Bathed in the harsh glare of the studio lights, Sally felt sweat beading on her forehead as the technicians and TV crew bustled around her, preparing for that night’s transmission.

Since the earth-shattering arrival of the alien ship over Washington—and Jeff’s surreal transportation to the Tournament—her life had been turned upside down.

Immediately after Jeff had been beamed up from the bar in Manhattan, interrupting their date, Sally had been arrested by federal agents and taken to a high-security government office. There, she had been subjected to several hours of ‘vigorous’ interrogation, that left her feeling more like a suspect than a witness.

It wasn’t until the other people in the bar confirmed her story that the oppressive atmosphere began to lift.

In fact, Sally’s fortunes changed dramatically that night. Her official status as Jeff’s date had come with certain perks. She had been granted the keys to a luxurious penthouse ‘grace and favor’ apartment overlooking Central Park. She was on the payroll too—some sort of government salary— as a ‘consultant’, thanks to her unique connection with Jeff.

Sally had seized the moment, quickly making use of her social networking knowledge to tout herself as a preeminent expert on all things Jeff and the Tournament. Her new role had also catapulted her into the limelight, making her a hot commodity in media circles. As a result, she was on tonight’s high-profile Tournament discussion panel.

Her anxiety was complex: She was, of course, worried for herself, as the Vogels had made it painfully obvious that Jeff’s failure would result in disastrous consequences for everyone on Earth. Subjugation by the Vogels did not sound like fun at all, especially for a woman. But Sally’s concern wasn’t just global; it was also personal. Since meeting Jeff at a party the year before, she had developed a genuine fondness for him. His wry sense of humor and easygoing nature appealed to her, and she counted him as a friend, perhaps if things had worked out differently, their friendship could have developed into something more…

She had therefore taken it upon herself to be Jeff’s digital guardian on social media. The internet was rife with all kinds of toxic chatter—vile conspiracy theories, baseless speculation and outright lies about Jeff, and by extension, the fate of Earth.

She was currently locked in a vicious war of words with one such troll on the social media platform, X. Operating under the pseudonym ‘Pyrrho’, he or she had built up a sizable following amongst the cynics and skeptics by peddling fake news about Jeff.

Sally was all too aware of how high the stakes were. It wasn’t just innocent online banter. Pyrrho’s words had weight. Already a small but vocal minority were calling for capitulation to the alien conquerors. They argued that subjugation was a better option than total destruction.

Pyrrho and the other voices calling for surrender were not simply fishing for likes and followers—they secretly imagined themselves as future rulers or overseers; by currying favor with the Vogels they hoped for prime leadership positions in the slave society that would arise.

Sally tried to compose herself as a makeup technician delicately dabbed at the sweat beading on her forehead. The strain of the impending broadcast was palpable. She was not only stressed at the prospect of watching Jeff’s latest highlights in the Tournament—hoping for his successful progress—but also dreading the subsequent panel discussion, in which the aliens dissected Jeff’s performance. Last night’s session had been horrific.

The Vogels had openly scoffed and sneered at Jeff’s awkward, fumbling attempts to make use of his new physical abilities. Titters and guffaws rang out as he tested his newfound strength on the gym equipment, and the whole audience erupted in uproarious laughter during his conversation with Misty.

Analysis of the banter between the Vogels on the panel of experts had painted a worrying picture of the state of the System-universe under the dominion of the Vogels and their ‘Community of Equals’. The consensus was that the Community was merely a front for their Empire, colloquially known as the ‘Fatherverse’. It seemed that the Vogels were a deeply entrenched, patriarchal species—their supreme leader was even referred to (without a trace of irony) as the Patriarch.

The Patriarch sat at the apex of a vast, fascistic Empire spanning millions of planetary systems and slave species. The Vogels were prolific breeders—each Vogel male apparently spawning hundred, if not thousands of sons, who all battled it out between themselves in brutal contests for access to their father’s fiefdom. This served to weed out the weak and ensure that only the most violent and cunning Vogel males ascended to positions of power.

Male Vogels who survived this initial Darwinian selection process were granted lordship over at least one vassal species. This unrelenting demand for new lebensraum and slave-species was fueled by the massive expansion of the System into unexplored sectors of space. It seemed that integration of new star systems into the System happened on a continual basis. The tragic reality was that the vast majority of Tournament Contestants were doomed to fail, thus creating a constant stream of new species and planets for the Vogels to conquer and enslave.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

A buzzer reverberated through the studio, snapping Sally out of her revery—the Tournament transmission was about to go live. At exactly the same time as the previous day, the Vogel’s superior tech hijacked all global broadcast frequencies, providing humanity with a ring-side seat to view Jeff’s life or death struggles.

