The colosseum was bigger than John had imagined. Well, to be exact, the colosseum was bigger than John had seen. From the outside it had been an imposing building, without a doubt. Stone, ancient but in prime condition, worked into several stories of beautifully symmetric arcs in the legendary style of the Roman Empire.
There was a weird shift once he stepped inside. The hallway, pure stone with depictions of a hero’s (presumably Romulus) acts carved into the walls, seemed to stretch before his very eyes. Every step felt shorter than it really was. They still made overall progress though. A guide assured them that this was completely normal.
Then they finally stepped out again and John blinked a few times in confusion. The colosseum was enormous; if he had to guess, it would be able to hold around 50’000 people. That didn’t make it the biggest stadium in the world, not by a longshot, but it was more spacious than John had anticipated from the outside. Compared to the usual stadium, there was also a lot more space inside it than in the watcher’s areas.
‘Then again, things being bigger on the inside is nothing new,’ he thought as he looked around. The colosseum’s stands were split into three different kinds. All of them were sloped in a way that allowed the maximum amount of people to watch. Greyish brown stone made up the majority of the surfaces.
The first type of area had little more beyond that foundation, that’s where the people could watch while standing. These took by far the most amount of room, roughly 35% of both the west and east side, and already common folk, who didn’t have the titles or the money to get into the two other areas, were starting to occupy the best places close to the railing.
The second area was the seated places. Rows upon rows of chairs organized into aisles of varying sizes filled those spaces. The layout and spacing was impractical, but John imagined that it was according to the wish of noble houses and merchants to stick to themselves and their immediate friends. The chairs were almost entirely empty, which wasn’t all that surprising. Why would one come two hours early if they had an assigned seat, after all?
Then there was the last kind of area. Small platforms that stuck out of the otherwise sloped watcher’s areas and extended far into the building itself, connecting to temporary quarters and all other sorts of facilities. There was one for each cardinal direction, and they currently found themselves on the quickest route towards the eastern one.
All of these were looking down towards the simple, dusty plain at the heart of the colosseum. From Lydia, John already knew that their fights wouldn’t be fought on that simple terrain. ‘Some kind of Intermediary Barrier,’ John remembered as they stepped into another tunnel. A turn right and a flight of stairs later and they had reached their platform.
John peeled himself out of his jacket. Despite being under the clear sky in the middle of winter, it was warm inside the colosseum. “You will be seated here,” the guide gestured around. There were twenty seats around three tables here, one large one with ten and two with five chairs respectively. The tables were fashioned from stone, the same as the colosseum, while the chairs were comfortable looking things made from darkly painted wood with elegantly swung armrests and high backs.
“If you need something, please don’t hesitate to ring the bells you find on your table. We will be able to accommodate most basic wishes,” the guide pointed to a golden hand bell and then bowed. “That would be all from my side. Unless you have further questions, I will now retreat.”
“You are free to do so,” Lydia told him with a stern nod, and the group put their jackets on one of several coat hangers that were standing around.
The princess took her seat, but the rest of the crew continued to look around for a bit. “So, how the fuck do we go down there?” Thana asked and looked over the railing. “Do we just jump?”
“Once we are called to pick a fighter,” John was the first to answer, “a platform will appear that takes the person that climbs it down.”
Having riddled Lydia with questions about this on several occasions, John knew all that was important and a whole lot of useless trivia. He pointed at the gates underneath each of the platforms.
“That’s where the fighters come from in the case of the weekly show matches. However, due to the pick and choose style of this tournament the elevator system was installed about 200 years ago.”
Jack flew over the platform opposite theirs. There was only a single person sitting there.
“It seems your mother is the only one who wanted to come early, Jane,” John told his girlfriend.
In response, Rave crossed her arms and stared over the gap as if her annoyance could physically cross the large distance between them.
Before she succeeded, John patted her on the head, “You will get to try and punch her in the face soon enough.”
