THE TOURNAMENT OF THE GODS! (9/9) (CLOSED THOUGH SPECTATORS ARE WELCOME TO WATCH)

Felix, you're joined by a short person with black circular burns all over their face and shining gold horns. "S'up little kiln."

Felix ran a hand back through his hair as he realized who he was looking at. His mouth went dry as he tried to form words.
"You're- who would've thought…?"
Fumbling for words still, he got to his knees from his sitting position and looked up at the god. A soft smile spread over his face.
"You took me in, and I'm grateful for that, forever."
He took a deep breath.
"But how could something like this happen?"

The Exiled sighed and quickly gave Felix a pat on the head. "The Host managed to bring the gods into a deal and holds us to our words. Host is an asshole when it comes to things like this." They grimaced, fingers tapping on the side of their leg.

Charlie's heart stopped beating as soon as the deities began to appear. She knew it was a matter of time before the Overseer of Death would arrive. She hastily wiped at her eyes and cheeks, trying to dry her tears and wipe the wetness away. Her hands shook as she placed the photo of her and James back into her bag. The people formerly reassuring her had now stood or knelt in front of their patron gods. Charlie's heart began to beat again, this time double her normal heart rate. I'm not ready to meet him! She thought, panic surging through her body. I'm not ready nor worthy! Tears threatened to fall again, but she withheld them with all of her strength.

(Overseer of Death)

Charlie, a person sits on the ground next to you. It's a tall man with chin length pink hair and a warm looking cloak on. He says nothing as he brings you into a hug, rubbing your back. "I'll protect him, don't worry, little one. He's going to be alright."

Curtis had finally looked up from his book, looking at the new figures that had arrived. He sighed, shaking his head and looking back at his book as he continued writing. Dear lord, those people look insane. He wanted to use his magic, really getting tired standing and writing like this. And he finally did use his magic. He tapped his pen once as its naturally black ink turned a golden tone.

He wrote something down on the paper— “table” and “chair”. The text glowed somewhat as a wooden chair and table appeared in front of him. He took a seat and started writing again with the pen’s usual color.

(The Headmaster)

"Hello Curtis, I see you're not having a mental breakdown. Good. If you stay smart you'll win this." Someone reaches through the air and pulls a chair out of nowhere, sitting down on the other side of the table. "I'll be quick since I'm not touchy feely and you aren't either. I'm giving you an increase in magic for this. It'll be pretty easy to use."

"Yes, I aware this is quite the… unfavorable situation, so I'll answer some questions before you ask them because we're short on time. One, no we can't pick anyone else. Two, why? Because the Host enjoys our suffering. Three, me giving you my blessing will give you more access to magic, to be warned." The woman spoke as she walked. "Also, you may have guessed this, but I'm the Archavist, you can call me Marin."

In the back of her mind, Mag kind of already knew the answers to the first two questions, but hearing the Archivist (Marin?) answer them herself gave her at least a grim certainty. She was almost glad of that, that the goddess wasn’t getting her hopes up.
She tilted her head, fiddling with the sleeves of her tunic absentmindedly. “It’s an honor to have your blessing… Marin,” she said numbly, trying to not to dawdle and take deep breaths. “Pretty name,” she remarked softly, knowing it had nothing to do with anything.
She did have other questions, but decided not to ask them now.

The Exiled sighed and quickly gave Felix a pat on the head. "The Host managed to bring the gods into a deal and holds us to our words. Host is an asshole when it comes to things like this." They grimaced, fingers tapping on the side of their leg.

A small smile spread across Felix's face at the gentle touch, and he nodded in understanding.
"It's too bad we had to meet like this, huh? But I'll try my best. I promise."
He let out a quiet sigh.
"I won't let them put me out. I'm not ready to die just yet, you know?"
After a pause, he tilted his head in question.
"Do you have any advice for me?"

The Exiled tapped a finger onto their chin, clicking their tongue. "Yeah, light a lot of shit on fire and never, and I repeat, never get left in the dark." They looked to the side. "They're going to use your weaknesses against you, so make sure they don't see enough to use against you."

Curtis looked up from his book to see the other figure. He then smiled with a small hint of mischief as he closed his book and rested his chin on his hand.
“May you please clarify what you mean by that, master?” The man asked with a rather nice smile, one which none of the humans had seen.

"The increase in magic, you'll be able to use more of my power and if you're smart about it, you'll be able to use it to lay traps and such." The Headmaster tapped his fingers on the table, a paper and charcoal stick appearing on it. He took a hold of the stick and began to draw. "This is the arena. The Host will probably stick to theme and do something regarding your memories, so only focus on the brightest ones. That'll probably help."

Kiyo, no one touches you, but you hear a voice that startles you from your observation. "Hey kid, you got a moment to spare?" When you look to the voice, you find a man with every inch of skin covered in scars and eyes completely black.

