Mason woke early, and with a sense of urgency. He heard Streak howl somewhere in the distance, knowing the wolf felt it too. It was like the scent of blood on the air. A looming hunt, a challenge, a fight to the death. He remembered the tournament as his mind clawed its way from the fog of sleep.

"Mmm." Haley stirred next to him and blinked sleepily. "Not yet. I'm so cozy."

Mason’s hunt was jammed in a tangle of feminine limbs. All four of his girls were cuddled in various states of nudity, wrapped in sheets and each other's arms. Memories of the night before threatened to send him into a spiral of lust, so he did his best (for the moment) to put it all from his mind.

He had things to do.

So he extracted himself as gently as possible, pushing Haley back down when she started to rise. Today wasn't a day for civilians. He had forty-eight hours before this 'tournament' began, and there was only one logical thing to do in the meantime.

His players needed practice. First, he went to the training hall and talked to the floating blue assistant.

"How may I assist you, Patron? Might I suggest a training exercise to get you started in your..."

"Do you have some kind of 'duel' mode?” he asked. “Can players fight other players in training without...killing each other?"

"Affirmative." The androgynous assistant smiled. "Select 'Challenge Mode', Patron, and browse the related categories. I would be happy to..."

Mason selected 'Challenge Mode' in his building window and scanned. After a brief look through the options, he couldn't help but smile.

It was time for a rude awakening for his players. In every sense of the word. He woke Carl and Phuong first, to the usual grumbling.

"I want all the players down in the training hall," he said. "Don't worry about guards, if you're still using them. I'm sure we'll be safe for a day. Especially since pretty much all the civilians are up in trees. Everyone!" He shouted as he walked back to get Becky. "No excuses!"

Back at the chief’s hall, he lifted his country girl from the big bed and tangle of limbs, carrying her out of the bedroom.

"What do you want?" she said sleepily. "Didn't I do enough for you last night?"

He grinned and helped dress her like she was a toddler, then handed her a cup of coffee. She drank with bleary eyes and a scowl.

"Didn't think you even knew how to use them machines."

"It took me a minute.” Mason grinned. “Now drink on the way. We're going to the training hall."

Becky groaned and wandered after him holding his hand. "The trainin’ hall? That's worse than I figured. Can't it be morning sex instead?"

"Nope. It's training. Now move that thing." He slapped her ass and walked on, grinning as Becky grumbled.

Streak was waiting at the bottom of the lift, tail wagging in anticipation.

"I'm not sure they're ready for you, buddy," Mason said, giving the wolf a scratch. "But you can come watch."

They walked to the hall as Becky drank her coffee and Streak ran laps around the mostly empty building. Soon the players filed in behind Carl and Phuong in various states of readiness. With his ever enhancing hearing, Mason heard Tommaso whisper on the way in:

"What a day to be hungover. I drank a week's worth of rations last night. But it was worth it, I tell you, the things that Amelia does while drunk. I swear to..."

"Tommaso," Mason barked. "Front and center."

The Italian froze and gestured at himself with a finger. Then he winced and came forward, shoulders slumping as he cringed.

"John," Mason said, gesturing to move up.

The big Scotsman came in silence, and with considerably more self-respect. Mason gestured them both onto the inner 'court' of the training hall, then stepped away.

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"Challenge mode," he called. The building flared with red light.

[Entering Player vs Player Challenge Mode] boomed a robotic voice. [Safety protocols initiated.]

The red light flicked off and replaced with blue as a shield completely surrounded the court, trapping Tommaso and John inside. Both men also pulsed with a dull light, as if they had some kind of personal shields.

The players (except for the duelists) were all grinning now.

"Knock his fecking dandy head off, Johnny!" Seamus yelled.

The big Scotsman glanced back at the Irishman with a scowl. But when he looked back at Tommaso, he charged.

"Hell yeah!" Becky shouted, beautiful smile wide as she met Mason's eyes. The other players were whistling and cheering. Streak howled to fit in.

"Now just wait a minute, eh?" Tommaso was backing away from the charging Scot. "Wait, I said! Wait a minute!"

Tommaso backed up with increasing panic, but far too slowly. At the last second he ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding a brutal, electrified haymaker that swiped just over his head.

Then the Italian was up and running with an undignified scramble, and a slight squeal. He ran at full speed from the pursuing Scot.

Most of the players were laughing now, calling insults or suggestions. John lumbered after the faster Tommaso, who continued to keep his distance around the wide, empty court.

