Wivanya walked forward with sinuous grace, a cat on a fence even as she was an oppressive dragon atop a cliff. The wind tickled her, its touch depositing a heavy layer of salt that she would later need to scrub off her scales if she wanted to escape from the smell. Yet she did not mind; sometimes, the discomfort of new experiences was part of the novelty.

Growth required fresh perspectives. So she experienced.

Several of her brood circled high above the cliffs, too excited from the latest batch of matches to be still. Especially the fight between Tykes and Glendel invigorated them, showing them how powerful one could truly be underneath the System. They burned for the chance to wield images that frightful.

Perched on the high cliffs, some of the older Frost Dragons discussed more seriously the favorites now that the numbers had been cut down to a little over two thousand. Yet with so many potential dark horses, it was hard to whittle it down any further.

Still, a certain sort of individual loved their pet theories.

And some were shared rather widely amongst the group. Especially because monsters like Hank Howard, Alana Donal, and Wivanya herself remained in the running for champion. The well-established Expiran group cast long shadows on any potential projections.

Eventually, she arrived at the brooding youngling that Wivanya sought. He lay his long neck down across the cliff, so just the tip of his snout poked past above the water. His eyes were hazy as he looked toward the horizon. She wasn’t sure exactly what his thoughts were, but she could imagine the pain he must feel.

The youngling had lost in the most recent battle, to a previously unknown but cheery old man from Zone 7. The story of his glory had been cut short in a decisive fashion. It was the sort of loss one could only accept; the difference in their power had been obvious.

The youngling didn’t even acknowledge her arrival as Wivanya shifted her significant bulk and settled into place next to him. After a long glance, she breathed two streams of chilly air out through her nose. “It was a valiant fight. However, do not despair. Your opponent may have a better grasp of his image, but that might not always be the case.”

“Hum?” The youngling’s head jolted, as though noticing Wivanya’s presence for the first time. It twisted around, nervous. “Ah, Matriarch. Y-yea, the loss was unfortunate. But after that, I had a profound experience with the Ghosthound. He gave me personal guidance… even if this current setback has knocked me down, I know that I can soon grow to even greater heights!”

Wivanya stiffened. “You received… a revelation from the Ghosthound?”

The youngling nodded eagerly. Its eyes seemed to glimmer with faith. “All the losers of the tournament are greeted by him during the night after their losses. As we suspected, the depths of his compassion for the world know no bounds-”

“All the losers?” Wivanya’s tongue flicked out of her mouth.

*****

Randidly almost felt like he was sleepwalking as he watched the round of matches. So many fights came and went in front of him without grabbing his attention. Compared to the previous conflict between Tykes and Glendel, none of these came close in competitiveness.

Yet even through the haze of emotional exhaustion and alternate perspectives on energy systems, Randidly could sense the desperation of the tournament had changed. Someone twisted at the participants and their tension rose in response. The matches were quick and decisive because no one wanted to be surprised by the power wielded by a foe. And all the remaining participants now flocked to the extensive training halls on the island, desperate for an edge.

With the high number of matches remaining, they had time enough to push themselves. Or to test insights gained during a fight.

Randidly spoke and acted as the main referee and adjudicator. His body sat on the chair, his eyes followed the actions and the images. But his mind was elsewhere entirely. He looked beneath the surface of the fights, just observing the way Nether pulsed through every fighter. And in a tense environment like this, how the dark energy wove itself into the substance of history.

Significance accumulated like sediment in a river, gradually blocking up some flows and loosening around new ones. The world churned forward in constant flux.

Congratulations! Your Skill Nether Sensation (L) has grown to Level 899!

Congratulations! Your Skill Left Hand of the Nether Oracle (M) has grown to Level 821!

If anyone looked too closely, his eyes were glazed over even when he announced a victor. His mind spun as he tried to comprehend the movements of energy. History had an unstoppable momentum that pushed itself forward. Time became a slope down which it charged, the avalanche of events expending itself to alter the environment in its furious advance. Sometimes Randidly could catch patterns at work in the participants, hints toward the outcome without even assessing the power of their images or their training.

Most of the time these hints indicated that one participant would triumph over the other. Yet for a few tiny examples, his predictions based on the Nether clues ended up being inaccurate.

His eyes narrowed. For once, he was glad for the massive size of the tournament. For it allowed him a huge data set to study.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Once he had noticed this strange failure, Randidly began checking with his Grim Intuition as well. Compared to Nether, Grim Intuition had basically a 100% prediction rate; at this level of strength, he could discern the capabilities of most competitors with a glance. He saw their patterns and how efficiently they could wield energy.

Congratulations! Your Skill Motif of the Hungry Deep (P) has grown to Level 924!

But the point here wasn’t to accurately predict the matches; what Randidly tried to figure out was why, sometimes, the weight of history favored certain individuals over others. In a smaller portion of those cases, why certain individuals could overcome that nudge from history-

“Randidly.”

He blinked and looked up. Tatiana stood next to him, her hand on his shoulder. Her expression was professional, but he knew her well enough to see the concern in her eyes. She squeezed, just slightly. “Is everything alright? Is there something you wish to say?”