Kiyo was at a loss for words. What was he supposed to say to a god, anyway? He thought over his words for a bit, but eventually sputtered out an awkward sound of confirmation, accompanied by a small nod. He stared into the man's deep black eyes for a bit before looking over the rest his scar-ridden body. He had envisioned his god something similar to this, though not quite this exactly. "I have but one question, sir. Is it really impossible for more than one of us to make it out of here alive?"

"No, it's not. Did the Moderator end up actually saying anything about you dying? Most likely, they'll just put you through so much that you'll wish you were dead." The god sat down, splaying his hands out in the sand. "You can call me Blair, it'll be easier."

"But what does that have to do with us? If I didn't have any hand in this deal or whatever it is that you're referring too, why must I have to suffer the consequences along with these others? Shouldn't it be you and the other gods doing something like this?"

Finn folded their hands together, clearing their throat embarrassingly. "We can't. Once someone with that amount of power brings us into a deal, we can't get through it. Our exact words were 'Hey, wouldn't it be funny if we like… had a tournament like the old days… be we didn't participate?' and the Host just went 'Deal'."

"Yes, I aware this is quite the… unfavorable situation, so I'll answer some questions before you ask them because we're short on time. One, no we can't pick anyone else. Two, why? Because the Host enjoys our suffering. Three, me giving you my blessing will give you more access to magic, to be warned." The woman spoke as she walked. "Also, you may have guessed this, but I'm the Archavist, you can call me Marin."

In the back of her mind, Mag kind of already knew the answers to the first two questions, but hearing the Archivist (Marin?) answer them herself gave her at least a grim certainty. She was almost glad of that, that the goddess wasn’t getting her hopes up.
She tilted her head, fiddling with the sleeves of her tunic absentmindedly. “It’s an honor to have your blessing… Marin,” she said numbly, trying to not to dawdle and take deep breaths. “Pretty name,” she remarked softly, knowing it had nothing to do with anything.
She did have other questions, but decided not to ask them now.

"Thank you. I picked it out myself, I'm quite proud of it." She straightened her back and shook out her hands. "Hold still." Marin ordered, closing her eyes and seemingly plucks random things out of thin air, smushing them together, then shaking out her hands again. This time, however, she held a deep brown cloak. "For protection."

Charlie, a person sits on the ground next to you. It's a tall man with chin length pink hair and a warm looking cloak on. He says nothing as he brings you into a hug, rubbing your back. "I'll protect him, don't worry, little one. He's going to be alright."

Charlie hesitated, her back going stiff and her arms frozen at her sides. Shakily and slowly she wrapped an arm around the Overseer, a few silent tears falling from her eyes. Her other arm snaked around his back and Charlie buried her nose into the crook of his neck, breathing in the smell of the cloak. It smelled like the Shrine. The scent reminded her of the picture she took with James on his 11th birthday. Her lip quivered and she pressed her face deeper into the cloak. She couldn't help her shoulders from shaking. I don't deserve this, She told herself. Not after what I've done…

She sniffed loudly, hoping that she didn't get snot all over the Overseer's cloak. "Why me…" She muttered into his shoulder.

"Because you are an amazing woman and I know you can do this. I believe in you." His voice was quiet, but re-assuring. "I'm going to see how I can help you. Oh, and call me Jasper." Jasper pat her head and stood up, offering her a hand. "I know what you've done and let me tell you, don't worry, I've done a lot worse and that hasn't stopped me from helping, just like you."

The Headmaster stood up, brushing off his pants. "Just don't get too cocky. Your contestants may seem…" He looked around. "Quite weak, but they most likely will get stronger once they get over their panic."

"Thank you. I picked it out myself, I'm quite proud of it." She straightened her back and shook out her hands. "Hold still." Marin ordered, closing her eyes and seemingly plucks random things out of thin air, smushing them together, then shaking out her hands again. This time, however, she held a deep brown cloak. "For protection."

Mag stopped in her tracks, watching curiously as Marin did her work. Her eyes widened as the cloak materialized, then stepped closer, unsure of what she should do. Perhaps she was overthinking things, but she felt it wouldn’t be polite to just take it from her. Gingerly, she stroked the fabric, saying, “Thank you. May I ask how this will protect me?”

“Alright. I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you,” he mentioned with a rather warm smile as he stood up from the desk as well. The desk and chairs soon disappeared as the man stood to meet the eyes of the Headmaster once more.
“Do I expect to see you again at some point?”

"Yes. When you win." And he stepped away and sunk into the ground, a barely visible glint of pride in his eyes.

