“Well, shit...” Micah stared about in wonder, transited up a lift alongside all the others until they hit the apex of the arena. “I didn't know something like this was so close by. All this time, and nobody talked about it?”

“It wasn't. Man, it's like you never listen.” Brenn shook his head. Micah was a talented student, but sometimes he was a real fool when it came to common knowledge. “This structure and the dwellings around it were constructed through the combined effort of thousands of mages over the last year.”

There was the arena, and then there was the rapidly expanding city around it. The ascendancy trials were like that – a challenge for all vocations. Architects, blacksmiths, engineers. The prize pool was so incredibly vast that few could avoid the lure, but most would attend otherwise, an opportunity to labor under the watchful eyes of the gods and show their worth. Or simply to live on eternally as a winner of one competition or another, throwing up a city in a such a short time through combined effort. Amistad was once such a city, though it had changed in the centuries since it's construction – it was originally born from an ascendancy trial. As was Milano, and so many other great cities throughout the world, the host nation decided what to do with it.

Typically, however, the result of all that effort and money was destroyed by the primus' after he conclusion of the games. Two decades ago, for example, where Jartor and Octavian had made a wager of an entire city to see who could make a larger mess in a single action...

The group walked through the gate of the lift and directly into a spacious room fit with all kind of amenities. Snacks, a dimensional buffet connected directly to the team of chefs competing to create the best food the world had ever seen. It even had its own bathroom facility. Standing over the arena, with functions allowing them to zoom and collapse the images below, simply by touching the glass. The hum of magic was so intense that just standing in such a place was, crudeness aside, near orgasmic for a mage. It made their bodies shudder, a magnet for talent.

“This is a primus' booth...” Tythas breathed. “How did we--”

“I figured I'd invite you all in, considering you are companions of my daughters.” A truly massive man rose from his throne-like seat to address them. Not a man, but a titan. If not a titan, then a primus, but what was the difference? Dark hair, a wild beard, and distinctly familiar facial features. All but the girls knelt, Micah finding it hard to do so in the braces constructed by Sigi, nervously staring at the floor and hoping it as good enough. Alex stared up at him angrily, stormy expression present on her frowning face, arms crossed about her chest. “That's enough of that. I do not care for it, what has happened, happened. As your father, you'd be wise to adopt some modicum of respect.”

Unsurprisingly to Jartor, she wouldn't. Alexis was still full of hate and rage, all these things that kept her going, perhaps. Human relationships were complicated and for all her ego she was just a young woman who'd been told no for one of the first times in her life. Asha could be angry, Jartor was happy his eldest son hadn't turned out like Gideon. Independence, loneliness, solitude, these were unavoidable elements of a primus' life. All of these people would be dead long before Tyr had known his first gray hair. Bonds were what they were, important, and Jartor honored those – but he had long ago began to refrain from attachment.

“Father. It is a pleasure to see you again.” Sigi curtsied, looking a bit odd in her riding attire, a little less natural than Astrid, in her dress who matched the movement. “We thank you for this invitation.”

“Why did you bring us here?” Alex said, shocking them all. She'd always been imperious and domineering, but this was flagrant disrespect in the face of a true chosen of the gods. Brenn stared at her in agitation, vicariously offended. A primus and a paladin were one in the same, the former was just beyond anything the latter could achieve – in the eyes of the faithful, at least. Saints, the pope himself... A primus was closer to the gods than they'd ever be.

Jartor, on his part, didn't seem overly concerned with the disrespect. “I was hoping this would serve as a suitable first step for getting you caught up in all of that drama involving my son. Since you were going to be here in any case – as with most of your academy – it was common sense. I'm assuming you've heard?”

“I have.” Alex said. The news that all of this was a trick and a ploy in conjunction with the republic to observe their nation more closely, but she wasn't a fool. All it was, was a convenient excuse to absolve Tyr of his supposed 'crime' of simply being born. Seeing what he'd done, the fact that he'd won through a difficult situation and came out on the right side. Now, Haran was scrabbling to take credit for the aversion of disaster. Nothing more. She still hated Tyr, but that fact made his fate no less tragic. She had seen the lost and desolate look in his eyes, knowing immediately after connecting the dots that he'd not been made privy to that information back then. He wasn't that good of a liar, Jartor had done another terrible thing to his son.

Made Tyr a tool, as he'd always been. Abused him, lied to him, allowed him to be reviled and slighted in court alongside his mother.

“Then you'll join me?”

“I suppose we will.”

