[Preshow] Registrations (IC)

[Karl Jak]

Please have read - https://multerra.zulenka.com/index.php?pages/DA24-rules/#Joining (and all the other Rules for that matter) - before posting here

To quote the pertinent pieces of information:

Step 1 – Write a roleplay in which your character heads to a registration booth at a Syntech location on their World. There they will find queues for several identical booths. Once at the front of the line, your character will be asked to provide their name and demonstrate ‘what they bring to the competition’ for the cameras. After this, they will provided with a form and ushered into another line where they’ll wait to enter a teleportation room. They will then be teleported to Dante’s Comet, and they will arrive in the Lobby of the Preshow Complex.​

Step 2 – You, the writer, will fill out the below information and send it to the host. These forms will be posted publicly for the host and other contestants. If you are using your account character, this will probably be easy to do by pulling from your roster, but if you're using another character, you may have to do a little more with this form.​

All around the Crossroads, tents, stations, and little micro-communities have popped up, fully staffed by individuals who work for an enterprise named 'Syntech' (also appears occasionally as 'Syntech Corp, Syntech Corporation, SynTex, and Syntech Incorporated, Ltd). Many of these stations are also staffed by locals, and for the most part, no one seems to think much different of these places materializing almost overnight. Even in the more violent portions of the Crossroads, those in power have allowed these places to continue to exist, whether out of fear of Syntech or some other reason.

Nevertheless, the people at these stations are constantly busy signing up people to attend the 'Dante's Abyss Convention', a massive 'con' (word used unironically, I swear) located on a meteor/comet that travels through the Crossroads every season. Host to a melting pot of individuals from both the past, present, and tomorrow, the DAC24 has as its centerpiece the iconic event itself, Dante's Abyss, which pits a number of individuals against one another in a battle for survival, both against the elements, one another, and even themselves. The Syntech people recommend that people who plan to register for the event 'take the necessary precautions' as death is highly probable and Syntech is not liable for any damages incurred by your person, mind, or soul while you are on Syntech properties.

• Appearance – Your character’s appearance (a simple link to an image is perfectly fine)
• Personality – Your character’s personality
• Possible Reactions – How may your character respond to certain situations? How may they respond when confronted by certain types of people?
• Relationships – State any important friendships/rivalries you have with other contestants. Is there someone your character would want to murder? Someone they would protect? Important for people in groups but maybe not so much for loners.
• ‘Combat’ Style – Now by this I don’t mean a fighting style. I’m looking more at how your character will react if thrown into violent situations. Do they go fists flying? Will they retreat to find a better advantage? Will they be cowardly? Will they defend their allies above all?
• Eligible Abilities – List these, I will reference this over your Roster.
• Super Focus Application - Describe your character’s super Focus application, as per the Rules.
• Extra – Anything you think I must know to properly write your character.
• Quotes – List a quote or two your character has said or may say.
• Threads/Post - Link a FEW threads or specifics posts that you think best capture the mood/spirit/persona of your character.

Registrations will run until May 23rd, with a possible 36 hour 'wiggle window'. Please let me know if you'll be a last minute joinee.

 

[Toga Voorhees]

It had been a year since Toga had heard the rumors, and she still hadn’t reconciled herself to it. She had cried about it, whined about it, and even threatened about it, and none of it had helped. Dante’s Abyss. Her home. Her outlet. The place where she had met her husband. It was coming to an end, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

As she stalked down the hallway, wrapped in an air of sullen broodery, interns and employees alike turned onto cross hallways and into side-rooms to avoid her. She’d been like this all year, and not a one of them felt like being anywhere around her when she was in one of these moods. Even though Karl had warned her that another stabbing would result in reduced visitations to her husband, they didn’t want to take the chance that she’d remember that in the heat of the moment.

Toga picks up the pace a bit when she sees the gaudy, mahogany doors to Karl’s office appear ahead of her. Even Charlie doesn’t try to stop her as she crosses the intervening space and slams the doors open, though that didn’t stop her from giving the assistant a withering glare and a fully-erect middle-finger. She had hoped that the sudden intrusion would have shocked him, just a little bit at least, but, as always, the purple-clad CEO was unperturbed.

“What have I told you about slamming doors?” Karl asks smoothly, “And about being nice to Charlie? It’s not her fa-’

“So what? This is it? The end? No more Dante’s Abyss?” Toga snarls, crossing over to his desk and jabbing a finger into his perfectly-tailored chest. “What am I supposed to do now? What is Jason supposed to do now? This is all we have, you know!”

Karl’s eyes slide away from her own, focusing on something else. Something beyond the girl, the room, maybe even this universe. An uncharacteristically sad smile tugs at his lips as he replies, “Yeah, probably. Nothing lasts forever, and I’m not getting any younger either. Neither of us are. Maybe our time has passed and it’s time to let a younger generation take the reins, right?”

Toga glanced over her shoulder curiously, wondering what exactly he’s even talking about. She’s not that old. By the time she turns back to him, Karl’s eyes are focused on her again.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I’m sure someone will take up the torch. That Man in Red seems to be doing just fine with his own little game,” Karl continues as his face resumes its usual smug appearance.

“It won’t be the same though!” The girl retorts angrily, tears welling in her eyes. “Not without you!”

Holding up his hands placatingly, Karl tried to sooth her, “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

Rising from his seat, Karl crosses the room and places a hand on Toga’s shoulder, who by this time, is full-on crying.

“Dante’s Abyss might be ending, but Syntech will always be around. I’ll always be around.”

Burying her face into his chest, Toga sobs noisily, the hurt and betrayal in her heart leaking out of her with her tears. After a moment or two, with Karl patting her consolingly on the back, she pulls away, noticing with a bit of satisfaction that she got his shirt and vest messy with tears and mucus.

“Yeah…” she says, sniffing loudly to clear her nose of cry-snot, her reddened eyes averted from Karl. “Yeah. Whatever. I guess it’ll be fine…” She sighs, shakes her head to clear it, and continues. “And, if this is the last one, I guess I have to be there. Jassy too. I’ve been here so long that, I guess, it’s kind of embarrassing that I haven’t won one yet,” she finishes with a sheepish laugh.

The Man in Purple looks at her for a minute, silently gauging whether or not to say anything else, then nods.

“Alright. Well, you know the drill. Just give Charlie the go-ahead to reprocess your information,” he says before turning back to his desk. “Oh, and... please close the door a bit more gently this time, will you?”

Subject to editing if the big man sees something off

 

[Lord Boros]

Boros was wandering the barren frozen wastes of Inverxe trying to find civilization once more. So that he could inquire information about the whereabouts of WYVERN and their location so that he could become their leader. And in the distance, he saw a building with a flashing neon sign. The closer he got the more he could tell it was some outpost. He looked up to see the neon sign in flashing colors, "Dante's Abyss."

Must be some kind of bar he thought. Though he noticed a lot of turrets surrounding the outpost probably made to keep out the many beasts that live on this planet. As he entered though the place seemed less like a bar and more some sterile reception area. The receptionist was asleep and shocked to see someone actually find this outpost in the middle of nowhere.

"Oh thank god, I thought the boss sent us here as a joke or something. Anyway how can I help you?" the receptionist asked.

"I seek the space pirates known as WYVERN so that I may become their leader. Tell me their whereabouts at once," Boros demanded.

"Oh, great one of the crazy ones. Look, I have no idea anything about that but since you're here how about you consider joining Dante's Abyss?" said the receptionist.

If Boros had two eyes he would raise an eyebrow but the best he could do is squint.

"Ah new here aren't you? It's a violent event where many people compete against each other to the death on a comet that happens every season and this is, probably, the last one that there is going to be so I suggest taking that opportunity while you still can." the receptionist explained.

Some form of sick sadistic entertainment. Now why would he be interested in...wait.

"The people joining this game of yours, are they strong?" Boros asked.

"Oh for sure there are a lot of superpowered freaks joining Dante's Abyss." the receptionist said.

"Could this be my one and only chance to find joy once more?" Boros thought.

"Very well I will join this competition," Boros said.

"Excellent, just sign these papers and show us what you are capable of," the receptionist said.

After signing the papers another person came out with a camera. He then gestured for them to come outside with him. As he led them to a large boulder nearby. With a single punch, he shattered it into rubble. As the receptionist and cameraman stood there in silence.

"Now then you have been shown a taste of what I am capable of. Now take me to this comet you spoke of before," Boros said.

He then walked back to the outpost as the receptionist looked at the cameraman.

"Like I said earlier, they let just about any superpowered freak in," the receptionist said.

The two then led Boros to a teleporter as he got on ready to be beamed to who knows where. Wherever he is going to end up hopefully it will be more pleasant than the ordeals he had to go through on this planet just to be rid of that malaise. As he was beamed up to the comet with which the last Dante's Abyss will be held.

 

[John Connor]

Vatallion dug out a healing lotion meant to heal injuries sustained over time.

