He hitched a breath abandoning his chanting in the stead of hurriedly twisting his body to narrowly dodge the incoming punch. Picayune’s rushed rebalancing had him trip over himself tumbling towards the ground where he quickly landed on all fours and pushed forward in a desperate clamber away from the maelstrom which was Liederkranz’s assault. Gathering enough distance, Picayune quickly span in place carving his feet through the malleable ground while his hands artistically drew about the created circle.

Liederkranz was upon him in moments but her magically enhanced foot failed contact as the drawn rune flared to life. Two mores strikes and the defensive barrier fizzled pathetically but Picayune had already started running.

He had barely swallowed another breath of air before she was on him again. In his unprepared surprise, his foot slid back along the slippery mud as he dodged dropping both him and Liederkranz to the ground entangled in a mess of limbs. Liederkranz cocked her fist back ready for a strike and without any means of escape, Picayune closed his eyes accepting of his fate.

Picayune waited but the impact never connected. Finally, the playful voice of the Game convinced his eyes open “Wow, get a dimension you two, oh wait.” Picayune found himself back in the arena of Dionysus surrounded by The Game, Dionysus and a few other individuals he did not recognize. There was also Liederkranz who was currently splayed atop his own lying form.

Picayune, so exhausted and drained from effort, couldn’t bother to find embarrassment at the Game’s insinuation and instead found himself wiping a moist congregation of sweat from his newly forming beard. Liederkranz disengaged herself from his body and the lifted weight finally granted his lungs the respite they’ve been crying for the past hour. As a mule to water, he took grand gulps eager to inhale every bit of relieving air he could. His muscles were aching and bruised; clothes dyed in blood and spew, old and new alike. Picayune’s discombobulated mind swirled about struggling harshly to reorient itself. “how many… how… how many months… months has it been?”

His question was welcomed with the entertained chuckle he had so long ago associated with the Game. “Six days. I’ve got my own fight coming up and I don’t want to be distracted by maintaining your game simultaneous to my own.

Picayune’s rattled mind was slow to process, but Liederkranz who had already righted herself nodded in understanding. “Thanks for the help Gamey, I’m sure Picayune appreciates it.” At that Picayune managed a pained grunt in response.

His protest was only met with laughter from the crowd. “No worries, I was happy to help do my part in putting a mokoi in their place.”

Liederkranz smiled towards her friend but soon turned contemplative. “By the way, it feels weird calling you Gamey. The rest of us are on a first name basis, but we still don’t even know your family name.”

The Game’s humor immediately soured, and in a fit of suspicion barked back. “And it’s going to stay that way! You can’t trick me.”

Everyone jolted slightly at the Game’s unexpected outburst. Liederkranz was quick to recant herself. “Sorry Gamey, didn’t realize that was a sore spot. Consider the topic dropped.”

The Game remained in a defensive unsurety briefly before returning back to his usual jovial demeanor. “It’s fine, just don’t mention it for at least…” The Game’s eyes wandered to the upper left as he ran through his memory. “…another eight months.” The Game gave her one of those smiles that somehow managed to be calculative and cheeky simultaneously that only the Game could manage to make, leaving her in utter confusion.

Liederkranz wasn’t given long to think over the Game’s strange request before Dionysus interrupted. “Well, it is lovely that you all are getting along so well but you must move along now. We have an arena to make presentable.”

The group didn’t raise any complaints and they all left the arena going off to finish whatever few tasks they could within the couple of hours before the upcoming Tournament battle. The Game spent his free time enjoying a nice hearty meal, limbering his limbs with some casual calisthenics, and wiling away the last half hour with a good romance book that he’ll deny having ever read if brought up.

He was just approaching the best part too when a member of the Tournament staff signaled his time to head towards the stage. He pressed a bookmark into his book and tossed it under his bedroom pillow as he made his way down to the arena.

By the time he arrived at the contestant’s entrance, his challenger the Topiary was already there waiting. He was a shorter man whose dirty black top knot still wasn’t enough to eclipse the Game’s taller frame. The man wore a long white robe which base fell to his ankles and collar flared all the way up to his nose. The Game made sure to particularly note the two sword sheathes stuck through the large purple rope that wrapped multiple times around his waist like a belt tightening his clothes together. One of the holsters was a small plain wooden sheathe carrying a thin black knife, the other large smooth curving purple sheathe mysteriously was empty without any weapon within.

Though the thing that immediately stood out to the Game was that for the first time since he had ever encountered the Topiary, he was not carrying his strange basket of fruits with him. “Where’s your fruit basket Palmer? First time I’ve seen you without it.” The Game tried for idle chat while waiting for Dionysus to begin their introduction. He could see that his new friends; Picayune, Liederkranz, and Poetaster had made it to their reserved seats in the audience with food and drink in hand. Once again, his smirk redoubled, sure Liederkranz and Poetaster’s fight made for a beautiful display, but now he was going to show them what a true show looked like.

