exactly fair to you,” Anna said as they moved to the alterism section, “some of those embankments were small even for me.”
Yama nodded. “Don’t suppose you’re an alterist as well?” Anyone could use the metaphysical coils in their gut to manipulate quantum currents, energy, and matter, but having it was no easy feat. Firstly, having coils large enough to harness soul energy sufficient to conjure even a spark was rare. Secondly, such interactions created a harsh radiation that would be absorbed by the body almost instantly.
A select few—alterists—could manifest their manipulations beyond that basic level, through grafting many coils together or being born very lucky, which Yama was not. Energy was hard to handle at the best of times, metaphysical energy no exception. Alterists would weave organoids—called alteroids—onto and into themselves to handle the stain of their miracle or maladies, whichever the case. The alteroids would produce soul energy in conjunction with the alterist’s alterial coils, saving as much of it for later as they could. When alterism was performed, alteroids would drink down the searing excess, channeling it into their own mutations. It was a horrid sight with horrid results, but Yama didn’t shirk from it. Much the same could be said about him.
“Anna shook her head. “Unfortunately not; I’ve seen what cool burn looks like, and I’ll stick with just swell-sight and some thrash-tendons.” She looked ahead and her shoulders fell. “But that guy is an alterist, because of course he is.”
The Aurcourian grinned back at Anna as he stripped of his shirt, a second shirt of pale, grafted skin extending over his body. At the guard’s instruction, he leapt into the air and the room chilled as he crystallized the moisture, first into a spire upon which he could stand, then into small, silky marbles. The white wisps wove themselves into long needles and all the candidates held their breaths as the volley formed in front of them.
There has to be 20,000 needles there, Yama thought as the growing salvo blocked out and bent the light above, turning the air into a shimmering dome.
And the Aurcourian let darkness reign for a moment before bringing them down, sending 100 needles through each of the targets in the previous stage, then all the targets in the current stage. When his quiver ran dry, he dissolved his platform, flipping and landing in front of the guard. “I do believe I have won,” he said. Rather than respond, the guard let out a grunt and led the initiates to the next arena.
Ever since Ishimasa had allowed Yama a sword, the giant had clung to it like the mast of a sinking ship. Every day in Ni, he would drill through katas, often conjugating the motions in one of the languages he was trying to pick up. Each strike was a hammer blow, to the undisciplined brutish part of himself he wanted beat into steel, to the actual steel he would beat in the lands of the North, mid-space and Tata years later.
Technique had its purpose, yes, but in the fourth arena Yama was forced to admit that tenacity was its equal. The Tatan who had called himself a scrap merchant tossed off his boots, revealing sleek legs of aero-steel. When the mechanical servitors came at him, he wove himself like a needle under their blades before stabbing at their exposed joints. In the same movement, he’d kick the legs out out from one, using the newly-exposed back as a springboard to leap onto another like a stimulant-drunk sloth. The kata was known simply as death and the little man had become a master of it.
In the end, Yama, Anna, the short Tatan, and the douchey Aurcourian tied for composite score, one event each and second, third, and fourth place for the events that had competition. “By my count, there’s still two too many of us,” Anna said. “What will we do about that?”
“I can’t leave,” the short Tatan said, shaking his head. “I need this money,” the man said before he rolled up shirt sleeves. From shoulder to wrist the arms were charred black, like someone had pulled them from the Embassy Sector and thin like a bundle of sausage links. “Necropox, an alterist hit my whole group with a spell. Most of us died there,” he said before mumbling, “the lucky ones.”
That an alterist had conjured up an anti-life storm to rip energy from cells in the millions did not surprise Yama one bit; alterists were objectives to be defended or—more frequently for Yama—eliminated, either by ripping the coils from their gut or their from their shoulders. How did that not disintegrate when he rolled his sleeves up? He wondered as he looked the arms over. “How long have you been dealing with it?”
The man shrugged. “A few years. Started running my scrap yard when I got home and just thought I’d die one day,” he said. “But when ole’ Temujin croaked and Otgonbayar announced this tournament, in my backyard, practically”—he sighed—”I got hopeful. I figured, my arms can shoot a gun still, maybe I had a shot.”
“And, now that you’ve been here, with us, do you think you still have a shot?” Anna asked. “They”—she pointed a finger upwards—”are going to be coming at you with more than just bullets. Alterism will be on the—”
The man sighed again, shoulders slumping like drifts of snow. “I know,” he said defeatedly. “I have hope, though, and for the longest time I didn’t, and I’m not going back.”
“What if,” Yama began, “what if we all agree that should we win, we’ll help you with your treatment?”
“I’m in,” Anna immediately said before she turned to the Aurcourian man. “And you?”
“I make no such agreement,” he said. “I have uses for the money too.”