As the former Legutus rubbed the liquid on Marius’s back, the injuries suddenly disappeared.

Marius blinked as the sudden injuries from his past experience were now gone.

Marius blinked “What happened, but how?! This stuff works miracles…”

Vatallion shrugged, “Baxter brought the stuff, I just used it.”

As Marius stood up again, he felt his aches and pain disappear. He sat with his Roman mentor, Vatallion as he blinked “So, were you in a battle like I am going to face?”

Vatallion turned back, remembering the death games earlier, “I.. was, I met a man named Flak, who was trying to get me to push weights up and down. He was strange to be honest.”

Marius looked up “How much did you see, who did you ally with?”

Vatallion’s eyes widened remembering the monster he met on the field.

“I fought a figure that was horrifying and I punched him to death, and it was shadowy and it had different colored eyes that stared me down. What a fight that was.”

Baxter looked up “Hate to interrupt storytime but somehow we found access to the ARC.”

Marius and Vatallion looked at each other and blinked “The what?”

Baxter sighed “The ARC. A space base.”

Marius sighed “How convenient. What a plot twist.”

As the unknown ship parked into the ARC’s area, Marius and Vatallion walked off.

Funny story, there was actually a Dante’s Comet worker waiting to sign folks up.

“Why hello, strangers? What can I do for you?”

Vatallion itched his face. “Uh, yeah, Democles here wants to sign up for DA.”

Marius stared at him lightly and sighed “Yeah, Democles wants to sign up for DA.”

The black armored Centurion appeared as soon as he touched his dagger.

“So, Mr. Damocles… What can you do in this competition?”

He stared darkly up at the cameras as they recorded his words.

He simply grasped the worker up for a second and blinked “I can fight, I can do things. Is that good enough?”

The man shook and sighed “Yes, yes it does, stranger.”

“So Damocles, right?”

Vatallion knew it was someone else entirely but he played up Democles’s own presence.

“Yes, he’s Democles.”

 

[Rogue]

My first instinct had been to find somewhere quiet. A small tent tucked away in some hinterlands village nobody went to. Ah didn't do the best in crowds after all, and it would get me to the place ah was going faster. Maybe scare the living daylights out of some low-level Syntech clerk for the fun of it on the way, ya know? strictly speaking, there was still nothing wrong with that idea. The more ah thought about it, though, the more ah realized that it was the kind of approach a short-sighted punk takes to signing up for this thing.

Ah'd done this before, and done quite well at it, too! And yet, here ah was, ready to toss my proverbial hat back into the ring again. Anyone with two sticks to their brain would know to take their escape and be done, but ah was here, because something was sitting wrong in my head. Ah still had a bee in my metaphorical bonnet, buzzing up a storm.

Tossing aside all that theoretical apparel, ah stepped into line to one of the stalls in Thersica. If ah was going to do this thing again, ah wasn't going to skulk my way into the competition. Ah was going to indulge in a bit of grandstanding. Thersica was a real good location for that kind of thing. It was a trading town, right on the borderlands between the Hinterlands and Arcadia proper. This particular placement led to the general consensus being that its people were strange folk that didn't belong to either one. The Thersicans of course, insisted that their position meant they were uniquely placed to take the best of each world, which did very little to improve their standing in the eyes of the rest of us. But what it did mean, was that this was going to be a much more trafficked place to sign up.

There were a whole bunch of applicants this time around. The line stretched clear through the center of the marketplace. It was so bad that most of the local entertainers had set up shop somewhere or other along its path. They were making a killing here, before folks were mostly over there on the asteroid, then they'd likely try to score a spot on a teleporter to follow. There were rumors this was going to be a big ticket year in some way or other. Folks were talking 'bout it being a watershed moment. Anybody who wasn't in the middle of something ought to at least take a crack at it, right?

But that wasn't why ah was here again, was it? Just for the glamour of the thing? Ah mean, sure it stung like a pricker bush to have been so close to winning, but ah'd walked into the abyss, then walked back out again. Ah'd survived this gauntlet already. Ah shuffled forward with the crowd, too caught up in my own head to focus much on my surroundings.

It was that surviving but that was the problem, wasn't it. The witch-bird's disdain was swimming around behind my eyes. Ah wanted to count that surviving like a feather in my cap, but what had a really done that was so worth the noting? Ah proved ah can box with some folks of importance, sure. But ah'd also walked away from two of these life-or-death deals without accomplishing anything more than high-risk banditry.

Ah had a arbitersdamn missile at my beck and call, but ah'd been too scared to use it until ah'd run out of options. Until Aster'd been killed and Chara had gone off in the middle of the night to finish her fight. Like a cat that knew its time was up. And ah'd let it happen. Ah didn't kill nobody, ah didn't save nobody. Just made a big old mess that amounted to nothing in the end. This time would be different. This time ah was gonna do precisely what ah came out here to do. No back door exits when the dust was settling, ah was sticking this place to the root.

Next up in line, now. Its time to start the theatrics. Ah lower my hood, which starts a nice bunch of murmurs from the crowd. The attendant at the stall waved me forwards, their sleep-deprived eyes flashing a bit more alert as they recognize me. They switch from tired functionary to carnival barker on a dime. Karl knows how to scout good talent, at the least. They know this is a good moment to build some excitement.

"Well well well! Back for another try, miss Rogue?"

"Can hardly say no to a contest with this many champions, Sugah. It's bound to be an absolute slugfest!"

"Oh indeed it will! We're all quite pleased with how the roster is shaping up for this year's competition! We already have your information on the file, but if you wouldn't mind a micro-interview?"

Ah nod, and just like that a camera rises out of the desk on a motor. It snaps a still shot while ah stare at it in minor bewilderment, then starts beeping red to show it's recording.

"Just one question, miss Rogue. You were a breakout competitor during your previous attempt, but you ended up failing to bring home the prize. What can we expect from you this time around?"

"You can expect me to stop making nice with the enemy, Sugah. Nobody should be signing up for this thing expecting a lick of mercy. We're here to fight until there's only one of us left. What you'll get from me is exactly what you should be expecting to get. And if any of my fellow combatants should happen to see this little number?"

Ah blow a kiss to the camera.

"Ah'm coming to take you down personally, Sugah. See you on the island!"

 

[Beatrix III]

“You want to what?” Stephen said in shock.

“You heard me.”

Stephen put a hand to his forehead. “Why the fuck would you want to enter Dante’s Abyss?”

Beatrix unscrewed the cap on her flask, putting it to her lips, tilting the metal container back for a long drink.

“We were part of Dante’s Abyss against the Unmaking. Me and Jaina want to do some recon.”

Stephen looked at his comrade up and down.

“Does Hakkar have anything to do with this?”

Jaina looked at Beatrix, worried. Beatrix screwed the cap back on her flask.

“Yes. The Blood God wants us to scout Karl Jak. Hakkar wants us to rule out his presence as a potential threat. If we determine that the showrunner has no intention of encroaching on Hakkar’s territory, then we don’t have to kill him.”

Stephen facepalmed. “Well, I’m not going with you on this one. I have a history with Dante’s Abyss.”

“We understand, Stephen. This is something we must do. We’ll meet you back in Beiser when it’s over.” Jaina was the one who spoke up this time.

***​

Beatrix pulled a cell phone out of her bra and clicked the side button, checking the time. It was early afternoon, and the midday sun was beating down on the merchant city of Beiser. The Mistress pulled her hood forward to block her face from the sun. Jaina could tell she was uncomfortable and tapped on her wife’s shoulder. The redhead turned to find that her wife was offering her a canteen full of water that was covered in a thin layer of frost. Beatrix took it, unscrewed the top, and had a long thirst-quenching drink. She handed the canteen back. Finally, after what seemed like hours it was their turn in line.

“Next!” The petite blonde lady sitting at her little desk said.

A visible look of anxiety washed over her face as Beatrix approached her. She seemed to relax a bit when she saw Jaina in tow. The Mistress had always had a formidable look to her. She lowered her hood and face mask as the woman before them shuffled around some paperwork.

“So, you two wish to sign up for Dante’s Abyss this year?” The woman asked, smiling.

“Correct.” Beatrix replied.

“Registration is very simple.” The clerk took a large flat tablet from underneath the table she was sitting at and placed it in front of Beatrix.

“Put your hand on the tablet there and we’ll get your biometrics registered. Your partner will need to do the same as well.”

Beatrix removed the armored glove on her right hand and placed her palm down on the cool glass of the tablet laying before her. The device swept a bright light underneath her hand before beeping.

“And now you, Miss.” She said to Jaina, who did the same thing as her wife.

“Great! Give me just a minute to set you up in- Oh! It looks like you’ve previously taken part in Dante’s Abyss. Your records are already in our system! That makes this much simpler!”

She took two silver containers from under the desk and placed them on the desk.

“These are mandatory for the competition. They won’t activate until the competition starts. I assume you’re familiar with the restraining collars.”

