The first thing Malcolm heard, besides the rushing air and the shrill cry of his own screaming, was Red's cackling, unrepentant laughter. He turned away from the sight of a rapidly approaching land below, looking over at the other boy and finding an expression that would've been more fitting on someone riding a rollercoaster than someone falling several thousand feet to their potential death.

"What part of this is funny to you?!" Malcolm shouted, words muffled by the whooshing air.

Red looked back with a beaming face, hands held out to feel the wind. "I don't even know how to use a parachute!"

"I asked what part was funny, not what part was horrific!"

He wasn't the only one freaking out. A good few of the other Magicians falling around them did so with their own screams, their panicked flailing. Malcolm saw one straight up levitate, saw another grow an entire pair of wings and flap to a stop, saw a third blow up into a hovering balloon, but for the most part they all plummeted like a murder of clipped crows, hands reaching furiously for the ripcord of their parachutes. Some pulled right then and there, disappearing from view as a mass of billowing fabric erupted from their packs and expanded in the air.

Malcolm wanted to do the same, but as he reached for his own ripcord Jason came diving in alongside him. "Not too soon!" the Captain said, eyes squinting against the wind. "Stretch! Lifeline!"

Stretch, falling with his back to the coming ground, offered a salute. "Roger that!"

At once he threw a hand in Malcolm's direction, and like an unreeling rope his arm lengthened to wrap around the boy's midsection. His other arm went to Red, who welcomed it with the same whooping shout he was welcoming practically everything at the moment.

Not too soon, Malcolm thought, and in a second understood. Those Magicians above them, the ones now gliding on their chutes rather than falling fast like they were, would be all kinds of vulnerable. The Mile-High Sanctuary's airspace was entirely controlled by monsters, after all, and nothing would be easier for them than picking off helpless Magicians floating slowly down into their territory.

Looking up, Malcolm saw it already happening. A few of the dozen or so parachutes spread high above were already under attack by a passing flock of screeching furred things, and though the Magicians tried fighting back it was hard without much control over their own direction. One parachute was ripped entirely to pieces and dropped its Magician like a stone, the remains of ripped fabric trailing behind like the tail of a comet.

One down, Malcolm thought grimly. Ninety-nine to go. This was still a competition after all.

"Grab on, Cap!" Stretch shouted, reaching out with an extending leg.

Jason did just that, wading through the air as if through water and taking hold of Stretch's ankle. But just as he did, the sound of thunder struck through the air, loud enough to echo all across the sky and make Malcolm cover his ears from the shock.

He looked around with the others and saw, to his alarm, what looked like a giant vortex of death. It was like a missile formed from a tornado, gray wind spinning around in a wide spiral, and worse of all it was heading right for them.

"Incoming!" he said. Malcolm felt Stretch's grip tighten around him, but with wide eyes he saw that Jason wasn't yet secure, still holding on with a single lousy hand. "Jay! Hold tight!"

It wasn't enough. The moment that funnel of wind hit them, the whole world spun around in an uncontrollable blur of colors. Malcolm felt his stomach tumble around, and what little food it had retained from much earlier in the day got barfed out without so much as a second of forewarning. The sound of passing air that had filled their fall was now replaced by a ghastly gust that went into him as much as it surrounded him, rattling his brain enough that he could hardly hear the words that made up his thoughts, much less speak them aloud.

That went on for god knew how long. Minutes? Hours? Whichever it was, by the time Malcolm reopened his eyes and could actually recognize the difference between up and down he saw that the ground had gotten much, much closer. No longer vague shapes and faraway terrain, he could even make out individual trees.

"Stretch!" he shouted, looking at his older friend. The man blinked groggily, tears streaming up from the corners of his eyes. "Pull the chute! Now!"

The look Stretch gave to Malcolm then was one of pure confusion. Then, as they kept falling and the ground kept coming, that look turned first into dawning recognition and, then, pure fright.

"R-Right!" he said, the hand that had wrapped around Malcolm now stretching even further, curving like a snake to reach for the ripcord flapping from his parachute. He pulled it with an exhaling shout, and in an instant the fabric shot up before spreading out like a flower in spring.

Malcolm grunted as gravity was suddenly denied. Their fall broke, turning into a steady drift that had the wind slipping over rather than buffeting against their skin.

"Is everyone good?!" Malcolm asked, looking over at them.

Stretch offered a nod, though his face had taken on a sickly pale shade and he looked about ready to gag. Hanging from the other rope-arm, Red looked back at Malcolm with only a little more dignity.

"That was like every rollercoaster put together," the other boy said, holding out a weak thumbs-up. "Not gonna lie, kinda over this whole skydiving thing now..."

