The Challenge

Spare me your wrath, friend of infernality. If I must kill demons, I'd rather ally with devils than angels. - Sir Kieger (The King that Angels Overlooked, Act II Scene IV).

An uncomfortable silence permeated Evan's walk, only the sound of his steps across the marble floor. The voice would have been a welcomed companion at this point. The green flame he was now basked in gave him a strange sensation. Without needing to touch it, he felt the blistering of his skin die away, aches and pains that were all too familiar to him melted.

His gait became, more normal, posture became straighter. He felt, better. Most importantly, he would argue, his mind became clearer. A haze he had not known was there cleared as he gained true sentience of his surroundings, and all the questions that came with it.

Disseminate. He looked around, taking in the features of the never-ending hallway he now found himself in. Marble floors, clean. Green-flame torches, older style. Now that he looked at them more discerningly, they were ancient in design. Even the structures he had seen in Venthrey, at least the ones he had entered, didn't have such designs. Origin? He asked himself, it suddenly occurred to him he merely presumed the structure was Venthrey's doing. He had known it was different, it certainly followed none of the same rules, and he was only now realising how different.

It was only after several more minutes of walking, and attempting to discern what he could from his surroundings, that a new sound echoed through the hall; voices. It was not easy to discern them, without a doubt several were spoken in a language other than Common. While the hallway had been, up to this point, straight and endless, there was now an archway that lead into an adjacent chamber. As he approached it, Evan realised the hallway itself came to an end a few metres further down, a simple wall with another green-flame torch burning on it. 

Out of morbid curiosity, he turned to look back, back the way he came. Instead of the stretched hallway he had passed through, he saw another marble wall. I'm here, he supposed.

He would not walk blindly into the chamber. Instead, he slid himself against the wall, back against the marble, and peered past the archway. What he saw was a sight he had grown to fear in his time in Venthrey.

Dozens of people? Not people, creatures, filled a massive circular auditorium, multiple rows of seats with large standing areas. The auditorium itself was also bathed in the sickly green light, except for a construct in the very centre. It sat in a sunken ring and what looked light a beam of sunlight from overhead coursed over it. It was, Evan assumed, a scale model of the Planar Complex.

In the centre of the construct was a roiling mass in the shape of a sphere. It had two fluid elements rushing and racing around a smaller circular object, and was ultimately covered by a transparent glass casing. Without a doubt, it was a representation of the Planar Nucleus: the Prime Plane encaptured by the Higher and Lower Planes and encased in the Fey Aura.

Three levitating rings rotated beyond it at equidistant intervals. 8 spheres dotted the first ring, 12 in the second, and the third was coated in a mass of stones and debris, though 12 glowing orbs within it could be made out. The Rings. He was certain of their nature, he could even name each of them.

No Outer Ring. He noted. Not surprising in the grand scheme of things. The Outer Ring, also known as the Parade of Planes, was an endless string of planes that orbited beyond the Third Ring, phasing into and eventually out of the Planar Complex.

Unfortunately, this construct was the only thing in the auditorium he recognised. The creatures were predominantly like nothing he had seen before. The first to catch his gaze was a giant, wearing large pieces of armour: two massive pauldrons, a pair of ornate bracers, and plate leggings. Resting at his side, twice Evan's height in length, was a forging hammer. The giant itself had long hair and a thick beard of solid, igneous rock. Its skin was a deep red and its wandering eyes swelled with specks of fire. While he had never seen one personally, Evan recognised it as a Floga, a giant of fire affinity.

The next that caught his eye was a Tauronn, a half-bull/half-mortal being with large horns and well-kept fur, wearing scholarly robes, maybe even mage robes, though Evan couldn't be sure from this distance. The Tauronn seemed to be engaged in conversation with a tall, gaunt individual. He looked enough like a mortal aside from his incredible size, aside from how little meat and muscle there was on his body. He looked impossibly old, withered, with a long grey beard that matched the hair that drooped to just below his shoulders. The older figure wore nothing more than simple cloth pants, and the two seemed to be engaged in deep conversation.

While there were many more... interesting characters spread around the auditorium, what concerned him the most was the group collected at the very back. There were 11 of them, by Evan's count, and even without any magical means of doing so, he registered terrible malice emerging from them. There was nothing similar about them or seemed to connect them in any way other than the fact they were bundled together in a discussion. The tension between them was obvious, and none of them could maintain a courteous expression for more than a half-second.

The collection of such, presumably powerful, individuals would usually ward Evan far from this place. However, there was something in the auditorium that gave him comfort: a lack of combat. As much as each of them exchanged aggressive and discourteous glances at each other, not one of them had weapons drawn, or open hostility. 

Maybe the Rules have forbade combat. He thought as shifted his sheath under his cloak, making sure it was no longer obvious. He noted that none of the creatures had satchels, or otherwise methods of carrying more than weapons, but he could not bring himself to abandon his satchel. Not that it would matter, the mere fact he was a mortal, let alone human, was enough to make him obvious amongst the collected group.