Palmer responded. “I wouldn’t want you turning them into a salad during our fight.”

The Game laughed at that, but before he could respond his attention was taken away by Dionysus’s choir-like voice echoing across the arena. “Hello and welcome back everyone to the Tournament!” Dionysus’s statement was followed with an uproarious cheer.

The Game gave one last smile over to Palmer. “Regardless of the results, no hard feelings right?”

Finally, a small grin peaked at the edges of Palmer’s lips. “No hard feelings.” The two then turned their attention towards Dionysus’s presentation in the arena proper.

“I know it has been an unbearably long week since the first bout-” Dionysus was then abruptly interrupted by a thrumming chorus from the audience. That managed to give him a small chuckle as he waited for the noise to abate allowing him to continue his speech. “but I guarantee you that the wait will have been worth it.”

He waited a moment for the expected interruption but was equally surprised and jubilant to see that the audience was eagerly silenced awaiting his next word. “We have quite the interesting duo to witness today, and I would love to introduce them; but first, a story.” Dionysus could hear a couple muted groans from those impatient few who wished they could just skip to the action.

“The cruor swamps, what a vile disgusting place, full of monsters and poisonous plant-life. The place is so inhospitable that no human has ever traversed it and survived.” He paused this time purely for dramatic effect.

“Correction, there has been but one man to have made it to the swamp’s center and return; one man who has since wandered to nearly every edge of Trammel, every unexplored cave, and every insurmountable mountain. Over the course of multiple inhuman centuries, he has travelled and witnessed far more than any of you can possibly imagine.”

“You may not know him, but after today I guarantee that you will remember him. I present, Palmer: The Topiary!” A massive chorus of excited onlookers erupted as Palmer exited from the waiting room entering the arena proper. His stoic disposition remained unfazed by its festive environment and his face remained hard as steel as he marched to the arena center.

“And to face him we have someone who is no stranger to competition. You have seen him hosting many different contests around Trammel, and I’m sure no small number of you have already found your wallets lighten by him. Some of you have seen him outwit the brightest of Ersatz university, some of you have seen him outplay the conniving clotted forest mercenaries, and now we will see if you all will witness him out battle the Topiary.” There was a humming energy radiating from the expectant crowd. The general population had never been given access to the Tournament round up leaving each encounter a complete surprise.

Dionysus grinned to his audience satisfied with their engagement. “Yes, he has been around and made a name for himself, but you do not know him by name, nor do you know him by blood or flag; but you do know what he does, I give you… the Game.”

An explosion of unrestraint excitement cheered out from the encircling audience as the Game walked his way onto the arena grounds standing opposite of Palmer.

“Now I don’t want to keep any of you waiting. So without further ado…”

Palmer heard the chime of the starting bell and immediately readied himself. With a hand over his purple sheathe he called forth a branch to sprout out in the form of a sword which he quickly equipped and pointed at his enemy. Palmer could see that the Game was nowhere near as fast to react to the fight’s start, and so took the opportunity to dash forward and get in the first strike.

Sprinting within range of the Game with a truly baffling speed he quickly swiped his wooden blade decapitating the Game.

… Or that was what should have happened. For some reason, the wooden blade froze a hair’s width away from its target’s neck. Palmer wasted no time in confusion and swung again this time at the chest, but once again stopped just before connecting to flesh.

Against what anyone would deem possible, the Game’s smile grew even wider. “You see last month I had started playing a game with another Tournament contestant. We never had the chance to finish this game you see, and it would be too unfair if I were to die and leave the game unfinished wouldn’t you agree?” The Game waited for Palmer to respond but when he only looked at his wooden sword in bewilderment the Game continued. “So, to prevent our game’s premature closure, I will remain invincible until my match with them is over… Sadly, even being literally invulnerable, I doubt there is any way I could physically overwhelm you and so we find ourselves in a predicament, don’t we?” The Game tapped a finger against his chin as if in contemplation before making a poorly acted moment of realization. “Ah I know! Why don’t we settle our fight with our own game?”

Palmer finally pulled his eyes away from his ineffective weapon and faced the Game. “A game?”