Anna brought chest to the Aurcourian’s , who loomed over her by a head. “I wasn’t asking, prick.”
The golden man scoffed. “You need him to leave. Me?” He shrugged. “I can wait a bit longer.”
Typical cocky Aurcourians, Yama thought dismally. “Or”—he cracked a knuckle—”I break your legs, you leave, and me and the lady agree to help him, and I’m not asking,” he said, earning a grin from the woman.
The Aurcourian sighed. “Fine,” he said through his teeth. “If I win, I’ll help with his treatment.”
What bullshit. “Fully? No halfassery, Aurcourian?” Wouldn’t put it past him to kick in two runemarks and leave it at that if he won, Aurcourians and their letter of the law shit.
“Yes,” the Aurcourian hissed..
“Good, because if you don’t, I’ll find whatever mansion you live in and haunt your socks off,” Anna said.
“And I’ll break your legs,” Yama added, snapping an invisible bone with his hands. “Are you able to bow out now and let two of us compete?”
The Tatan nodded. “Yea. It’s something.” He shook Yama and the woman’s hands. “Now you just have to win it,” he said before gathered his belongings and made way for the stairs. “My name is Batbayar Gantulga.”
“Safe travels, Gantulga,” Yama said, waving the man goodbye.”
“We’ll win this,” Annasaid as she did the same. “Send that guard down. We’ll have a decision shortly.”
“Will do,” Gantulga said before he turned to ascend the stairs.
The Aurcourian scoffed. “I wouldn’t go thinking we’re at a decision just because the mule has left.”
The woman shook her head. “No. You’re going to leave now, or he is going to break your legs and then you’ll leave,”
I never agreed to that! Yama thought. He’s a dick, but it’s not like I’ve been contracted to break his legs or that he’s an immediate threat that needs leg breaking.
In the distance Yama saw the man from the fire sitting on a cot, roasting a marshmallow over a fire that had formed at the foot of the bed. “You’ve barked, and now you’re getting cold feet that you have to bite?” the man at the fire asked, his voice perfectly clearly as if he was only a few feet away. “My god, you’re bad at this whole enforcer thing. How we ever did it at all is beyond me.”
“I’m a samurai, not an enforcer thug,” Yama said. If the woman or the Aurcourian heard this, they made no sign of it. Yama thought for a moment that they looked like wax figures frozen in time, incapable of even melting.
The specter rolled his eyes. “And right now the loyal samurai routine isn’t working,” he said before vanishing, taking his campfire with him.
“What she said,” Yama said as he straightened himself and cracked a knuckle before stepping closer and bathing the Aurcourian in his shadow. “Choice is up to you, left leg first or right leg first.”
The Aurcourian guffawed. “You’re not serious, are you?” He bounced a glance between Yama and Anna. “Come on, let us be reasonable.”
“I left reasonable on the zip ship here,” the woman said before pointing over her shoulder, “and I reckon the big guy has too much protein powder in his bag to fit reasonable.”
I use DeMuscle for managing my acromegaly, not protein powder. “Yea, I had to pack chocolate and vanilla,” Yama lied, “and a bunch of really big needles.”
“Leave,” Anna said through her teeth, “before we make you.”
“This is hardly fair. There’s no comp—”
Annastood on her tiptoes and shushed the man. “I was going to think of something for us to do to find who gets to go on, but when you didn’t agree to help that man, that went out the window. You’re a prick, and I have no desire to compete with you.”
The Aurcourian looked past her at Yama, who simply shrugged. “What she said.”
The Aurcourian shook his head. “Whatever. Orphiel will crush both of you, any of the champions will, for that matter. I’ve never heard of either of you, and when this is over, I’ll be the only person in the universe to remember you,” he said before turning to leave for the stairs.
The Aurcourian brushed past the guard as he came down. “Make a decision, have you?”
The douchebag turned back to Yama and the woman. “Yes. These two idiots have decided they want to lose to the champions up top, and I have no desire to work with such fools.”
The woman gave him the bird. “Hey! Fuck you too buddy!” she yelled at his retreating form.
“Well, I don’t know what you did, but you two are now the only lessers remaining,” The guard said once he had moved over to the duo. “So, I suppose now that you are officially entered into the tournament I can bring you upstairs to wardrobe.”
“Wardrobe? What’s wrong with this?” Yama asked as he ran his hands over his figure.
The guard blinked several times to make sure he heard the giant right. “That you have to ask is telling, and it doesn’t really fit the Sword Saint motif you’re going for.”
I didn’t know I’d have to play dress up, Yama thought dismally. Although, maybe I’ll get a sword. “Fine. Let’s go.”
“Follow me then,” the guard said before turning back to the stairs, the duo following behind him.
A structure must only provide support. It need not speak.
If a structure must speak, it must speak only truth, for there is no support in lies.
The Tenets of Tenshi