He'd been observing the group for several minutes now, not that it had done him much good. He could mostly tell apart the martials, the mages, and the specialists. He didn't have a chance to take any of them if he wanted to, nor could he gauge any tensions well enough to turn them against each other if he came to it. It was, however, his only option. 

Exhaling deeply, Evan finally stepped across the threshold, and the room fell deathly silent. As soon as his unexpectedly loud footfall landed, the torches went dark, conversation ceased, and the only light visible was the sunlight hitting the central construct.

"Finally!" A voice yelled from within the darkness. Within moments, more cries and murmurs began in agreement. Evan began to feel for the archway behind him, and was unsurprised when he instead felt the familiar cold marble of the wall that had taken its place. 

The sconces lining the auditorium once again flared, now with a common red-yellow flame rather than the previous sickly green. 

"About time," a member of the larger group Evan had spotted called as light returned, "that green was giving me a headache."

It did not take long for the eyes of those within the auditorium to find and settle on Evan. A couple faces sneered, some suppressed laughs, and others were merely curious. The tauronn figure who was closest to him began a slow approach with an emotionless, analytical face. Evan fought the urge to reach for his hidden blade and held his ground as best he could. His resolve was, at the very least, shaken by the fact the figure before was at least 8 feet tall, and towering over him.

A loud huff of the tauronn's nostrils stopped his heart for a moment before the emotionless face fell and sighed. 

"Now," he began in a surprising even-pitched and formal voice, "what took you so long?"

"What?" Evan responded, taking the opportunity to calm himself. A few others in the crowd seemed to attempt to coax an answer from him.

"Is the translation working?" The tauronn followed, looking between the others who seemed to nod in confirmation.

Shit, Evan realised, they've been here the whole time. He recalled the days, probably a week by their count, that he had been avoiding the Parthenon, debating whether to even enter it or not. Confident, prepared. He quickly assessed of those in attendance judging their response. Not expecting someone like me, clueless. He concluded.

"It's working," he spoke up, "magic takes longer with me." One skill Venthrey, or specifically, interacting with deities, teaches you, is how to fake confidence. In response, the tauronn shot him an expectant look. An explanation? Evan would guess, his answer wasn't exactly the most reasonable.

"Enchantment protection," he added, "takes a moment to make sure it wasn't anything offensive." Thankfully, most seemed to nod in agreement, all except the tauronn. If he saw through the lie, he did not give himself away, but nor did he seem completely pleased with the answer.

"What did you ask?" Evan spoke with an even cadence now, his feigned confidence had reached his speech as best he could manage. The tauronn seemed the smile like he was amused. Is he toying with me? If he had more time, or more mental strength, Evan probably would have dealt with the question there and then, but it was taking all his concentration to keep bluffing.

"What took you so long?" The tauronn enunciated sarcastically now, almost like he was taunting Evan.

"Diviners," he answered, "a paranoid lot and take forever to work. If we knew all of you were so... haphazard, we would have worked faster." Evan's throat was bone dry halfway through his sentence, he was making dozens of assumptions he had no way of verifying. 

Thankfully, murmurs of agreement sounded from behind the tauronn. One even went so far as to cheer Evan's words.

"Lakkos, I knew we should have waited. Leave it to the mortals' paranoia to trap me in a bloody pit for five days." The deep voice came from the back of the room, Evan leaned to look past the tauronn to see the Floga shaking his head.

The tauronn seemed distracted now. He was eyeing Evan, scanning his clothes, gear, his satchel. Evan was now even more acutely aware of how underwhelming he appeared. Most of the martials of this group wore ornate plate armour, the mages had either massive tomes, like this tauronn had tucked at his side, or focii that looked ancient or incredibly expensive. Evan, on the other hand, didn't even have shoes.

"Did the Primeys send a bloody vag'bond or somethin'?" Called a voice from the opposite side of the room. The tauronn stepped to the side, allowing Evan to see the approaching figure. They were easily 7 feet tall and impossibly gaunt, Evan could make out most of the curvature of his bones, but their pale, grey skin was covered in an array of asymmetrical runic tattoos. They have an ugly face which included a massive jaw with a large underbite.

Evan was sure he could neither place the accent nor the origin of the creature. Whoever they were, they had a knife drawn and weren't hesitant to wave it around as they approached. Once they were close enough, they stood uncomfortably close to Evan, towering over him like the tauronn had been moments ago. Like the tauronn, they looked him up and down but lacked the tauronn's intelligence behind the eyes.

"Tymha," the creature cackled, "does any'ne actually believe this r'nt is actually the Primeys' champ'n?" Their arms were thrown wide as they invited the responses of those in attendance. A couple curious murmurs and minor calls of agreement sounded through the auditorium.

