Papuru Star

The first thing you noticed wasn't the light.

It was the absence of everything else.

No background scatter of stars. No distant constellations. No gentle drift of galactic dust. Just an impossible emptiness-like the universe had been scraped clean and left behind as a stage for a single performer.

And there it was.

A supergiant disk of violet-too perfect to be natural, too alive to be physics-hanging in the black like an eye that didn't blink. Purple lightning crawled across its surface in branching, angry fingers, flashing hard enough that even worlds millions of kilometers away saw the strobe of it against their skies.

The Papuru Star spun.

But it didn't move.

Every rule of observation insisted it should drift, wobble, orbit something, be subject to something. It refused. It simply existed, stationary in the void, as if the rest of the cosmos had to accommodate it.

The longer anyone stared, the more wrong it became.

Its apparent age looked ancient-one hundred million years of surface churn, pressure, time.

Its actual age: one thousand fifty.

Surface temperature: twenty-seven thousand degrees.

Solar mass: five.

A conundrum with a pulse.

A beautiful omen.

A scientific anomaly that made researchers whisper and priests bless themselves and soldiers sleep with one eye open.

Seventeen planetoids circled it like wary witnesses.

And on the eighth planet, under a cold blue sky that couldn't stop reflecting that violet glow, a decade of anticipation and a thousand years of tradition were about to collide.

Coalition Carnage had arrived.

Year 1050

Day 1

Kane Urasa woke like he'd been launched.

One second he was horizontal, the next he was airborne-flipping through the air with a grace that felt less like athleticism and more like the universe briefly agreeing to let him ignore gravity.

He landed on the balls of his feet without a sound.

He yawned, rolled his shoulders, stretched until his back cracked with a satisfying pop that made him grin, and-because apparently the cosmos wasn't weird enough already-he hummed a little tune as he headed to the cooling unit.

Breakfast.

Hospitality.

Basic decency.

He opened the waist-high door and froze.

Empty. Like someone had vacuumed out the entire concept of food and left only cold shelves and insult.

Kane just stared, mouth open, waiting for reality to correct itself.

It didn't.

His eyes narrowed.

"Those damn..." He drew the word out like it might turn into a curse if he gave it enough oxygen. "What am I supposed to eat for breakfast?"

He slammed the door hard enough that the unit shuddered, almost tipping over.

Then he crossed the room, hit the switch by the shutters, and watched thin metallic panels fold up and away-

-and sunlight poured in. Bright, slightly violet sunlight that painted his suite in a dreamy glow like the planet was trying to romanticize whatever was about to go wrong.

Outside, a crowd of Humans and Dycordians erupted.

Screams. Cheers. Clapping. The kind of noise that didn't feel like celebration so much as pressure-a tidal surge of strangers who thought his existence belonged to them.

A security gate held them thirty meters back, but hands still reached through the air anyway, desperate and useless.

Somewhere in the sea of signs, he caught one: MARRY ME KANE.

He lifted his hand in a casual greeting.

The crowd went feral.

He smiled, a reflex of someone trained to survive attention. But the smile faltered as he noticed how bright it was outside.

Too bright.

He glanced at the nightstand clock.

6:03 UT.

His jaw tightened.

"I know they didn't do what I think they did," he muttered, and snapped his fingers like he was summoning a ghost. "Holoview on!"

A ten-inch bar hovering above the carpet lit up, expanding into a five-foot image that flickered to life.

The holoview displayed local time.

It was much later than 6:03.

Kane's expression turned into pure betrayal.

The broadcast cut to a comet streaking across Dycord's sky-brilliant, ominous, trailing a wake like a wound.

Then the camera panned down to Topaz City.

A massive ocean of blue-skinned Dycordians packed the avenues. Other species dotted the crowd like scattered islands-Humans, Tilris, and more, all crammed together in a joyous mob.

The reporter's voice was almost shaking.

"The Dying Star comet over the skies of Dycord ushers in the new year-and Coalition Carnage is here at Topaz City. With it comes the fandom, or 'carnies,' as they're so often referred to. I can see visitors from many worlds within this throng of mortals, all seeking to catch a glimpse of their favorite Superstar, and I have to say, I'm eager-"

With a whirlwind of speed, Kane was dressed, moving like the idea of "late" had teeth.

Five seconds later, he was out the door of the Papuru Inn, rushing past a Dycordian couple holding hands. They blinked at the sudden gust of air, like the building itself had sneezed.

Twenty meters from the hotel, Kane stopped so sharply that his heel scuffed the pavement.

He looked down at his ankle.

Static, crackling, crawling, alive, reached up from a nearby sewage drain, tethering him like a leash made of lightning.

Kane's stomach dropped.

"A soul trap?"

A fan screamed from the crowd to his left.

"It's him! It's really him!!!"

And then the fans weren't just fans.

They were moving.

Humans peeled out from the crowd; some from the side of the hotel, some from behind a vending stall, closing in with a purpose that was way too coordinated to be normal fandom chaos.

