February 17th, 2485 - Frontier Space, a Nameless Planetoid - Training Room 3

‘The Holy Mother is coming to watch the match!’

‘They say that Sister Clerica has unleashed her Mystik Art!’

‘She doesn’t stand a chance against Scriptura—her Art gives me the creeps…’

‘Didn’t you hear? The match is two-on-two!’

‘That’s right! Today’s match is Dei and Clerica versus Salvatia and Scriptura!’

The ring was drawn in chalk, and surrounding the ring on all sides were girls in cyan robes, watching with wide eyes and whispering excitedly. The doors swung open, and the crowd parted, to allow the four match participants to enter the ring. Dei held her head up high, grinning confidently, and Clerica remained stoic, scanning the competition for weakness with her eyes. Sister Scriptura was tall and equally stoic, save for the nasty grimace on her lips. She exuded hatred from every fibre of her being. Sister Salvatia was blonde and very short, but also much older than the three other girls. She hopped from one crack in the ancient stone floor to the next, with the glee of a child.

‘Oops, missed one!’ Salvatia giggled, before hopping to a full stop.

The four fighters came to a stop in the centre of the circle, Scriptura whipping her black hair and huffing, Dei cracking her knuckles and Clerica taking a deep, preparatory breath. They faced each other, only a few feet apart, Team Clerica and Dei preparing to fight Team Scriptura and Salvatia, in a display of combat prowess. The Holy Mother walked slowly into the room and stopped at the edge of the circle, surveying the field of battle.

‘Fight as though you will die’, she ordered. ‘Yet, show enough restraint not to kill each other. Do not rely solely on you Mystik Arts. Use everything at your disposal, and remember that your Sisters are your allies. You may begin whenever you feel you are ready.’

Clerica loosened up, bouncing on the balls of her feet, ready for battle. She stopped.

‘Ready when you are’, Clerica murmured to Dei.

No response.

‘Dei?’ Clerica murmured.

‘Re—eeeady’, the reply came, as a horrible, choked wheeze.

Clerica turned, slowly. Red strings dangled from thin air, poking into each of Dei’s limbs, as well as the back of her neck. The string attached to her neck jerked, and Dei spun to face Clerica. Her eyes were wide with fear, darting left and right. Clerica barely dodged the punch that followed, Dei’s body jerking awkwardly as she lunged. The fight had already begun, and Clerica was facing three opponents, alone.

‘Bind her … Gleipnir!’ Sister Scriptura grunted, her arms raised and her fingers twitching and jerking wildly. I can … just about control her … for now…! Salvatia, hurry and work your magic!’

‘My pleasure!’ the small Salvatia giggled. ‘Fascinate them, Karagoz!’

A burning red outline of an eye flickered onto her forehead, and Salvatia spun around to speak to the people gathered. Clerica dodged, left and right, as Dei launched punch after punch at her.

‘Look upon the poor hunchback, and the mighty Sultan!’ Salvatia began, her voice trembling theatrically.

The ground began to shake, as a dome of light engulfed the ring, a wide sepcturm of colours splashing down across the fighters gathered in the ring. Clerica looked about, stumbling back, as Dei ground to a sudden halt, the red strings drawing her limbs taut. She hunched over, arching her back, and swayed gently from side to side. That was when Clerica noticed the change in scenery. They stood on a balcony, Dei standing before a blue curtain, beyond which was a room full of white-blue furniture, a queen-sized bed and various exotic rugs, all of the same hue and tone. Clerica felt wind at her back, and spinning around, she found that an entire city lay below her, of great, white and blue towers, domed buildings and bustling markets.

‘Welcome to the desert city of Ran’Vuldor, home to buildings of sandstone and rife with poverty!’ Salvatia’s voice echoed.

Clerica looked around, eyes darting about the impossible scenery. There was no sign of the ring, the dozens of girls, the Holy Mother or either of her opponents, only this strange, alien landscape. Dei swayed gently, eyes glazed over, the strings jutting out of her limbs limp and immobile. Had they been moved? Transported, somehow to another planet, another world?