Beatrix sighed and nodded her head. She opened both cases and retrieved the Syntech collars. Handing one to Jaina she nodded to her wife. They both clasped them on and looked to the woman behind the desk for further instructions.

“Now you’ll need to sign this waiver. If one of you dies Syntech is not liable for damage, emotional or otherwise. You are joining Dante’s Abyss of your own free will and accept the risks involved with such a decision.” She said sliding two forms forward on the table.

Both Beatrix and Jaina took a pen from the cup on the desk and signed their names on the waivers, sliding them back.

“Great! Please follow the signs and head into the transporter tents. You’ll be taken to the Comet where you’ll enjoy the amenities of the preshow lobby.” The woman said with a smile, filing away the papers.

Beatrix raised her hood and took Jaina’s hand, leading her towards the various signs marking where they needed to go. As they both entered the transportation pod together Jaina held her breath.

 

[Orion]

The door to the Snowy Oasis swung open violently as Orion stumbled in, his body covered in scratches and blood stains, his hair matted with dirt and oily viscera. The patrons of the bar stared at the noisy entrance but swiftly returned to their business once they saw who it was. Those standing let the limping Saiyan through the crowd unimpeded, until he reached his stool at the end of the bar whereupon he crashed upon it.

“Oh, again?” Kara said, exasperation soaking her voice as she grabbed a mug and reached for the beer tap. “Can you at least clean all of that parademon blood and guts off your pants before you sit down? I just had that cleaned!”

Orion coughed, feeling his ribs ache. “Noted. I’ll have a shower next time.”

“And maybe dry clean your clothes?” the bartender said, handing him his drink as he provided the credits to pay it with. “Or on second thought, just burn them. I doubt anyone is getting that stink out of them. By the way, why is your robe the only thing on you not dripping in blood?”

“I always take it off before I fight,” he said as he sipped his drink. “A good luck charm, I suppose you could say.”

Kara scoffed. “I guess walking away from a parademon fight is lucky. Though your luck will run out if you keep picking fights with them.” She picked up a glass and polished it with a clean rag. “Say, looks like one of those death tournaments is on again.”

“Huh?” Orion turned to see the CRT television in the corner of the room. An advertisement for Dante’s Abyss. “Oh. Haven’t done that in a long time.”

“You’ve been in it?” Kara said.

“Yeah. It always ends in death but it’s great to hone combat skills. And to work out aggression.”

“You think you’ll do it this year? I hear it’s the last.”

Orion’s initial reaction was to rebuff the idea, but something about it being the final run tweaked something in him. Maybe it was a twisted sense of nostalgia, or the Saiyan desire for competition and victory left unsated, but he wanted to enter this year. Maybe if only to see the violent tournament actually finish with his own eyes. His mind was clear for the first time in a while – why not indulge in a little old fashioned ultimate combat?

The Saiyan downed the beer in one gulp. “I wasn’t planning on it. But I think I will.”

“Really?” Kara said, eyeing the other patrons in the bar. “Would you like to do it now?”

Orion glanced at her. “What?”

On cue, the walls of the dingy bar fell backwards to reveal the mercenary actually sat within a Syntech sign-up booth. Those inhabiting the ‘bar’ removed their dusty costumes to reveal Syntech brand uniforms.

“Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me,” he said.

“Sorry,” Kara said. “Syntech offered me a whole lot of credits to put on this show and dance for you, to soften you up. Apparently they wanted to make sure you joined this year.”

Orion sighed. “I don’t blame you. I blame Karl Jak. So what do I need to do?”

Kara produced a tablet from beneath the bar. “Yeah, I can fill out most of the form for you. Name – Orion. Profession – mercenary. Age…?”

“Uh… forty-something. Forty-five? I don’t keep track as much as I used to.”

“OK, forty-five will do,” Kara said, jotting it down on the screen. She aimed the built-in camera at him. “You wanna show off what you can do?”

Orion dug around in his robe and retrieved a senzu bean. Small and green, it was easily mistakable for an ordinary legume. He swallowed it and instantly felt his injuries heal and his stamina restore.

“Nah, Karl’s got plenty of footage of that,” he said, standing. “Just point me to the teleporter and let’s get this shit started.”

 

[Ben]

Ben gave a deep sigh as he headed to the registration booth. He truly had no idea what he was doing here - and while being held at gunpoint as he reached the registration booth might technically be a motivator, he knew if he truly wanted to, he could simply disarm hondou, make his escape, and try to…

Well, find a way out.

Then again, this Karl Jak was supposed to be quite powerful. He needed to return to Tatooine and return to his duties, keeping an eye on young Luke, and his own training, learning even more about the force. This might be why the force pushed him now to enter this death tournament.

Still, despite what hondou told him about the competitors reviving, or the entrants usually being psychotic killers, this still rubbed against his Jedi sensibilities. He was not meant to show his strength to take life - he was supposed to use his abilities to protect it. Would entering DA show the Jedi in a negative light to this new universe… or was he supposed to show something else on stage?

Obi-wan Kenobi took a deep breath as he stepped forward to the booth. The force only knew what it wanted from him in this moment, and he would trust that there was some method to this madness.

The stall seemed to be staffed mainly by humans, though Kenobi also noticed a Rodian, and few species he did not recognize manning the booths. As he got to the front of the line, a brown-haired teenager with a mullet that showed more bravery than sense looked up with a sarcastic smirk at the new entrant.

“Hey, looks like we got a wise old master type. You some kinda friar?”

“Old I might be. I wouldn’t call entrants to a tournament like this ‘wise’.” Kenobi responded with a slight smile.

“Oh, and sassy. Sure you’re gonna go far in the tournament. Or you’ll get ganked by three morons with a murder boner for first elimination. Suppose you’ll know before I do.” The kid responded bitterly.

Kenobi gave a smile to the young man, his stance undercutting the angry tone.

“Perhaps. And perhaps then I shall become one with the force.” Ben replied. “...but you shouldn’t be so hasty to find the same.”

The Bitter teenager gave a “tch.” as the previously confident caucasian turned his eyes away.

“Just… sign up, old man.”

Kenobi’s eyes softened, taking a deep breath as he was caught in nostalgia. So reminiscent of Anakin.

Ben signed his name, sighing as he did so, continuing to write on the form quietly. He’d hit a crack in the Teenager’s defenses, even if he hadn’t seen it, but now was the time to be patient, as he waited for the young man to speak up.

“...Ben’s a pretty plain name for an entrant.”

“And what would your name be?” Ben asked, leaning forward slightly. Opening his body up, he faced the boy honestly, leaning down a little as he moved his arms to the side of his body.

“...Jason.” The Booth worker said after a moment.

“I am here because I need to be. But I wonder why you’d take a job like this. This doesn’t seem the sort of job that brings you joy.”


Jason’s tanned cheeks darkened at the statement, a mixture of embarassment and shame
“Some of us aren’t super-humans that don’t need money to live. My father… look, it doesn’t matter.”

Obi-wan’s eyes glittered. Jason crossed his arms, he looked away, but he didn’t pull away. He was guarded.

“...Look, how about we make a deal? Tell me just a little more.”

“...Look, you’re not going to be able to make me tell some sob story on camera-” Jason responded, leaning forward aggressively, before Obi-wan put up a hand.

“I will give you - half - of my winnings, and try and secure you a more decent… place, than this, if you’ll humor me for half a moment.” Obi-wan replied.

“-My dad is very sick right now, he ended up taking a bad bump in his career and I’m supporting the family.” Jason whipped out, shock and greed fighting him as his face bore far too much surprise to turn right, leaving the Teenager bug-eyed and slack-jawed.

“-I see. Single father?”

“Yes sir. Mom… well, left a while back.” Jason replied sadly. “...Half your winnings? Really?”

“Minus whatever I lose on profit from Karl Jak’s eccentric healthcare, yes.” Kenobi replies. “If you want it.”

Jason tugged on his syntech-brand sweatshirt nervously, stuttering on nothing, before eventually asking.

“...why?”

“Because I can tell from that look in your eyes that you’re not doing so well. That your future’s in jeopardy. And that’s worth far more than any amount of coin to me.”

“You just met me!”

“And yet, you’re no less human. That should be enough for anyone, don’t you think?” Obi-wan asked, a rogueish smile on his face. “I’ve seen enough terrible endings for a lifetime. You seem the type to be responsible with that sort of coin - to find a way to make your life a good one with it.”

Jason was slightly tongue-tied for a moment, before that bitterness came back, that dragon that coiled it’s way around his heart pulled. “So you trust the fuck-up that works at the murder-arena booth with a thousand coin? You might just be stupid then.”

“I trust the Man who stood up when no one else could to provide for his family, to take on the responsibility for those he cared about. You didn’t run from your duty - you ran to it. Even if all you want is to run from life entirely.” Ben replied, and his eyes pierced the teenager’s own like ice, penetrating his core.

“...I… you said your name was… Ben, right?” Jason asked, his thoughts murky, before asking, after a second, before peeling his eyes to the form beneath him, reading the name written, before some flash of recognition flashed before him.

