Universe's End

Chapter 243: Second and Third

"Hah,” Eric snorted, a notification appearing. “They’re going to love this.”

Taking a step forward, his body vanished into the shadows like he’d been sucked into a pit of quicksand. Within moments, he popped back out in an entirely different location.

“Yo, hamster!”

“Rogue,” The Woodsman sighed.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t be that way, we’re all buddies now,” Eric said, gently prodding the Osferian with an elbow to his ribs. “Or are you still moody that you actually lost to me?”

“You do not fight properly,” The Woodsman grumbled.

“No such thing as proper,” Eric said, wagging his finger like a parent scolding their child. “Plus, your boss kicked my ass, so you should feel good about that, ehh?”

“Aye, and then the Monk beat me, leaving me the only one without a win,” The Osferian grumbled even louder.

“We can always run in back later if you’re that grumpy,” Eric snorted.

“Hah, I might actually take you up on that offer, even if you fight like a deepworm.”

“Don’t all worms live in the deep or something? Not exactly known for their wings.”

“Ya’ thinkin’ in Earth terms. Back on my homeworld-”

“Scratch that, don’t actually care, and not the point of why I showed up,” Eric said as he rolled his eyes. “You see the notification?”

“I was waiting until after the fight concluded to take a look,” The Woodsman said.

“That’s not for like, another four hours. Jeez, you are a strange one,” Eric prattled on. “I’d suggest you give it a look.”

Sighing, the Osferian did as suggested, before his eyes narrowed.

“Oye, seriously?”

“They beat us to the punch once again,” Eric laughed.

Notice: The First Faction of the Architect and the Vanguard have slain all leadership figures of the Fourth Faction, led by Born of Brilliant Feathers

Result: First Faction Total Victory

“Though, looks like they weren’t having themselves fun and games like we were, ehh?” Eric said, frowning lightly. The Bird was probably the most mysterious of the Founders, with the only known facts being that it had slain one of the original eight to steal a seat at the table and then killed another afterward.

It was odd, but even without knowing the Architect or the Vanguard, Eric wouldn’t deny he was secretly glad they’d kill the upstart monster.

Am I turning sentimental in my old age?

No, surely not.

“I am curious as to the details,” The Woodsman said.

“Uh-huh, I’m certain you are Mr. Military Hamster,”

“Battling monsters as a war and not as a hunt,” The Osferian Veteran rubbed at his chin like a man rubbing his beard contemplatively –ignoring the fact that the Osferian was basically one large beard.

“I mean, didn’t you do that before?” Eric said before wincing.

See, this is why you need a filter, Eric.

“Aye,” The Woodsman’s eyes turned dark, pure hate in his expression. “And countless good men and women died because of them

.”Alright, Eric, time for a strategic retreat.

He’d made the mistake of referencing the Old War. One thing they’d all learned was that, unlike the rest of them who’d been entirely removed from the details outside basic news reports –The Spear aside, whose father was some prominent politician or something— the Woodsman had been an active member of the galactic forces fighting the Sensen scourge. Something like ninety percent of the men and women who were stationed upon the Ricochet ships, the old universe’s best attempt at stopping the Sensen, had been trained under the Osferian in some form or another. Having been slaughtered before the Collapse, the veteran Osferian saw them as the only ones denied even the chance to have a second shot at life in their new universe.

There was even a story they shared, that one time his Bane had attempted to appear before him in the shape of a Sensen. After the Woodsman spent three days straight beating it into a paste, it never bothered with the form again, as E.O.N. recognized it as taking things a step too far.

And Eric had made the mistake of accidentally bringing them up.

“Oh, hey, I forgot, I was going to go, um, eat… stuff,” Eric said. “So, uh… bye!”

“As long as you don’t bother The Spear or The Monk, they’re likely both more focused on the upcoming fight than you bringing news.”

“Yep, totally, bye!”

And then Eric was gone, vanishing through the shadows.

“God, these things are delicious,” Erin groaned, taking a bite from what looked like a kebab, except with five skewers in a star design. He’d spent the last few hours patrolling the festival grounds, snacking and playing games as he masked his identity, before being chased off as people realized who he was.

It had been years since their two factions had come together, and perhaps, like the Founding Fathers, they had prevented an utter shit-show collapse of a fledgling nation; their early diplomacy had borne fruit.