“If it isn’t right now, it isn’t soon enough,” Rave disagreed.
“May I remind you that winning is more important than your family squabbles,” Lydia interrupted their talk. “You can solve your issues in your own time. This tournament is of importance to me.”
“Or I can do both at once,” Rave suggested, “ya know, badass style.”
“Rave, and I mean no offense by this,” the princess said with her usual iron tone, “but matching you up against your mother would be exceedingly stupid, and I will not do it unless I am given no other choice.”
“Wha-?” Rave was taken aback; “What are ya on about!”
“She is saying,” Momo sighed, “that putting you against your mother is a sure-fire way to lose a match.”
“Nuh-uh, it isn’t!” Rave insisted.
The support shrugged as she continued on, “I mean, correct me if I am wrong, but you are both light mages that utilize martial arts at the core, right?”
“Ja, and?”
“And putting you up against a more experienced version of yourself is stupid,” Momo told her.
“Now, now,” John chimed in before this could become a heated argument. “Let’s think about this from another angle, who else would we send to face Nariko? Because, how I see it, Maximillian will be fought by Nia… where is she by the way?” The mysterious fifth fighter still was nowhere to be seen.
“Not here,” Lydia said, her expression darkening, “and I don’t know when the exact date of her arrival is. Let us hope it is before we have to fight Maximillian.”
“…Okay, that aside, who else are you planning to fight whom?”
“I will fight Mario de Medici,” Lydia stated. “He was the one I could find the most information about. They say that he is a master of the blade but not all that useful without it. With my powers, disarming him shouldn’t be a problem. Rave will be fighting the mercenary goblin known as Ankleshanker.”
“Excuse me, what?” John intercepted. Lydia gave him a stern stare, “Their fourth fighter. I know little about him aside from what I saw, but rumour has it that he is a physical fighter with a specialization in size changing magic. He should be a formidable foe.”
“That’s LAME,” Rave said. “Lemme punch my mother and all is well.”
“No, that will be Thana’s occupation,” Lydia gestured towards the blood mage. “From my analysis, she should be their strongest fighter, therefore we should pitch our strongest against her.”
“Sorry, gum-crotch,” Thana cracked her knuckles, “seems like I’ll be taking care of your family issues.”
“That leaves only me and Alexej,” John noted.
“Indeed, I have not found anything about him. Not even contradictory or false information, just nothing. I thought about sending Thana against him, but in the end, I decided to go with you instead,” Lydia ended her explanation.
All of this made perfect sense to John, but Rave had her fists clenched. He put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. That eased her somewhat. “Look, those are just the plans,” John said, “and as we all know, plans never survive contact with the enemy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she looked up into his eyes, the pink hue inside the blue orbs moving erratically, “don’t lie, Johnnie, you’re agreeing with that plan, aren’t ya?”
Helplessly, he shrugged and admitted, “It is the most logical course of action.” His heart fluttered nervously. He didn’t want to go against his girlfriend, but at the same time this wasn’t their battlefield. What Lydia wanted had to take priority.
Rave took a deep breath and pressed herself closer to him. “That’s what I get for dating a smartass instead of someone who likes to punch their problems, like me,” she mumbled.
The fluttering ebbed away. “I love you,” he reminded her.
“I love you too, now shaddup and kiss me properly.”
Their lips met, and Thana sneered, “Fucking disgusting lovebirds. I could just make you into… some food that uses chicken as its main ingredient!”
“Chicken stew?” John suggested with a smirk as the flutter melted into a warm glow.
“YES! THAT! ...Is that tasty?” Thana wondered then added, demandingly; “Call your fuckbot and tell her to make chicken stew tonight!”
He could do that. Then he noticed something through the eyes of Jack. The sparrow had been fluttering through the arena. It wasn’t the only bird around; evidently multiple people used these things for a variety of purposes – or there were actual birds in this Protected Space. In either case, the sparrow had spotted something interesting.
