Five years later. Location: Five Knife Island.

“You moron! You’re going to get us killed!”

“This will work!” The kid’s bike was heaving with the weight of two as Dart pedalled furiously towards the edge of the cliff.

The back passenger, an older man with uncombed grey hair, rummaged in his bag furiously. As the cliff edge neared, the wind caught the side of the bedsheet floating from the back seat. It billowed out like a parachute. Could they make it after all?

***

Five hours earlier.

“I’m finally here!” bellowed Dart as he stepped onto the docks. The salty sea breeze was refreshing after a long sea voyage and Dart was glad to finally be able to stretch his legs on solid ground.

The welcome party was a lot less enthusiastic. “Would you quit yelling! God, these foreign idiots,” judged one of the shipyard workers nearby in annoyance. Dart hastily dipped his head apologetically and made off in the direction of town. As he practically skipped into the city centre, he lifted his head to the sky. The family heirloom jewel that he wore as a headband sparkled in the sunshine from his forehead. It was his lucky charm.

It turned out that the directions on the map he had procured from the tourist welcome centre were less than accurate. The roads were all unlabelled, and the scale of proportion was completely off. After coming up to the same roundabout for the third time, Dart was steaming at how badly drawn this flimsy map was. His patience and enthusiasm had worn thin.

“Excuse me! I’m here for the opening night of God’s Tournament. Can you give me directions to the stadium?” he stopped an old lady passer-by. He could have sworn that she was moving so slowly that he had passed her twice before already—at this very same junction. She seemed like a local.

“Oh, you’re such a cute boy!” She grinned. “You see that bench? That’s a bus stop. Take bus number 5. It goes directly up the mountain to the stadium,” she pointed. “I’ll walk with you.”

Dart thanked her profusely as they sat down at the bench. She joined him, sitting uncomfortably close to him. Dart shifted slightly to make room for her. She was far too friendly, grinning and nodding encouragingly.

“You look like you’re far away from home,” she said gently, trying to make conversation.

Dart moved his bag onto his laps, trying to edge away from her hand which had crept up onto his thigh.

A little too close for comfort, he thought. “Yes, I came here from Celtia.”

“Well you don’t look like a Celtian,” she prodded.

Dart nervously responded that he had moved to Celtia from Al Tehar.

“You must be very lucky. Not many can move between countries these days. Here, have some tea. It’s a specialty on this island, to welcome you,” she said gently, pouring a cup from her copper tumbler. The smell of jasmine wafted towards Dart’s nose, instantly relaxing him. She eagerly nudged the cup right under Dart’s nose.

Not wanting to insult the old lady, Dart reluctantly, but graciously, accepted.

Within minutes, Dart was slumped on the bench, fast asleep.

***

The air was filled with trepidation, festivity and the smell of popcorn. The stadium arena on Five Knife Island had never been so packed, even when the Solympics used to take place regularly on the island. Before, this strangely-shaped island had been unoccupied territory with difficult terrain. Even now, there were huge swathes of undeveloped territory that few knew how to navigate.

Today, spectators from all walks of life and from all parts of the globe had come to watch God’s Tournament. They were seated in their respective national seats. In every corner of the stadium, the emblem of the tournament fluttered proudly. It was a curious winged symbol wrapped around two glowing, floating orbs, crowned with a king chess piece and a sawtooth point.

In the centre of the stadium, giant screens magnified two emcees as they moved around the central podium. The pair, dressed in flamboyant evening wear, drummed up excitement for the big kick-off of God’s Tournament. The female emcee embodied kawaii as she had unnaturally large eyes with purple irises. Upon her petite frame was a peplum bustier mini-dress covered in white feathers. Her partner sported a distinctive purple-tipped mohawk and a studded leather jacket. His eyeliner was almost as thick as his eyebrows, and he maintained a thug-life scowl.

“Are you ready?” the female emcee yelled into the microphone, her big curls bouncing as she swept both her arms upwards. The crowd roared in response. Her partner tag-teamed with the expected rouse, “I can’t heaaaarr you!” The crowd grew wilder. The audience was armed with noise-clappers from their respective nations. Vuvuzelas were competing with Thundersticks™, resounding gongs, and knarres.

“It’s your girl Ashley and your boy Ash,” boomed the speakers, “And we will be your guides in the greatest tournament of our time!”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“This game is about to change the fate of every soul on this planet. God will grant a single wish to the winner. And only one country will rule the rest of the planet forevermore!” The crowd seemed to take on a more somber demeanour.

Ash joked, “You know what Ashley, I don’t know what this tournament is about at all! I was just offered way too much money to reject this gig. Ha ha...”

“And I’m here to find my true love and fame!” Ashley countered with finger guns. The audience seemed to recover a jovial mood.

“Without further ado, let’s open the night with our first guest. The dashing, the mysterious, the founding… chairman!”

Ash mock-whispered to Ashley through the microphone, “I’ve actually never met him before.” “Me neither, but he might be the hottest mammal alive according to those who’ve met him,” Ashley whispered back loudly. Ash flicked his fringe dramatically in irritation, “Pfft… He can't be that good-looking.”