Well, more like Tom’s diplomacy, I won’t act like I added much of value.

They’d slowly been integrating over the years, against the backdrop of a grand festival underway as the lower tiers faced off in competitions of all sorts, the catalogue of competitions growing and expanding so that what should have originally been no more than a few months, maybe a year at max, had spanned years.

Hah, had we not gotten so carried away, we wouldn’t have been beaten out by the others.

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Eric doubted there was any reward for being the first faction to beat another; the reward would be winning in the end, after all.

That said, after years of competition, things were finally coming to a close. From a purely points perspective, they’d already lost; the difference maker was that the Spears’ faction had someone who was apparently quite the innovator. Not to the level of the Architect, but his teachings had led them to have success beyond what they could manage in the non-combatant concepts.

That, and the tier seven bracket, the Spear’s top people had been trained relentlessly, whereas between himself and Tom, they’d taken some time to get a hang of things.

Can’t blame Tom, the guy was a literal teenager when he first appeared on Aelia.

All that was left, even if the Spears’ faction had already won on the scorecard, was for the two big bosses to face each other; everyone knew that between themselves and the overgrown hamster, they were more like Vice-chairs or whatever other pretentious language someone wanted to bullshit about the importance of being second fiddle.

Not that Eric minded; had he been a true leader, his faction would have collapsed. Hell, his early ‘underlings’ had largely been taught to be self-sufficient for that very reason; that was, until Tom forcefully brought him, and by extension, the runts into the fold.

I wonder who will win?

Tom was like an unceasing Arctic storm, while also the embodiment of perfect stillness, the perfect encapsulation of an old campy Kung-Fu movie where they flew through the air in perfect Kung-Fu poses, summoned dragon fist attacks, or other stuff like that.

It was campy until it was played straight, and then it was terrifying.

But The Spear….

I still can’t place her.

Or rather, it was just that she was such a damn open book. She’d even explained that, practically speaking, she had basically only one real combat skill.

“That’s the secret?” Eric asked in disbelief.

“Yep,” Allison said with a shrug.

“Heart palpitations: the skill, and only three total attributes. Isn’t it a bad idea to be sharing that?”

“Does it matter?” the woman said with a half-snort, half-chuckle. “I can be overwhelmed and beaten just like anyone else; it’s not a cheat skill.”

“But the practicality of that is zero.”

“I’d say so,” The Spear said, flashing the smile of a well-practiced politician. Yet just beneath, Eric felt like he could see something else peeking out, a spark of wild energy.

“You do know Tom is going to put that claim to the test, right?” Eric asked, genuinely baffled by the woman.

“I should really hope so.”

“Assimilating four attributes into one,” Eric mumbled before taking much out of his snacks. “I’ve heard of one or three, but four?”

Anima was a rather uncommon attribute: the conversion of durability into, well, anima, a trait that only a few of their people had shown. More common amongst Tom’s people was Ken, the conversion of pneuma, strength, and durability into the single attribute of Ken. Which sounded dope, but from what Eric had observed, it really wasn’t any different than the three attributes raised in equal degrees, plus it removed the ability to specialize. The main benefit was a passive resistance to magic, gained at the cost of being unable to do anything other than what Eric chalked up to as ‘body magic.’

That was not the case with the Spear. She had three attributes total; Cognition and Growth were the two out-of-the-box standards, nothing funny to see there.

I still can’t believe it.

Amused, Eric stepped through the shadows, appearing in what was basically a skybox at any sports arena, kicking his feet up and watching as Tom and Allison entered the arena.

I mean, really, her of all people?

The third of three, and the most important of them all, was her attribute Cartone.

Eric had spent some time in Italy in his youth through a series of increasingly unlikely events, and it had been a summer of many pickpockets. He’d picked up a bit of Italian in that time, so when he’d heard the name of the woman’s third and final attribute, he had been surprisingly flummoxed.

What a fun word, flummox.

Cartone, or cardboard in Italian.

It had taken Eric some time, specifically until after he’d gotten his ass kicked by The Spear, to put two and two together. Still, when he had, he’d nearly busted a gut from surprised laughter.

Cartoon, from the Italian cartone.

It was all one big play on words, which left an amused tear leaking from the corner of his eye that he wiped away with a smile.

“Oh, good luck, buddy, because you’re going to need it.”

