Time passes very, very slowly. Each minute feels more like an eternity. There is not much to do during the matches except to watch them in your cell. I need to gather as much information as possible, but with no way to take notes, remembering it all seems too mentally tasking. I can always use my blood to draw up plans, but that seems way too risky to lose that much blood before my match… … … …There is another way, however…I don’t know the extent of the drawbacks that could occur. Is it possible for me to use “Her Last Cry” like that? I know on a baseline level; it can be used to distort what my opponents see, but I wonder if I can have the same effect on myself? … … There’s only one way to find out.

I make my way over to the lone sink in the corner of the room. With my right hand, I lean myself over on the sink, looking at the reflection in the mirror. With a few deep breaths, and some preparation, I stare into my own eyes and open the windows into my soul. Suddenly, all went white

■ ■ ■

I opened my eyes slowly to get accustomed to the sudden change in brightness; however, my line of sight was still too blurry. As I take a look around, the view is absolutely breathtaking. What I expected to be the interior of my holding cells transformed into a view unlike any other. The dank, moldy room was now a sunset with an infinite horizon. The sun in its golden hour shines a deep and radiant orange as it basks me in its embracing warmth. The bountiful clouds in the sky, an assortment of pure whites, vibrant pinks and purples, and soothing reds and yellows, all mixed together in pure harmony. The linoleum floors, dissolved and liquefied into a shallow pool of water. Calmness, tranquility, serenity, safety. These were the feelings of the environment; the perfect environment to focus on strategizing. There is something I’ll need to test before I start anything. With my ability, I decide to try and conjure up a notebook and a pencil, all on a wooden table. With enough persistence, a notebook, pencil, and table magically appeared in front of me. With a quick scribble, I write my name on the front, lay it down on the table, and close my eyes. I open them back up, only to be greeted by the reflection of my own eyes in the smudgy glad of my dingy holding cell. The small television in the corner plays on in the background; the announcer officiating the start of the first match. Feeling more comfortable, I peer back into the hazel eyes that reside in the lonesome mirror. The bright flash of light appears as I am once again transported to my inner oasis. Right before me still lays the notebook I created mere minutes ago. With all of the testing out of the way, I take to the table and sit down in a rather comfortable chair. I flip to the first page of the notebook, uncap the pen, and observe the matches on the TV that apparated on the table beside me. I will learn ad devise the most cunning counterattacks ever in order to guarantee my victory! Nothing will be hidden from me. Everything will be revealed to me! All will fall before me! That includes you, Brett. I may not know what your God-name or power is, but once I find out, I promise to end your pathetic existence with my own two fists!

■ ■ ■

[DELEGATES REMAINING: 95 🡪 48]

The familiar hum of the elevator is ever-present. Floor by floor, it descends to the arena, which patiently waits for more blood to be spilled to satisfy its insatiable hunger. This will once again be the proving ground and show to everyone that with “Her Last Cry,” I will triumph over my opponent and be the sole winner over this god-forsaken tournament. I will do it! I will be the vic—

*ding*

AH! W-W-What…was…that?!

*ding*

OW! … …Why…is this happening?! … …My head…it…hurts…

*ding*

Hrnghh!! … …Something is...AH MY EYES!!!

… … … … …It finally…stopped… … …Why did this happen? That was the worst headache, no, the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my entire life! It felt as if someone took a knife and repeatedly jammed it into my…skull…wait a minute. Why is my face wet? Am I crying from the pain? No! These aren’t tears; this is something way thicker. Wiping it away with my hand, I notice streaks of blood on my fingertips. Am I crying blood? No, there’s no reason why I’d be crying blood, unless…. Are these tears a result of the stabbing sensation? But why am I having stabbing pains in the first place? None of this making any sense!

The doors to the elevator open; the sudden onset of stabbing pain made me forget I was in there all along. I wipe away the rest of my blood-laden tears before I exit the confines of the elevator. Just like before, alongside the massive monolithic walls, the guards stand ready at their turrets, monitoring my every move. Behind them are the straight-faced spectators, all silent and solemn in their mannerisms. CEOs, CFOs, presidents, consultants, founders, you name it. All of the most high-ranking company executives and officials of the Grand Order, all waiting with bated breath for the next match, hoping their delegate advances to the next round… … … …I know they’re watching, and I don’t want to let anyone down. I will win this match! I know I will!