“Say, Lydia, is it considered taboo or something for a fighter to talk to people in the audience?”
“It is certainly unconventional,” Lydia said and raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“I just spied a mutual friend of ours, is all. You mind if I go visit him?”
“Just be back an hour before the tournament begins,” the princess demanded. “I already have one late participant, I shall not have another.”
He went alone. According to Lydia, no one would dare to attack him here, as Romulus’ guards were keeping the colosseum safe personally. Also, the person he was looking to see had no connection to anyone but him. Well, maybe Momo, but they only knew each other in passing.
He went to the southern platform through a relatively unused hallway, to avoid the public as much as he could. As far as he was informed, the northern platform was Romulus’ personal area, the western one, opposite of Lydia’s team, was where Maximillian and his people would be.
The southern platform was for the maintenance and technical personnel that would oversee the match. That included the casters, the camera personnel and, perhaps most importantly, the Fateweavers.
Magoi Magus looked away from the sparrow in front of him and followed it as Jack landed on John’s hand. The High Fateweaver, a lanky man, was wearing the same outfit in which he had spent a month with John inside the Illusion Barrier. A black, English butler suit with the outstandingly white gloves and a green bow tie that contrasted with the white of his buttoned-up shirt.
The oaken cane in his hand, a purely ornamental addition to his outfit, was used to push his top hat into a straight position. Compared to the raptor-skull mask that covered his face, the cylindrical headwear seemed almost normal.
“High Fateweaver, Magoi Magus,” John said respectfully and extended his hand.
“The Gamer a.k.a. John Newman,” Magoi shook the hand with a similar tone in his voice. The two of them had parted on friendly terms, but with the agreement to preserve a professional distance. This was doubly true as they were currently in public. “How can I help you?” Magoi therefore asked. His tone was friendly but business-like.
“I just wanted to have a look at the behind the scenes out of interest,” John had prepared that excuse ahead of time. “Do you have time to show me around?”
“Certainly,” Magoi said and gestured for him to follow him. He started talking about technical equipment with great interest as they, seemingly randomly, found their way deeper and deeper into the building and away from the business of the working people. Eventually, they were at the corner of a hallway where they were almost entirely isolated.
“It is good to see you again,” Magoi said then, dropping the business tone. “Personally, I mean. I was waiting for you to appear in the tournament to confirm your survival.”
“You really could have told me this was going to happen,” John noted.
“But where would have been the fun in that?” the Fateweaver pointed out with a raised finger. “In all honesty, I would pay quite the sum to see your face when you found out about what you signed up to… You wouldn’t tell me why the girl you wanted to kill is suddenly on your side though?”
“Mhm, for old times’ sake, I will tell you the broad story,” John said and, leaving out all of the who’s, how’s, why’s, told him what had transpired since they had parted ways.
“Ah, to be young,” Magoi mused. “I will tell nobody of this, you have my word.”
John nodded, that was enough for him, and changed the topic, “What are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I am here to support the barrier maintainer of the arena. The fights for this event are expected to exceed what the local people can handle,” Magoi informed him.
“Support?” John was perplexed.
To the best of his knowledge, Magoi was one of the strongest Fateweavers around. What he had done for John had seemingly been child’s play for him, the exception being the time when he had to fight against Nathalia forcing her way in (and the dragoness had had a beacon in the shape of Aclysia to find the barrier).
“Who are you supporting?” the Gamer inquired, his curiosity awakened.
“Mhm,” Magoi pondered for a moment, rubbing the chin of his mask, “I think you will grow into a significant enough individual that he won’t complain about you wasting his time. Come with me.”
They walked back the way they had come and then, to John’s surprise, to the actual platform. Like everywhere else, there were people running around and doing their triple and quadruple checks on everything. A desk hovered and landed as people measured its energy consumption to make sure it was working as intended.