A sudden wave of recognizance, a flash of shock peeled across the youngster’s features, and Ben recalled something about Hondou noting people… recognized them, from time to time. As though their stories had been frequently recorded.

Given how pale Jason turned, he could only hope that the remembrance Jason had was in a good light.

“I didn’t think- I didn’t notice- you didn’t have your-”

“Just Ben is fine, Jason. I’m the same person who’s been talking to you this whole time. Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I think an interview is necessary.” He replied, giving a smile, before turning to a shocked camera crew behind him. He walked with them, heading towards the teleporter as fast as he could - he was not meant to be a public figure, nor alive, nor did he ever truly get used to reporters crowding around him.

A reporter unsuccessfully kept attempting to put himself between the teleporter and him, a large man with a burly mustache who had a smile of plastic and a perfectly synthetic head of glossy raven hair.

“W-well… we ended up filming after… things got interesting, so I suppose we have your name. But… can you show us some of what you can do in the Abyss? What you’re capable of? Something other contestants might not be able to match.” the reporter asked,

Ben gave a chuckle as they left earshot of the booth and he managed to zigzag past the feet of the reporter.

“Why, if you were filming me that entire time, I believe I just did.” Kenobi replied.

Compassion was, perhaps, the worst weapon to bring into such a bloody tournament, a weapon that did not befit a barbaric rampage. But compassion was his cornerstone, his truest weapon. It was the Jedi way, and Kenobi did not bend from it even for a blood-bath like this Dante’s Abyss.

 

[The Future Warrior]

"Hey, hey, hey. What's that?"

It was what felt like the fiftieth time she had asked that exact question. But rather than pointing at some other inane or commonplace thing, this time it was at a rather spectacularly-sized crowd of people gathered around several large, ostentatiously purple tents and other assorted structure-type things.

"Oh, that time of year already, is it? For that confounded ol' Dante's Abyss business." Pappy bonbon blew a disgruntled breath out through his bushy mustache. "Ain't never seen nothin' quite like it."

"Except for that other event the clown in red likes ta put on the other half o' the year," Jerry drawled out. "Both basically the same type o' cookin', just with a different chef in charge."

"S'pose you's right about that one, boy." Pappy grumbled. "Can't much stand either one of 'em. All that blood 'n violence just fer the show of it. Only good thing about it all is that Karl Jak fella's usin' all his showbiz money to do good."

Graowr had long since stopped walking along with them, and stood stock-still midway through a step, staring with a blank, glassy-eyed expression at the gathering before her. Distantly, dimly, somewhere within her brain, a Memory was stirring, kicking and screaming, as it tried to fight its way to the forefront. Something about it all was familiar, and it reminded her of....

"Oh! Dante's Abyss?!" she suddenly blurted out, her eyes suddenly snapping open wide and returning to full alertness. "I've been in that before!"

This caused the two accompanying her to pause momentarily, sharing a brief, confused glance with each other.

"Pretty sure you ain't, darlin'," Jerry finally spoke up. "Paw don't much like 'em, but I always make sure to tune in and catch what I can of every one of 'em. I saw somebody what kinda looked like you, once....but I'm pretty sure you ain't turned up in any of 'em."

"Oh, well, that's 'cause it was in the old place!" the little majin said cheerfully, with a sage-like nod. Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked upward with something between a smile and a disgruntled look of indigestion. "Yeah, I remember now. I entered that Dante's Abyss thing without really reading all the tiny words and the complicated parts...didn't really know what I was getting into. I thought it was gonna be more like the world martial arts tournament. But somehow I still won!"

"....I think a bunch of people helped out, though. Sacrificed themselves so I could get away from a bunch of bad guys?" Several of her hair tentacles twitched, one of them curling around the side of her head and morphing into a tiny approximation of a hand to scratch the side of her head. "I can't really remember...it was all one big mess. Then the whole world, like, exploded and fell apart at the seams or something. I dunno how I survived!"

Jerry leaned in toward pappy bonbon, lifting a hand up to his mouth. "Maybe we ought to have left her back at the house, so she coulda got some more rest, paw...I think she really knocked her head somethin' awful."

"Yeah...I think you might be right on that one, boy..." pappy murmured, with a weary sigh. "Best do somethin' to distract her before she gets some fool idea or other."

"....too late for that one, paw."

"Eh?" the old candy arched one eyebrow, squinting through the afternoon sun to see the quickly diminishing form of their little blue guest as she sprinted off toward the distant crowds. "Aw, streusel..."

Waiting in line was agony for the pint-sized blueberry brawler, and she spent most of it anxiously hopping from in place, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and absently chattering on with anyone who spared her the time of day. Almost all of them thought she was completely crazy, and not a one believed her story about not only participating before, but being a champion of a prior event.

It wasn't her fault that they didn't bother to check the old records!

Eventually, though, she made her way through the lines and crowds up to the front, where she go her chance to sign up.

One of the staff met her semi-vibrating gaze and forced a nervous smile. "Here to sign up just for going to the convention, or for the actual—"

"For the actual thing, yuh-huh!" came her immediate reply, cutting off the expected question. "It's been a long time since I was in one of these, but I know what I'm in for, this time!"

"Riiiight...." The poor employee forced down the myriad questions, resigning herself to just not bothering. "So you've been in Dante's Abyss before?" She briefly looked the majin up and down, pursing her lips. Didn't look familiar, but then again, they had so many people in these things over the years, it was hard to keep up sometimes. This one must not have done very well, at that. Oh well. "Well, we're not one to turn away repeat contestants." She picked up a tablet from nearby, fiddling with some settings or other on it, then turned it around to present to the exuberant majin. "If you'd just put your hand here..."

Graowr slapped her hand down on the tablet with a resounding smack, and a moment later a glimmering line of light slowly swept along it from the tablet's surface. Then the employee slowly tugged it back, turning it around to work at it again. Several seconds later, there was a soft blip and her eyes widened in surprise. There it was, plain as day. Champion of Dante's Abyss...17? Must've been before her time with Syntech, because 17 didn't ring a bell at all. "Well....looks like we still have your basic information on file, miss..." She squinted slightly. "...Graw?"

"That's what they called me last time, yep!" the majin said chipperly.

"Well...we've got your records updated to match everything now. Looks like quite a bit has changed for you since last time you were with us, though. Care to give a demonstration for the cameras of what you can do, before headed off to the preshow facilities?"

"Sure!" The majin smiled brightly and took a step back. Her eyes narrowed in focus, as she clenched both hands into fists...and a surge of light flared up around her, bright blue and raging like flame as she jolted several feet into the air. She raised one arm up over her head, as crackling sparks of vibrant pink light arced up around her, from her legs up to her raised palm. Only a second later, a massive beam of roaring pink energy shot out of her hand into the sky, an immense pillar of crackling light as it shot into the heavens, piercing and splitting clouds and slowly flickering out of sight after several seconds.

The light show had drawn quite the number of stares, and as she settled back down the ground and her aura sputtered out to nothing again, it was met with a rousing chorus of whispers and chatter and applause. "And that's just one thing! I can do a whole bunch more!"

"Well, that's certainly impressive." The employee tapped a few more buttons on the tablet. "...and you're all officially signed up and registered. Head on over there and follow the signs to the teleporters, and you can be on your way."

"Okay. Thanks!" And with a wave, Graowr was off like a shot, eager to be back in territory she at least sort of knew.

 

[Arthur Morgan]

Ronny Syntech lightly drummed the end of a ballpoint pen against his desk, the mindless, repetitive click-click-clacking an obnoxious counterpoint to Dr. William Birkin's seething temper.

His office, if it could even be referred to as such with a straight face, was a claustrophobic, windowless slip of a cubicle. Crammed inexplicably between the utility closet and the Syntech legal department’s break room, it was positively overflowing with documents arranged like so many layers of sediment, each one a geological marker of a past legal headache or triumph.

A lone green-glass banker’s lamp stooped over his desk, casting Ronny's jittering shadow across the briefs and dossiers scattered across its lacquered surface, a faint breeze stirring through the room as the fan in the corner droned in cyclic half-circles. Out in the corridor, the vending machines only added to the low, constant hum—sawing at the tentative thread of Ronny’s concentration on particularly busy workdays.

Right now, it was sawing at Birkin’s patience.

The gifted virologist stood rigid, the pale, rumpled length of his lab coat fluttering slightly as he sucked in air through clenched teeth, shoulders hitching with every breath. His fingers twitched, itching to reach for… something, anything. A scalpel, a syringe, something sharp and stabby. Tools of a trade that had never betrayed him. Never so egregiously as this!

"The virus is property of Syntech now, Bill," Ronny said, his voice calm and measured, even a little apologetic. "It's out of your hands and mine, now.”

Out of his hands? The Golgotha virus was Birkin's magnum opus! HIS! A viral creation fine-tuned to be the ultimate bioweapon, defying death itself. Even Birkin's socially stunted heart swelled with pride whenever he looked upon it, even more so than when Sherry was born.

