When the actual representatives of the allied Sects arrived there was significantly more fanfare, enough that John could almost ignore how uncomfortable his formal robes felt on his body. Three large parties of cultivators and mortal servants arrived bearing banners of their specific heraldry. A large tree under a dome was held above a group wearing clothing patterned after leaves, a wheel with a skull in the centre of the spokes was proudly displayed by the group riding in on strange two-wheeled vehicles the old books called “bikes” and the last one had a furred chupacabra-a wolf, he reminded himself-which matched the thick fur pelts and muzzle-shaped masks worn by those who held the banner. Loud rhythmic drumbeats and the skillful playing of a variety of wind and string instruments he couldn’t name erupted in a deafening wave of sound as each group made their formal introductions.

A man that looked carved from an ancient, gnarled, scorched tree moved forward first and gave a deep bow. “On behalf of the Greenhouse Sect this Samuel Liverwort pays his respect to the Lead Cave.”

Behind him a woman with a specially modified bike to accommodate all seven of her limbs got off her steed and half-crawled to the front. “I, Veeate Volke, pay respect my respects to the Lead Cave behalf of the Dustrider Sect”

Finally a mountain with legs draped in a Mauler skin cloak stomped forward, the earth shaking under their weight. They growled out their pleasantries in a deep gravelly voice which sounded like it could grind stone. “As always the Wolf Creek pays respect to the Lead Cave. So swears this Siegfried Matell.”

The Lead Cave elders simply bowed to each in turn while from the Sectmaster’s chair Patriarch Phagos did little more than nod. He had only returned for a day before the guests arrived, as usual soaked with blood and with a fiery aura that seemed to dim all light around it before he was quickly reminded to shut it off by Cinnabar. John still had a hard time imagining how a man who seemed to require being kept on a leash at all times to prevent some needless violence managed to rise to the top of the Sect. Cobalt however had poorly disguised dread plastered all across her face since the moment the news of his return reached her, mannerisms returning to the usual cold young mistress act in what John could now recognise as a desperate attempt to garner her father’s pride and attention mixed with a paradoxical desire to stay as far away as humanly possible from either of those things. He wanted to ask of course, but she did not seem like she would give much of an answer, besides it was not his place to ask…

But the least he could do was not let her down, he thought as he greeted some of the inner disciples in the gathered sect retinues; some of which were doubtless slated to be his opponents in the Tournament. With practised movements he bowed at the precise angle to show respect but not deference, a line that seemed at once utterly arbitrary and opaque in its definitions, towards a woman whose extensive scarring made John’s skin look healthy, a man covered with long bushy hair and a tall, thin person of indeterminate gender who hurt just to look at.

“I am John Zhou of Clan Aurelium, Inner Disciple of the Lead Cave. It is a pleasure to welcome you to our Sect and may the Spirits smile upon you for the tournament.” He intoned stiffly and almost mechanically.

The one that hurt to look at spoke first. “Greetings John Zhou, I am Roan Carrion, Inner Disciple of the Wolf Creek. I look forward to seeing if the stories of your Sect’s prowess are true.” He said in a dignified almost scholarly voice that was entirely at odds with the general theme of his Sect and his unfortunate family name.

“You don’t look like a fancy fucking young master… so I think you might actually be fun. Nice to meet ya, name’s Moss by the way, from the Greenhouse”, the mound of apparently quite rowdy moss declared rather boisterously, hair moving in tandem with limbs to help gesticulate.

The woman on the motorcycle looked down at ARTOS, a reaction he has been coming to expect lately, and to his surprise grinned, lifting her arms to expose pieces of metal embedded in her skin. Wasting no time she made her introduction, smiling wider than her scarred face should be able to accommodate. “Vee Mek, Dustrider. You are like me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Laughing she flexed some of her muscles and an actual wheel ripped out of her torso, glistening with blood and gore, not that she seemed to mind of course given her smile was as wide as ever. “Relic bonded! Blessed by the machine spirits!”

“Uh I guess so…” John responded awkwardly, not really sure what to say or do.

Thankfully it was at this point when Cobalt and Magni decided to join, or rather Cobalt dragged Magni over before the boy could scurry off to some pit and avoid needless social contact for the remainder of the Tournament’s duration. “Oh I see you have already made some introductions John! Greetings to all, I am Cobalt Phagos of the Lead Cave, and my companion who is delighted to be here is Magni, isn’t that right?” She almost imperceptibly tightened her grip around Magni’s arm though with her claws even in their mostly sheathed state the message was clear as day.

