Grabbing hold of their rhombus-shaped magic lenses, the four combatants began their magic level examination simultaneously. As the individuals charged up the pearl-colored stones, ripping their sheets of paper down the middle, the announcer, Jorelai, watched flamboyantly from above.
All seemed to be going fine, though one individual did seem to be having a slow start, until something wild caught the nør elf’s attention. “Now wait just a minute, folks, I think we just stumbled upon something rather interesting!” declared Jorelai, starting to descend from the air. “We might just have a special occurrence in the ol’ house with us today!”
As the flamboyant man came floating down, we spun in a downward spiral along the outside rim of the four finalists, that way none of them could be sure they were the one he was coming down for. After several moments of suspense that left the crowd teetering on their chairs, the nør elf stopped spinning and landed on the ground. The room was shocked to see that he had landed… in front of the batten.
Standing on the winged man’s table in a flashy way, the announcer smiled at the combatant he had swooped down for. “What the hell do you want?” grumbled the batten with contempt.
“Well, you, of course!” replied Jorelai cheerfully. “You, sir, have caught my, as well as the room’s, attention!”
“Oh, yeah, and why’s that?” the winged finalist snarled.
“Well, just look at your paper! The tear in this baby is quite impressive! It seems like someone was working themselves weary in their last match.”
“You think I’m weary?”
“No, no, of course not, sir. I just meant that your progress is quite noticeable. And quite impressive, I must admit, it deserves some applause. Everyone, give this man a round of applause for his incredible work here!”
“What the hell are you talking about man? Just spit it out!”
You’re right, you’re right, my apologies, I just haven’t been down on the ground like this since the last free-for-all, I suppose I’m getting ahead of myself. No matter. Your paper, sir, your paper has split quite far. Far enough that you have surpassed the level limit for competing here today!”
“WHAT?!”
“That’s right, sir. I was informed of your determined level before you began your first match. You were already sitting at level 19. You were close to the cutoff point but not hanging by a thread or anything. You knew you were safe, right? After all, if your baseline magic grew another level you would still only be at 20; just barely making you eligible for competition, but that would be good enough, right? However, sir, you were quite the fighter in your last match. I mean, you all saw, right folks? Of the total number of combatants that entered the ring, you, good sir, were responsible for the elimination of at least half of them! That is quite a feat. And in doing so, by pushing yourself so hard and proving how much of a winner you are, you not only grew your baseline magic by one level, but by 2! Mister, you currently have a baseline magic level of 21! What an absolute monster you are! Everyone give it up for the batten gentleman!”
“No, no! No, that can’t be right. You can’t take me out, I must only be level 20. I’m sure I’m only level 20! Recheck it. You can’t do this to me, man! I’ve made it this far, I only have these three losers to take care of and then I am the… ‘Rookie Champion’, or whatever the hell title you give the winner. That should be me! Me!”
“Well, I’m sorry, sir, but take it as a compliment. You’ve proven you’re stronger than this rookie contest. You have proven you’re a winner by surpassing those who are even allowed to compete here. That’s a victory in and of itself. I mean, the last time that happened was 5 years ago, at least. I mean, it is not common! So take pride in it! Besides, since you didn’t lose, you get a consolation prize for disqualification, meaning you’re going to walk away with more than the two who lose this final match will today! Isn’t that incredible? Seriously, it’s something to celebrate! So please, why don’t you tell the crowd your name?”
The batten drew a magic sword from between his hands; the same one he had used in his fight against Azim and Leone. “Go to hell,” he uttered, before stabbing himself in the heart with his shining weapon, activating his charm and dissolving into dust.
“…Okay!” Jorelai commented, trying to regain traction. “Well, look at that, folks. Getting out of here on his own terms. Now that’s cool! Of course, that doesn’t count as a forfeit or anything, he still gets his disqualification consolation. No, that little stunt right there was just for your viewing pleasure!”
As the crowd cheered, Jorelai remarked, “Now, let’s get to the rest of the finalists.”
Hopping into the air once more, the nør elf glided onto the next table like a leaping gazelle, a familiar trail of blue sparkles echoing behind him. He observed the shrouded figure's paper, proclaiming to the audience that it demonstrated a baseline magic level of 17. The loose-robed finalist did not react to the nør elf’s comment, instead remaining as stiff as they had been the entire time. Jorelai hopped again onto the next table, the one belonging to Leone. He looked down at the paper between his legs and the tear along it, and shouted, “11!” to the audience.
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Finally, he jumped onto Azim’s table. The metal man looked up at the flamboyant nør elf, though the announcer did not yet look back at him. He was, for the moment, enamored by the lackluster results of the robot’s paper. Finally, the grayish, blue-skinned man looked up at Azim. “My, my, your exam results are quite fascinating, too! Don’t get me wrong, folks, we don’t have a repeat situation on our hands. No, even if we did, the spotlight already would have been stolen by that other gentleman’s exit, I think! Ha ha! No, no, in fact, we have the exact opposite oddity on our hands. Ladies and gentlemen, we have here… a finalist, a proud champion striving to be a true victor,… with a baseline magic level… of 1!”