Randidly turned to look forward. The last match for the round had ended: they now only had 1024 competitors remaining. Yet the crowd remained murmuring and pinned in place, likely by the force of his presence lingering in the chair. All looked up at him with a peculiar blend of awe and unease that made him uncomfortable.

Randidly forced a smile out. “No, just lost in my thoughts. But let’s take an extra day off after this one.”

Tatiana nodded, perhaps seeing the need for the break in his disposition. He stood, produced his Philosopher’s Key, and opened a portal to his island. When he was alone in his room, Randidly just stood there for a long time, his mind spinning. Partial insights about Nether clanged off each other, trying to be pieced together with his broader understanding of how Nether functioned. In his mind, flashes of his memories of the elegant organic Systems of the Nether King came back to him.

Finally, he could only shake his head to disperse the thoughts. “I can’t take a break right now. I need to prepare for the exit interviews-”

Randidly’s Nether Core hummed with a feeling similar to an aching muscle after a brutal workout- the strain of having so much significance flow through him had finally reached the breaking point. Even his powerful Nether Core teetered on a breakdown. Randidly could force the issue, but without understanding what transformation waited for his Nether, he felt slightly leery.

Shoulders slumping, he released a long sigh. “So, maybe a break for a few hours, then activate the Spirit Realm of Marshaled Endeavors.”

As soon as he said the words out loud, he knew what he could do to relieve some of his tension. He produced his Philosopher’s Key again and inserted it into the air. A rift in the Alpha Cosmos appeared and Randidly stepped through to the hill above B’s Crossing, wondering how well that boy Randy had adapted to Nrorce’s teachings.

He hoped the goblin had softened somewhat from his days of instruction.

Randidly blinked when he arrived on the ridge, looking around with a strange expression on his face. Because he almost didn’t recognize the landscape. The main buildings in the basin remained the same, but the shantytown that housed the refugees had been swept away before Zone 1 development money. Paved roads and neat corners now sat in its place. He could spot a similar ghetto in the distance, pressed a harsh looking ridge, but now around B’s Crossing and the general store were several mid-tier looking storefronts and a massive outdoor movie theater.

Further away, both on top of the hill around Randidly and below, neat and spacious houses had been thrown up. Groups of Expirans walked the streets, chatting and laughing. Families rolled slowly forward, children begging to go into various stores and parents either resilient enough to say no or tired enough to acquiesce. A fountain sat in the middle of the developed area, topped with a gleaming golden statue of the newly elected Zone 1 president, Roman Lear.

Below the statue’s victorious stance, Randidly could read the inscription on the base of the fountain even from this distance: For a better world, where everyone rests safely with their freedoms.

Randidly spared one last glance across the basin to the shantytown. He pursed his lips and then descended toward the restaurant. He followed a manicured pathway that connected the upper and lower neighborhoods.

He pulled a cloak out of his interspatial ring and pulled the hood up across his face as he moved into the areas crowded with people. With the advent of the tournament, and considering his presence at every match, it was unreasonable to expect anyone to mistake his identity. With his disguise in place, he turned to another question: how had the area changed so quickly?

Much to Randidly’s chagrin, he realized it was likely his fault, albeit because of the All Alpha Cosmos tournament. As he neared B’s Crossing, he noticed that the massive outdoor movie theater was surrounded by signs announcing that it provided live broadcasts of the tournament, for all to view. Albeit at the cost of a measly entrance ticket.

For those unwilling to head to Tournament Island but also interested in the spectacle of a great convergence of people, B’s Crossing became a lucrative option that had already reached most of the population’s ears through word of mouth for the fine cuisine. Apparently quick on the uptake, the developer had accelerated its efforts, expanding the housing, providing adequate facilities, and shooing away troublesome elements so the middle class of the Zones could make the trip without worry.

Randidly walked in the front of B’s Crossing itself and noticed several things at once. First, a couple of men in business suits laughing and pointing at a departing frog person server. Second, the general vibe of the restaurant had changed. The servers were less happy, the guests more uniform in their humanity and constantly distracted. And finally, that a large family of people had come in directly before Randidly and the host was having difficulty finding seats for everyone. The entryway was crowded with bodies already waiting for seats.

Some looked at him with suspicion, considering his rough leather cloak in broad daylight.

So Randidly spun on his heel and walked around to the back.

Nrorce was standing over an open stove in the kitchen, studying some pastry baking within. Enough heat wafted forward to visibly warp the air, but he simply studied the edges, likely waiting for the perfect golden-brown crust. Randidly took a deep breath and smiled; the smell was positively heavenly.

“You want a meal, dontcha? Selfish bastard.” Nrorce grunted, not even bothering to look up. The goblin waved his tiny hand, his eyes fixed on the pastries. “Go to the break room and make yourself comfortable. I’ll whip something up when I’m done with these.”

Randidly grinned and nodded, following the instruction. He arrived at the break room and paused in the door. Because as he entered, the young woman who ran B’s Crossing looked up and met his gaze. Piles of forms and receipts sat on the table in front of her, evidencing the complex situation in which the business now found itself.

Bethyl’s mouth opened and then closed. Her eyes bulged. “You… you are Randidly Ghosthound. Like... like from the tournament.”

Randidly scratched his cheek, wishing he had thought to come in as a cloud.