And one of them climbed up through the sewer grate with the energy of someone who'd made terrible life choices and felt proud of all of them.

Pink hair. Freckles. A grin wide enough to be a threat.

"Kane!" she yelled, furious at the other fans for even existing. "Wait! He's mine! I brought the traps and it was my idea to cover every exit, so I get first dibs!"

Her shirt had his face plastered across it in full Coalition Carnage blue-gold colors.

Her eyes shone like she'd just met her religion.

"You need to stop running from your fans," she declared. "Kane Urasa."

"I have no time for this, Katy," Kane snapped. "I'm late."

"This won't take long." She lifted a hand like she was presenting a gift. "All we need is your hair."

Six Humans stepped forward holding shears.

Kane stared at them like he was watching a slow-motion disaster.

"I keep telling you," he said, voice calm, "I'm not donating hair to that freaky doll of me. Also, I don't authorize this fan club of yours."

"Don't insult the fan base!" Katy shouted, and thrust her arm forward like a war general. "Shave 'em, people!"

They surged.

They didn't look fully maniacal, which somehow made it worse.

Kane dropped to one knee and his left hand flashed with a silver, clean hue. He chopped at the static tether. It snapped without resistance. The soul trap fizzled into nothing.

Katy and her crew didn't even slow down.

Kane sighed like someone who'd seen this exact flavor of stupidity before.

"Next time, cra-lady."

Then he jumped.

Some swore it was ten meters. Others insisted it was thirty.

Either way, he cleared the posse, the security gate, and a chunk of the crowd like he'd been edited out of gravity's permission structure.

He landed running, and the city turned into a blur.

Above Topaz City, a massive blue hunk of quartz towered into the sky-eighty kilometers of jewel that made the metropolis feel like it had been built in the shadow of a crown.

Billions in goods and currency moved through the metal canyons below it, a world hub that looked like prosperity and smelled like pressure.

Kane weaved through foot traffic without touching anyone-almost without touching anyone. He hurdled a broken hover cart and landed among children carrying Coalition Carnage balloons.

Parents startled, then recognition.

Kane gave them that familiar Superstar smile; it worked like a soft weapon.

"Good luck, Superstar Kane!" a Human child shouted.

A Dycordian child folded her arms like she'd been personally offended by optimism. "But our Superstar is going to win."

Kane laughed. "He just might, kid. Where'd you get the cool balloons?"

"That carnival over there!" the Human child said. "Our school took us."

"Thanks." Kane leaned in, conspiratorial. "Hey, cheer for me too, okay?"

"Okay!!!" both kids chorused.

Kane shot off again, leaving behind a ripple of gasps as normal people watched Quickening up close and tried to pretend they weren't a little jealous.

***

Beacon City's cathedral would've seemed modest to most worlds, but here-among half-story dwellings-it dominated the skyline. Two stories of solid white curvature gave it the look of an egg set upright on a pedestal.

Inside, metal walls and stained glass windows glowed with stylized graphics of the seventeen planets, casting colored bands over Dycordians in ceremonial green robes.

The World Voice moved through these halls.

Over a billion of them, galaxy-wide. A third of Dycordians, the Spirit Caste, were born into ritual, trained from childhood to communicate with the spirit within their world.

A hooded woman drifted down a corridor, her robe trimmed in gold, marking her a Seer. She passed beneath an archway into a small, bare room lit by a single candle.

A Dycordian sat cross-legged in prayer, hands together, plain green clothing, bare feet on stone. Something about him looked calm in a way that suggested he'd already survived the kind of thing that broke other people.

The Seer stopped behind him.

"Opening ceremony starts in one hour, Hearer Claude," she said.

Claude rose smoothly to his feet and smiled.

"Thank you, Seer Vassi."

"Any word?" Vassi asked, quietly.

"No."

"Hm."

They left the room together, sunlight cascading through the windows. In an archway, a muscled Dycordian with darker blue skin watched them pass with open animosity.

Vassi didn't flinch. "When they see your skills," she said, "their feelings for you will change."

Claude's smile softened, but didn't warm. "I have long since stopped caring what others think of me. Being Superstar is a Guardian thing. I understand that." He paused. "But I was chosen by the Lords to be Superstar. I will do my world proud, even for those who wish me ill."

Vassi's gaze sharpened. "Starting to sound like your friend."

Claude's expression flickered. "It has been seven years."

"Do not get complacent," Vassi warned. "I have seen strong Superstars die due to lax thinking."

Claude nodded. "I understand what I am to do."

Outside, they reached a booth with several hanging disks. Claude took one, tossed it to the stone ground, and it hovered in place, steady, obedient. He jumped atop it, sat cross-legged, and took a slow breath.

"Remember my teachings," Vassi said, "and those of the planet spirits."

"I will," Claude replied.

The disk whisked him away.

He flew over ocean and coastline, over the cathedral perched on a bluff like a sentinel, over a strange man-made water sculpture where ocean water flowed through invisible channels in looping ribbons.