Two men in suits stood next to it, talking. One was a human, the other was a lizardman. If it weren’t for his black scaled, clearly reptilian head, he would have passed for a human in both build and size. Also, the way he held his cup of ginger ale was so incredibly casual that it was weird to see someone not human do it, for some reason.
None of this was important though. They aimed for the head of the platform. In a circle of over two metres around a single chair, no one was working. They all stayed at a respectful distance.
The chair slowly turned around. This was a feat, considering there was no axis to turn around. The chair had four hard, wooden legs. Those legs bent and twisted like rubber.
The man on top wore an outstanding suit of midnight blue, stripes of gold stitched all over the fabric. The black shirt and red tie had the same design, even seeming to seamlessly flow into each other, giving the man a slightly two-dimensional look. A small gap of toned skin between was all that was actually visible of the man himself. His hands were stuck in dark gloves. His whole head, from the face to the last strand of his hair, was hidden underneath a mask of blue, gold and black metal, forged into an interwoven piece of artwork that curved into four horn-like ends.
“Supreme Fateweaver Gehnigm, may I introduce you to John Newman a.k.a. the Gamer?” Magoi said in a good mood.
“Aaaaaaaah,” the voice that rang out had an echo to it that reminded John of the robotic sounds caused by a bad internet connection.
The Supreme Fateweaver, leader of one of the three great non-combat organizations, spoke with a slight accent (Chinese, if John had to guess), “I expected you to come along eventually. It is a pleasure meeting new people to do business with.”
“The pleasure is all m-“ John started but Gehnigm was already moving on.
“However, I must tell you that, as of right now, you do not possess the necessary capabilities to warrant my attention. I request you to come into contact with me again once you have found your place in the world. I will make up for this rudeness on that day. Now, begone.”
The chair twisted back around, and John followed Magoi who was already walking away. “That went very well,” Magoi told him while looking at a pocket watch, “He spoke to you for longer than 10 seconds.”
“Huh,” John just accepted that that was a good thing.
Magoi showed him around some more, and they exchanged some further pleasantries and mindless chatter. Eventually, John headed back.
The colosseum was bigger than John had imagined. Well, to be exact, the colosseum was bigger than John had seen. From the outside it had been an imposing building, without a doubt. Stone, ancient but in prime condition, worked into several stories of beautifully symmetric arcs in the legendary style of the Roman Empire.
There was a weird shift once he stepped inside. The hallway, pure stone with depictions of a hero’s (presumably Romulus) acts carved into the walls, seemed to stretch before his very eyes. Every step felt shorter than it really was. They still made overall progress though. A guide assured them that this was completely normal.
Then they finally stepped out again and John blinked a few times in confusion. The colosseum was enormous; if he had to guess, it would be able to hold around 50’000 people. That didn’t make it the biggest stadium in the world, not by a longshot, but it was more spacious than John had anticipated from the outside. Compared to the usual stadium, there was also a lot more space inside it than in the watcher’s areas.
‘Then again, things being bigger on the inside is nothing new,’ he thought as he looked around. The colosseum’s stands were split into three different kinds. All of them were sloped in a way that allowed the maximum amount of people to watch. Greyish brown stone made up the majority of the surfaces.
The first type of area had little more beyond that foundation, that’s where the people could watch while standing. These took by far the most amount of room, roughly 35% of both the west and east side, and already common folk, who didn’t have the titles or the money to get into the two other areas, were starting to occupy the best places close to the railing.
The second area was the seated places. Rows upon rows of chairs organized into aisles of varying sizes filled those spaces. The layout and spacing was impractical, but John imagined that it was according to the wish of noble houses and merchants to stick to themselves and their immediate friends. The chairs were almost entirely empty, which wasn’t all that surprising. Why would one come two hours early if they had an assigned seat, after all?
Then there was the last kind of area. Small platforms that stuck out of the otherwise sloped watcher’s areas and extended far into the building itself, connecting to temporary quarters and all other sorts of facilities. There was one for each cardinal direction, and they currently found themselves on the quickest route towards the eastern one.