Magni’s many eyes begged for John to somehow save him, and he almost considered it… but then he thought about what Magni would do in this situation. So he simply did the appropriate and polite thing to do, and left with a polite bow and some empty farewells.

Magni was absolutely going to murder him later but it was well worth it.

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After going around introducing herself to the many visitors, and preventing Magni from simply escaping into the cave system, she was now beginning to regret showing him like some sort of photophobic insect, but Cobalt had yet to face her greatest challenge. She had been putting it off to be honest, though it wasn’t hard with how standoffish her father could be at the best of times, but since his arrival she knew this was inevitable. Drawing upon her inner steel she straightened out her posture and banished all her doubts and anxieties from her face, A Phagos is not afraid as the man said. The door slid open and even in the presence of her father’s relaxed aura she could feel her will straining. A Phagos is not afraid she reminded herself, a Phagos is not afraid…

“What are you waiting for, Cobalt? Come on in.” The rough voice of her father’s second mouth said almost conversationally, though to most it would have sounded and indeed felt like a strict order. After all, the man did spend more time on the battlefield than with his own blood, a bitter part of her thought.

Regardless she let herself into his quarters, which would have been downright spartan were it not for the scant furniture that decorated the room carved from the bones of various spirit beasts, some still warm with Si. Trophies from unique monsters that once plagued the countryside or warlords that had grown too uppity at the border, a pure expression of martial talent and ability written not in words or flashy artwork but a silent reminder baked into every corner of his room. The man himself sat on a large seat made of three massive skulls, drinking from a cup miraculously not made out of bone. She sat opposite him on a more comfortable seat reserved for guests, with an actual cushion to alleviate some of the discomfort that inevitably comes with the material choice. They sat in silence for a while, the atmosphere becoming thick enough to cut with a knife.

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“Despite the fact you are reaching a plateau I can feel your cultivation hasn’t stagnated yet.” He began, high praise for his standards.

“Thank you father, I work tirelessly to maintain this rate.” She responded curtly, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

“Though I still feel you are holding yourself back. Spirit Beast cores are good and all, and hunting is of course good practice, but you refuse to join me in real battle. Your talents are my own, you are wasted here, gallivanting with people who will never reach your potential.” He praised backhandedly; she expected this of course, but that didn’t make it sting any less.

“I- Father- I just- what if there’s more to life than preparing for the next war?” She managed to stammer out. Her father simply looked upon her dumbfounded as if she had said the most absurd thing in the entire world, causing her to internally wince in preparation for his oncoming words.

“Perhaps you are still young and foolish, perhaps it is the ideas the others have put in your skull, but the world is ruled by the strong. Laws only exist when they can be enforced, order can only be brought to the land with an iron fist, and you cannot become iron by softening your heart! Pity the weak, pity those without power, but understand that you can never let yourself become satisfied with your own strength, for you my child are WEAK!” Agamemnon ranted, the light dying around him as his power flared. “Your proudest achievements, your greatest feats, are nothing before the strength of those who will see you torn limb from limb! If you do not feast upon others, if you do not climb the path of blood and war to the pinnacle, you will become prey, and I would not have any blood of mine become prey. UNDERSTOOD?”

“Y-yes father-” She gasped, fighting for breath and against tears.

The pressure ceased and her father drew his power back into himself, satisfied with his lesson. “You have the luxury of ignorance I did not have, but I intend on opening your eyes to the truth of the world before it opens them for you. After the Tournament you will join me on my pacification missions, it is time for you to learn the trade, Cobalt.” He stated, rather than ordered. There was no question about it. No room for doubt or questioning in his statement, it was as good as set in stone.

Her mouth suddenly felt dry, the world spun around her, yet no words but the ones that were expected escaped her mouth. “Y-yes father…”

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Iktan assessed his gathered forces atop Cipactli’s back. Draped with colourful layered cloth inlaid with jewels and gold made from the fur of Ahuizotls, with their tails and human hand-like appendages wrapped around his neck like a macabre necklace, a reminder of how far he had come since he left the cave with little more than tattered sea-weathered rags. All were paralyzed in equal parts fear and awe besides his Grand Marshals, generals of generals who he had granted elevated titles to distinguish themselves from the petty rabble herding the forces of the lesser Vassal Khans. Vehicles belching black smoke stretched nearly to the edge of the horizon, so many mortal soldiers they looked like a swarm of terror ants from this height and cultivators in their myriad forms stood above the rest ready to power vast formations or break the enemies with their own strength. It was… distinctly unsatisfactory. He scowled as he looked upon the disorganised masses of his army, they were missing two whole companies of war vehicles, the cultivators stood too proud and individual to fight coherently as a group, and among the countless gathered mortals there was little true unity even in the forces of a single Khan. Surely this was not how his grandfather conquered the continent? Surely they could do better than this.

