Team Sacrifice gathers around a table in the private locker room of stadium 1066. Clair is the only handler on the scene. She appears to be explaining something to the team.

“First Miun and her horror, Silent Harpy, will fight first. The second will be Jacky and the Sabred Prince. The third is Deacon and Wolf King Dosulieus. Finally, our team leader Sara and her horror, Jointlock. This match is your typical death match. Each of you will fight once. We get two minutes in between fights to prepare. After each match, the next member in line will take their place on the summoning pillar. During the final bout, the winning horror will declare victory for their team, or they will advance onto the winner of the previous match.” Jacky chimes in.

“So if all of us lose our matches other than Deacon, and Deacon wins, He’ll have to battle the other three horrors?”

Claire nods her head. “Precisely. If he loses before he can beat them, the team loses for good. If another team member won their match, they would take over with a chance to win for the whole team.

Sara sucks her teeth. “That means the more wins, the easier this thing will be. Just win your matches, and no one will have to clean up after your mess.” Deacon wheezes, his lungs weak from his age.

“Sounds…fair enough.” A quick knock on the door catches everyone's attention.

Fabio opens the locker room; carrying a tablet, he addresses everyone. We’re ready.” He says, adjusting his watch, eyeing up his team.

“Villbrand and Mella have already addressed the press. There won’t be a pre-fight interview or face-off. The other team wants to get right to the action.” Jacky smiles.

“Finally talking my language, let's go; I hate to keep them waiting.”

“Agreed…” Deacon says.

Team sacrifice enters the hallway leaving the locker room behind. The sounds of chanting travel down the corridor; however, the sound is different than usual. Upon exiting into the light of the field, it becomes obvious. Those monitors from before are on and slightly adrift in place. The sounds of each monitor emit through one collective speaker hanging from the main view screen at the center of the arena. Each screen has the face of either a single person or families of people.

“Everyone is just a face here,” Sara remarks. “They're all watching from home?”

One monitor leans over the railing as if the people on the other side were at the arena attempting to get a closer look at Team Sacrifice. Sara flinches away from the screen. The people do not react. The people appear to be smiling oddly, as if overly happy.

“That's fucking creepy! These people do not look right.” Sara shivers slightly.

“That's not right to say about people.” Jacky takes a jab at Sara. “But I get what you mean. They look like dolls.”

Jacky and Team Sacrifice take their seats at a spot between the field and the barrier of the stands. Miun wonders over to the summoning pillar. On the opposing side, the first opponent comes into view. Stepping forward with strides of confidence, a young man covered in black silks takes to the summoning pillar. His face cannot be seen. The central viewscreen flashes up a split screen of info cards.

Minu’s face and the name of her horror flash on one side while the other side shows her opponent's information. The center screen flashes a message, “Summon your horror!” An automated voice plays along with the transmission.

Miun sits down and begins to sob into her knees. Freiser starts humming an old classical tune; it's catchy and nostalgic. Silent Harpy, still embodying the former horror, Delirium Nella spins in place, her blades cutting the rough air elegantly. The sound of razor-sharp metal sends a high-pitched unsheathing sound across the arena. The horrors face a blank white marbled mask. Her feet are wheels made of bone and muscle; they spin in place, kicking up dirt. Silent Harpy is ready for battle.

A western-style hat floats from the sky above. It swings side to side until it stops mid-air, roughly fifteen feet off the ground. The Collector phases into reality as if it were invisible, as though it was there far before the hat drifted into place. Its form is primarily a human male with a large frame and sturdy shoulders. A tan bandana covers The Collector’s face. It's dusty wrinkled and old. A leather jacket and a black shirt cover his upper half. His pants are California-style in nature; the tassels along the side dangle and sway side to side. Brown boots with sharp rusted spurs cover his feet. His hands have black cut-out gloves; his fingertips appear frigid. A dark void-like space fills the horror’s eyes. The horror lets out a deep breath; cold air immediately fills the arena field.

The screen flashes the message “Team Sacrifice VS Team Flair! Fight!” The automated voice echoes the exact words across the stadium. 1066 erupts in loud but oddly generic cheering. The Collector summons six ebony revolvers through small fluidic portals. Silent harpy brandishes her blades. Stylistic engravings decorate the six shooters.

Clair takes in a deep breath. “You can do it, Miun. We're counting on you.”

Close combat versus ranged attacks. A matchup as old as time.