All of these were looking down towards the simple, dusty plain at the heart of the colosseum. From Lydia, John already knew that their fights wouldn’t be fought on that simple terrain. ‘Some kind of Intermediary Barrier,’ John remembered as they stepped into another tunnel. A turn right and a flight of stairs later and they had reached their platform.
John peeled himself out of his jacket. Despite being under the clear sky in the middle of winter, it was warm inside the colosseum. “You will be seated here,” the guide gestured around. There were twenty seats around three tables here, one large one with ten and two with five chairs respectively. The tables were fashioned from stone, the same as the colosseum, while the chairs were comfortable looking things made from darkly painted wood with elegantly swung armrests and high backs.
“If you need something, please don’t hesitate to ring the bells you find on your table. We will be able to accommodate most basic wishes,” the guide pointed to a golden hand bell and then bowed. “That would be all from my side. Unless you have further questions, I will now retreat.”
“You are free to do so,” Lydia told him with a stern nod, and the group put their jackets on one of several coat hangers that were standing around.
The princess took her seat, but the rest of the crew continued to look around for a bit. “So, how the fuck do we go down there?” Thana asked and looked over the railing. “Do we just jump?”
“Once we are called to pick a fighter,” John was the first to answer, “a platform will appear that takes the person that climbs it down.”
Having riddled Lydia with questions about this on several occasions, John knew all that was important and a whole lot of useless trivia. He pointed at the gates underneath each of the platforms.
“That’s where the fighters come from in the case of the weekly show matches. However, due to the pick and choose style of this tournament the elevator system was installed about 200 years ago.”
Jack flew over the platform opposite theirs. There was only a single person sitting there.
“It seems your mother is the only one who wanted to come early, Jane,” John told his girlfriend.
In response, Rave crossed her arms and stared over the gap as if her annoyance could physically cross the large distance between them.
Before she succeeded, John patted her on the head, “You will get to try and punch her in the face soon enough.”
“If it isn’t right now, it isn’t soon enough,” Rave disagreed.
“May I remind you that winning is more important than your family squabbles,” Lydia interrupted their talk. “You can solve your issues in your own time. This tournament is of importance to me.”
“Or I can do both at once,” Rave suggested, “ya know, badass style.”
“Rave, and I mean no offense by this,” the princess said with her usual iron tone, “but matching you up against your mother would be exceedingly stupid, and I will not do it unless I am given no other choice.”
“Wha-?” Rave was taken aback; “What are ya on about!”
“She is saying,” Momo sighed, “that putting you against your mother is a sure-fire way to lose a match.”
“Nuh-uh, it isn’t!” Rave insisted.
The support shrugged as she continued on, “I mean, correct me if I am wrong, but you are both light mages that utilize martial arts at the core, right?”
“Ja, and?”
“And putting you up against a more experienced version of yourself is stupid,” Momo told her.
“Now, now,” John chimed in before this could become a heated argument. “Let’s think about this from another angle, who else would we send to face Nariko? Because, how I see it, Maximillian will be fought by Nia… where is she by the way?” The mysterious fifth fighter still was nowhere to be seen.
“Not here,” Lydia said, her expression darkening, “and I don’t know when the exact date of her arrival is. Let us hope it is before we have to fight Maximillian.”
“…Okay, that aside, who else are you planning to fight whom?”
“I will fight Mario de Medici,” Lydia stated. “He was the one I could find the most information about. They say that he is a master of the blade but not all that useful without it. With my powers, disarming him shouldn’t be a problem. Rave will be fighting the mercenary goblin known as Ankleshanker.”
“Excuse me, what?” John intercepted. Lydia gave him a stern stare, “Their fourth fighter. I know little about him aside from what I saw, but rumour has it that he is a physical fighter with a specialization in size changing magic. He should be a formidable foe.”
“That’s LAME,” Rave said. “Lemme punch my mother and all is well.”