The panelists shared a momentary, weighty glance, collectively aware that a hell of a lot was riding on the next twenty minutes. Jessica Connors, the enterprising young journalist who had been first on the scene when the alien warship appeared over the White House, had since ascended to the role of the panel show’s host.

Sally cleared her throat. “Good luck,” she murmured, almost inaudibly. Though who she was addressing was unclear.

And then, the transmission began.

Courtesy of the Vogel’s tech, the rundown fairground was rendered as clear as day to the viewers on Earth, making it easy for them to track his progress.

Sally could barely bring herself to watch as he fought for his life.

Murmurs and gasps greeted the weird goblin crew’s arrival on the screen. When the first notes of the ‘House of the Rising Sun’ started playing, a wave of bewildered expressions swept across the faces of the people in the studio audience. Disquiet morphed into horror when Jeff employed his [Cutting Edge] skill to slice through a goblin’s head. One audience member actually threw up at the sight.

Amidst the tumult and despite the high stakes surrounding the proceedings, Sally found herself somewhat distracted by Jeff’s altered physical appearance. She couldn’t help but notice that between transmissions, Jeff had somehow undergone a radical transformation. Not only did he appear taller, but he was also noticeably more muscular—the contours of his body and the definition of his muscles stood out clearly, each curve and swell like a chiseled marble statue. His facial features, too, had improved, like they had been run through some kind of filter.

A blush crept up her cheeks as she gazed at Jeff’s muscular torso. The heat she felt rising up through her body could not be solely blamed on the overhead studio lights.

The moment Jeff was injured by Leetus, the undercurrent of fear and tension in the room increased palpably, and Sally was jolted from her musings about his ripped body. The bite wound inflicted by the monster looked serious, almost fatal.

A euphoric sense of relief swept over both her and the audience when Jeff battled through the seemingly endless waves of goblins and successfully completed the training session.

Immediately after Jeff’s triumph, the feed transitioned to a view of two aliens: a duo comprised of the now familiar features of a Vogel and another, different E.T, of a species Sally had not previously encountered.

This weird entity, a strange fusion of humanoid and octopus, was resting, half submerged inside a clear glass bowl filled with a blue liquid, resting on the stage beside the seated Vogel.

Sally stared in fascination at the creature, trying to understand its physiology. A perfectly normal, human-looking head, albeit with greenish tinged skin and jet black hair, rested on a stunted frame, which was partially visible through the glass of the bowl. Thick, sucker-encrusted tentacles sprouted from the homunculus’ shoulders and draped over the rim of the bowl, writhing in constant motion.

The large screen behind the pair sprang to life, projecting a curated montage of Jeff running and fighting.

The flamboyantly dressed Vogel seated next to the octopoid turned to address the audience.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome! Greetings to you one and all! My name is Glyph Markaz, and it is my singular honor to present to you—streaming across the entire metaweb in real-time—an in-depth look at Earth’s champion, Jeff Nostro. And what a champion he is shaping up to be!

With me today is our first special guest of the season, the revered Spawnspurter of Seaward Clan and a noted expert on Tournament strategies, my dear, dear friend Octole Bissot.”

Canned applause and alien hoots of appreciation blasted through the feed, making Sally wince.

After the applause had died down, the talk-show host continued.

“Well Octole, first impressions?”

Glyph’s tone oozed with a blend of enthusiasm and condescension, a cadence Sally was increasingly recognizing as the standard Vogellian inflection.

The strange human-octopus hybrid undulated in its bowl, sloshing more of the liquid—which bore an uncanny resemblance to blue gatorade—over the rim of the tank onto the stage. In a gravelly voice, no doubt synthesized through some kind of interpretation device, the being spoke.

“A Tournament player brimming with potential. I see indications that this one will eventually follow a Spellsword Path. His movements and Skill use show notable agility and resilience. Most crucially, he displays intelligence…”

Glyph nodded along sagely to Octole’s comments, before chiming back in.

“I think we can all concur, Jeff’s assimilation into the System and his Class integration has been nothing short of remarkable. His attribute growth is already outpacing the average by threefold, his mastery of his Class skills is top notch and—is this possible?—are we already seeing inklings of a Dao awakening?”

The screen behind them showcased Jeff plowing into the horde of goblins. The camera zoomed in and focused on his fingers—fingers that seemed to elongate and sharpen in an instant, taking on a blade-like quality.

Octole’s aquatic home churned as he writhed about in excitement. “Indeed, yes! My guess is, this one will go far.”

Glyph shot Octole a dubious glance, a look of skepticism written across his features.

“You think he’s Prime League material, then?”

Octole responded seriously, undeterred by the obvious disbelief in Glyph’s tone.

“Time will tell. Time will tell…”