At the man’s last word, the entire crowd surrounding the ring gasped, almost in complete unison. “Ha ha, you must be one crazy fellow, good sir!” Jorelai laughed at Azim. “A baseline level of 1, and yet you want to try your luck here. Better yet, you are,… and you’re succeeding! My, oh my, this is incredible! What fun, what fun. Truly a delectable treat, I must say! Sir. I, nay, the people, must know, do you really expect to walk out of this arena a victor with your baseline of 1, or are you just living out some lunatic fantasy? We must know, we absolutely must!”
The metal man stared at the announcer looking down at him for a moment, not entirely sure how to answer. He had not been the one who had suggested to come here. This had been Leone’s idea. He had just made it this far so he would be keeping up with his companion. “It is unknown if I will be the lone survivor in this ring,” the robot finally stated, “but there is no fantasy that I am simply fulfilling the role of by my presence here.”
Though Azim could not see it, for he was facing away from the other two fighters, the hooded figure behind him lifted their head ever so slightly at the sound of the metal man’s words.
“So you’re not just jumping in for the hell of it!” Jorelai commented, more to the audience than directly to Azim. “I honestly can’t tell if that makes you more or less crazy! Am I right, folks? Nevertheless, I’m sure you’re all thinking it,… let’s get this fight started already!”
Another roar erupted from the crowd.
“Yes, yes, I know I’ve been talking, teeing things up, for too long now. But, with the remaining finalists all set to go and eligible for the main event that you have all been waiting for, it’s time to get things started! Finalists, if you could all remain facing away from one another, walk to the edge of your side of the ring, and turn and face back around.”
Just as instructed, Azim, Leone, and the mysterious third finalist all walked away from one another, until they reached their respective boundary of the ring, at which point they all turned back around to face the center. With the finalists in position, Jorelai floated up into the air once more, making the tables, papers, and magic lenses disappear as he did so. “Alright then, if everyone is in position, and if the audience is on the edge of their seats, then let the final match of the Semi-Annual Rookie Free-For-All… begin!”
With the final words of the nør elf’s speech ringing out, the omnipresent gong that had been bellowing for each match echoed throughout the Brick House once more, signaling the official start of the fight.
However, unlike the earlier four matches, there was not a rush to go after one another. In the corner rings, fighters had rushed to the center, pounced at the combatants on either side of them, and took almost no pause in assessing any part of their current situation. However, this final match was different. Nobody was moving. There was an air of tension wafting throughout the ring, so strong that it could be felt by even the audience members. Even Jorelai, who was still floating high above the arena, was unsettled at the stillness going on down below.
Azim looked well down the ring across from him and saw the loose-robed figure standing stiff. The robot looked over Leone, who was looking back at him. The young man gave Azim a knowing look and a tilt of the head, as if to say, since they were here in the ring together, to just gang up on the third finalist. The metal man started walking forward, closing the distance in the triangular area between the three of them. Meanwhile, Leone patiently waited for him to catch up. It only hit him now, but Leone realized how disadvantageous his placement in the ring was. He had a fighter on either side of him, while each of them only had one. If Azim had not been an ally, the young man would have been cornered.
As the robot caught up with Leone, the two started to walk in tandem toward the last finalist. From overhead, Joreali was commentating how astonishing it was that two of the combatants were seemingly teaming up with one another, rhetorically asking the audience what it could mean.
Before the two companions could get closer, the hooded individual finally spoke. It left the two of them stopping in their tracks. The other finalist had not expressed any ounce of themself or their character throughout the entire lead-up to the fight. And now, they were speaking directly to their opponents. “You,” they uttered, causing Azim and Leone to hesitate.
The air of tension that had already been so present in the ring thickened up like fog. The entire crowd was tense at just the one word. “I… know you,” the voice continued.
“Just now, when you spoke to that clown floating up there,… I recognized your voice. You have a memorable voice, one that I could not forget. I don’t think I could ever forget who you are.”
And then it hit Azim. The mysterious figure’s voice. He recognized it, too. His memory processors were picking up on the voice’s inflection and pitch. They were able to match it to one he had heard before. Only a few days ago. It was a soft, feminine voice, and yet it had a lot of contempt in it. There was hate buried in the sweetness of it. Even though they had not removed their hood or their mask, Azim recognized who the voice belonged to. He tilted his head slightly to the left.
“You… You’re the one…,” the mysterious figure muttered, pulling down her hood and taking off her mask.
“You’re the one who RUINED MY BIRTHDAY PARTY!!” screamed a familiar, juvenile face, one that Azim had initially tried to save.