At the end lies the gateway to the arena. I make my way one echoey step at a time. While the nerves are still there, my walking isn’t nearly as wobbly as the previous match. I stand before the gate once again. A royal guard instructs me to stay put until the gate lifts. As I stand in place, the words of another delegate, scrawled out in blood, catches my attention: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter.” While it may be a bit melodramatic, I do appreciate the comparison of our current experiences to that of Dante’s Inferno. A sense of déjà vu encompasses me as the gate starts to life. All of the air is forced out into the arena, making my heartbeat the only that can be heard. I walk through the gate and set forward on the road to nowhere.

■ ■ ■

“Welcome to the second round’s 40th match-up of the tournament for Godhood. Allow me to introduce the delegates. On the left is one who has been generating a lot of popularity recently. Is it for the gothic looks, the company she represents, or rather, is it because of impressive, yet secretive ability? Whatever the reason may be, expect all eyes to be on her this match, especially given her most recent injury. Introducing the delegate for Plutronics Unlimited, the Beautiful Princess of Vampires, I give you: Lady Mercedes Vida! Now, on my right. Hand-picked by an ancient and omnipotent deity. This delegate will prey the competition away. With her God-given ability, you’ll be begging for mercy to ensure your heart isn’t cast into the fire! From Holy Intelligence Systems, introducing the Priestess of Hopeful Destiny: Saint Agnes!”

The both of us make our way to the center of the arena. There’s not much information to gather, as I have a vague sense of what her ability does; however, there was something about her appearance that strikes me as odd: everything was just a little too white. I’m not even talking about her traditional attire or even her hair, which was also pure white. I’m mainly talking about Agnes herself and her entire body. Her skin seems so ethereal, it’s as if she’s a living ghost! I mean, in all fairness, she has been blessed by a god, so I guess the ethereal aura is just a by-product. All I care about is making sure I stay a decent distance until I figure out how her power truly works!

“Alright, the rules are the same as before. Until the end of the countdown, both delegates are prohibited from engaging in combat. After that, combat may and will proceed until death or surrender of a delegate. Remember: surrender is not recommended. Now then, let’s have an exciting match, and best of luck to the both of you. May the best delegate win!”

The announcer leaves the arena, and with the slam of the large gate, the countdown begins…

10…9…8…

My heart is beating fast, causing my breathing to become more erratic.

7…6…5…

The blood in my veins turns to ice as I look at Saint Agnes.

4…

Her eyes are closed… She knows how my ability works

3…

I also sense a bone-chilling aura emanating from her.

2…

There’s no soul, merely a vessel for her god.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

1…

An instrument of pure death and destruction…

“Agnostos Theos” Those two words invoked the nameless god that lived inside of the vessel of Saint Agnes. A light-blue mist leaked its way out of her mouth and coiled around her body with a composition of gas, liquid, and solid, defying the very law of physics. I decide to waste no time and lunge toward my opponent, as waiting for the deity to be summoned would be an absolute death sentence.

“Block” The command sent the mist flying toward me in an effort to protect its host. I take a swing with my fist; the mist attempts to provide protection to Agnes, however, my fist penetrates its gaseous form. Just then, the god changes to a solid state, coiling around the entirety of my arm. The metallic-like coil starts to spasm and tighten, readying itself to crush my arm. With no other option, I take my injured arm, sling and all, and desperately try to slide the coil off; the pain from my wound becoming almost unbearable with a forceful push.

“Crush” The god obeyed, and the coil collapsed within an instant, falling to the arena’s floor, all while barely avoiding permanently disfigurement. Okay…shape shifting god. Gotta figure out how to…

“Right” I turn to my right anticipating blocking an attack only to be blindsided by a clean jab to the left side of my face. Tinnitus rings all around me as my head throbs from the impactful punch. Remembering horizontal directions are in reverse will be key to my safety. I wait for the next attack, but I don’t see this deity anywhere. I lock onto Saint Agnes, hoping to gain the upper hand in this fight. My ear still burns with each passing second, all while the ringing remains constant. I run toward the priestess, once again forcing her to reveal the location of the nameless god. Inch by inch, I make my way toward her, closing the distance between us, all the while, she keeps her eyes closed.