Sighing, Malcolm kept glancing around and saw what he'd both feared and expected: Jason was nowhere to be found. Head craning up, he saw other Magicians still falling above them, far enough away to be a series of indistinguishable blobs. Had they really been blown away this much?

A few were lower to the ground like them—maybe a few hundred feet in the air, relatively speaking—though they seemed as far horizontally as the others now were vertically. Silver linings, Malcolm supposed. At least they wouldn't be dropping around anyone else.

"What the hell was that?" Stretch asked, voice breathless. "It was like... But I didn't see any wind sprites. That couldn't have been natural, right?"

Malcolm shook his head, glaring down at the forest below. Thick as it was, their parachute would probably get caught in the trees. "Probably another Magician."

"Another... But, why? You need a matching pair of tags to make it through the challenge." Stretch slowly loosened the vice-grip he'd wrapped them up in, calming down. "What's the point attacking people when you don't even know if their tag's the same as yours? Hell, what's the point if you're probably not even gonna get their tags? We still have all of ours, right?"

Red patted his back pocket, and Malcolm patted his front, both of them making sure. "It's not about the tags," Malcolm said, feeling relieved when he felt his. "En said it'd be better to fight monsters than other people, but he never said fighting people was against the rules."

"So, what, they attacked us just to kill us?"

"Sure seems like it," Malcolm said, bitter. He'd also thought the tag system could keep everyone from fighting each other, but apparently that had been too optimistic. As long as cutting the number of competitors was allowed, it seemed at least some would take advantage of that fact.

"What about us?" Red asked, leaning back in the air with his hands behind his head, turning Stretch's arm more like a swinging chair. "I'm down to go up against other people too, if you guys are."

Malcolm, surprising himself, actually considered it. Even without Jason, if they could somehow ambush one or two of the other Magicians... Well, it'd be doable.

But still, he shook his head. "En was right. We can't know what other Magicians will be capable of, but Magic Beasts are a safer bet, and there's a whole lot more of them to choose from than there are of us. I say we go after them instead."

Stretch glanced to the side, spotting something else making its way to them. "Uh... Speaking of which..."

Red and Malcolm followed his gaze, seeing a big white streak flying like a rocket in their direction. Both boys narrowed their eyes at it, seeing the great feathered wings, the razor-sharp claws, the blooming mane and the curved horns that poked through it. And both boys, at the same time, grew wide-eyed in stupefied recognition.

Malcolm clapped his hands, not even sure what to do with the Spirit he summoned up. "Is that..."

"Oh, you gotta be fuckin' kidding me!" Red kicked at the air, trying to stabilize himself to point a finger flick at the thing. "Stretch, hold me still!"

But it was too late. Slamming into them like a speeding plane, Khurang the chimera met them in a wild, snarling fury. Their leisurely glide turned into another frantic drop, one interrupted only by the irregular beat of the chimera's wings as it scratched and bit their parachute to useless pieces.

Malcolm and Stretch shouted, again rocked by a chaotic tumble, but Red had enough presence of mind to grab Khurang and hold back its claws. The boys fell along with the beast, wind roaring, until one of the claws ripped a nasty cut on Stretch's arm.

"Ah!" the man seethed, arm snapping back instinctively. Only after he looked down at the cut and the blood slipping out of it did he realize his mistake. "Oh shit! Red!"

He sent the arm out again, reaching for the boy who had now become detached from him and Malcolm, but by then the chimera had flapped its wings again. Red, still holding onto the monster, found himself soaring away from his friends as they kept falling, growing smaller and smaller as the distance between them grew.

The last Malcolm saw of Red was the other boy punching Khurang right in its lion's jaw, the beast roaring in pain and anger as it flew off over the forest. Then he looked down, seeing the ground now not a hundred feet below. "Stretch! My chute! Pull my chute!"

The older Ranger looked down, saw the same terrifying splat Malcolm was currently imagining, and reached for the boy's ripcord. Except it wasn't there, because as Stretch now learned the whole encounter with Khurang had apparently cut out half of Malcolm's parachute too.

... Shit.

"Okay... Okay!" Stretch tied Malcolm up with every one of his limbs, wrapping the boy in an extendo-burrito. "I haven't practiced this one, but here goes!"

Just like that, the man let all his limbs stretch out, forming long ropes. Then he grew his torso and waist, widening them into a thin surface that soon caught the wind. Malcolm felt them shift suddenly back into a glide, and looking up he saw Stretch blown up into his own makeshift parachute, neck and head popping up from the front.

"Stretch!" he said, the flood of relief he felt enough to get a smile out of him. "Nice save!"