It wasn’t every day you fought someone with the attribute of cartoon force.

Allison wouldn’t lie.

She was excited.

As a kid, there were two things she’d always loved, three if she counted her annoying older sister. Fighting –much to the chagrin of her parents and said older sister— and cartoons when the lessons her father put her through got too cramping and she’d decided enough was enough. At her heart, Allison wasn’t some straight-laced ‘yes sir’ recruit in the military. Oh, certainly over the years, she’d molded her attitudes towards that through her partnership with Garfunk.

But ultimately, it wasn’t military strategy or whatever she cared about.

It was a good fight.

Her body felt good, incredible, in fact. Which wasn’t new; it always did, ever since the tier-seven reward for total victory against her Bane. She’d gained an item, the ‘Reflecting Stone of Idealized Self,’ a very fancy name for a very shiny rock. After staring into it for long enough, it had crumbled, and her body had altered, as four attributes became one.

Now, only having one attribute in the place of four meant she received far less attribute density on her tier eight ascension. Still, she hadn’t minded in the least.

Hopping up and down lightly from foot to foot, Allison twirled her spear, her white armor adorning her.

Here we go.

The gates opened, and she strode out, cheered on by people all over. It was the climactic day when the two faction leaders would face each other, and the excitement was palpable. Her faction had already won by points, but by winning here, she would crystallize the victory, no doubt in anyone’s mind.

And if she lost? Well, Allison literally never even considered the possibility.

Tom —the First Monk—appeared opposite her, wearing what Allison chalked up to Shaolin robes.

“I would say to the victor goes the spoils, but it’s already decided our faction will be joining yours,” Tom answered. It was less about sharing new information and more about committing to his word.

“Then how about this, to the victor goes the drink?” Allison said, her excitement never showing on her face or in her words. She’d spent too many years practicing composure under her father’s strict tutelage, lessons she was never going to forget, to slip up that easily. Sure, she preferred letting loose, but in front of their people, she held herself to expectations.

Tom scratched at his lightly bearded chin before nodding.

“Sounds good to me,”

Sharing a firm handshake, Allison let her mask crack just a hint.

“Then let’s get on with this show.”

Allison was huffing, her heart pounding like mad, and everything hurt.

But she felt so alive.

Her spear was shattered, but then her spear was more of a calling card than something she actually relied on. Even her armor had taken a beating. If not for the special aspects of her cartone body, her bones would have been shattered and broken in quite a few places.

Tapped out, even by her standards, she had next to nothing left in the tank; the drumbeat of her heart had carried her for the final part of their showdown.

“I yield,” The First Monk said, having collapsed after attempting to rise to his feet one final time.

The crowd went wild, and while there were some faces of disappointment from the First Monk’s faction, no one looked angry; years of careful integration had paid off in that regard. They were already one people in all but name alone. Sure, there were quite a few varying ‘cultures,’ but that wasn’t anything new to how society had worked since time immemorial.

Offering her hand, they grasped each other by the forearm before she pulled him to his feet.

“Close,” Tom said, eyebrows raised, his broken ribs, arm, and leg more of an afterthought than anything.

“It was,” Allison answered truthfully. Allison wasn’t so pretentious as to deny the fact that the First Monk was a far better fighter than she was; she loved a brawl, whereas he practiced an art.

But all art came from the heart and soul, and when it came to the heart, she was second to none.

“Now what?” Tom asked, the two of them sharing words. At the same time, the gathered crowd —including a certain rogue who had somehow gotten his hands on a vuvuzela— continued to go wild.

“Well, with this, that leaves us, the Bird, and the combined faction of the Architect and Vanguard.”

“About that,” their shadows spoke, the Primordial Rogue speaking as if he were with them, “You got beat to the punch…. Again.”

Checking the notification she’d been making a point of ignoring until after the match, Allison felt her eye twitch ever so slightly.

“At least that Bird has been dealt with,” Tom said.

“Agreed,” Allison sighed. They hadn’t known much about the details regarding that particular ‘founder,’ other than they were apparently as bloodthirsty as any other monster. “But that still questions the matter of-”

“Stop,” Tom said with a snort. “Tomorrow’s problems for tomorrow. We’ve got something more pressing for now.”

“Oh?” Allison questioned.

“Of course,” Tom said with a rather sagely expression. “I think I owe you a drink.”