Chapter 75 – The Contenders

AG. I'm aiming to do five chapters this week to make up for last week but based on progress so far chapters will likely be later than the normal time for tomorrow and the day after.

The presenter declaring him as being part of the current competition had caused everyone gathered to react. Anger, bitterness, annoyance, and a touch of interest radiated at him from all sides of the room.

“Study it. From its body language, it’s intending to compete,” an amorphous blob about the size of a hippo shouted. It was, in Tom’s calculation, the fifth-strongest contender here. “Hey, loser,” he bellowed at Tom. “Quit now.”

“Yes, what a waste.”

“You can’t, in all good conscience continue.”

“Stop this foolishness!”

The abrupt explosion of vitriol was enough to make Tom step back in surprise. He wasn’t sure why they were talking to him like this. Of course he intended to seize the opportunity. There was no way he would walk away just because some natives thought he should. 

The amorphous blob snorted. “The idiot probably doesn’t even know.”

“True, the blob’s right.” The turtle canine next to him with a surprising female voice, given its ferocious exterior, said. “It doesn’t know. Human,” it said, facing him. “Are you intending to fight?”

“Of course.”

“I hope you don’t consider it rude of me to ask, but do you understand the greater purpose the trial serves?”

“It’s a chance for me to get stronger.” He answered neutrally. He wasn’t sure what she was referring to.

The person jumped up and down on the spot to indicate its polite but firm disagreement with his opinion. Because of its shell, its weight made each jump sound like a sledgehammer hitting stone when it landed. “No, it’s more than that. The Divine Champions Trial is an opportunity for all of us to bring skills and spells back to our people that we would otherwise never get. It is a chance to renew our entire race.”

“Exactly, I need that,” the pot plant like creature agreed. “The strongest ability my species has available to teach is a tier-two camouflage spell. Our best class path is only an advanced one. Can you comprehend how weak that makes us? We’re barely holding on.”

“True.”

“I’m the same.”

Other voices yelled out in the room. There was an edge of despair to all of them. The relatively few spots available did not match the number of desperate people.

The turtle canine flared its power using some kind of aura to suppress everyone else. “I see you don’t understand what we’re saying. The thing is as a competitor species, you have full access to the experience shop. You don’t need to be here. No one blames you for ignorance, but this is the point you should resolve to step aside and not compete for one of the spots.”

Tom looked out over everyone gathered and attempted to speak, but his throat choked up. Social Silence activating to prevent him from saying the wrong thing. Platitudes were out, as were outright lies, and the simple truth, that he was here for the extra power, was not an acceptable sentiment to verbalise. Seconds passed as he tried to find something that would work, until finally he found words the skill would let him squeeze out. “Please, don’t judge me. I have my reasons for being here.”

“But they’re not as good as ours.” The blob thundered.

“They are,” Tom refuted it calmly. “You’re here to save your species. That’s why I’m here as well.”

The turtle canine flared its aura once more. It was the second or third strongest here. “We understand your desire for power, but any benefit you can get from participating is minor. We know how the experience shop works. Any abilities you acquire from the Champions’ Trial are just ones that a year or so of grinding would allow you to buy. For all of us, without a fully functioning experience shop, those abilities represent a boon beyond imagination. It is an opportunity that has the potential to literally transmute the fate of my entire species.”

“You are exaggerating.” The presenter interjected, her voice instantly quietening the entire room. “For over half the contenders here, getting in will do nothing to alter the trajectory of their species.”

“They won’t get in,” the turtle dog retorted. “They won’t get in, because they’re honourable and will stand aside. This human isn’t from Existentia, it doesn’t understand. It isn’t listening to what I’m saying.”

The presenter shrugged, and Tom was sure everyone saw the relevant body language of their own species. “Your statement was still an exaggeration. Only about half the people here will benefit.”

“And that’s a lot. And the human has to understand the stakes.”

The turtle canine stopped speaking as the presenter stared it down. “Good. Humility suits you. Your heart is in the right spot, and that should be commended. But your analysis is flawed. Any kind of statistical analysis of the current ranking ladder has humanity on track for extinction within a handful of generations. He has as much on the line as everyone else.”

Silence descended after she said that. More than one, in fact most of the hostile body posturing that had been directed toward him shifted to sympathetic.

The turtle dog reverted to snarling at him… in apology?

Tom remembered how, Mus that otter like man, from his first life in Existentia, had been able to read the body language of aliens.  A similar affect was likely at play here, because there was no way he would have interpreted his neighbour snarling at him as a friendly, apologetic gesture which his mind was assuring him that it was. On earth, amongst all canine species, snarling at anything like that was a threat, but for this person, it meant the opposite. The miscommunication, the incorrect reading of body language, was something that Tom had previously noted as a problem when dealing with natives.  

Whatever the magic was that existed in the room had completely mitigated that risk. With it active, it was impossible for him to misconstrue their intentions. Or, at least, that was his assumption.

“I’m sorry, friend.” The turtle canine said finally. “I’m sorry about your situation, but I stand by my observation. What little personal advantage you can extract from the Divine Champions’ Trial is nothing like what the rest of us can expect to achieve.”

