“Enough,” the presenter snapped, annoyed at the interruption. “I don’t represent FAMES or MAKROS or even GOBUS. If the human getting in could do nothing for his species’ chances of avoiding extinction, I would have said so. I am the representative of DEUS, and she values our lives.”
At this point, Tom was frustrated at the interruptions. He just wanted for the actual fights to start. From assessing those around him, he had to conclude the presenter was right in placing him mid-field, but, despite what she had implied, the gap between him and the strongest handful was not one that he believed he would be able to cross. He was even wondering whether an attempt to get through was worth the risk. It was not worth chasing the sun and being burned to death.
The wodane, however, had clearly decided to push forward in the challenge. She clearly lacked the maturity to understand the cost of failure. Despite being explicitly told to drop out, she was still committed, but no amount of wishing could cross the combat gap that he could see between her and the strongest cohort. She was doomed, and the presenter and everyone else knew it.
The presenter abruptly turned away from the turtle dog. Her body language radiated a helpless fury. “The Sulta.” She said, as the tentacled goblin was highlighted. “Is the strongest here. In terms of the competition, if victory there, was all that mattered to DEUS, he is who I would be selecting. His species’ extinction risk is rated as non-existent, and his suitability is excellent, and his backing as a minor prince in one of their larger kingdoms was rated as significant. He is, by far the best fighter amongst everyone here, and will be for years, but he will not be competing for a spot in the Divine Champions’ Trial,” she was almost yelling out the words. “Because that’s not how DEUS wants this opportunity to work.” The presenter stared significantly for a moment at the turtle dog who sunk down into a prone position, which represented a complete apology.
“I will not,” the sulta agreed, bowing his head and ignoring the extra drama. “It was my honour to be here and my honour to witness your plight.” He nodded toward the ball of light and, surprisingly, at Tom. “If my kingdom was closer, I would have us help you.” Then he laughed. “Not the human, of course, because that would bring the wrath of the GODs down upon us, but the rest of you. If you’re close enough, you’ll have my support. However,” he looked around, and his eyes fell on an aquatic individual. “The Whalebo is the only species I recognise, and I did not realise you were in such dire straits.”
“Because my elders hide it. But yes, we are. We are diminishing, and fast. Our last great trainer died a decade ago. They are spending all of our resources on the talented youth and projecting strength to hide the vulnerability. They are hoping for a miracle to occur, which saves them without us ever showing weakness.”
“You will have my people’s aid,” the sulta promised.
The aquatic person bowed his head so low it touched the ground. It was like it was crying in joy.
The presenter nodded with a pleased expression on her face. “And that is why we structure this as we do.” She then went through the remaining contenders’ giving background on them. Only one other of the people that Tom was calling the desperate was recognised by someone who could help them. They would be saved, but it still left fifteen people needing the three available spots. Both of those to be rescued, the aquatic person and an alien bird, were weak, and had never been in consideration for an open spot. His task was just as difficult as it had always been.
Listening to the presenter it was very clear that Existentia was not a fair place. Strength here was ultimately a measure of backing; strength, and the innate competitiveness of the species. Very few broke those constraints, and Tom was the only one who did it to a significant degree. He was rated dismal and average on those two measures, and not a single other contender was ranked that badly. Of course, his reincarnator status offset a lot of that disadvantage, but not all of it.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Everyone knew he didn’t have access to the system, and even the sulta nodded at him in respect. Most of these people had trained since birth, so they recognised the significance of him managing to get this far.
There were three types of contenders, as far as Tom was concerned. The first category, all seventeen of them were the desperate - children who were the last gasp effort of their civilisations. He lumped himself into this group. The general pattern was that they were one of a number of geniuses identified, and then had the best resources the civilisation could afford pumped into them. Usually, that just gave them an average or above average rating on the backing measure. But they all talked about how much they received relatively to their peers.
Contrastingly, there were also participants from the powerful nations. They were the children of the strong, and got advantage just by existing.
For these first two groups, it was clear that innate species’ competitiveness plus backing equalled their combat strength.
The final cluster of only five were the true geniuses. They had no true sponsors, but inadvertently came from a species that was rated as very strong or better. They were here because of the natural advantage of their bodies and the abnormal strength their brilliance had allowed them to gain.
For Tom’s purposes, it was only the desperate who would be competing for the vacant spots. They were who he was being pitted against.
The presenter smiled and looked around at them. “I’m sure you’re all wondering how the winners will be decided.”
“Duels,” the sulta said confidently.
“No, you won’t be fighting each other. Instead, you’ll be fighting in various colosseum trials around Existentia. We have a simple system. After each combat set, the lower half of the field will be dismissed. That means that there’s going to be a maximum of five rounds, but, due to likely deaths, it’ll be fewer. After each round, you must increase the points the fight is going to generate to stay in the running for the spots. You can drop out any time you wish.”
Tom’s mind raced to understand what was being explained. He had experience fighting in a colosseum trial. It was, in fact, the first one he had fought in Existentia, and it had almost killed him multiple times over. He wondered if this time it would be against natives or animals.
“You will be given the choice to select the rank of the sapient you are going to battle, and if they are newly of that rank or mid,” she explained. “You can also choose whether to be under a GOD’s shield, a partial GOD’s shield, or no shield at all. Your score will be the rank of the person you fight multiplied by one, four, or sixteen based on your shield decision.”
Tom’s mind raced at the implications of what she had just said. It was clear from the scoring that the only way to get through was to fight without a GOD’s shield. That is what the desperate creatures would be doing, and why the death rates were so high. Which left Tom with a choice about how to strategize the contest. With fate helping him, he was confident he could win some fights against rank fives, and maybe up to rank six.
“And yes, you can change your layout. You might start fighting a rank six under a partial GOD’s shield, which would earn you twenty-four points, and then, in the next round you can switch to a rank two without a GOD’s shield, a combination that gets you thirty-two points. How you want to structure your fights is up to you, but the points earned must increase each round to stay in the competition.”
If he thought the maximum he could beat was a new six, and if there were going to be four rounds, did that mean he should start at mid four? Tom bit his lip, thinking quickly. He had sixteen real opponents, but there were four or five others which would be using this opportunity to push their skills. Most here were battle junkies, and, if Tom was in their place, he would have fought under a partial GOD’s shield, and fought the strongest opponent he could. Given their power, it meant that, in the first round, they would probably be getting forty points or so. That meant that, to get through to the next round, he would have to challenge someone who was rank three or higher. Then again, his calculations could be off, and he would kick himself if he got knocked out in the first round because he prioritised an easy win.
Four and a half it was, then. Apprehensively, he put in the selection and then spent his fate. He wanted to win, but most of the fate went toward ensuring that he would survive without any permanent maiming.