"Can we really strike each other with full power in this, Patron?" Phuong asked. Mason gave him a half-hearted nod.

"Seems like. Though I can't be sure. Figured I'd let John bash someone in the face a few times just to see what happens. You know, as a test." He shrugged. "Worst case, I let Carl try and cut my arm off."

"Uh. Gross." Carl hit Phuong on the arm. "Make the old man do it. He's good at mangling Americans, I bet."

Phuong just smiled, entirely with too much satisfaction. Mason and Carl exchanged a look.

"Alright," Mason said. "You can both try. Maybe that way you'll have a chance."

"Ha!" Carl looked at a silent Alex then at Phuong. "You hear this arrogant prick? I've changed my mind. I'll cut his arm off. At least for a start."

"Come on, Tommy, you can do it!" Becky shouted, her hands on her mouth like a megaphone. Mason felt his eyes narrow.

"Since when do you know Tommaso well enough to call him 'Tommy'?"

Becky's eyebrows lifted as she looked over at him, then she turned up her nose.

"All the boys love me. I call 'em whatever I like and they're happy as tom cats with cream just to hear my Southern charm."

Mason knew she was just giving him a hard time. But a violent surge of jealousy still sparked through his body like an electric charge.

"Shit," Carl said with a laugh, looking at Mason then at Phuong. "I think that boy better stay inside the shield."

Mason glared. "Think I'll just take Miss Arkansas in there. Teach her what's what."

"I ain't scared of you." Becky stuck out her tongue, then held up her hand and formed her shield into its mace form. "I'll mush up that pretty face with this."

Mason tried not to grin. Tommaso was apparently still running for his life, John still after him, seemingly unfazed and willing to wait as long as it took for the other man to tire.

"Come on, boss!" Tommaso shouted at the shield. "This isn't right, eh? I wasn't ready!" The Italian convulsed, then vomited all over the shield towards the players in a disgusting, multi-colored spray.

"Jesus Christ," Garet muttered, a hand on his face. He stepped forward and banged on the shield. "Listen to me, you stupid bastard. It's just like King of the Hill. He can't catch you. So do it like King of the Hill. Like we practiced."

The Italian nodded like this made some kind of sense, then went on running for his life. This time when he crossed the court, he turned and held up a hand, forming some kind of...glowing flask. He tossed it like a grenade.

The thing exploded a few feet from John's chest, making fireworks-like sparks and a bit of smoke.

The big Scot jogged straight through the explosion, not really slowing but also not looking pleased. He'd flashed with a bit of blue light, Mason noticed, which probably meant he'd taken some 'damage'.

"Oh shit," Carl said with a grin. "Looks like we might just have ourselves a contest."

So went the next few intense, and kind of tedious minutes. Tommaso kept on running from John, getting enough distance, then tossing an exploding flask. After a few more hits John started to try and dodge, but it was clear Tommaso's aim was a lot better than his ability to evade.

Several more hits after that, and John's face was starting to look...pale. And very angry.

"How's your mana, aye?" he shouted as he sprayed a little spit. "How's your fooking mana, boy?"

By the increasingly frightened look in Tommaso's eyes, his mana was...not good. About five throws later, the Italian went to toss another bomb and cried out in pain, clutching at his head.

"Oh he's tapped," Seamus said, shaking his head. "Idjit. You never go full tapped. It's like ramming your head into a wall."

Tommaso barely escaped John's next rush. Even as he did he stumbled around as if drunk, possibly throwing up on himself.

"I'm done!" he shouted, still weaving to get away. "No reason to…" he put out a hand. "I surrender. Or whatever you call it when..."

John roared with several minutes worth of pain and frustration. Then he rammed a crackling fist with full force into the Italian's jaw. It flattened the smaller man with brutal force, Tommaso ragdolling his way to the floor like a lifeless dummy.

[Duel complete. Safety protocols disengaged.]

All the players strained as they looked forward to see Tommaso on the floor.

"Is he dead?" Seamus called, because of course he did. Mason was a little worried, if he was honest, with the way the man went down. A normal human hit like that would almost certainly never get up the same again. Not with a fully functioning brain.

[Damage detected. Revivifying] intoned the system. [Condition imposed: slightly wounded. Please take a short break, and seek medical attention.]

Tommaso gasped and shot up like he'd been shocked.

"Whoo!" he shouted, shaking his head before grinning at the watching players with a confused look. "Did I win?"

Mason smiled, and gave a withering, suddenly less confident Becky a fierce look.

"Who'd like to go next?"