"I wouldn't use a m'rtal like this for targ't practice, let alone a champ'n." The creature hissed as they squatted to be level with Evan, their grotesque yellow eyes peered at him.

Suddenly, the tauronn grabbed the creature by the shoulder and pulled them back, sending them onto their ass. As the realisation set it, the creature leapt to his feet, knife drawn. Within less than a second he had the knife raised, and stopped just shy of the neck of the tauronn. The tauronn didn't even flinch.

"All the easier to kill then, wouldn't you say?" The tauronn commented with an air of obvious condescension. It was at this point that Evan realised the creature had not deliberately stopped the blade before the tauronn's throat, it was being held there, prevented from advancing by a field of force that was almost imperceptible in the low torchlight of the room.

So that's the reason. Evan was gratified to know he had made at least one correct assumption. The creature withdrew the blade, spinning it around between their fingers as they trudged away, grumbling.

The attention focus on Evan seemed to die down with that, though the tauronn made no effort to leave his side.

Within a few minutes of uncomfortable silence standing beside the tauronn, a sensation permeated the room. Nothing physical, or immediately recognisable, more of a shared understanding that something had occurred. Before the eyes of all those in attendance, wisps of flame flew from the torches and gathered above the central construct. Within moments, they formed the Venthrey runes, the fundamental language of Venthrey. To Evan's eyes, they shifted again into written common.

Finally, he thought, the Rules. It was not something that would usually entice Evan, he had grown to detest the Rules considerably during his time in the battle realm. However, he was desperate for any context he could get. He studied the words written above the construct, and seared them into his mind.

1. Contestants are eliminated when they suffer a mortal wound.

2. Each contestant will have 30 SPUs to prepare.

3. Each contestant may start preparation on a plane of their choosing.

Always three rules. There were, of course, many subsequent rules and clarifications, known automatically by the reader. As Evan sifted through them in his mind, he was amazed to discover there were dozens of these clarifications and additional caveats. The Rules he had read before usually had little more than 10, on one occasion it had had 18. This was another matter altogether.

The tauronn beside him had clearly gotten through these much quicker, as he was now glaring at Evan with a suspicious gaze. It took him only a few more seconds to realise where this suspicion had arisen from. Over the next few moments, several of the more perceptive contestants also began to narrow eyes at him. Thankfully, the strange creature with a knife was not one of them.

Several of the contestants rushed towards the central construct. One by one, they placed their hands on one of the spheres and disappeared in a wreath of flame. A transportation dais. Had explained a clarification to the Third Rule. The knife-wielding creature had been one that had rushed to the dais, and placed a hand on a sphere in the first ring. However, due to his haste, Evan was not sure which realm he had selected.

Though he had been loathed to do so, Evan returned his gaze to the glare of the tauronn beside him. It had not softened, per se, but the gaze was now far more analytical and inquisitive then as accusatory as it had been.

Evan opened his mouth to offer an explanation but the tauronn raised a large hand to stop him. Without a word, he raised his other hand, and drew upon motes of deep-blue flame. As the flames dispersed shortly after, a scroll appeared within his hand. He handed the scroll to Evan and walked towards the dais. Keeping watch, Evan noted that the tauronn approached the Planar Nucleus within the construct. Many other had as well, but the tauronn's hand was placed on the depiction of the Lower Planes. With another wreathe of flame, this time with a darker-red tint to it, his only sense of familiarity vanished.

Not yet, Evan thought as he eyed the dais hungrily, not just yet. While the desperation to leave clawed him from within, Evan held himself from rushing. If one of these creatures saw where he went, it would only make things worse for him. Instead, he took the opportunity to open the scroll.

The majority of the parchment was an intricate rune as well as a paired incantation. A well-trained mage would have been able to decipher its purpose with ease, however Evan was simply grateful there was a dedication to aid him.

If you want answers, call upon me. Remember, my time is not free.

While ominous, it was a start. He at least knew he had one contact, though he doubted he would call upon them for a while. My time is not free. The thought stuck in his mind, he couldn't even be certain what the tauronn would ask for in exchange.

At the very least, the tauronn was incredibly intelligent, and resourceful. Not only was he apparently a trained mage, he had chosen the Lower Planes as his first destination. In fact, it seemed like after the wave of the enthusiastic, a couple more of the contestants were now choosing the Lower Planes.

Regardless, it was not an option Evan could even consider. He had none of the connections these creatures did, nor an intention to go there even if he did.

By now, the only others remaining in the auditorium were the collection of 11 that had been conversing the entire time since Evan had entered. A couple of them watched him wearily, and he knew that he could not hold off any longer. They would outlast him, and he was not entirely certain the protection would remain forever.

Finally, he slowly walked up to the dais, to the large central sphere of the construct. He fought back a decade of desperation, desire, heartache and pain. He did not rush. The metal was cold, the map of the Prime Plane was the same as the one he had memorised years ago. 

It only required intention before Evan found himself engulfed in a brilliant wreathe of flame.