"Thank you. I picked it out myself, I'm quite proud of it." She straightened her back and shook out her hands. "Hold still." Marin ordered, closing her eyes and seemingly plucks random things out of thin air, smushing them together, then shaking out her hands again. This time, however, she held a deep brown cloak. "For protection."

Mag stopped in her tracks, watching curiously as Marin did her work. Her eyes widened as the cloak materialized, then stepped closer, unsure of what she should do. Perhaps she was overthinking things, but she felt it wouldn’t be polite to just take it from her. Gingerly, she stroked the fabric, saying, “Thank you. May I ask how this will protect me?”

Marin opened her eyes and moved to Mag, clasping the cloak around her neck. "It'll give you warmth in cold weather and warm memories in cold times." Was all she said, a smile turning the corners of her lips up. "Oh, and it's also quite resistant to stabbing, just in case."

"No, it's not. Did the Moderator end up actually saying anything about you dying? Most likely, they'll just put you through so much that you'll wish you were dead." The god sat down, splaying his hands out in the sand. "You can call me Blair, it'll be easier."

"I mean, that just sounds like being middle-aged," Kiyo said, jokingly, sitting down as well —the feeling of looking down at a god made him uneasy. Well, at least he knew that it was possible for him to get out alive without everyone else being killed. But it didn't make him any more assured of his own survival. "Thank you, Blair, sir. I'd rather not bombard you with questions, I'm sure you've better things to do, but I would like to know one thing. How did you get all of those scars?"

Blair brought a hand up to his face, tracing some of the more prominent scars. "To become a god, I had to go through a lot. I didn't avoid it, I just… Let everything hit me, better than running scared when you had to prove something."

Jasper nodded, a grim smile on his face. "You will. Even if you die, I'll let him come and visit you, alright? It's not the most… reassuring, but it's the best I can promise." He pulled something from his cloak, a small sacrificial dagger. "The dead will give you advice." He stepped away and smiled, giving a small nod before he vanished, leaving behind the dagger.

Blair brought a hand up to his face, tracing some of the more prominent scars. "To become a god, I had to go through a lot. I didn't avoid it, I just… Let everything hit me, better than running scared when you had to prove something."

"Wow, that's…" Impressive? Insane? Kiyo shook his head slightly. "I don't think I could ever do something like that,' he muttered quietly. "I'm too fragile. Too afraid to get hurt. Too afraid to hurt others at that." He traced his fingers over the scars on his chest, hidden underneath his shirt. Was he really as gentle as he made himself out to be? The feelings felt genuine, but the scars practically screamed "liar". The shattered bones, the wails and cries, all called him a liar. God, school fights were the worst. But what Blair had said, 'Better than running scared when you had to prove something', weren't just empty words. Perhaps it wasn't supposed to mean anything to him, but he took those words as guidance. Perhaps all he needed to make it out alive was to find what he had to prove. Kiyo wasn't anywhere close to sure what he needed to prove, or who he was to prove himself to, but he'd figure himself out soon enough. Or not. Who really knows?

"Thank you, Blair, sir." He bowed his head to the god, his hair spread out over the sand like a veil. "I'll do my best to make sure this whole talk wasn't a waste of your time, sir."

"I assure you, it wasn't." He stood up and smiled. "You are strong and because of that, I give you my blessing. May you give scars and take them, use them as proof that you are a warrior and most of all, don't back down from a challenge."

"But what does that have to do with us? If I didn't have any hand in this deal or whatever it is that you're referring too, why must I have to suffer the consequences along with these others? Shouldn't it be you and the other gods doing something like this?"

Finn folded their hands together, clearing their throat embarrassingly. "We can't. Once someone with that amount of power brings us into a deal, we can't get through it. Our exact words were 'Hey, wouldn't it be funny if we like… had a tournament like the old days… be we didn't participate?' and the Host just went 'Deal'."

"Well fuck." Sterling muttered under their breath, "This is great, just great, so now I get to die! Yayyyyy." They were furious, but well what could they do about it, "Well uhm is there a reason you came down here? I mean, it's nice to finally meet you and stuff, but it's not really making me feel any better about the fact that I'll be killed first since I'm a goddamn cripple. Not that there's a problem with being a cripple but fighting will be tough to do."

Marin opened her eyes and moved to Mag, clasping the cloak around her neck. "It'll give you warmth in cold weather and warm memories in cold times." Was all she said, a smile turning the corners of her lips up. "Oh, and it's also quite resistant to stabbing, just in case."

Magnolia exhaled, stiffening as the cloak came around her. It held the musty scent of chamomile and old books… like her grandmother (May she rest in peace).
She gave a little thumbs up, appreciative of stabbing resistance and warm fuzzies. She glanced down, moving her arms to get her voluminous hair outside of the cloak. Then her arms went to her sides. “Thank you again. Anything else, or may I ask other questions now?”