To have it snatched away by… by legalese felt like ripping out his very entrails through his throat!

"It’s not a kitchen gadget! You can’t just patent Golgotha," Birkin spat, though his voice wavered, the ordinarily level-headed, logical scientist caught in the crosshairs of his own disbelief and fury. He slammed his palms down onto whatever space wasn't covered in papers or coffee mugs on Ronny's desk, the brown fringes of his hair falling forward, casting a shadow over his face. “I created it!”

"That you did, pal," Ronny conceded with a nod, smiling, seeming a little sheepish. "But, you did it with Syntech’s resources, Mr. Jak’s money. Unfortunately, that makes it ours."

Birkin spluttered, incredulous.

"And what’s next? You’ll—clone me after I leave?" Birkin's eyes darted around the room as if searching for something to break, before abruptly flitting back to Ronny’s face. A scowl broke across his features, a sneer tugging at his upper lip. “Always the cloning.”

The humming of the vending machines outside seemed to grow louder, roaring in his ears.

Wincing, Ronny leaned back in his chair, putting just a smidge more space between them. Trying to distance himself from the issue, because while Birkin was generally a reasonable kinda guy, when he got himself all worked up into a tizzy, it usually meant mountains of emails ranging from passive-aggressive to downright scathing would pile up in one’s inbox.

Ron had heard tales.

"It's just business, Bill,” he insisted, shrugging. “You know how these things go. And hey, it won’t be all bad, will it? Your invention will help fight the Unmaking, that’s good stuff. And your name will be in very small print at the bottom of every—”

Business. It always boiled down to business with these suits. And despite Ronny's easygoing attitude, his hands betrayed him with a slight tremor as he nervously tugged at the lapels of his suit, studiously avoiding Birkin’s glare.

Birkin gnashed his teeth together. Barked out a hollow, miserable laugh that fell utterly flat, echoing wretchedly in the cramped office space.

"So that’s it, huh?" he hissed, a manic edge creeping into his tone. “You think this is over?”

Ruh-roh, thought Ronny. He straightened his purple tie—a nervous tic of his—and glanced up, meeting Birkin’s glowering stare head-on.

"Doctor Birkin," he began with rehearsed patience, fighting the urge to let his hand stray too obviously to the blinking red panic button under his desk. "Let’s not say anything we might regret, buddy. I think it would be a good idea for you to remember where your paycheck comes from.”

The false mirth was gone from Birkin’s face as quickly as it had appeared. In its place emerged an icy, calm focus that appeared to settle over the scientist like a shroud, dampening his rage.

Leaning forward, he glowered at Ronny with a level of menace that seemed nearly comical, considering his unkempt hair and wrinkled red tie. He lost his nerve about halfway through, blue eyes skittering to the side to squint angrily at the desk lamp, instead, his pale, wan features contorted like a blustery Ahab attempting to spite the sun.

"You'll regret this," he muttered, a bit lamely. Then, he spun on his heel and stalked out of the office, his lab coat flapping once behind him as he made his dramatic exit.

It was a rather futile attempt, as Birkin was not the most intimidating of men. But at least he tried.

In his absence, Ronny exhaled a gusty sigh, aimlessly shuffling a stack of papers on his desk. That had gone way better than expected.

An hour or so passed, mired in waivers, sorting files, and answering the occasional phone call.

Imagine his surprise when Birkin’s lanky form swept back inside his office like a nerdy storm cloud, clutching a worn manila folder in his white-knuckled, sweaty grip. He immediately began to make a circuit of the room, grumbling and hissing under his breath, though Ronny couldn’t quite make out the words.

The seasoned Syntech lawyer watched the scientist pace back and forth and wondered, fleetingly, if this was what zookeepers felt like. He knew well enough to stay silent until Birkin had burned through some of his ire, but eventually, his curiosity won out.

“What’s in the file, Bill?” Please don’t be laced with Ebola.

Birkin grit his teeth, seeming physically painted. “I’m signing up.”

“…" Ronny stared at him. “Signing up…?”

With a flourish and a bit more force than strictly necessary, Birkin slapped the file down on Ron’s desk.

“Dante’s Abyss,” he stated, with an air that seemed torn between boastful and completely, utterly out of his goddamn gourd with stress. He jabbed at it with his index finger, adding yet another crinkle to the thin manila folder. “My record from when I was hired is in that file. I made some… adjustments, of course.”

Ronny blinked down at the folder on his desk. Then, with the hesitance of a man grabbing for a cold cut sandwich under the stare of a hungry tiger, he reached out and flicked it open.

It was like, maybe two sheets of paper, fluffed up with an unreasonable amount of yellow sticky notes. Fumbling, Ronny’s eyes skimmed the first sheet… idly flipped to the next.

He made a face and flicked back to the first sheet, tilting his head at the… large, glittery sticker in the shape of a purple pony haphazardly covering a considerable portion of the black and white print. “Wait. Why is there—”

“My daughter.”

“Ooh, right,” said Ronny, raising an eyebrow as he stared down at the page. He’d known Birkin was married, of course. Lot of things tied up in marriage. Legal things. Plus, word traveled fast between Syntech’s vast ecosystem of water cooler oases.

The existence of a mini Birkin, however, was a terrifying surprise… but mostly irrelevant, at the moment.

Ronny nodded, his greased-black hair gleaming under the light as he looked up. “Yeah, okay. I’ll get… this… sorted for you, pal.”

Birkin forced a smile that seemed more like a baring of teeth.

“Thanks, pal,” he drawled sarcastically, squaring his shoulders as he turned to leave the office—but paused right at the threshold, glancing back. “I’ll be back in a few days to settle this… patent business. And to renegotiate the terms of my employment.”

“Same time…?” asked Ronny, sinking back in his chair.

The scientist hesitated, his eyes flitting to the clock on the wall. He jerked his head in a nod. “Sure. Same time.”

And with that, he left, leaving Ronny alone with his thoughts and a dwindling mugful of lukewarm coffee.

Oh, buddy, thought Ronny, pressing a hand over his eyes.

 

[Sigmund Vrell]

Incense hung thick and heavy in the air, accompanied by the gentle chiming of bells as the flying ship hit a pocket of turbulence. Lit only by the gentle light of a dozen candles, a lone man stood, chanting mantras to himself as he tightened a pair of hand wraps.

“Close your eyes. Picture your enemy.” he chanted, tightening another loop of the bandages around his scarred hands. The sprawling saga of battles past ran up his arms and across his chest, culminating in a single massive scar cutting from hip to shoulder.

“In your mind, it is more perfect than reality. Crush it in your mind.” Another loop, almost done. Everything needed to be perfect. No one could win Dante’s Abyss with half measures. Not even him.