Having caught his opponent’s attention, the Game’s smile turned mischievous. “I call this game ‘The Trouble with Bubbles’.” Palmer merely raised an unsure eyebrow in response. The Game continued with his explanation. “Both participants, you and I, will hold domain over an equal mass of floating water on opposite ends of the arena. We each will wield a three-piped flute, playing upon the center pipe of the flute will absorb neutral water: neutral water is simply any normal water such as the mass we start the match in. Aside from being able to be absorbed, for the duration of the game any neutral water active in the game will ignore gravity and can be swam through by either player. Once neutral water is absorbed by the flute it will be stored in a micro dimension until it is played through either of the two pipes. The left pipe will convert neutral water to defensive water: defensive water will form a floating bubble in front of you out of its pipe. Defensive water can only be touched by its summoner, if someone is completely submerged in the defensive water of their opponent, they forfeit the match. The right most and final pipe of the flute will fire out offensive water that will spray out of the flute and fall to the ground as one would usually expect. Offensive water can be used to convert any defensive water, friendly or hostile, back into an equal amount of neutral water. For visual clarity, neutral water will appear like your usual normal clear floating water; you will be declared purple team and your defensive water will be dyed purple. I will be declared orange team and my defensive water will be dyed orange. Offensive water will appear green and steaming. Both participants, once again that’s you and I, will swim within the floating water trying to subvert the other’s territory. First person to touch the ground or be submerged in their opponents defensive water loses.”

Palmer glared at the Game; the Game glared back knowingly. Palmer tightened his glare squinting and slowly nodding his head. Their impromptu staring contest was cut short when Palmer finally spoke, “…what?”

The Game let out a tired sigh. “Look its simple, we start with two bubbles of wat-“

Palmer started waving his arms in rejection. “Wait, wait.” Palmer walked over towards the Game, his wooden blade firmly within his grasp. “Okay so we have two bubbles…” Palmer drew two circles into the dirt, “…essentially we can move these bubbles around.”

The Game nodded his head approvingly. “Right, defensive water is basically just drawing walkways that you can move through, well I guess they’d be more like swimways but you get the idea.”

Palmer scratched out one of the two circles and drew a couple of smaller circles around it. “But if we run out of water or want to steal our opponents-”

The Game chimed in “You can reclaim it with the offensive water.”

Palmer furrowed his brows in contemplation. “But since the offensive water is consumed in the conversion the total water in the fight decreases?”

The Game chirped back “That’s right.” Happy to see his opponent making critical analysis already.

Palmer scowled, his head slightly hurting. He thought today would just be another simple beat down. “Do we have to do this?”

The Game grinned noticing Palmer’s uncertainty and discomfort. “Or we could both just wait here until you give up or starve to death. It’s up to you.”

Palmer scowled once more at his unreasonable predicament “Seems hardly fair that I have to adapt to a whole new style of arena that falls under your own criteria.”

“I can assure you sir Palmer that I only ever play a game once, so I have no prior experience with the Trouble with Bubbles either.” Palmer thought over the Game’s proposal and found that he didn’t really have any other options. With that impossible protective barrier stopping him from even touching the Game, his only chance was through winning this challenge. Palmer sheathed his wooden blade which then decomposed and melted into the sheath’s walls and nodded his head in acceptance. The Game smirked to his opponent’s capitulation “I need confirmation that you agree to the terms of this game.”

Palmer stared straight into his opponent’s eyes “I accept your terms.”

The second the last syllable of Palmer’s words left his lips, two large bubbles of water spontaneously appeared around the two Tournament contestants slowly raising to the air, the bubbles faint currents carrying the people within up with it. Palmer’s lungs unprepared for the sudden submergence strained against its dim supply of air. Palmer quickly kicked his way up the bubble bursting his head out of the top. He reoriented himself to see the Game idly wading in his bubble with his head too poking out for air.

“Shall we begin?” With the game’s question Palmer saw a three-piped flute suddenly spawn in the center of the Game’s bubble. The Game’s eyes shot to the center of Palmer’s bubble and with a sudden burst of realization the Game quickly dove into his own bubble reaching for his flute. Palmer threw a quick glance to the center of his own bubble and saw it too had a three-piped flute there, so he dove down for it.

As soon as Palmer gripped his musical weapon he sucked in half of his starting bubble and glanced over to see what his opponent chose to do. The Game had already consumed nearly the entirety of his starting bubble and had shot out a long thin stream of orange water that acted as a protective film over the arena floor. He quickly followed up with firing three more medium sized round bubbles in an upward arc from the bottom stream. The Game dove out of his miniscule starting bubble and landed in the middle round bubble.

Palmer knew that he outclassed the Game in pure fighting capability, so he fired out a long purple stream straight towards the Game and charged forward in hopes of gaining the close-range advantage.

Completely surprising Palmer, The Game abandoned his sturdy defense, lunging out of his bubble and flying over Palmer’s head. The Game quickly fired an offensive jet behind Palmer followed immediately by an orange stream of defensive water that cut Palmer off from his starting source.

Already so early in the match, Palmer found himself cut off from the rest of his neutral water. In front of him was the Game’s defensive formation and behind him the Game himself.