Twelve feet…Ten feet…Eight feet.

She’s not flinching or reacting toward my advances.

Six feet…Five feet…Four feet.

This doesn’t feel right…

Three feet.

But I still ready myself for the fight…

Two feet.

She’s luring me, but I knowingly give in.

One foot.

I release the tension in my arm, ready to hit the Saint. She’s going to counterattack, but she needs to open her eyes! She turns and stares me down with her eyes still shut, as though she were peering into my soul through the veil of darkness.

“Crush…her....” Time slows to a staggering crawl as she utters her commands to the nameless god. On either side of me, two massive hands appear out of thin air, and start to accelerate toward me with the intent to kill me and fulfill its mission. There’s no time for me to move as I’d almost guarantee my own death. The hands are getting closer and closer and I need to make a decision quickly! Will the god try to kill its host in order to kill me? There’s no other choice left, so I have to go through with it and just pray that it works!

In an act of desperation, using the momentum from the punch, I grab hold of her waist and tackle her to the ground. The force from the fall knocks the wind from the Saint, who struggles to catch a breath. As for me, I smacked my face to stop the dizziness I sustained from the tackle’s blowback. I quickly close in on Saint Agnes, looking around warily for the god's hands. I notice them twitching in sync with the Saint’s sporadic breathing. I get on top of Agnes, positioning myself on her, and begin my offensive. One…two…three and so on and so on; each punch I land feels more satisfying than the last. My counteroffensive has garnered the attention of the solemn spectators, who are now in applause, further tilting the scales of victory in my favor. She continues to take every punch I give her with no resistance whatsoever, which feels a little unsettling. Suddenly, she snaps her neck, making sure we were face-to-face, and spits with great force into my eyes; the blood from the repeated blows blinds me instantly. My attention now turns to regaining my vision while maintaining my advantage. I can feel her attempting to push me off her chest in order to catch a proper breath, however, I refuse to let her command the god again. I force more weight on her chest, digging my knee into her arm as deep as it can go for added assurance. She continues to struggle as guilt starts to weigh heavily on my conscience, but either me or her. I feel her chest tighten, hopefully signaling the end of the fight, but then I hear a whisper: “Cr…ush…me.”

Above me apparates the massive hand of the god, preparing to slam down with immense force. Looks like she’s trying to kill us both! No advantage is worth instant death! I immediately dive off my opponent and roll over to safety just before the mighty hand crashes down on Saint Agnes. The hand, having fulfilled its command, starts to dissipate. Is the battle done? Has the war been won? Or has it…just begun? Suddenly, the Saint in all her divine, ethereal glory ascends from the concrete floor, her face, once pure and white, now desecrated by the stain of her own blood. To witness the god bringing no harm to its vessel is something I should’ve thought about sooner. This is more likely than not the reason she was able to secure a victory in her previous match! She continues to stand in place, trying to regain composure, using only her left hand to brace herself on her leg. She sways side-to-side struggling to maintain balance. Why doesn’t she use her other hand to help stabilize herself? That’s when I noticed it: she doesn’t have one anymore! This has to be the drawback of being chosen as the vessel for such a powerful god. So, the more she commands her Protector, the more she evaporates and becomes one with her master. But enough thinking about her drawbacks, I need to take this vital piece of information and continue to mount the pressure on Saint Agnes! She still has her eyes closed, so I’ll need to force them open if I want to execute my coup d’état! With no actual weapons and no access to visual manipulation, it’s going to be tough, but I know I can do it! This is my fight to win! I will not surrender when victory is within my grasp!

I once again take to a sprinting stance and start to run toward the Saint. She tries to utter commands, but only coughs up more blood, most likely a result of her broken nose and mangled mouth. I get closer, preparing myself for another fight.