The presenter cleared her throat.

“I mean, those of us from diminishing civilisations.”

“She is rude, but she has a point,” the goblin loudly interrupted. “I, for one, will not be contesting entry to the championship. My species does not need it, and I will not doom another race in the pursuit of personal glory.”

“Hear, hear.”

“I concur.”

A chorus of voice rushed to agree. Tom noted who was speaking. In terms of strength, it seemed that those destined to try the hardest for the limited spots had the same range as those exiting.

“Yes, we all have our roles to play,” the presenter continued. “But there is a process to go through, and I did not start with the human out of malice.” Then she nodded at the armoured dog. “Or to let the more eloquent amongst us to lobby for the human to change his opinions. I let it slide, because educating everyone here served the greater good. But we have much to cover and little time to do it. I started with the human because of tradition. He is the sixteenth strongest here. His species is rated as being at extreme extinction risk, and its suitability, the natural personal combat strength of the species, is dismal. The backing he has received is also only rated as average.”

Everyone absorbed what she had said for a moment. Tom could feel the shock they all felt at those statistics.

The turtle canine flexed her power like she usually did to get attention. “So, he is a genius.”

“Almost everyone here is.” the presenter agreed. “But amongst you, yes, he is one of the most promising ones.” She smiled and looked around the room. “But enough of him; next, as per the normal order, we have the weakest.” Subtly, the light switched to highlight the dull ball of light which was only a few spots from Tom. “The Wodane was identified as a genius early in her life, and the community poured resources into her in the hope of turning her into a true champion. Her species’ extinction risk is rated as extreme, her species suitability rating is poor, and her resource backing is slightly above average.”

Tom registered that information. He was ranked sixteenth, and this person was the weakest, the thirty-second best, even though she had started out with a stronger body and superior backing. This pool was drawn from all of Existentia. Him being here and possibly in contention was a real achievement.   

The ball of light flashed in agitation at the statement from the presenter. Tom got the sense that she was expressing sadness along with resolute determination and a refusal to give up.

The presenter sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye. “I understand the sentiment. But your dying here will only result in your species lasting three more generations instead of five. It is not a worthwhile trade.”

The flashing got worse.

Tom could feel the distress, and he understood the reason for it. Ultimately, everyone here was effectively a child, so logic could not triumph over emotion. The ball of light was struggling to understand the tradeoff that the presenter was referring to.

“I’m not sharing anything you didn’t know,” the presenter continued kindly. “The longer we can stretch the survival of your species, the more opportunities there will be for an encounter or a divine intervention that can save you. The combat rankings I’m giving you are not set in stone. If they were, we would not have this contest, but, I must stress, you are the weakest. There is no way you’re crossing the divide. The human is probably eighth in terms of those going for an open spot. He has a chance of making it through. But I won’t lie to you. You don’t.”

The ball of light lowered itself, so it was almost touching the ground. For him, it was like a human child curling up in distressed agony and sobbing on the floor. It was painful to witness.

“I’m sorry,” the presenter said. “I’m sorry, but this is how the world works. And I can’t change it, and DEUS can’t change it. All we can do is… I’m so sorry.”

“See that, human.” the turtle dog interrupted. “Can you see her pain? That’s why you shouldn’t be competing.”

“Enough,” the presenter snapped, annoyed at the interruption. “I don’t represent FAMES or MAKROS or even GOBUS. If the human getting in could do nothing for his species’ chances of avoiding extinction, I would have said so. I am the representative of DEUS, and she values our lives.”

At this point, Tom was frustrated at the interruptions. He just wanted for the actual fights to start. From assessing those around him, he had to conclude the presenter was right in placing him mid-field, but, despite what she had implied, the gap between him and the strongest handful was not one that he believed he would be able to cross.  He was even wondering whether an attempt to get through was worth the risk. It was not worth chasing the sun and being burned to death.

The wodane, however, had clearly decided to push forward in the challenge. She clearly lacked the maturity to understand the cost of failure. Despite being explicitly told to drop out, she was still committed, but no amount of wishing could cross the combat gap that he could see between her and the strongest cohort. She was doomed, and the presenter and everyone else knew it.

The presenter abruptly turned away from the turtle dog. Her body language radiated a helpless fury. “The Sulta.” She said, as the tentacled goblin was highlighted. “Is the strongest here. In terms of the competition, if victory there, was all that mattered to DEUS, he is who I would be selecting. His species’ extinction risk is rated as non-existent, and his suitability is excellent, and his backing as a minor prince in one of their larger kingdoms was rated as significant. He is, by far the best fighter amongst everyone here, and will be for years, but he will not be competing for a spot in the Divine Champions’ Trial,” she was almost yelling out the words. “Because that’s not how DEUS wants this opportunity to work.” The presenter stared significantly for a moment at the turtle dog who sunk down into a prone position, which represented a complete apology.