‘Here we see the poor hunchback, unable to buy food for her starving children’, Salvatia’s voice returned, echoing around the balcony, impossible to trace. ‘Give us a twirl, hunchback!’

The red strings suddenly grew taut again, and Dei spun around on the spot.

‘The hunchback has come to the home of the great Sultan of Ran’Vuldor, seeking any aid that can be given to feed her starving family—but woe is me, dear viewers! The wicked Sultan has refused our poor, starving hero, and has attacked her!’

Clerica watched in horror, as Dei suddenly doubled over, blood leaking from her nose, as she convulsed violently on the spot.

‘Dei!’ Clerica cried, reaching out a hand to her friend—but the red strings jerked, forcing Dei to punch Clerica hard into the guts.

Clerica coughed, stepping back, and guarded herself with her fists. The sound of people booing and jeering filled her ears.

‘Everyone loves an underdog…!’ Salvatia sneered, somewhere beyond Clerica’s line of sight. Then, her voice trembling, and she cried out, ‘Fight, poor hunchback! Take the gold coins that are rightfully yours! Defeat the Sultan, that foul demon!’

The invisible crowd cheered, and Dei’s eyes locked onto Clerica. Clerica braced herself. Dei lunged. Clerica bobbed and weaved, heart racing—she felt much slower than usual, like she was in a dream. Dei landed one punch, then another, then a kick, then two more. ‘Damn it all’, Clerica thought, panting heavily. ‘Why is it that I would not yield to the hunchback’s wishes? Why am I so ungrateful, that I would not save the lives of my own people, my own countrymen—’ Clerica shook her head, as Dei landed another blow on her ribs. What the hell had she just been thinking? Where was she, again? Why was she here…?

‘Why don’t you use your Mystik Art?’ Slavatia’s voice echoed. You want to win, don’t you?’

Clerica took another punch to the jaw, staggered out of range of a follow-up attack. She reared up, and spat blood.

‘This isn’t right—this doesn’t feel like a fair fight!’ Clerica grunted.

‘This is my Mystik Art’, Salvatia cackled. ‘It has the power to transport it’s victims to another world … the losers always take issue with the winner’s methods, but the hard truth is that you are weaker than us!’

‘Clerica!’

A voice cut through the dark, a shining ray of light in the encroaching darkness; it was Grace.

Dei rammed her heel into Clerica’s gut, forcing her against the railing of the balcony.

‘Clerica! What colour is the sand?!’ Grace cried out.

Clerica’s eyes wandered down to the city below, through its narrow, winding streets and out to the vast, blue desert beyond.

‘Blue!’ Clerica wheezed.

‘Sand isn’t blue, Clerica—but you wouldn’t know that, because you’ve never seen it before!’ Grace replied.

An illusion—Salvatia had created an illusion. It felt real—wind tousled Clerica’s black hair and the heat of an alien sun warmed her skin—but it was all fake. That was Scriptura’s Mystik Art: the power to create illusions.

‘Cleeerica…’ Die wheezed, pulling back, her eyes sparkling as she fought with all her might against the red strings. ‘I’m holding you … baaaack—I can feel the strings, pulling, pulling … Cleeerica, you have to knock me ooout! Use your Mystik … Aaaart…!’

An idea dawned on Clerica in that moment, at the sight of her friend’s face, contorted in agony.

‘Dei—which direction are the strings pulling form?’ she asked, quietly. ‘Do you know where Scriptura is?’

Dei nodded, her eyes flitting to the right, indicating one of the blue sandstone pillars.

‘What aaare … you going to do?’ Dei asked, shivering, sweat pouring down her face as she strained to control her own body.

‘Scriptura is controlling you because she doesn’t want to risk you using your Mystik Art’, Clerica hissed. ‘I’m going to hit you hard, Dei, so don’t you dare fall unconscious, you hear me?!'

Dei nodded, and gritted her teeth.

‘I trust you, Clerica.’