“WHAT!?” Eliot and Vincent exclaimed.

In Zander’s room, the two of them just looked dumbfounded at him. Zander’s expression was a bit serious, but he couldn’t help but crack a little when he saw the look of shock on his friends’ faces.

“I don’t see why you’re all so shocked,” Zander questioned. “Haven’t you looked around this place for more than a minute?”

Fang, stroking their hair, piped up. “True, but even so, I was not expecting that of all things,” they commented.

“No shit,” Vincent added.

“I’m actually on board with this,” Eliot softly said. He pushed his dreaded hair to the side, and continued his thought. “It seems crazy, but weren’t we always planning on doing something like this?” He then let out a bit of a nervous laugh. “I mean, this whole journey has been pretty crazy.”

Everyone but Fang gave a look of acknowledgment, followed by a slight eye roll.

“But still,” Vincent commented, looking at Zander, “can’t you at least give us more than that? At least tell us Prince’s name—especially, if we’re going to work with them. I’m sure you’ve figured it out by this point.”

A bit of a deviously cocky smile crept across Zander’s face. “I’m not one-hundred percent sure, but I have a pretty good idea of who it is.”

“Why can’t you tell us?” Fang asked.

Zander just directed his entire gaze towards Vincent.

“That’s fair,” Eliot and Fang replied.

“Hey!” Vincent objected.

Everyone but Vincent laughed. That being said, he couldn’t help but crack a smile at the livelier atmosphere. He then stood up from the chair he was sitting on, and announced, “Well, whatever, I’m ready for anything. I say, let’s give ‘em hell!”

“That’s the spirit, Vince,” Zander replied, a little more energetic. “I’m glad you agree to my plan, for once in your life.”

“I’m still not convinced that it’s better than mine,” Vincent argued.

Eliot looked at him with a look of disappointment. “Vince,” he said, “we are not going to buy the bathhouse.”

“But—”

“It doesn’t work like that. And besides, I’m sure Lucretia has her own private bathing suite.”

With a look of dejection, Vincent said, “Fine.”

Zander coughed and then spoke up. “Anyways,” he started. “Are we all in agreement, then?

“Yep!” Eliot smiled.

“Sure,” Fang responded.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Vincent said “Yeah, yeah, I’ll enter this dumb competition as your slave.” He then shot a dirty look at Zander. “And you’re sure that that’s how Omnia is going to go?”

“One-hundred percent,” Zander confidently answered.

***

It was the day of the Omnia event. Vincent was stretching his body, and in response, it made all sorts of weird noises. He knew that he wasn’t completely healed, or even close to it, but he felt good enough to be able to win it all.

He wasn’t quite sure on where Fang and Eliot went, but he knew that they had to be close by. Honestly, Fang probably had the best chance of winning the whole thing, and Vincent knew it. Eliot was not the athletic type, although he was unusually good at basketball, and Fang managed to put up a good fight in the Collider. Vincent knew that he still had a couple of bruised and broken parts of his body, and that would hold him back.

As he entered the Pugilatus—which Vincent found out was the name of the Sports Room—he saw a sea of people, all different, but connected by one important distinction: the metal band around their necks. He too had to wear that stupid band, which bothered his neck the entire time he wore it.

The other slaves were not nearly as lively as he was, although a few of them seemed to be energetic. He was sure that whatever slave won the competition, their master would reward them. Unfortunately for them, the Omnia, at least this one, was going to be a game of physical prowess.

Eventually, they were all herded towards a stairwell that spiraled downwards. It took about 10 minutes or so to walk all the way down, but when he did reach the bottom, there were still a few hallways to wander through.

When he got to the end of the last hallway, he walked into a giant room. It was a cylindrical chamber, almost 50 feet in diameter, and they were at the very bottom of it. Spiking out of most of the walls were metal rods that webbed their way in every direction. Some just barely poked out, while most of them extended from one side of the room to the other. The way they overlapped with one another nearly blotted out the light from the glass ceiling above. Occasionally, attached to those rods, were small, square platforms.

The one thing that stood out to him was that none of the iron rods ever made it down to the ground. In fact, the nearest one was at least 10 feet in the air.