Seeing Malcolm of all people look so happy—happy to be alive, but happy nonetheless—Stretch met the boy's smile with his own. "I do have my moments."

The landing was rough, Malcolm grunting as he hit a series of tree branches on the way to the ground, leaves smacking against his face. But still, as he was released and the older Ranger shrunk back to normal beside him, Malcolm looked up at the sky with his smile still in place. He could still make out some of the other Magicians more like ants in the air now.

"We made it," he said. A hand smacked against his shoulder, and he glanced over to see a grinning Stretch. "That was close."

"Just like we're used to," Stretch chuckled. They sat there for a few minutes, breath coming back to them, but after a while the man had to put a damper on things. "That thing that tried to kill us..."

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

The smile slipped from Malcolm's face. Sighing, he got to his feet and glanced around. Pine trees surrounded them, tall and green and sprouting from an uneven, sloping patch of grass and dirt that seemed to go on forever. But rather than acorns, they were hung up with perfectly round, glowing orbs that thrummed in a way that seemed almost alive. He was sure Clover could've told him what sort of wacko species this was supposed to be, but to Malcolm it just seemed like a bunch of Christmas trees.

"That was the same chimera we saw at the World Tree a while ago," he said, feeling for his tag and thankfully finding it in his pocket still. "I guess the Cleaners brought it here back then, and it managed to sniff Red out. Talk about holding a grudge..."

The other boy had broken its wings, so Malcolm supposed there was reason to feel offended. It wasn't enough to temper his surprise at the coincidence, but at least he wasn't the one dealing with the thing now.

"We should go find him," Stretch said, standing up. "Jay's probably fine on his own, but I don't know how Red'll do out here."

"Eh, he can handle it," Malcolm said carelessly. Then, when the older Ranger sent him a pointed look, he waved a hand. "Alright, alright. I guess we should look for him. But, er..." He looked back at Stretch. "Did you see which way he went?"

Stretch opened his mouth, looking somewhere through the trees, but then he stopped. Frowning, he turned another way and saw practically the same indecipherable forest. Something chirped out in the distance, and it was definitely not a bird.

"Pick a direction and hope for the best?" Stretch said.

Malcolm groaned, but gave a nod. Not like they had any other option. Red would just have to take care of himself until they reunited with him. If they reunited with him.

- - - — MKII — - - -

The moment Jason landed, he had to jump again. It was a spinning leap that got him off the ground high enough to barely avoid the spinning disc that sliced through the air beneath him, a spiked golden circle that sheared through the grass beneath like a speeding sickle.

And attached to this spiked circle was a thin, almost transparent blue string that followed in its wake. Jason saw it pass along with the disc, observing in slow motion as it wavered, bent, then snapped into a straight line. He felt what was coming next through his Spirit Sense as much as through pure instinct, holding his sheathed sword out over his head even as he still spun in the air.

Just in time, too. In the next instant that same spinning disc suddenly turned in the air, momentum shifting in a snap to boomerang right back toward him. Jason blocked the thing with his sword, righting himself in the air to take it head-on. The disc hit hard, like a big, thin bullet that rattled his arms and pushed him some feet away before he could parry it outright.

Jason finally landed solidly on his feet, sword held out before him as he turned to meet his attacker. One of them, short and brown-skinned, pulled back an arm, the blue string and the spinning disc at its end seemingly tied to one of his fingers. The disc—originally as wide as a vinyl record—now shrunk to the size of a yo-yo, and the short man treated it as such, casually throwing it down to nearly kiss the ground before it spun back along its thread.

A magic chakram, Jason observed. Spinning and gold as it was, the thing looked like a hollowed-out sun. The man could control it with those threads, or was that just part of the Talisman's effect on top of the changeable size?

Grinning, the short man threw the chakram down again, letting it spin playfully along its Spirit thread. Walking the dog, right? With his other hand, the man combed back his luscious black hair, a soft shoulder-length mass that waved even in the soft breeze of the grassland they found themselves in. Then, pulling the golden chakram back, he pointed up at the air.

Jason followed the finger to see another vortex of wind, its spiraling gray destruction heading his way, somehow bigger than the one that had separated him from his team. A veritable storm of buffeting gales formed into clouds going a hundred-fifty miles an hour at least, enough to almost blow him back even from this proximity, stretching out in a long spiraling tube like some dragon wind god.

Huffing, Jason widened his stance and, fingers wrapping easily around the handle of his sword, he ripped it out of its sheath. The vortex split in two, its spiraling shape for a brief moment holding in a pair of perfectly cut replicas before ultimately collapsing in an explosion of wind and bits of sparkling lightning.