A confident and stately Suez stepped out from behind the curtains of the VIP arena. A hushed murmur rolled around the stadium as the camera focused on this unassuming but clearly important man whose reputation matched his mystique. Suez’s curly hair framed his warm face, but his eyebrows gave away his emotions.

“Chairman Suez, would you like to say a few words?” Ashley gestured to the microphone in front of Suez’s seat.

Suez sat back in his chair, then leaned forward with deliberation. His voice was steady behind clenched teeth.

“I despise that this divine tournament is being used for entertainment. This is supposed to be a sacred sacrifice by the chosen few. All but one will die fighting to achieve their dreams. And this is how you people…” His voice trailed as he searched for the right word. He shook his head to clear the negativity. “Bring the fighters, so we can move forward.” The definitive tone in his voice shut up the audience.

The emcees looked at one another in awkward confusion. “Well you heard it folks, it’s not entertainment. It’s life or death!” Ashley chastised the crowd. “We’re going to see some blood!” added Ash. Behind them, Suez’s face-palming is captured on the big screens.

“Let’s call in our sacred fighters!”

“Brace yourself! We have 20 fighters from each of the four countries who have been selected for the first elimination round! Altogether 32 can qualify. They are ready to give up their past, present and future…”

“Just for our entertain… civilisation’s future!”

***

Dart woke up with a start. His vision was all blurry and his head was pounding. What time was it? How long have I been sleeping?

“It’s been three hours. Also, all your stuff is gone,” a little kid sitting next to him on the bench offered this information, swinging his legs nonchalantly.

“WHO TOOK IT?!” Dart was wide awake now. He reached up and touched this forehead anxiously. Thankfully, his family heirloom jewel was still secured on his forehead, tucked under his fringe as he slept.

“That old lady is a scammer. Everyone here knows that. Didn’t your parents tell you not to take candy from strangers?” the kid mocked Dart.

“Why didn’t you stop her?!” Dart was furious. “I’m so late! Where’s the bus? I need to reach the tournament.”

“Not my problem.” The kid made a move to get up from the bench, throwing his hands up. “This isn’t a bus stop and you’ve probably missed all the buses anyway. Your destination is up there,” he pointed towards the summit of the hill.

Realisation dawning, Dart jumped up. Without a second thought, he grabbed the kid’s bicycle, lying on its side by the bench, and began to pump the pedals like his dignity depended on it.

“That’s my bike!” the kid yelled, running after him breathlessly.

“Not my problem,” Dart muttered under his breath as he put distance behind him and the kid. His eyebrows furrowed, his veins full of adrenaline, he made his way up the hill.

An hour later, Dart’s legs are full of lactic acid. The children’s no-gear bicycle was not designed to climb up such steep inclines. But if he didn’t make it in time for the tournament, he could be disqualified. A bus was parked near a fallen tree, and some of the bus passengers had climbed out and were sitting by the roadside. The bus conductor was nowhere to be seen. He slowed down slightly. They were elderly and feeble, some leaning their rickety frame on walking sticks for support. A few heads turned to look at Dart on a bicycle, their eyes brimming with hope as if someone had come to finally help them. But he couldn’t risk taking a break to help these bus passengers and potentially miss the tournament.

Not my problem.

Dart sped up with determination. With one deft motion, he jumped the bike over the tree with minimal clearance. He refused to look back, embarrassment creeping onto his face.

Thump. What was that? His handlebars were spinning out of control as the balance was thrown off. There was another person sitting on the back of the bike!

“Don’t stop, just keep going. I’m going to the tournament too. I hope you know the way,” the stranger said, his accent foreign and thick. The scent of alcohol on the stranger’s breath hit Dart’s nose aggressively. He was clutching a rough, bulky satchel.

Dart was startled but luckily kept his cool. The continuous momentum had been enough to keep the bicycle from toppling over. His head was full of questions. “Who are you and how did you get on the bike?”

The stranger shook his head. “D...don’t ask questions! Just go already. We’re late!” Dart did as he was told. Bizarre, but he had more pressing matters at hand. He pedalled harder as the incline increased.

Curiosity got the better of him after a few moments. The extra passenger and his baggage were additional weight he did not want. Disgruntled, Dart complained, “Why am I the only one cycling!?”

The stranger patted Dart’s shoulder from behind in thanks. “The name’s Gunny,” he said simply.

Dart and his freeloading pillion passenger reached the top of the cliff. But the stadium arena was on a caldera plateau way down below. How would one get down there? Had they taken a wrong turn? They were so close. The helpless duo looked down at the stadium beneath their feet. It was at least an eighty feet drop down to the stadium.

“I have a plan!” Dart announced. Gunny, still drunk but doubtful.

Gunny realised what Dart was about to do. “NO! No you don’t…”

Still seated, Dart made a start to cycle in the opposite direction from the cliff. When they had gained enough distance, he whipped around on a sharp U-turn, huffing to build momentum.

“Idiot! Do you even care about your own life?” Gunny gulped. He had to act fast.

Gunny quickly rummaged in his satchel. Bottles clinked from within as he pulled out a big bedsheet. He tied two ends to the back of the bicycle seat, and held on to the other two corners.

The two were about to plummet to certain doom, in front of thousands of people.