Jaldi’s boredom soon found itself melted away in the heat of a sweltering arena whose sands felt mysteriously close to a pile of half-ground teeth. There were three hundred other competitors, many brandishing large weapons. Some had iron shields, steel maces, and bronze hatchets. One brave soul wielded a single wooden spear with no armor and no loincloth. Either he was going to die instantly, or would probably solo the rest of the arena. Jaldi was sure there would be no in between, and yet he was far away so made for little concern overall. The bigger issue was just how many other bodies there were around him, and the fact the tournament had no rules and no specific format made for a challenging start. Many competitors would already have alliances going in, and still more would be formed both through contract and unspoken mutual understanding of the benefits of teamwork.

Jaldi, of course, would be taking no such stance. He didn’t need others, they were nothing but a hindrance, and in a tournament like this would more often than not become a knife-wielder directly to one’s back. There would be thirty winners and another round to cull twenty after, but that didn’t mean friends were likely to remain fast. It was always beneficial to get rid of another body between yourself and the top, and while Jaldi could also become the knife to someone else’s back, it seemed beneath him. He wasn’t womanly, not like that.

The heat itself soon melted away beneath a covering produced to protect the audience whose rambunctious cheers made it known The Hidden Emperor himself graced the arena. He didn’t often attend these events for their routine and banal nature, but his presence now would make for little difference to Jaldi’s performance. Though he did wish to serve, the men at the top never cared for those so far down the ladder.

Darkness fell over the semi-transparent membrane carving out a pocket dimension as silence equally profound fell over the field of battle, competitors locked in cold determination to butcher their way to the top of this mountain of bodies. The teeth below would soon be stained red, and the competitor’s corpses would soon find themselves amidst the pile. Jaldi shivered, his sweat sticking to the thin brown robes he always wore. He cursed that magic would not provide the sufficient warmth swinging a mace might. But at least his enemies’ blood would suffice.

Three. A pulse white light began to count down from the gray sky as Jaldi’s muscles braced themselves and he again cursed his magic for its lack of physicality. He knew the moment this battle began he would be forced to run and fly for dear life, and that the wind would make his present chill worse. Two. His legs trembled and fingers twitched. One. The other competitors were stealing looks side to side in a final assessment of who to conquer first. Zero.

Jaldi felt a shooting pain from his lower abdomen as he furiously casted a counter-spell.

“Fucking testicular torsion, pick something more fucking crea—” he felt mend buttcrack taking hold as he fell backward into horizontal flight to dodge a mace-swing. His fingers furiously maneuvered themselves to pull the strings of red mist he wielded Yaldabaoth’s power from. In an instant he had separated his rear and sliced the man in front cleanly in two, bathing himself in a sea of redder thicker mist than now surrounded him.

“First order of business— kill that fucking cancer-user.” He mumbled to himself, feeling out the rays of power in the air and again kicking up to parry the ax of a man far too large to reasonably parry. It didn’t succeed, of course, but gave him just enough momentum to propel himself out of the way and gain some sorely-needed height.

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His counterspell triggered and Jaldi instantly knew it was the cancer-mage. There would be no furious diarrhea on this day! His fresh height gave Jaldi the vantage necessary to instantly spot the four-foot two dwarf with a face like fresh pastrami beaten with a bag of hammers. Unfortunately, this ambition would have to wait, as simultaneous to gaining the vantage to see others was the vantage to be seen. Jaldi found himself squarely in the jaws of three firebolts sent by clusters of mages at the edges of the circle who had set up defensive encampments. The logical choice would be to go down, and yet he knew The Hidden Emperor was watching, and he knew Regulus would hear of this battle. Jaldi had no choice but to go up and make this battle a tale of his bravery and fortitude in conquering the skies.

So he did, and dodged the first round of firebolts, but as a congratulatory present was gifted with the attention of every archon on the field. Fire and lighting and acid and ice and sand and teeth and blood and mist and the devastation of cancerous testicular torsion and worse all found themselves aimed squarely at a counterspell not designed to parry more than the singular attack of a mid-level mage. And yet Jaldi’s jaw locked firmly in place as his eyelids slid closed.

Mist found itself winding around him, disrobed of cloth and wrapped in light so thickly it had replaced his skin in something more akin to plate mail. He could sense the techniques. He could see them all. He could see every soldier, archon, and wretch being dismembered afield. They were all so small, so distant, so weak. Jaldi began to dismantle the techniques from within as his power flared to something he had never experienced. It was as though he had total control of the entire field of battle. It was as though he had a complete sense of all reality in place of his sense of self.

He shot a ray of red light through the skull of the cancer-user and did not watch as the dwarf’s uncooked-pastrami face became just slightly more red and ready to eat. He blew apart every ray of fire and acid and ice. He dismantled the wall of teeth spearing out of the ground for his face and kicked aside the sand with a projectile. And at the crescendo of his power in which he would kill all other contestants at once for their lack of ability to wield this ultimate technique only he could possess—

Jaldi found himself powerless and falling to the ground. His techniques faded and the barrier around them blurred as wind picked up from afar. The entire colosseum shook with the might of a storm that had formed around them, turning the sky black and blocking out the sun to produce a total and unnatural cold. Even The Hidden Emperor looked upwards, but Jaldi only spotted him for a moment before his arm extended and the barrier reformed. But for an emperor to have had to intervene in this battle personally? How did the dimension break?

These momentary questions did not last as the ground broke Jaldi’s ribs. He looked around in panic at the handful of others he spotted using Yaldabaoth’s school of magic and found them, too, stripped powerless. He stood as quickly as he was able, but soon found his legs swept out from beneath him, arrogance finding itself again met with the cruel reality of powerlessness.

He fell to his knees in a hard lurch that sent blood up through his open mouth and braced his hands against the sharp ground in an effort to keep from coughing out a lung, but was soon kicked in the stomach and sent flying some twenty feet to land on his back. Pain radiated through him so sharply he was rendered blind and deaf. Not mute though, as he screamed in agony through burning lungs quickly filling with blood. When Jaldi’s hearing returned he finally heard them, all the other screams that had always been afield. He had been so focused on winning that—

Another kick was delivered up as if to spike him like a ball, then an elbow found its way to his stomach. In the brief moment in which he was somewhat conscious Jaldi saw one of the pathetic wretches he had sent home at an earlier tournament. But how was he even here?

Baoth smiled at Jaldi,

“Remember me?”

Jaldi’s eyes widened.

“Good.”

The spear did not wait for a reply.