Here's a confession, here's an admittance of weakness in a moment where I feel almost nigh-invincible, my Achilles heel, my kryptonite, ready, listen well - I can't fucking get into focus.

I know, I know, pivotal moment here, people all around me were getting their game faces on, horses revved up, leather reins gripped tight, I should also be falling along in line, shouldn't I?

Nope, no good… anytime I try to get my bearings, it'd be immediately whisked away from me by the sheer absurdity of this entire ordeal here. I don't know, I guess the prospect of playing both chauffeur and bodyguard to a couple of risque-looking body pillows in a rickety worn-down carriage while also going head-to-head with other like-minded individuals hadn't really sunk in yet.

Like, this was my life now… cleansing a catastrophic blood rain one day, carriage-racing in a jester getup the next. This was the linchpin, alright… my existence was essentially a punchline to a never-ending joke.

There was feedback screeching through the speakers, thwarting me of another attempt at regaining composure. That's like the third time already Tyler batted the mic against the stands, with all his spinning and frolicking around… I dread the day he ever gets his own kid.

"Whoops, sorry about that!" He shouted into it, exacerbating matters and looking far from the sorry he claimed otherwise. "Anyway, I went over the rules already, but just once more alright? Here's the short version: No deliberate targeting at the other competitors, no stealing another carriage's cargo, and no detours! Follow the checkpoints around town or you'll be disqualified! Got cameras everywhere, and screens all over. We'll be watching every move every one of you makes, so no funny business, or you'll be hearing from the judges, alright?!"

It was a straight line from the front to the back of understanding nods. I took that moment to survey exactly what are the odds I'm up against.

First place driver didn't look much a conspicuous fellow one bit, aside from a bright red hood he wore denoting his profession that made me think of Ash and how far from keen she'd be if he ended up winning.

That aside, it was his partner, the defender stowed behind the carriage that's got me a tiny bit concerned. Equipped with a big burly stature, packed with those big burly arms, Nick was practically the ultimate sword and shield defense. In my humble opinion, It should be considered cheating if you're built like a bull with opposable thumbs… that's just my two cents anyway.

Second place, third place… all was well and as it should be until my eyes drifted over at the sixth - someone had their sights squarely set on me, and there wasn't any attempt at being subtle about it. Bob looked like a little goblin man, squatting over at his carriage there, especially with such a skewed smile plastered across his face that way.

I really need to watch for him.

"At the gonging gong of the clocktower, you either floor it, or get left in the dust," Tyler continued to shout. "And by my precise estimations, you have… fifteen seconds. So ladies and gents, buckle your damn seatbelts, hug your cargo tight - y'all got ten seconds now, nine seconds now, eight…"

One last double-take before things finally commence, just one more look around, one last gaze around, a last chance to appreciate the calm all around before the rumble of the storm.

"Seven… six…"

I noticed the judges' special, private compartment had two new faces joining the fray, familiar faces. The one on the left was ever as anxious, the other leaning right, ever as composed.

"Five… four…"

Tenth place defender, Steve, was quaking in his boots, and creaking the floorboards of his carriage. I suppose the battlefield was indeed no place for a bard… poor Steve.

"Three!"

From before my very eyes, I saw movement, a spin, a whirl around… and not a moment too soon, I found myself staring face to face with the driver of twelfth place.

His ocean-blue eyes ever so piercing, his charming smile ever so wide. Thought it was just a thought, a fleeting afterimage of an imagination gone wild, but just for a second, for that one single minuscule moment...

Leon looked dastardly sinister.

"Don't you lose here," He said to me. "Pretty anticlimactic if you did."

"Two!"

I gazed back, smiled back, just as dastardly.

"Same goes for you."

"One!"

A deafening clangor in the distance, the tumultuous uproar of a crowd impelling out of their seats - a whinny echoing one by one, the clop of hooves, the quake of wood, and once more the shrill pitch of a mic bumping, resounding,

"MAY THE DIVINES BLESS Y'ALL UNDER THE SKIES!"

Those first few seconds starting, were somehow simultaneously the quickest, and yet also the longest few seconds of my life thus far. Every millisecond with the seconds was packed to the brim with activity from all around me.

From somewhere within the anarchy, I heard Tyler shout in his usual hype-inducing tone, "AND THEY'RE OFF! LOOK AT 'EM GO!"

'Off' was really understating it. It was a mad dash scramble out from the starting line, no holds barred either, already I bear as a close witness to people careening into each other with the intent to kill. Some asshole also threw a bucket of paint into the air amidst the chaos, pouring droplets of crimson red raining from the skies.