“Right!” She finally shouts and on cue, the god, taking the form of a boxer, throws a jab. I dodge it and continue my advance.

“Left!” Another command, and like clockwork, I dodge it again.

“Right! Left! Right! Right! Left! Right! Left!!” Order after order like rapid fire, and the god obeys. Each attack, I block or dodge like an underdog on the ropes. The distance is nearly closed; only the god stands between me and the Saint.

“Uppercut!” Saint Agnes pleads to the heavens, and the god prepares to end the fight. As the entity aims for my face, I dive through the god’s trunk, and as expected, I easily pass through like a hot knife through soft butter, with the intent to hunt down my prey! Suddenly, her eyes open, pure fear and terror written all over them. Now’s my chance!

“Coil and Crush!” She demands, but before the god could complete its order, I disappear in the blink of an eye! The Saint is confused, moving frantically, trying to discover my whereabouts. She calls the god back to her, providing her comfort and security. I guess she was only told to close her eyes to avoid my power. She moves back and forth; left to right; up and down. She scours the areas for any trace of my presence. No matter where she turns, I make sure to maintain eye contact safely in order to continue my illusions. Suddenly, the Saint darts her head to the right, catching a glimpse of me running toward her, seemingly to mount another counter strike. She firects her master to strike me down from where I stand. Like a javelin thrown by a might Olympian, the god obeys and flies toward my heart. Soon thereafter, the god hits its mark, blood pouring from the wound. The priestess sighs in relief while making her way toward me.

“Release!” She says softly, and the god retracts from my body, sinking to my knees as a result. I look up toward the Holy Saint, smiling down upon me as she whispers her final command: “Decapitate”

Like the swing from an ax, the ancient god swipes with such forces, causing my head to bounce across the concrete flooring. The audience starts to applaud, signaling to Saint Agnes that the battle had been won. As she basks in the limelight of praise and adoration, black and red particles start to wisp around the Saint. She turns around to confront the source of the particulate, only to discover my corpse decomposing into said dust. She approaches and kneels down toward what remained of my body, inspecting it to truly confirm that I was dead.

As her eyes bored through the remnants of my skull, I reached forth and firmly grasped around her throat; our eyes still interlaced. I tighten my grip, causing the Saint to wince from the pain. With no breathing, she can’t command her Master. Tighter and tighter, it becomes the more she tries to escape. She bangs her arms against mine, but her attempt is futile as her hands have conjoined with the nameless one, in spirit. As she continues to struggle for each breath, my body starts to repair and become whole once again. A gruesome, yet beautiful, spectacle of reds, blues, purples, and whites amalgamating and conforming to the human mold, only to be witnessed by one Saint Agnes. Tears well up within her eyes as each breath becomes more painstakingly unbearable, all the while, the horror of bone, blood, and guts seemingly appearing from thin air. With my hand still clamped on their throat. I gradually get up off the floor and lead Agnes down where I laid mere moments ago. I slowly get back on top of her, adding to their shallow breathing, and press my forearm against her mouth and nose. Try as she might to command the god, only a muffled panic can be heard. She struggles more to breathe, but gags from lack of air. Her legs and arms start to tremble and shake, as her eyes become bloodshot as they hemorrhage. I turn away and press harder, all to avoid her final moments from being burned into my memory.

Suddenly, the spasms slowed down. The muffled noises of Saint Agnes turned to complete silence. After a twitch of her arm and kick of the leg, her body finally ceased all movement. I waited a few more seconds as a precaution, then removed my arm and hand from her face and throat respectively. In front of me lay the body of Saint Agnes, my opponent, my prey, my victory. The crowd of spectators finally lets out a round of applause as the battle has officially concluded. The boom of the announcer’s voice startles me a bit as he declares me the winner of the round. Walking back toward the elevator, I take one last look at my opponent. To my surprise, the body of the Saint seemingly raptured, leaving behind her robes and headdress, still soiled in her blood. At least she’ll be at peace with her Master. That’s the hope anyway.

■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■

[DELEGATES REMAINING: 48 🡪 47]