“No, that will be Thana’s occupation,” Lydia gestured towards the blood mage. “From my analysis, she should be their strongest fighter, therefore we should pitch our strongest against her.”
“Sorry, gum-crotch,” Thana cracked her knuckles, “seems like I’ll be taking care of your family issues.”
“That leaves only me and Alexej,” John noted.
“Indeed, I have not found anything about him. Not even contradictory or false information, just nothing. I thought about sending Thana against him, but in the end, I decided to go with you instead,” Lydia ended her explanation.
All of this made perfect sense to John, but Rave had her fists clenched. He put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. That eased her somewhat. “Look, those are just the plans,” John said, “and as we all know, plans never survive contact with the enemy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she looked up into his eyes, the pink hue inside the blue orbs moving erratically, “don’t lie, Johnnie, you’re agreeing with that plan, aren’t ya?”
Helplessly, he shrugged and admitted, “It is the most logical course of action.” His heart fluttered nervously. He didn’t want to go against his girlfriend, but at the same time this wasn’t their battlefield. What Lydia wanted had to take priority.
Rave took a deep breath and pressed herself closer to him. “That’s what I get for dating a smartass instead of someone who likes to punch their problems, like me,” she mumbled.
The fluttering ebbed away. “I love you,” he reminded her.
“I love you too, now shaddup and kiss me properly.”
Their lips met, and Thana sneered, “Fucking disgusting lovebirds. I could just make you into… some food that uses chicken as its main ingredient!”
“Chicken stew?” John suggested with a smirk as the flutter melted into a warm glow.
“YES! THAT! ...Is that tasty?” Thana wondered then added, demandingly; “Call your fuckbot and tell her to make chicken stew tonight!”
He could do that. Then he noticed something through the eyes of Jack. The sparrow had been fluttering through the arena. It wasn’t the only bird around; evidently multiple people used these things for a variety of purposes – or there were actual birds in this Protected Space. In either case, the sparrow had spotted something interesting.
“Say, Lydia, is it considered taboo or something for a fighter to talk to people in the audience?”
“It is certainly unconventional,” Lydia said and raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“I just spied a mutual friend of ours, is all. You mind if I go visit him?”
“Just be back an hour before the tournament begins,” the princess demanded. “I already have one late participant, I shall not have another.”
He went alone. According to Lydia, no one would dare to attack him here, as Romulus’ guards were keeping the colosseum safe personally. Also, the person he was looking to see had no connection to anyone but him. Well, maybe Momo, but they only knew each other in passing.
He went to the southern platform through a relatively unused hallway, to avoid the public as much as he could. As far as he was informed, the northern platform was Romulus’ personal area, the western one, opposite of Lydia’s team, was where Maximillian and his people would be.
The southern platform was for the maintenance and technical personnel that would oversee the match. That included the casters, the camera personnel and, perhaps most importantly, the Fateweavers.
Magoi Magus looked away from the sparrow in front of him and followed it as Jack landed on John’s hand. The High Fateweaver, a lanky man, was wearing the same outfit in which he had spent a month with John inside the Illusion Barrier. A black, English butler suit with the outstandingly white gloves and a green bow tie that contrasted with the white of his buttoned-up shirt.
The oaken cane in his hand, a purely ornamental addition to his outfit, was used to push his top hat into a straight position. Compared to the raptor-skull mask that covered his face, the cylindrical headwear seemed almost normal.
“High Fateweaver, Magoi Magus,” John said respectfully and extended his hand.
“The Gamer a.k.a. John Newman,” Magoi shook the hand with a similar tone in his voice. The two of them had parted on friendly terms, but with the agreement to preserve a professional distance. This was doubly true as they were currently in public. “How can I help you?” Magoi therefore asked. His tone was friendly but business-like.
“I just wanted to have a look at the behind the scenes out of interest,” John had prepared that excuse ahead of time. “Do you have time to show me around?”