Palmer quickly began to dismantle the Game’s defensive formation by firing jets of offensive green water at all three of the orange bubbles and absorbing the converted neutral water back into his pipe. Palmer quickly whipped around to face his opponent and blew out a long thin purple sheet of water to cut the Game off from his own thin orange sheet. In a sudden bout of inspiration, Palmer pulled out a small wooden knife from his purple sheathe and threw it at the Game.

As the wooden knife flew towards the Game, the Game blew out his own long thin sheet of orange water to intercept Palmer’s downwards attack. Having spent all his time blowing out his stream, the Game didn’t have time to dodge the knife. The wooden knife flew at the Game colliding with his water bubble and halting pathetically under the dense liquid; the knife sank downwards never even managing to reach the Game. The Game chuckled at the sight causing a few air bubbles to rise from his mouth.

Regardless of his attack’s failure, Palmer used the distraction to hurriedly swim down the slope of purple defensive water. The Game did not remain distracted for long and he too raced Palmer downwards both trying to get to the bottom of the strange bi-colored v-shaped bubble the two had created.

The two were neck to neck in their dash to cut the other off until suddenly the Game performed his own self sacrificial assault by firing all his water as an offensive attack on both his and Palmer’s side of the V-shaped bubble and absorbing as much of it as he could. With the V-shaped bubble gone, Palmer and the Game were left without any water to hold them aloft allowing them to fall towards the Game’s thin defensive blanket. The blanket wasn’t thick enough to prevent the Game from hitting the floor, but it was high enough that Palmer would hit it and lose the match before the Game hit the floor. The Game grew a cheeky smile as the match was decided.

The Game fell back first towards the ground, giddily staring up to Palmer descending towards his failure, until he heard a deep rumble from below.

The Game let out a surprised yelp as a heavy pressure knocked the side of his ribs forcing his flailing body to twirl around. He saw below him the massive trunk of a tree sprout from that small wooden knife and hungrily drinking up all of the Game’s defensive water. In a worried panic, the Game thrusted his flute into the growing tree snapping his defensive pipe but otherwise catching enough of the wood that the flute wedged and dragged him up away from the ground along with the growing tree.

The Game turned his head up again to see Palmer standing on a thick tree branch that shot ever higher into the sky. From the trunk of this thick tree, many more branches stretched out like ravenous straws sucking every left-over bubble dry and using the liquid as more fuel to propel the arboreal giant higher. The Game frowned at this unfortunate oversight in his enemy’s ability.

Finally catching the Game frown for the first time made Palmer grow his own grin. Thick lively vines sprouted from Palmer’s feet grasping and worming down the tree trunk carrying Palmer towards the Game as if simply walking vertically was by no means some sort of sacrilegious gravitational impossibility. The vines rooted themselves so that Palmer could steadily stand horizontally grinning down, or rather sideways, to the Game desperately holding on to his three-piped, now two-piped, flute. “It would appear it is my victory.” Palmer said matter-of-factly.

The Game readjusted his grip around his flute to alleviate the pain of his entire weight bearing down on the few fingers supporting him. “Though I must congratulate you on not forgetting your own capabilities in this game, you still cannot touch me. As I don’t plan on getting down any time soon, you’ll need that water in the tree still to beat me.”

“Easily done.” The Game felt a building pressure forcing his flute to angrily shake about. An aggravated geyser of clear water burst out dislodging the Game’s flute, Palmer was caught entirely by surprise having expected the water to be purple and under his influence. The vines around Palmer’s feet quickly unrooted themselves and pulled him up the trunk away from the orange water. The water extended out as a feeble mimicry of a tree branch refusing to fall towards the ground.

The game swam up his liquid tree branch poking his head out of the water and held his gaze firm to Palmer’s. “Don’t be so predictable my friend.” Palmer released an aggravated grumble throwing another sword to the ground which sprouted a tree to absorb the water branch that the Game was swimming in.

This time the Game was ready and stabilized himself so that the rising tree took him up with it. Palmer guided his vines to carry him up his own tree so that he could keep an eye on his enemy. Out of water to encourage it, the tree stopped its growth spurt. The two opponents found themselves standing high above the city line balancing about the tips of their trees. The large audience both within and outside the arena squinted fiercely trying to make out the action of the two black dots barely noticeable through the plethora of leaves and branches.

The Game took a few moments to ensure he wouldn’t slip and fall and then returned to face his opponent. “No water, no more trees. What’s the plan now?”

Palmer smirked and tilted his empty purple sheath. The seemingly innocuous action inspired the tree that the Game stood upon to impossibly twist and morph rushing over and into the sheath disappearing into nothingness. The sporadic movement and shifting under the Game’s feet caused him to slip. The Game desperately searched for some form of handhold or catching point but since the tree was endlessly shifting and twisting nothing remained for long enough and the Game pathetically thumped against the floor, his protective barrier preventing the fall from damaging him.

The Game had lost.