“The perfect thing is dead. Open your eyes.” With one last tug, he pulled the wraps tight. It was time.

~~~~~~~~~​

It was an absolutely miserable day in their little corner of Opealon, but the booth attendants did their duties nonetheless. Bryan tried fruitlessly to light a cigarette, sheltering it from the rain as best as he could to no avail. A handful of curious Opealans milled around, peaking curiously at the potential competition from beneath their raincoats and umbrellas. The booth attendant was tempted to tell them to leave if they weren’t going to sign up, but he bit his tongue and tried to go to his customer service happy place.

Giving one more click of his lighter, Bryan’s eyes were reflexively drawn aside by a crazy of lightning splitting the sky. The attendant froze, dropping his lighter and cigarette alike as the massive shadow of a galleon was revealed in the illumination of the lighting. This would have been an intimidating enough sight had he been on Opealon’s surface, but he wasn’t.

His booth was on one of the world’s airborne islands.

The great, timber beast slowly speared through the cloud cover, emerging from the storm. Its black hull made the full extent of its mass hard to discern against the gloomy backdrop, but it was clear to see it was massive whatever the case. A deep drumming and muffled chanting reverberated from with as the ship drew ashore, beaching itself silently on the floating island.

Bryan gazed up, mystified at the sight, watching the ship sit inert for a few long, tense moments. Then, abruptly, numerous blue-cloaked figures of all shapes and sizes emerged from within, rappelling down the rigging and forming two single-file lines before the boat.

“HELLOOO CITIZENS OF OPEALON!” another figure cried, planting his boot on the bow of the ship. The booth attendant briefly glanced up, wondering if he had a megaphone, but no. He was just that loud. “ARE YOU READY TO MEET YOUR CHAMPION?!”

Below the ship, the assembled figures began to stomp their feet in a quiet rhythm, keeping a perfect pace with one another.

“VOYAGER OF WORLDS, MASTER OF EVERY WEAPON, SLAYER OF FALSE GODS!”

Aboard the ship, yet another figure emerged before leaping from the bow. The man was tall and muscular, wearing baggy pants and an old robe. He had a large, bushy beard while his hair was pulled back in a massive ponytail. Perhaps most notable of all, his belt proudly displayed a large bucket emblazoned with a golden lion. The man hit the ground hard, but seemed unphased, rising to his feet without skipping a beat and raising a single wrapped fist into the air.

“HE SURVIVED THE GAMES OF THE SMILING GOD, HE CARRIED THE BANNER OF THE KING IN GOLD ACROSS COUNTLESS WORLDS!”

As he casually walked down the procession, fist raised, the assembly began to chant something, initially quiet but quickly growing in volume.

“WHO IS THE MIGHTIEST WARRIOR THE MULTIVERSE HAS EVER KNOWN? WHO IS THE ONE BEST SUITED TO TAKE ON THE ABYSS” the stranger’s hype man screamed at the top of his lungs. “GREET YOUR NEW CHAMPION! SCREAM HIS NAME!”

“ERIK!” the crowd of cultists roared, stomping feet and slamming weapons into the ground in a servant chorus. “ERIK!”

The man approached Bryan, looming over him. At this distance, the attendant could see the countless scars dotting his body through his open-chested robe, though he doubted he could count them all.

“I believe that should be a sufficient introduction.” the man rumbled.

“Well, we still need your details…”

“They should be in the system already.”

“I don’t thin-”

“They’re here.” his partner called from the desk, a mousy woman tapping away at a computer. “We have an Erik on file. The photo is pretty old, but the data seems to match up.”

Bryan speed-walked over to the computer, glancing from the file to the stranger. Sure enough, there was a photo that seemed to be him, barring the roughly three decade difference.

“Huh… well, welcome to the Abyss, mister Vrell.”

 

[Arc Lalatoya]

It's been some time since Arc landed in this big blue marble full of fantasy floating islands, and yet Arc found himself beside himself without a lot to do. He'd done well enough for himself so far as a mercenary knight, but undeniably he used magic and Ponta's wind magic didn't help either. The skylanders on the land are really proud of their technological prowess and are not all that friendly to outsiders, especially when it turned out that nothing about Arc's own power was technological despite being sourced from a video game.

However, Arc may well have found something to do as he found himself standing in a crowd of makeshift street food, dazzling advertisements and hastily established encampments.

--------

"Oh Ponta, look at that! Some kind of salted nut!" "Kyuu!" Arc, already hands full with skewers of exotic meats, now balanced a paper sack of some kind of nut on the back of his gauntlet. Every few moments, one would float out of the sack of its own volition to be quickly devoured by Ponta, the small wind fox atop Arc's helmet.

He sought out some privacy next to some large steel cargo containers. Despite this new world being incredibly variable and acceptable as far as alien shapes and such, he did not want to deal with questions about being undead when he didn't have to. Somehow he managed to remove his helmet and started to enjoy the delicious street food, sharing the mouth-watering meats with his furry friend.

Arc sighed in satisfaction, "Ah that was quite good, it reminds me of the many festivals back home." "Kyuu Kyuu!" Back on his feet and walking toward what appeared to be the main event, Arc absented ran his fingers across Ponta's chin.

"So Ponta, from what we've learned is that this thing is some kind of stage for a popular death game TV show." "Kyuu?" "It does sound strange doesn't it? Like some typical anime you might see once or twice a year. But apparently participants in this in particular don't actually die, as there have been repeat guests in the years it's been going on." "Kyuu" "Since they offer some kind of rewards, it does not sound like a bad thing to participate in."

As the pair approached the booths that acted as sign-ups for the event, they witnessed some guy make a whole show complete with entourage. 'Ohhh he must be some hot-shot celebrity to bring all that show with him, they seem to put in a lot of effort into the production. Neat.'

Arc just waited calmly in a different line, taking in the sights of all the different people and technology around him. He filled in the paperwork as well, Arc wouldn't be in their file after all. "Please show a demonstration of what you bring to the table, Mr. Lalatoya." "Arc is fine, please."

Arc stood in a spot with sufficient clearing and target dummies and pulled out his sword that was sheathed on his back. He stood tall in his resplendent white armor with golden trim, pitch black cape suddenly fluttering in the wind as if by magic, as it was with Ponta's wind magic who was now clinging to his back. He shouted out confidently so the crowd could hear "My name is Arc! I am a Mage Knight! Fire! Wind Cutter! Fire! Wind Cutter!''

Arc held out one hand, throwing out several fireballs and wind cutters into the dummies. Each bore into a single dummy, but only left minor damage. Following up, he swung his sword suddenly lit with white energy which let loose a much stronger blast of energy than the magic. "Wyvern Slash!" This blast of sword light left a clear diagonal slash across the dummy, barely still standing.

As the dust settled, Arc brandished the sword again. "That's not all! Dimension Move!" Arc disappeared, and a moment later appeared behind the battered target to slice it in two with his sword. Then, without bothering to chant the spell's name again, he teleported back to where he was. Then he leveled out the sword, brought it up in front of him, and stabbed up in the air. "I will bring honor and glory to the Abyss!" Ponta stuck her head out of the collar of Arc's cloak as well. "Kyuu Kyuu!"

Sheathing his sword to a smattering of light applause, he stepped back to the receptionist handling his paperwork. He didn't seem impressed or phased by Arc's demonstration, but the crowd seemed to enjoy it well enough at least. "Very good, Mr. Lalatoya. this way." “Very well.”

 

[John Connor]

Democles let go of the unwitting DA worker.

Vatallion smiled innocently “Excuse my friend, he’s a little worked up over nothing right now.”

The man growled “As long as I can still breathe afterwards.”

Vatallion eyed Democles with a frown “You should go, after all it’s your fight after all. I’ll be around cheering you on.”

The Man said “No, you cannot go with Marius on the field, sir. You’ll have to wait bef-

Vatallion muttered in Latin "I'll have you know, I'm a decorated Centurion of the Roman Empire!"

The man frowned “Welcome to the 21st century! You aren’t out there on the Roman battlefields anymore..”

The DA worker in his stout jacket slipped off his gloves, bored as heck as he yelled “That way, sir!”

“NEXT!”

Vatallion mutters and sighed “At least it’s not Commander Commodus yelling at us clear across the hall as he found himself wincing a bit after that moment him and Marius shared.

 

[Elise]

It was a raining, dreary evening in the Central Arcadia Spaceport. Sleek, thaumechanical sloops cruised in traffic patterns past the water-streaked window alongside bulky, interworld freighters. There, in the warm, ergonomical lighting of the terminal cantina sat a pair of arguing wizards.

“We need the cash, Izzy. The whole Hammuzi was a complete debacle, and I personally lost money on it.”

“But Elise-”

“And you're still in the doghouse with your bougie parents, so it's not like we can ask them to bankroll us.*

“Elise, please-”

Elise grabbed Izaneus by the shoulder and looked him in the eye with all of the solemn earnesty she could muster. It wasn't a lot, but the elf man recognized it nonetheless.

Izaneus sighed, long and quiet, as his eyes closed in quiet contemplation.

“Nothing good comes out of that competition, Elise. You might win some cash, sure…you might even survive. But it's never worth the blood you put into it.”

Elise twisted her mouth into a sympathetic smirk.

“This is about your girlfriend, huh?”

“She wasn't my-!” Izaneus snapped with a fresh blush. This was one of Elise's favorite things to tease him about, and it never failed.

“...but yes. This is about her. And you. I don't want to see you getting…mangled in high definition. I just…” he trailed off, shrugging his hands in resignation. Elise nodded again, fiery eyes glinting up from under her hood. She pulled him into a gentle, cold hug and resisted the temptation to sink her fangs into his juicy little neck.

“You're sweet.” Elise smiled at him, pulling back with a warm smile on her face. Izaneus offered a faintly surprised smile back.