Brown grass was ripped straight out of the ground, and the few dry shrubs around them were blown away like glorified tumbleweeds, flying up into the air and out of sight. Jason weathered it with a hand over his eyes, looking always at the short man with the chakram, noting how the spinning disc seemed strangely resistant to the wind and kept spinning up and down as directed by its thread.

As the wind died down, Jason saw another man float down from the sky, lanky limbs and baggy pants surrounded by what looked like a current of air. He landed softly beside the shorter man with the chakram, and a pair of bored eyes looked back at Jason with what seemed like only the barest amount of curiosity.

But most glaring was the giant container he carried under his arm, a long and thick clay barrel harnessed by a strap slung over a bare shoulder. Out of it wind flowed freely, an endless stream of billowing air that the man now put a literal lid on, his other hand reaching over to cover the opening with a plug made of the same material as the large jar.

"That was an interesting way to say hello," Jason said. He'd cut the vortex and sheathed Excalibur all in the same speedy motion, but he still kept his hand wrapped around its hilt as his eyes went from one man to the other. "I'd say you're wasting your time if neither of you has a green tag, but I'm guessing that's not what this is about."

The short man broke into a laugh. "You'd be right, my friend!" He reached up to set an elbow on the other man's shoulder, leaning jovially and pulling his chakram back. He slipped his finger through the hole at its center, letting the disc spin around it with no apparent effort on his part. "Boras and I got sent to give you some trouble. Isn't that right, big man?"

Boras, bored eyes blinking, looked down at the other man. "What?" he mumbled. Then, blinking again, he glanced over at Jason and, face still set in an utter lack of recognition, he yawned. "I mean, sure, Sunny."

"It's Sunri."

"Isn't that what I said?"

Sunri waved the man off. "Don't mind him," he told Jason. "An airhead, this guy. Very appropriate, really."

"Some strong Talismans you're carrying," Jason observed.

Grin widening, Sunri looked at the chakram still spinning on his finger. "Thank you, my friend. My Chakratalvar is the best, no?" He slapped Boras arm, eliciting another distracted blink from the taller man. "I guess this guy's Ayopitos is okay too. Not as good, but okay. Enough to give you a nice ride, at least."

"You're from the League of Honored Families," Jason guessed, and Sunri happily nodded in confirmation. "What, Arthur couldn't beat me himself so he sent you guys to do it for him?"

"Ha!" Sunri bent over, hand on his stomach as he fell into another round of laughter. "No way, Jose! Screw Arthur. Hate that guy. Who doesn't?" He held his hands out helplessly. "But what can I do? His family is very rich, very important, and the boss wants to keep him happy. She says 'you two go deal with Jason Column,' and I have to say 'yes ma'am.' It's just bad luck for all of us, my friend."

"Huh. Too bad, I guess." Jason widened his stance again. "But alright, let's get this over with then. I need to get back to my team."

Boras felt the shift through his Spirit Sense, and it was enough to put some life in his glazed-over eyes. He frowned over at Jason, then glanced at Sunri with genuine confusion. "Wait, we're fighting?"

Sunri put an exasperated hand on his temple, sending Jason a sort of commiserating 'can you believe what I have to deal with' look before gazing up at Boras. "Yes, big man. What did you think we were here for?"

"But we already tried to kill him."

"I... Yes, right, but—"

"It didn't work."

"Well, sure, but—"

"I put a lot into that last try," Boras slumped his shoulders, looking at Jason now with the same cringe a child would give to unwanted vegetables. "He's supposed to be strong, right? And after the whole first challenge, too? Man, I'm beat. Can't we just go find somewhere to sleep?"

Sunri stared at him. Jason stared at him. Boras remained completely unapologetic. Eventually, Sunri sighed and turned back to Jason.

"Well, there you have it, my friend. No fighting today."

Jason went to speak, hesitated, then slowly loosened the grip on his sword hilt. "That... Really? That's it?"

Sunri nodded sagely. "When Bo doesn't want to do something, Bo doesn't do something. We already separated you from your team. Seems like enough trouble for you. And I cannot fight you alone, can I?" He threw his chakram back down, letting it spin for a few seconds before pulling it back up. "My Chakratalvar is the best for sure. Definitely. But I hear your Excalibur is the best too, and even if my Chakratalvar still wins I think it could get a scratch maybe, and then all the blame goes on me, right? Papa would kill me for sure."

"Al... Alright." Jason straightened up, relaxing, though he still kept a hand on his sword just in case. "Well... Thanks?"