“Certainly,” Magoi said and gestured for him to follow him. He started talking about technical equipment with great interest as they, seemingly randomly, found their way deeper and deeper into the building and away from the business of the working people. Eventually, they were at the corner of a hallway where they were almost entirely isolated.
“It is good to see you again,” Magoi said then, dropping the business tone. “Personally, I mean. I was waiting for you to appear in the tournament to confirm your survival.”
“You really could have told me this was going to happen,” John noted.
“But where would have been the fun in that?” the Fateweaver pointed out with a raised finger. “In all honesty, I would pay quite the sum to see your face when you found out about what you signed up to… You wouldn’t tell me why the girl you wanted to kill is suddenly on your side though?”
“Mhm, for old times’ sake, I will tell you the broad story,” John said and, leaving out all of the who’s, how’s, why’s, told him what had transpired since they had parted ways.
“Ah, to be young,” Magoi mused. “I will tell nobody of this, you have my word.”
John nodded, that was enough for him, and changed the topic, “What are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I am here to support the barrier maintainer of the arena. The fights for this event are expected to exceed what the local people can handle,” Magoi informed him.
“Support?” John was perplexed.
To the best of his knowledge, Magoi was one of the strongest Fateweavers around. What he had done for John had seemingly been child’s play for him, the exception being the time when he had to fight against Nathalia forcing her way in (and the dragoness had had a beacon in the shape of Aclysia to find the barrier).
“Who are you supporting?” the Gamer inquired, his curiosity awakened.
“Mhm,” Magoi pondered for a moment, rubbing the chin of his mask, “I think you will grow into a significant enough individual that he won’t complain about you wasting his time. Come with me.”
They walked back the way they had come and then, to John’s surprise, to the actual platform. Like everywhere else, there were people running around and doing their triple and quadruple checks on everything. A desk hovered and landed as people measured its energy consumption to make sure it was working as intended.
Two men in suits stood next to it, talking. One was a human, the other was a lizardman. If it weren’t for his black scaled, clearly reptilian head, he would have passed for a human in both build and size. Also, the way he held his cup of ginger ale was so incredibly casual that it was weird to see someone not human do it, for some reason.
None of this was important though. They aimed for the head of the platform. In a circle of over two metres around a single chair, no one was working. They all stayed at a respectful distance.
The chair slowly turned around. This was a feat, considering there was no axis to turn around. The chair had four hard, wooden legs. Those legs bent and twisted like rubber.
The man on top wore an outstanding suit of midnight blue, stripes of gold stitched all over the fabric. The black shirt and red tie had the same design, even seeming to seamlessly flow into each other, giving the man a slightly two-dimensional look. A small gap of toned skin between was all that was actually visible of the man himself. His hands were stuck in dark gloves. His whole head, from the face to the last strand of his hair, was hidden underneath a mask of blue, gold and black metal, forged into an interwoven piece of artwork that curved into four horn-like ends.
“Supreme Fateweaver Gehnigm, may I introduce you to John Newman a.k.a. the Gamer?” Magoi said in a good mood.
“Aaaaaaaah,” the voice that rang out had an echo to it that reminded John of the robotic sounds caused by a bad internet connection.
The Supreme Fateweaver, leader of one of the three great non-combat organizations, spoke with a slight accent (Chinese, if John had to guess), “I expected you to come along eventually. It is a pleasure meeting new people to do business with.”
“The pleasure is all m-“ John started but Gehnigm was already moving on.
“However, I must tell you that, as of right now, you do not possess the necessary capabilities to warrant my attention. I request you to come into contact with me again once you have found your place in the world. I will make up for this rudeness on that day. Now, begone.”
The chair twisted back around, and John followed Magoi who was already walking away. “That went very well,” Magoi told him while looking at a pocket watch, “He spoke to you for longer than 10 seconds.”
“Huh,” John just accepted that that was a good thing.
Magoi showed him around some more, and they exchanged some further pleasantries and mindless chatter. Eventually, John headed back.