“...and pathetic.”

His smile dimmed considerably. The vampire pushed her friend on his shoulder and did her best to sound…encouraging? Determined? Reassuring?

“I'll be okay. Short of a stake through the heart, getting smoked is just…inconvenient. You? Go get that boy back. Do your work. I'll do mine.” Elise chuckled. A slithering arm emerged from her hood, and twisted into a thumbs-up.

“Greenstripes will go with you and Euphemia.” she continued as the slimy, heavy wad of mollusk flopped out of her cloak and wobbled towards the younger wizard. Izaneus gave a wan smile to the familiar, and glanced back up at his friend.

“...feels strange, going back without you.” he muttered. Elise winced and shook an abjuring hand at this gushy sentimentality.

“Don't get codependent on me dude.”

So.

One thing lead to another, fares were paid and farewells were invoked. Now, Elise found herself standing before the Syntech enrollment booth in the pouring rain, doing her best not to smell the sweat wafting off of the gaggle of Academy coeds giggling in line in front of her. Oh they were well bathed…perfumed…manicured. But she could still smell the meat, beneath it all. The running, pumping heat of their crimson…

Elise sucked in a breath.

Hoo boy. She should have eaten before she was forced to stand in line for an hour.

At length, the cluster of fillies disappeared in a gravitic flash, through the audience gate, to the far distant reaches of Dante's Comet. Elise snrked. Hell of a spring break destination. She stepped forward, clomping in her platform boots, and stared hungrily down at the Syntech clerk tapping at a console. When the young, blonde stringbean of a man looked up, he jumped slightly.

“Great Kai! Jeez. Okay. Sorry, welcome! This is the sign up kiosk for Dante's Abyss, the Premier-”

“I've heard it before. Gimme the clipboard.” Elise said, snapping her fingers at the clerk. She began scratching down rapid notes and filling relevant fields, stealing the occasional glance down at the geek who was, uh, staring at her?

“...you got a problem?” she grumbled, slapping down the paperwork and shoving it towards him. He swallowed a big lump of hesitancy, and shook his head.

“Nothing, no! Uh. I just uh…I thought you had a great run your last time around and-” the clerk warbled. His words gradually lost their momentum as her red, glaring eyes burned into him.

“I'm here for the cash, boy. Now heat up the camera and beam me up.” Elise hissed. He was a bit skinny but he probably wouldn't taste too bad oh my GOD girl get a grip.

“Well…uh…”

The boy squinted at his computer as he tapped in the information, and adopted a look of confusion.

“...hurry up though?” Elise spat.

“Sorry! Sorry. Uh. It…uh the system says that you should proceed straight through. No interview at this time.” he stuttered, trying to offer a winning smile. Elise squinted at him, and flicked her eyes towards the much more…serious looking Contestant warp-pad.

“At this time?” she repeated.

“That's…what it says. Hey!” he squeaked as Elise grabbed the computer monitor. She twisted it around to face her and stated at the data entry program.

Sure enough, there was a little purple pop-up window that read:

CONTESTANT THROUGHPUT PRE-AUTHORIZED. BROADCAST CLIP TO BE RECORDED ON-SITE.

Elise squinted hard at the readout, and glanced down at the wincing youth, who shrugged up at her helplessly.

“Is this like…a veteran perk? No song and dance since I been here before?”

“I dunno! Uh!” Stringbean flinched. Elise stared at him hard for a moment before rolling her eyes and slapping the computer screen shut…which was a problem because it was a desktop monitor.

The goth vampire whisked herself over to the teleporter pad, adjusted her fishnet gloves and pointed a black-clawed finger at the grumbling shlep.

“Punch it.”

 

[Lilith]

Riiiiiiiiiing

“Miss...”

Riiiiing

“Miss Li...”

Riii...

Noooo, make it stoooop. Go back to the other noise.

“Miss Lilith? Are you able to compete this y—”

The absolutely sloshed woman bolted up like a crotchety cat startled awake by a bucket of ice water. An alcoholic cocktail of glass bottles went toppling over the bar counter, shattering against the floor and spilling what remained of their contents in a cascading domino effect.

“Eaaaaauuuuugghhh...” Lilith blinked her sullen, restless eyes and reoriented herself in the spinning world around her. “I was having a really good nap until yoouuuu showed up.” She jabbed an accusatory finger at the fox-eared lady seated next to her.

Darcy, a kitsune Syntech employee, continued on unperturbed by the woman's drunken behavior. “Right. As I was saying, are you going to enter into the final competition?”

Lilith lazily twisted to her right. “Guh? What are ya talking about?”

Darcy raised a hand to her temples. “Dante’s Abyss, remember? Before you blacked out? It's the last one, featuring grand champions from all across the—”

“Ugh, this again?” Lilith finished off a whiskey bottle before tossing it into the neon ether of the Afloraltite bar, probably inches from someone's head. “That stuff’s a waste of time! I mean, can't you see I'm busy?”

This was not at all what Darcy signed up for. “Yes, I understand, but have you considered that you won't have another chance to show off your ‘special talents’?”

“Hah... Hahah, HAHAHAH, AS IF!” Lilith nearly split the counter in half with the force of her slam. “You know– You know what?” She hooked an arm around the fox lady and reined her in, smushing her face and ignoring her wiggling protest. “I'm glad this is the last DA. Good fuckin' riddance!”

Darcy admitted defeat to the vice grip hug. She didn't expect ‘unpaid therapist’ to be part of her job duties.

And yet Lilith rambled on despite everything. “Why do people care so much about it anyways? You get all the important people liiiiiining up, and it's like, most of ‘em don't even matter after it's done! Ugh, the nerve...”

“Isn't that a good reason to join?” Darcy offered, muffled by the giantess's scarcely concealed proportions.

“Why would...? Hold on, I think you might be onto something... If this is gonna be the last one... Of course!” Lilith pumped her fist in premature triumph. “Yeah, I'll give everyone a send-off alright, neehee... Ohhhhoh, it'll be so humiliating!” Releasing the kitsune from her clutches, she swung out of her chair with the deftness of a fish on land, bare feet crinkling on the floor hazard she created. She stumbled in a direction, wobbled as she tried to stop herself, then angled her top half backwards. “Hey where am I supposed to go?”

“Over the—”

Darcy had only given the vaguest gesture towards the registration booth before Lilith was already off to the other side of the bar. She barged through tables and scrambling pirate grunts in her alcohol-induced warpath like a blindfolded and incredibly intoxicated bull in a sci-fi china shop. Her erratic, unbalanced waltz carried her a surprising distance, but it soon came to a close, as she shared the fate of a tall oak being chopped down.

FWUMP

Sighing and rolling her shoulders, Darcy set to work dragging the heavily muscled woman the rest of the way to the teleporter. She considered asking for help, but the crew were more likely too spineless to risk touching the head enforcer. Damn, she really should've asked for a raise last season.

“Hrrngg– c'mon– gaahhhh.” With an exasperated heave, Darcy shoved the comatose contestant into position, and skipping the fanfare, she jammed the button to send Lilith to the Comet. Thankful to have that over and done, she caught her breath and turned around to see the mess left behind.

Well, at least she didn't have to clean it up.

 

[Elise]

A bright, green flash issued from behind young Carter Whiles, who had been diligently doing spectator intake for the past two hours on Erde Nona. He flinched, reflexively, before slowly spinning in his purple office chair to see what the commotion was.

There, softly steaming at the threshold of the contestant warp-pad, stood a figure that was altogether familiar and alien. It was dressed in the same punk-vamp attire as that Elise girl from earlier…but it's entire vibe had somehow even more atrocious. Burning green eyes observed him quietly, glinting on the surface of beetle-glass skin.

“O-oh man.” Carter choked before being bodily hoisted out of his seat by an unseen force. It was all he could do to sputter as his feet dragged feebly across the laminate floor towards the figure.

Hello, thrall. I am here…to complete my intake.

“O-oh. Sure. Let me just confirm with the intake software-hrk!”

I do not make requests. A…clip…is required for my formal registration. You will perform this function.

“Sure!” Carter repeated frantically, “Yeah sure, let me get the camera going…can you let me down?”

Nealaphh released Mr. Whiles and stepped softly over to the filming set while the human tapped haltingly at his terminal.

“Let's see…Elise right? We-”

Elise was redundant, and was summarily sequestered. You will address me as Nealaphh.

“Nuh…Nayyyy…uh…how do you spell-”

Carter shrieked as the relevant phonetic information was forcibly projected deep into his gray matter. Thankfully, the animal made no further noises aside from terrorized gasping as he completed the recording setup.

He nodded at the Godmind, who stared blankly at the camera aperture filming him.

Your machine cannot hear my words. I will use yours.

Carter Whiles abruptly jerked forwards like a poorly strung marionette and brought his mouth right next the camera's microphone, where he began to speak on behalf of Nealaphh's mental commands in a hissing, caustic whisper.

“Dante's Abyss…the final season. Fitting, for the Enigma of Entropy to be featured here, at the end of an Era. Like every other world and universe I have closed, I will bring Karl's legacy to a cold and final end.”

As Nealaphh spoke through Carter, the picture focusing on the cloaked Enigma began to distort and shudder as it began to delicately rip every spare chair and piece of hardware to piece with Telekinetic violence.

“Season Nineteen is now a competition for second best. But do not despair. Only a few of you are worthy of my worst torments.”

Even as Carter whispered this threat, various screams of terror and panic began to filter in from the street. Whatever Nealaphh was doing to the people out there, it was gruesome enough to form a chorus of woe to accompany this grandstanding.

As a final note of punctuation, the Shadow sent a burst of force outwards, blowing out the draped walls and scaffolding of the tent. The camera got a brief shot of Nealaphh turning its back to re-enter the preshow teleporter before the signal cut out.

 

[Izaneus Phortea]