They seated themselves, all of them taking some distance from the primus with only Alex seating herself directly by his side in the offered chair. Compared to his throne of hard granite, her seat was soft and comfortable, but it didn't help the anxiety. Sigi and Astrid felt fear, and couldn't reconcile that fact, after seeing him remove Tyr from existence with a simple stare. Watching when they were not supposed to. Alex on the other hand... She was Alex. Any fear she might've felt wasn't so easily discerned by the others.

“Welcome!” The announcer cried out. Another very familiar face. They were all staring at a holographic display of their newly promoted professor – Leda Honeygrass. Her tiny, almost childish frame appeared as a giant on the floor of the arena. “To the two hundred and eleventh ascendancy trial! Specifically, the combat portion, but I'd bet you already knew that! What you about to see is the assembled might of all fourteen participating kingdoms and their affiliates. Thirty eight teams, the strongest our continent and those beyond have to offer – and over three thousand participants in the individuals! Give it up for... Er... Oh goodness, I seem to have misplaced my flash cards...”

The crowd rippled with laughter. Leda was certainly an odd pick for announcer considering her anxious nature, but they couldn't help but be enthralled by the adorable figure she cast. Human enough to draw some comparison to, as a halfling. Most of the crowd were human, that was just the way things were on the continent, but other races could be seen – here to support the participants of their respective nations or clans.

“Why'd they have to pick professor Honeygrass...” Micah groaned, until a hard glare from Alex stopped him from continuing. Leda was her best friend, and also her mentor – serving as a teachers assistant while pursuing her advanced education. She was so proud of the other woman, and vice versa.

“Oh, yes! Ha! I found them, see I told you I could do this! Ha!” She was talking to someone out of view and waving a stack of paper cards at them. The crowd laughed harder, caught up in the insane display and enjoying it for the show that it was. Leda's constant enthusiasm and bubbly personality was unexpected, but not unwelcome. “Without further ado, give it up for Varia! Haran! Oresund!”

The list went on and on. The twin empires were first with three teams each, naturally, with the others coming behind them. Alexis saw both her mother and father taking the stage, with Gideon staring right up at her and gleefully waving his arms. Asha, as always, was cold and distant.

People cheered, some called out specific names. High profile adventurers, or nobles of some repute, a once in a lifetime opportunity to watch these great figures punch one another in the face. Mortals never really changed.

Oresund, Milano, Kriegstad, three teams from the dwarven collectives, Teluria, Saorsa, Assyria and Agoron from the southern continent, Amistad, The Brotherhood, Baccia, Kijin, and other minor nations or race specific clans. Many chose not to participate, and considering it was a human event, that was not surprising in the least. Mankind was 'kill on sight' for more than a few of the more enigmatic races.

They all had team names, and each of them were more ridiculous as the last. Frost Falcons, Roaring Tiger, Black Lotus Ever-flowing Water Polo, Carbonated Fist, Vegan Vengeance, Hamburger Tribe, Onion Gang, Throbbing Eggplant Super Stroke... It was strange though, as she rattled through the list...

“What about the republic?” Ayla mused to the side. One of the newer additions to their group, she was a startlingly talented mage and a very beautiful girl. Arriving out of nowhere fairly recently to pull Alex aside when they'd been in the middle of a meal, the content of a conversation none were privy to. To reveal that they were 'old friends' – which wasn't convincing at all but enough to satiate their interest. She was very kind and gentle, always friendly and helpful – becoming fast friends with the lot of them.

Alex knew why she was here, and how. Tyr might be the source of Alex's ire, and even more so now given the mysterious appearance of this woman, but... Ayla was competent, she wasn't some tavern whore, and according to her – she and Tyr had done nothing to untoward. But he'd also gone out and married an orc of all possible women to choose from, which was... Self evident. Tyr's taste had clearly not improved.

“Isn't it a nation of some significance?” Ayla asked.

“It is odd.” Magnus frowned, leaning forward in his seat. “It's bizarre that they'd show such blatant disrespect in announcing minor nations before a primus' own.”

“It's all part of the show.” Jartor replied with a grunt, hushing them immediately. “Just keep watching.”

Men, women, and less distinctly gendered beings began to assemble in their twelve man teams. Ten, with two alternates, slowly filling the arena and waving about at all of the support. Some of the faces were familiar. Powerful adventurers and well famed mages from other lands, but Amistad was full of people they were all personally acquainted with. Represented by Kael Emberwind of the Red Dragon, a man with an incredibly large fan base that was predominately, and unsurprisingly, female. Leda appeared in person now, her stumpy legs struggling up stairs made for the limbs of taller beings, muttering into the microphone about 'accessibility'.