I'm getting some mighty no-good flashbacks here for fuck's sake.

"OI!" Tyler's voice rang out, nearly overpowered by the static caused by his frightening lung capacity alone. "NO THROWING SHIT SO CLOSE TO THE RING! WHO DID THAT? SHOW YOURSELF!"

Alas, his demands would prove fruitless, everything was shrouded in clouds of dust stirring up thicker by the second, any attempts to call out any display of foul play would just be pointless.

For once, I was actually quite thankful to be bringing up the rear, I spurred my horse, steadily picked up the pace, and got out of the starting line mostly unscathed.

A bit of red on my knuckles, but apart from that, fortunately, both princesses in tow came out still ever as clean and pristine. When the dust had finally settled, and the chaos had waned in the slightest, I chanced a glance backward to assess the damage, and from what I saw in the shrinking horizon, things were looking a bit promising for me.

From the get-go, it was plenty obvious that at least one-third of the competition's only experience with a horse was the ones they'd find on a fairground carousel.

Team Second and Team Fifth were still desperately struggling to find the pedals, pulling and flailing on the reins, hoping they'd find the right motion that meant 'go!', all to no avail, to their dismay.

Some were slowly getting the hang of it, like the tenth place driver, gradually leaving the starting line in a clumsy, unsteady canter. I wasn't about to wait for them to get accustomed, so with a lash, and a click of my tongue, I picked up the pace, speeding us along the sharp bend towards town.

Did some quick maths, and if I counted right, I was hovering around the ninth place now, and slowly coming up the rear of eight, inch by inch. That was also where I got my first taste of combat in the field.

They drastically slowed down so abrupt and sudden, and if I hadn't swerved a sharp right in the nick of time, my horse would have been an unfortunate victim to vehicular manslaughter, at the same time, gravity and inertia nearly played me for a fool, and nearly sent Eshwlyn flying out.

I managed to hold her down just barely - one hand on the reins, the other clinging onto the fluffy, soft princess for dear life - and as such, plainly vulnerable as I was right then and there, eighth place took the chance to strike again.

The defender stood up, her feet trembling in place, holding a bucket of red paint in her hand ready any second to be flung. Her driver just needed to get a little closer, just turn a little more right… then that's the jester done and done.

Their mistake.

Wobbly knees and high-speed chases, do not a steady stance make. I pulled my steed ever the slightest left, my carriage barely touching theirs, grazing theirs, but that was more than enough to do the job.

Our carriages gave a hard jerk upon contact, and the defender just couldn't save herself in time. She fell hard, and the paint bucket fell right along with her - all over her, as well as everything else around her.

I think Tyler said it best, his fervor blaring loud in the speakers all around, "Celes the Scion just destroyed the cargo she was supposed to be protecting herself! Oooh, that does not look good! Judges ain't gonna like that at the end of this!"

Exactly.

In a sudden spurt of victory well-achieved, I usurped eighth place and gave myself a mental pat on the back for surviving that skirmish. By the time the dirt path of the outskirts turned to the hard surface of cobble streets, they were but a speck in the dust behind the turn of my wheels.

I know I shouldn't let this win cloud my judgment, but well a good job is a good job, can't deny that. In any case, it was a celebration short-lived anyway - because now I have another ordeal to confront.

The roads of town were littered with barrels filled with ink, and they were the fragile type too, breaking at the slightest touch. How do I know? Well, I just saw third place get inked from one of the high-rise LCD displays hanging on the rafters.

Not just that either, now they were puddles of it too placed on every turn, on every curve -you let your horse gallop through, well you know how puddles are - they tend to splash, splotch, and that's not very ideal now, is it?

I learned that the hard way.

Just an inch too far, a turn too late between alleyways, and I knew already there was nothing I could do to prevent it. I heard it before I saw it, like slow-motion, the ripples, the splash - droplets soaring high, plummeting low.

Princess Riona now had a beauty mark smeared across her cheek.

Goddamn it.

Whatever! It was just one splotch, a tiny smudge - won't make a difference anyhow. I need to focus, can't take it slow and steady, I have to keep going. So far I haven't seen any signs of the usual suspects.

Nick was probably still in first place.

Bob was most likely lurking near, I'm sure I'll cross paths with him soon.

Leon… well, I'm not too sure about that guy. He was in twelfth place, second to last, and yet somehow in that anarchy, he managed to shoot past everything and everyone without anyone noticing.

Haven't a clue where he was now, or what the hell he was up to… but whatever the case, at least I know that there was one team down.

Now just eleven more to go...