The registrations, although somewhat... numerous in contestants. Were nonetheless relatively silent save for the conversations held at the front of the line... and the middle, where a very specific type of creature conversed with the entrees in front of him. "So den meesa caused one.. twoey lettle bitty axidentes. You'd say... boom da Gossar.. den crashes da bosses hayblibber, den. ba-"

Before he could say more, in his high pitched tone, and... strange manner of speaking. The creature felt a hand on his shoulder, where he turned around to face the tired visage of a rather built-man. With red eyes and gray patches around his stubble. In his eyes there was an exhaustion the creature hadn't seen before. So for why?

"Friend, you've been speaking for an hour.. please. Shut up."

" But my've not e'ben got startded yet! Op-"

The creature's voice was cut off by his eyes fallen to the cleared, although somewhat dusty syntech grounds. Where there lay a coin shently glowing in the sun's golden rays. Reaching down, he felt something crash into his side, as well as two grunts of shock and pain both. When he stood once more, the creature scanned his almost slug-like eyes around the area to see what had caused the commotion. Only to see the fellow who'd talked to him before, and some other unfortunate standing back up. With the previous man looking confused as he stood, before beginning to walk towards the creature. Only to recieve a fist to the face himself.

The scuffle continued for a minute, before the creature noticed a vacancy in the line in front of him. He wasn't going to pass up a chance to wait less!

Stepping forward, the creature once more turned to the small fistfight to his right, shaking his head in disbelief. How were two people going to fight already there was going to be plenty of fighting on the road of head. How rude.

Craning his head towards the participant in front of him, the creature silenly remarked how friendly they looked as they turned to him. So of course he had to give just as friendly a smile back! He felt his mouth curl upwards, revealing his stunning teeth, which the person in front of him responded to with a grimace, flicking their eyes briefly to their left, towards the ground, and back towards the creature. Before stepping aside, and muttering 'a-after you.'

How nice! He knew there were good people here. There were everywhere. You just had to look.

However, it seemed friendliness wasn't in short supply, as upon seeing him, and the commotion he caused. The other entrance simply let the creature pass. All the way to the registration form! If that wasn't good people, he didn't know what was.

"Name?" Called the young woman at the front desk, a cool expression on her face. The creature watched as the woman turned to him, her expression scrunching into.. some form of disgust. Had someone let out a stinker?

"Meesa called Jar-Jar Binks! Meesa here to apply for da 'byss!"

The young woman raised an eyebrow in concern, before shifting to the side to see the now large-scale fistfight that broke out. Before shifting her eyes back to its creator. Who looked at her with a concerned smile.

"Eberything okey-dey?"

A short moment of silence later as the woman began scribbling something down, before raising her hand, and pointing towards the teleporter behind her, she spoke. "Yeah, this'll be something, head over here please?"

Nodding, Jar-Jar did as he was requested, standing where she specified on a large, glowing circle-ish thing. Before turning back to her. "Have fun, welcome to the abyss, try not to get shanked on your first day."

"Yousa said wha-" and before he could finish, Jar-Jar was on his way towards Dante's Abyss.

 

[Nico Cinder]

tap-tap-tap went the stylus against Nico's temple.

"Sign my life away? I dunnooooo...." He leered up at the Syntech attendant with narrow eyes and a wide suspicion. "Sounds dangerous. And familiar, for some reason."

"Mr. Cinder, please, it's almost been thirty minutes. If you don't want to sign-"

"Hey hey hey now, hold on a minute. Who said anything about not signing?" he muttered, "I'm just tryna make sure I remember how all this works, and that all y'alls information on me is y'know... up to date," He squinted at the datapad with a healthy degree of judgement, and then squinted back up at the Syntechie. "Have I really been blown up that many times? Jeez, ya think you know a guy."

The scribble of plastic on glass, and a twitch in Nico's nose. He finished a signature with a flourish, and dropped the stylus for dramatic effect. But it was attached to the datapad by a wire, so just swayed around aimlessly instead of mic dropping to the floor. Nico and the pen had a lot in common, the more he thought about it.

The attendant peered over the partition, studying his handywork. His name was more scribble than signature. "You forgot a box," they prompted and pointed, before adding, "and you're a returning contestant, so you didn't need to sign on this page."

Nico swore under his breath and finished the paperwork with little fanfare. Amateur hour over here. His thoughts were plagued with memories of past performances, friends and enemies, the good, the bad, the usual suspects. He wondered what Pecan and Ketkin were doing, wondered if he'd ever see them again. Briefly, instinctively even, he focused on his thoughts, trying to make them very loud.

Sam? his own voice rang out, hollow in his head. There was no response, no such luck. Nico had expected as much.

Wish me luck, buddy, he said, in a silent prayer.

Any camera drones pointed his way, he shooed away this year. No sneak peaks, no panache. There will only be the ruthless execution of a task being done - the task being getting his head chopped off or some other, equally gruesome and fitting end for a devil.

 

[Demetri Malius]

Another space station, another set of picked pockets and crates of illicit goods. Demetri tossed another chocolate-covered peanut in his mouth as he strut forward passed a few more kiosks and merchants peddling. His cloak flowed behind him as he nodded at some novelty gadgets from one of the stalls he passed. It was only the sudden clamoring of an advertisement on a nearby screen that drew his attention away from his snack mid-crunch as flashing lights lit up the rogue's face.

"Danye's Abyss! Back for a limited time and with more punch than the last. Think you have what it takes, sign up today!"

Damn, it felt like hardly any time had passed since the last one. Though who knew how long it had truly been for him with all the spacefaring this past... however long its been. There was still a few hits his crew needed to make in the next week or so here...

"Yeah, I've got time."

It didnt take long to find a sign up stand. Karl was sure to get every corner of the Crossroads with his Syntech employees, sometimes even moreso when he was looking for someone specific.

"Name," came the attendee's voice as it came to the shadow's turn.

"Don't recognize me?"

"Sir, we aren't asking for autographs."

Demetri have a soft, awkward chuckle. "Ah, of course. Demetri Malius."

"Thank you sir, we have your data. Will you be purchasing insurance again this year?" Demetri bit his lip, he did die last time he felt like he at least looked good doing it. Ra'tima will probably have his hide for being late on this delivery too, if he didn't make it back in time.

"Could I get two?"

 

[Sandor Clegane]

The pneumatic sliders in her spacepod’s door opened with a long hiss punctuated by mechanical creaks and groans from disuse. The interior of the pod belched out an exhalation of stale air as hot and moist as a dog’s breath. Celipa shielded her face and recoiled.

“King Kai save me,” she gasped, wincing. “How long has it been?”

The interior of the pod was much as she’d left it; the padded cushion oozed stuffing, a pad of buttons had grease smears from periods where she’d eaten then interfaced, and a crumpled sweat rag lay crumpled in the back of an armrest. It acted in inverse from the function of an air freshener, which explained the moisture in the pod’s release and the overwhelming scent of gym sock in the air.

She tucked her head under the frame and clambered in. With a bend of the knees she cracked open a push button console which contained a shelf of Capsule Corp capsules. They were white and pink and shaped like pills; there was one in the middle that her eyes locked on that Celipa plucked from its resting place with a calloused thumb and forefinger.

“There you are,” she cooed at the Capsule, grinning. “Thought I’d forgotten about you?”

She wheeled around, hopped out of the pod, and kicked the door shut behind her, deaf to its groans of protest.

A thumb of the capsule spat out a plume of smoke. Upon dissipation, Celipa held a neatly folded pile of clothes in her outstretched palm.

She changed into a pair of black leggings with a hole punched Saiyan tail slot, a plain pink tank top with a tattered hole in the plexus she’d forgotten about, and a pair of thumb slotted bracers. Her armored tank, her underclothes, and her scouter were recapsuled. She stowed that capsule under a nearby rock, whose location she reminded herself of thrice more before departure.

Minutes later the Saiyaness touched down in a pop-up bazaar emblazoned with the Syntech logo. It hadn’t been hard to find; Mesa Roja was a harbor for hard-boiled warriors and warrior wanna-bes alike. The desert was lousy with sign-up areas.

This location found itself in a lull. When Celipa walked up to the sign-in station, the attendants were scrolling idly through tablets while an intern made himself look busy by polishing the lens of an expensive looking camera.

“Celipa,” Celipa said loudly, then quietly, “I don’t know how to read, and I don’t know how to write, so you may as well show me the dotted line and write my name for me.”

An attendant behind the counter with heavy jowels and dark ringed eyes gave her a nasty look before swiveling his chair around.

“Celipa,” he repeated dully, and looked her over. “And you are…?”

“Saiyan from the North Quadrant,” she announced, puffing out her chest. She planted her hands on her hips then said, “I’m a contestant from previous Dante’s Abysses, a proprietor of the face punching arts, and a big fan of the event. I think you’ll find my credentials in order. Hurry up. Where’s the pad?”

“The pad?”

“The telepad,” she insisted, looking past him. “I know it’s back there. I want to get to the recreation dome. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had a real meal?”

Her attendant sighed and waved her past.

“Whatever. Go ahead. With this year’s turnout, you can savor that meal until noon of the first day.”

His companion sniggered, glancing at Celipa.

“Biceps? Lady, we have legends in the competition this year. Good fucking luck.”

Celipa stepped past her and shrugged.

“We’ll see. I’ve seen legends before. They come and go.”