Fog began to roll out of one of the tunnels, the throaty drumming of beaten hides coming from the within. The crowd, busy laughing at Leda's newest farce – or so they thought – silenced themselves. Watching in anticipation as the final team was announced.

“And last, but certainly not least!” Leda shouted passionately, diving into her role with the gusto she addressed all tasks. “From the Lyran Republic, represented by none other than the White Wolf himself! You've all heard the recent news. Immortal, one eye, the White Wolf, Asmon's Butcher, Meat... What? Man, this is like a fever dream. Meat Man Infinity! Team... Uh...? Is this right?” She asked to the announcers booth, receiving a shrug and a nod in return. “This can't be right. This is right, seriously? Oh, it's right... Well...”

“Okay, well. Team 'Stella is the Prettiest and Best Girl in All of the Republic'!”

A massive white wolf burst out of the fog, easily recognizable as Okami, with a familiar figure riding lazily on his back. Hand gripped to the 'saddle' astride the segmented armor covering the wolf, the plume of his helm billowing out behind him. Violent, resplendent, a massive joke, if anyone had asked Alex how she felt about things.

He paused, riding around the other teams in a circle as Okami barked at them. People were silent for a time, astonished by the violent display. The slavering jaw of the wolf snapping shut and startling some of the younger and less experienced participants. He was goading them, but those who looked ready to react to the disrespect were dragged back my their elders as the wolf continued loping around majestically.

One did, though. React, that is. The single boyar team present, a loose collection of baronies and duchies that bordered Milano and the Vatican. Some Burgher Prince, born horsemen, more pompous that even the most extreme minded Varian noble. A young man, he shouted something and pulled his spear from the ground, twirling it dramatically. Pouncing forward and piercing Tyr through his chest.

There was a gasp that rolled through the arena, hushed whispers at how inappropriate such a thing one. But Tyr was barely wounded, let alone dead, his armor had opened to display the soft linen below, obviously baiting it out of the man. The boyar paused, hung up in the air expecting to have knocked Tyr off his mount. He'd get an open handed slap for his trouble, loud enough to be heard over the din, an impressive show of strength. Tossing him through the air with a broken neck.

“Oi...” Magnus grunted, the others paled but he in particular seemed to be resisting the urge to laugh. “Is that guy dead?”

“I believe so.” Sigi coughed awkwardly. “He did offer first challenge, and drew first blood, it's... Legal. The Burgher team is out, though, I suppose that was the point.”

Tyr seemed to pause before the others, tilting his head as if to ask 'is there anyone else?' Many of the teams were laughing, and the boyar's, already aware of their disqualification, followed up. Proving a point, it was cunning and not particularly honorable, what Tyr had done, but Jartor was aware of his child's penchant for mind games. Tiber's Sicario teachings had been one of the few things the young man had ever dedicated himself to wholly.

Unlike the first, he didn't start cutting these men apart or bleeding them. He could have, he all all the right in the world to in a place like this, and the protective barrier had not yet been activated. Instead, he marched over to the young boyar man he'd just thrown and... Lit him on fire?

“I have no idea what is happening right now.” Micah choked.

Astrid's eyes were full of stars, she was blushing and breathing heavily, unnerving them all.

“I don't think any of us do, Micah.” Brenn sighed. “People die in honor duels, it happens, and that man didn't even bother to throw the gauntlet. It's lawful, but the burning of his body is... I don't really know what to say about that.”

Jartor continued to observe, his eyebrow raised. Alexandros had his plans, and Jartor trusted his 'brother', for what it was worth. In previous eras there might have been more rivalry and violence, but all of the modern primus' followed the same path. It didn't take long for him to figure it out.

Tyr lifted the 'dead' man, his armor charred and blackened, but he was otherwise unharmed. And notably, alive.

“Good fight!” Tyr's voice carried across the arena, everyone was... Lost. Somewhere along the line, they'd really and truly lost the plot. Especially when that notoriously ruthless man grabbed the dizzy looking boyar, hugging him gently... So very sportsmanlike, earning him a few cheers but mostly just frowns from people trying to figure out what had happened. Especially the mages on the other teams, who had head that mans neck snap as his head was swung about 180 degrees.