After a few minutes of letting his eyes wander, the voice of the person that shepherded down him and the rest of the slaves boomed.

“Alright,” they said. “I’m only going to say this once, so make sure you get the dirt out of your ears.” They then looked at a sheet of paper they were holding. “This month’s Omnia competition will be Steel Bar Run.”

A couple of groans quietly surfaced.

The shepherd glanced up menacingly, and yelled, “Shut the fuck up or I’ll beat ya!” They then coughed and continued reading from their paper. “For all you illiterate of dumb fucks out there, this event is mainly a physical one...and one of the most brutal ones.” A smile naturally snaked across their face. “But, it is the most simple event. All you have to do is be the last one on one of those beams and you win. If at any point you touch the ground,” they said, stomping on the dirt floor, “you’re out—that is, if you’re not already dead,” he laughed.

No one else laughed.

“There are no other rules, other than that.” They then flipped through a couple more notes that they had. “Oh,” they exclaimed, “I almost forgot. Since this is the first Omnia since the revelation of Resonators, I gotta say this. Under no circumstance are any superpowers allowed to be used. If you use one, you’re either going to be removed from the game, shot dead on sight, or both.”

Raising a hand, one of the slaves spoke up. “And how do we get up there to start?”

Everyone’s eyes immediately shifted in the direction of the voice. The one who said that was an Egyptian boy, no more than 16 years old. The moment all eyes were on him, he shrunk down.

“Huh? The shepherd said. “I don’t remember telling you to speak.” They then spit on the ground in his direction. “Anyways, make sure all you animals climb up the ladder that’s against that wall,” they motion behind them, “and get to a spot. After a few minutes, we’ll remove the ladder and the game will start. Got it?”

No one responded.

“I said,” the shepherd said, their voice raising, “GOT IT!?”

“Yes!” every slave answered, or some variation of that in their native language.

Vincent immediately took off towards a ladder in a dead sprint. Each stride felt light at first, but he slowly felt a force slowly pull him down. People then started to pass him left and right. It even got to the point where the Egyptian boy that spoke up managed to get in front of him.

That notion bothered him, but he could focus on it for too long, because the scene that was folding out in front of him required his urgent attention. At the base of the only ladder that went up, a swarm of people were rushing up the ladder, like a colony of ants. People were constantly making their way up, being shoved off, and there were even fights that already started to break out.

When Vincent made it to the base of the ladder, he had no idea how to progress forward. As he contemplated his options, he saw a shadow start to fall towards him from above. Instinctively, he reached his arms out and caught it. It was a person. As a matter of fact, it was that Egyptian boy.

“Woah there,” Vincent said, still cradling the boy.

With a worried, scared, and semi-broken expression, the boy looked up at Vincent and said “T-thank y-you.”

“No problem,” he replied, dropping the kid, who barely landed on his feet.

The kid then dusted himself off and tried to make another break for the ladder. Vincent snapped his hand out and grabbed him by the collar. In response, the kid tried to push Vincent’s arm away, but there was too great of a strength difference.

“U-u-um please let me go,” the kid said.

“Oh, sure, but just hold on,” Vincent asked.

The kid paused, cocked his head, and just looked at Vincent.

“What?” Vincent questioned. “There’s no way in hell you’re makin’ it up there by just chagrin’ in. I literally watched you fall—and that was before this stupid-ass rush.”

“I have to win,” the kid said.

“Oh, so do I, but even I gotta think this one through.”

“I have to win.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but just calm down for a sec.”

The kid just stared at Vincent for a few seconds, as the rush of more contestants passed by them. The kid’s body twitched a couple of times, making it look like he was really holding back the urge to follow the crowd. Eventually, his eyes widened and his mouth hung open.

“Wait, you’re the one who fought Marezi” he gasped.

“Huh?” Vincent responded, looking up at the stream of people trying to climb the ladder. “Oh, yeah, that’s me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean? Same reason as you—I’m trapped in this shithole of a casino.” Vincent’s eyes then caught someone that gave him an idea. “I think I figured something out.” Extending his hand out to the kid, he asked, “You ready?”