“I will not,” the sulta agreed, bowing his head and ignoring the extra drama. “It was my honour to be here and my honour to witness your plight.” He nodded toward the ball of light and, surprisingly, at Tom. “If my kingdom was closer, I would have us help you.” Then he laughed. “Not the human, of course, because that would bring the wrath of the GODs down upon us, but the rest of you. If you’re close enough, you’ll have my support. However,” he looked around, and his eyes fell on an aquatic individual. “The Whalebo is the only species I recognise, and I did not realise you were in such dire straits.”

“Because my elders hide it. But yes, we are. We are diminishing, and fast. Our last great trainer died a decade ago. They are spending all of our resources on the talented youth and projecting strength to hide the vulnerability. They are hoping for a miracle to occur, which saves them without us ever showing weakness.”

“You will have my people’s aid,” the sulta promised.

The aquatic person bowed his head so low it touched the ground. It was like it was crying in joy.

The presenter nodded with a pleased expression on her face. “And that is why we structure this as we do.” She then went through the remaining contenders’ giving background on them. Only one other of the people that Tom was calling the desperate was recognised by someone who could help them. They would be saved, but it still left fifteen people needing the three available spots. Both of those to be rescued, the aquatic person and an alien bird, were weak, and had never been in consideration for an open spot. His task was just as difficult as it had always been.

Listening to the presenter it was very clear that Existentia was not a fair place. Strength here was ultimately a measure of backing; strength, and the innate competitiveness of the species. Very few broke those constraints, and Tom was the only one who did it to a significant degree. He was rated dismal and average on those two measures, and not a single other contender was ranked that badly. Of course, his reincarnator status offset a lot of that disadvantage, but not all of it.

Everyone knew he didn’t have access to the system, and even the sulta nodded at him in respect. Most of these people had trained since birth, so they recognised the significance of him managing to get this far.

There were three types of contenders, as far as Tom was concerned. The first category, all seventeen of them were the desperate - children who were the last gasp effort of their civilisations. He lumped himself into this group. The general pattern was that they were one of a number of geniuses identified, and then had the best resources the civilisation could afford pumped into them. Usually, that just gave them an average or above average rating on the backing measure. But they all talked about how much they received relatively to their peers.

Contrastingly, there were also participants from the powerful nations. They were the children of the strong, and got advantage just by existing.

For these first two groups, it was clear that innate species’ competitiveness plus backing equalled their combat strength.

The final cluster of only five were the true geniuses. They had no true sponsors, but inadvertently came from a species that was rated as very strong or better. They were here because of the natural advantage of their bodies and the abnormal strength their brilliance had allowed them to gain.

For Tom’s purposes, it was only the desperate who would be competing for the vacant spots. They were who he was being pitted against.

The presenter smiled and looked around at them. “I’m sure you’re all wondering how the winners will be decided.”

“Duels,” the sulta said confidently.

“No, you won’t be fighting each other. Instead, you’ll be fighting in various colosseum trials around Existentia. We have a simple system. After each combat set, the lower half of the field will be dismissed. That means that there’s going to be a maximum of five rounds, but, due to likely deaths, it’ll be fewer. After each round, you must increase the points the fight is going to generate to stay in the running for the spots. You can drop out any time you wish.”

Tom’s mind raced to understand what was being explained. He had experience fighting in a colosseum trial. It was, in fact, the first one he had fought in Existentia, and it had almost killed him multiple times over. He wondered if this time it would be against natives or animals.

“You will be given the choice to select the rank of the sapient you are going to battle, and if they are newly of that rank or mid,” she explained. “You can also choose whether to be under a GOD’s shield, a partial GOD’s shield, or no shield at all. Your score will be the rank of the person you fight multiplied by one, four, or sixteen based on your shield decision.”

Tom’s mind raced at the implications of what she had just said. It was clear from the scoring that the only way to get through was to fight without a GOD’s shield. That is what the desperate creatures would be doing, and why the death rates were so high. Which left Tom with a choice about how to strategize the contest. With fate helping him, he was confident he could win some fights against rank fives, and maybe up to rank six.

“And yes, you can change your layout. You might start fighting a rank six under a partial GOD’s shield, which would earn you twenty-four points, and then, in the next round you can switch to a rank two without a GOD’s shield, a combination that gets you thirty-two points. How you want to structure your fights is up to you, but the points earned must increase each round to stay in the competition.”

If he thought the maximum he could beat was a new six, and if there were going to be four rounds, did that mean he should start at mid four? Tom bit his lip, thinking quickly. He had sixteen real opponents, but there were four or five others which would be using this opportunity to push their skills. Most here were battle junkies, and, if Tom was in their place, he would have fought under a partial GOD’s shield, and fought the strongest opponent he could. Given their power, it meant that, in the first round, they would probably be getting forty points or so.   That meant that, to get through to the next round, he would have to challenge someone who was rank three or higher. Then again, his calculations could be off, and he would kick himself if he got knocked out in the first round because he prioritised an easy win.

Four and a half it was, then. Apprehensively, he put in the selection and then spent his fate. He wanted to win, but most of the fate went toward ensuring that he would survive without any permanent maiming.