And now he was holding the stunned mans arm like an arena victor, raising it in the air and bowing to a very confused crowd. Many were disappointed, expecting more blood...

“Alrighty! That's enough of that, this is extremely weird!” Leda shouted into her microphone. “Team Throbbing Eggplant Super Stroke is obviously disqualified, thanks for coming! Now get out of my face before I call security!”

This seemed to be a cue for the rest of the Lyran participants.

Tyr was followed by a team of misfits walking much slower behind him, hands in pockets or on weapons, they were a roguish and undisciplined lot. A man in a hooded oni mask with an overlong black blade resting over his shoulder, followed by a robed westerner carrying an oddly shaped lute.

Two knights, one massive and bare of the head to display the incredibly thick black braids that matched the color of his skin, an elegant western woman in the robed armor of a battlemage, and a few more considerably ordinary people. Next was a lithe orcish woman with green skin sheathed in black leathers, her hair braided in a similar style to Samson and looking a bit out of place. Nervous under the howling cries of those orcs in attendance. Beating their chests like animals and chanting 'Jurak'... Whatever that meant. There were only 2 orcs participating in the entire team bracket, perhaps they were excited to see some representation for once.

All capped off with the emergence of the Winter Knight – Rafael, radiant in his silver and blue armor, long silver hair worn in a braid. A man just as famous as Kael, perhaps more so, as Rafael was younger and still active as an adventurer. Just ahead of him was a robed figure that none could make out, but he was the largest man in the group by quite a measure.

Alex looked to Jartor, seeing the primus' playful smile. “So this is why you brought us here, to watch him?”

He nodded, and that was all. They could consider it however they'd like, be cross with him, he wouldn't let them leave. Alexandros had been very explicit, he had better eyes than his elder. The man saw into people in a way even Jartor could not. These young people needed to watch, though Jartor was still considering exactly why that was necessary. But if Alexandros was right, it might be interesting.

“Sam!” Astrid cried out in delight, clapping along with the crowd. “And Tiberius! I'm so glad they are all still together.”

“That rat is too arrogant.” Sigi said, glaring down at the dramatic entrance. And it didn't stop there. “They should have chosen us to represent Amistad, foreign students or not, this drama disgusts me. Can he not be normal for once?”

“It's Tyr.” Micah commented sagely, as if that was an answer to her question. She supposed it was, in all actuality. Nothing he did ever made sense.

At their official entry and conclusion of what had just happened, the crowd went wild beyond compare. Their thunderous applause and booming adoration echoing over the field. People were calling out so many names that it was impossible to pick one in particular.

Rafael was clearly the most popular, but a few of the others seemed to be well known. Alex recognized the man in the mask as an adventurer commonly seen in the successor states as well. The uncomfortably belting of a blown horn dragged all of their attention to a spindly limbed, older man. The instrument, or whatever it was, seemed designed in singular fashion to hurt the ears of everyone around it.

The old man was wearing a sweater unfit for the temperature emblazoned with 'We Love Tyr!', a large pink heart surrounding the words. An attendant, red in the face, continued to blow into the horn as Count Asmon did a bit of a jig. Nearly fainting when Tyr 'looked at him'. Or so he claimed, loud enough for everyone around him to hear. The image pictured on the artifact hovering over the field putting his wild behavior on display, letting everyone know just how much of a freak the man was.

“Count Asmon?” Tythas half frowned, half hiccuped. Asmon was an exceptionally cruel man by reputation, but he was loved by his people, seeing him like this was... Well, it was odd. He was most famous of inventing new and creative ways to torture and execute people, but he seemed to be a fan. “What the hell?”

Tyr, still astride Okami's back, continued to loop around the arena – his silver horned helmet and the angry eye slits about it glaring at the assembled competitors. Only a few of them seemed impressed, the rest only smiling at the idea of having such a healthy challenge this year. Tyr was irrelevant, but the Winter Knight had never participated in the games before. Neither had Anu, not in recent memory, Red Dragon students realizing that the large figure next to Samson was the hooded form of professor Valkan. Never in the history of the games had a member of their secretive race joined the contest.

Tyr dismounted, petting his mount affectionately, and the great wolf stalked off into the underbelly of the arena. Appearing a scant few moment later in the booth at astounding speed, hopping onto Alex's lap and panting under the scratching of her hand on his head. She smiled, but never let her eyes leave Tyr, and the expression didn't reach her violet orbs. They looked ready to pounce from the booth and join the assembled teams at any moment herself, just to thrash him for embarrassing them all like that.