Cipactli swooped down to the ground creating a force of wind that swept some of those foolish enough to stand close to the landing zone straight off their feet. He patted the loyal dragon as he disembarked, feeling the satisfying hum of his purr that would liquify the organs of a mortal in his bones, making his dour spirits the slightest bit lighter. But unfortunately there was much work to be done indeed. He turned towards Grand Marshal Gabriel, the coal-skinned man he could always trust to be honest as he is loyal.

“Our troops seem disorganised, ill-equipped for invasion, I would have your thoughts on the matter.” He asked almost conversationally, keeping the true depth of his annoyance out of his tone. It would not be good to set a poor example after all.

“They were brought here on short notice and are often not trained for such a grand campaign. Given the circumstances this is close to an ideal scenario, my liege.” Gabriel responded after giving a customary bow.

“But it isn’t ideal, is it now?” He noted, failing to suppress a scowl.

“You ask for miracles. If you want the troops to be organised, you need to put in the time and effort. This is not one of the propaganda stories of the old Khanate where only sheer force of righteousness and strength could best any odds, these are real men with real needs and real limits!” The old man argued.

Ikatan let out a long and weary sigh. “Time is running out, I cannot waste much longer. My dreams are getting louder, my thirst for vengeance is only growing and the legions of the damned metal diablos will not be merely satisfied with the north much longer. If we want to hurt the Jackalopes and retrieve the last of my grandfather’s legacy, we need to act now or it may be decades until the next opening. I understand however the need to whip this useless bunch into shape; see it done, preferably before examples need to be made.” He ordered with a glower at the unsatisfactory masses

“We are not mortals, we have the luxury of time. Why can’t we afford to wait until a more opportune window, when our foe is weakened from the machine forces and our strength has grown far more to match?” Gabriel asked.

Without needing to say anything his aura alone carved his displeasure into reality, a roiling mass of pure energy lined with suppressed rage. Still he spoke, he respected the man enough for that at least. “Do not speak to me of patience as every hour we do not strike at them they grind us further into dust, erasing our people and heritage under the pretence of keeping peace. I have waited a century and a half as our once proud people were shattered, splintered and shattered again over and over, never being allowed to find peace under the oppressive boot-heel of that hypocritical empire. They shall burn for this, and every second that I do not burn them I feel like I myself am burning, do you understand?”

Gabriel stood his ground and burned bright with an inner fire. “I understand your rage, but I was here when you were a mere boy, and I fear you have not grown out of it at all! Kill me if you must but if you keep insisting on throwing a tantrum every time things don’t go your way this dream of yours will never be more than that!”

Iktan took a deep breath and drew his power back in. “You are right… it’s unsightly of me… still I do not wish for my vengeance to be delayed to such a distant date, especially not if there’s even the slightest chance the Empire will wisen up and destroy my birthright before I could reach it…”

“But you need not march to the heart and brain to deal a crippling blow and achieve your goals, after all Cipactli has a sense of where it is and we know it is in the dead Citadel, yes? We could focus on retaking our lost northern holds, consolidate our power in the empire’s stolen lands, and while we are there we have plenty of time for your side project. The Empire is preoccupied fighting a potentially existential threat after all, they have not the resources to draw all their troops towards a few lost provinces until they have already bled too much for us to be stopped.” Gabriel reasoned.

Iktan nodded, bending a knee and his head in a respectful and thankful bow, though his shoulders were above the smaller marshal’s eye level. “I see now why you were so invaluable to my father. Very well then, we take back what is ours and we wait for the crippled Jackalope to succumb to its infections. I do believe this is an agreeable compromise.”

Gabriel nodded. “It is indeed my liege.”

Cipactli huffed behind him, bellowing out a large cloud of radioactive steam which visibly wilted several nearby plants. He was feeling left out of the conversation, and Iktan believed that it would be evident even to an idiot the Dragon was feeling jealous of the small man taking his father’s attention and respect. Chuckling jovially he rubbed his head against the snout of Cipactli.

“Don’t worry mijo… Papá is just discussing some important plans. You will have plenty of exciting new food to eat soon.” He cooed.

The dragon purred loud enough to crack the stone beneath them.