Grinning, Sunri gave him a wink. "No need, my friend. And you're a nice guy, so let me tell you now." He pointed at Jason. "Forfeit now while you can. Arthur hates you, and that is fine because everyone hates Arthur, but as long as Arthur hates you the boss won't leave you alone. She'll kill you for sure if she gets the chance."

Jason raised a brow looking down at Excalibur. "I guess I feel flattered. Didn't think I'd be so important even with this thing on me."

Sunri gave another laugh, though this one came out sharper than the others. "You misunderstand, my friend! It's not that you're important. It's that you're so not important." He leaned his head on the arm he'd propped on Boras. "You're like a little fly buzzing around. Arthur keeps complaining about you, and the boss is getting annoyed by all the complaining, so if she happens to see you she'll roll up a newspaper and squish you just to shut him up already."

Jason smiled, or at least he tried. Something in Sunri's grin kept him from really feeling the humor in the man's analogy. One big joke, this was. Jason and even the legendary sword at his hip, all just something to stop and laugh at for as long as he could.

"Very ominous," Jason said, already feeling a headache coming on. First he had to make sure Malcolm and the others were alright, then he had to find tags for all of them, and on top of that he had to do all of this before his brother stumbled into their dad and found out he'd been keeping the man's supposed participation in this Tournament a secret. His plate was full enough, and the last thing he needed was a nemesis of all things. "Appreciate the warning, fellas, but I think I can handle it."

Sunri shrugged. "Just trying to help." He tapped Boras' shoulder with the back of his hand. "Ey, big man, time to go. And take it easy on the take-off, no?"

Boras grunted, reaching for the lid of his jar. The moment he unsealed it a barrage of wind blasted out of it, consuming both the Leaguers into a tornado and raising them up in the air. The two floated up, looking down at Jason with clothes and hair flapping, before the current carried them into the sky and out of sight in a spinning twister.

Jason watched them go, and only when he could no longer make them out did he let go of Excalibur's hilt. Somehow, he felt as tired as he would've after an actual fight. Just how many people had the League brought along for this competition?

"I'm like a buzzing fly, he says," Jason grumbled to himself, looking around. These plains stretched far, curving up into the mountains at the north and a forest at the far, far east. "He's the one flying around. Jerk."

He had no clue where the others were, but he had three days to find them and beat the challenge. Or two days now with the sun beginning to set, purplish twilight taking up the whole sky.

More than enough time, Jason thought. Malcolm and the rest could survive a while without him, right?

- - - — MKII — - - -

Under a canopy of broken tree branches, Red sat eating some berries. Not nearly enough to sate his appetite, but food was food, and these things were unnaturally sweet. He wouldn't be surprised if they were Mystic somehow, to go along with everything else around here.

That landing had been rough, but save a few scratches he'd made it out alright. The trouble now was where to find the others. Around him he could see only trees, trees, and more trees, enough that they totally hid the coming night sky. All were bent strangely, some leaning almost level with the ground, and their trunks were all an odd reddish color that struck brazenly against the deep yellow of their wide leaves.

The other trouble was finding a tag that matched his. He held his out, a purple rectangle that matched the hue he now barely saw peeking out through all those branches above him. And beside it, he also held the orange tag he'd just acquired. Stretch could've used it, his own tag being orange, but with Red on his own the thing was practically useless.

Sighing, Red gave the thing he sat on a hard thump. "You couldn't have at least gotten tagged with the right color, you stupid furball?"

A rumbling groan came from underneath him. Khurang the chimera, having greeted Red with the fury of a thousand burning suns barely twenty minutes before, now lay in submissive agony. The monster's giant body was curled up, wings bent to make a protective canopy, and his head was firmly planted on the grass, the odd whine coming through his maw whenever one of his many new bruises and welts spiked with pain.

Red had found the orange tag clipped to Khurang's ear after their little scrap. Then, needing somewhere to rest and disliking the hardness of the ground, he'd decided to use the prostate chimera as a big beanbag chair. Not like said chimera could do anything about it.

"I guess I might as well keep it," Red muttered, stashing the orange tag in his back pocket along with the purple one. If anything, now he had twice as good a chance of finding a matching tag, since it didn't really matter which twin color pair he came to the Sanctuary's exit with.

Eating the last of his berries, he patted his stomach and looked around. Already he heard the rustling of leaves, though he couldn't tell what was a product of the breeze and what was a product of other monsters skittering about. Things were getting dark, and under each bush he thought he could see glowing pairs of eyes. A caw broke the silence further, echoing from somewhere behind him, raw and screeching.

"Creepy," he said, grinning down at a grousing Khurang. "And cool. Let's see if anything around here puts up a better fight than you did, huh?"