They lined up, all of the teams, with some of them laughing mockingly at the team from the republic. Many of which were wearing pieces of armor that did not match or obey any law of showmanship or fashion. For their part, at least, Tyr's team ignored their insults.

Eventually, a woman separated herself from the Saorsan team of beastkin. She didn't look one of their race, caramel in complexion with long golden hair held back in an elegant bun. Very human in appearance, a curvaceous and buxom woman of tremendous grace, a white dress accentuating her neckline and voluptuous form. A peerless beauty. Men found themselves swatted by their wives and concubines, entranced by her appearance.

Marching across the field and removing Tyr's helmet, she kissed him full on the lips, bending him back like a princess, oblivious to either the passionate cheers or shouts of discontent that came of it.

–

Tyr felt his head spinning. One moment, he'd seen the woman approaching, and the next she was on him in full view of all the others. Very aggressively, at that, but at least it took the boredom he was already feeling.

Tiber, Mikhail, and Fennic all chuckled. Daito cackled, slapping his knee and looking toward a clearly agitated Jura. Samson looked a bit angry, the rest all stared at Tyr in a mixture of disgust or confusion. Goroshi, in particular, was content to give him an enthusiastic 'thumbs up'.

“Nala?” Tyr asked, dizzy. Hard to voice the question what with her face plastered onto his own, far longer than would be normal for a kiss. Perhaps in the past he would've blushed or been bashful, but for the sake of the experience he did his best to make it appear like he was enjoying himself. They'd been friends for some time, comfortable enough with one another, and his anxiousness with entanglements with the opposite sex had faded. A sign of growth, albeit a useless one. “What are you doing here?”

“Here to participate, the cost of Saorsan protection, you might say. It's very good to see you again, ready to become my manservant yet? You'd really like it there, you'd be treated well... Unlike rat humans, we don't treat able bodied warriors like beasts to be put on display.” Nala's expression soured, pulling away and haughtily observing the 'competition'. What a joke, really and truly.

“She's a manticore!” Tyr said to the rapidly approaching figure of Jura, her face warped in a wrathful mask. “We're just--”

“Traveling companions.” Nala shrugged. “Passionate lovers, romantic partners. I'll say it even if we won't. We have done things you mortals could never possible fathom, ah... I quiver just thinking about it.”

“We never--!”

“Oh hush, sweet boy.” Nala planted her lips on his again, a shorter kiss than before but no less stunning. They took on animal traits a bit more fiercely than beastkin, another attempt to 'conquer him', probably. “Unless someone wishes to challenge my claim on this one?” She looked about at the amused glances of the others. “This gorgeous young orc, perhaps?”

“You're a manticore?” Jura asked, and Nala nodded. Receiving an abrupt bow shortly thereafter. “It is an honor, great spirit.”

“The honor is all mine.” Nala smiled. “You'll always be his first, after all. Young, passionate love, is important for his growth as a man. I merely wish to collect him, but you could come too.”

“Aye, I am happy to receive your offer.” Jura nodded in acceptance. “As long as I am the first to bear a child.” Nala accepted this with a nod, leaving Tyr in a state of confusion and anxiety. Wasn't he supposed to be given a say in the matter?

“Oi! I never agreed to--”

“Shut up.” Both of them replied in perfect unison.

“Who's side are you on!?” Tyr argued, but Jura clearly and obviously pointed to Nala as the answer.

“Hers, obviously. You're a man, show some backbone and take responsibility for your actions. We are not toys to be played with, it's a relationship, we give and we take. Don't be a coward.”

“But I didn't even—”

“Shut up.”

“Alright...” Tyr cast a helpful glance towards Daito.

“Don't look at me, man.” The man chuckled. “In the wild, many species are ruled by their females. Whatever the case may be, you've already got a harem. It can't all be flowers and roses, but I can think of far worse things than having children with two elegant women... You whine too much.”

"This..." Mikhail was caught between jealousy and honest contentment at seeing the man so successful. But... Even a manticore? Tyr had enigmatic tastes. "This is very strange, I think we can all agree on that point. Please finish up, I have to piss."

The others nodded, it was hard to watch, and the other teams were growing restless. Tyr's display had put the spotlight on he, and he alone, angering many for obvious reasons...

Leda, as tiny as she was, managed to glare 'down' at Tyr menacingly for some reason. He had no idea what he'd ever done to her to cause offense, but in any case – she wrapped the introductions up and began the proceeding.

Opening up the first round of competition.