Claude didn't see it, he was in trance. But as he drifted toward Topaz City, something cut through his meditation like a blade. It was a shuttle entering the atmosphere far in the distance.

Across its hull displayed a holographic image, like a flying holoview: a Human woman with a blood-red locket at her neck, making grandiose gestures with her hands.

Braloor's chosen Superstar was incoming.

***

Inside that shuttle, a streamjet, luxury had been engineered by people who assumed their passengers would enjoy being pampered. It had a magically appearing stewardess. A charm chamber for relaxation. A bed of massage hands.

None of it mattered.

The Dawn sat at a desk protruding from the bulkhead, writing in a book with the focus of someone arguing with destiny.

A Tilris pilot entered, professional, careful.

"We've landed on Dycord, ma'am."

"Okay."

She took her pen, pulled off the cap, and poured the ink onto the page. Then, drummed her fingers on the book. It glowed.

The pilot cleared his throat, awkward, like a baby bird trying to pretend it was a predator.

The Dawn glanced down, satisfied as words appeared and faded into the page; recording reality as if reality had signed a contract. Then, she flipped her hood over her head and walked out

Outside, Dycordian delegates waited-three males in gray robes of the Govern Caste, ceremonial headgear shaped like the pen she'd just used.

"Welcome to Dycord, Superstar The Dawn," one began, eager. "I'm sure you have been to our home world before, so-"

"Wrong," The Dawn cut in, flat. "Never been here."

Another delegate hurried to recover. "Well then, allow us to introduce you to our wonderful city."

The Dawn sighed loud enough to count as an opinion.

She climbed into the hover car. It lifted into the city, drifting past colorful buildings decorated for Coalition Carnage, past Dycordians eating outdoors, shopping, walking odd pets she didn't recognize.

The delegates kept talking. Their voices blending into a blur.

Then The Dawn saw it. A carnival.

She squealed, high, sudden, violently joyful, so loud the delegates all flinched, one clutching his chest like he'd been shot.

"A carnival!" she shouted. "I see a carnival over there! I want to go!"

"We... can do that," one delegate managed, shaken. "But after the opening ceremony. The Lords of Continent have something-"

The Dawn was already gone.

***

The carnival was a patchwork of makeshift structures designed to appear overnight and disappear before anyone asked inconvenient questions. Floating and ground-level booths competed for attention: food vendors, games of chance, performers.

Kane's stomach tried to drag him toward the food. His itchy palm dragged him toward the gambling booth.

It stood four meters tall, housing a robotic skull attached to a pole descending from the top. Four skeletal hands moved freely, typing unknown information across multiple keyboards. A voice issued from speakers on the glass.

"Good morning, gentle sir. How may I assist you?"

Kane adjusted the hood of his jacket even though no one was close enough to care. "Coalition Carnage odds."

Numbers and words flickered in the air, projected from the skull's glowing red eyes. Scanning them, Kane's eyes widened.

"Hundred to one?" he hissed. "That's crap. Top five favored to win. SRC and fan fav both."

He leaned in, offended on principle. "No Kane Urasa?"

"Superstar Kane is at the bottom of both lists," the serve-tek replied.

A familiar voice came from behind him, calm as prayer.

"Betting on one's self is illegal, is it not?"

Kane turned, lowering his hood and his grin hit like sunlight breaking through cloud cover. "Claude! My boy! How ya been!?"

"It has been too long," Claude said, and for a moment the carnival noise felt like it dimmed around them. They shook hands.

Kane blew out a breath. "I was gonna contact you when I got in last night, but dude-I was tired."

"I thought Soul Style users never get tired."

"I don't keep it turned on." Kane frowned. "Anyway-the SRC says you're a Hearer in the World Voice now. Congrats."

Claude's smile sharpened into something teasing. "When I heard Earth chose you as their Superstar, I thought my hearing was impaired. I considered another career change."

Kane narrowed his eyes. "That supposed to be a joke? And what about you? A holy man involved in something like this?"

Claude's gaze lifted to the sky as if listening to a voice nobody else could hear. "Time to pray," he said, "time to fight."

"I get that," Kane said, glancing at the vibrant stalls lining the thoroughfare. "How's the kinfolk?"

"Mom is fine. She started a book club," Claude replied. He offered a small, characteristic shrug. "Dad is still a tax collector."

Kane let out a dry whistle. "How'd he feel about your new... career change?"

Claude turned his head, his expression unreadable. "You have met him. Enough about that, what have you been up to all these years?"

The two friends fell into a comfortable rhythm, weaving through the thick of the carnival grounds. If any of the partakers noticed the galaxy-famous Superstars in their midst, they made no fuss; here, they were just two more souls under the neon lights. A group of Dycordian and Human children suddenly bolted past, nearly bowling over an elderly couple who shrieked in mock indignation.

"Wish Earth was more like this," Kane admitted, watching the children disappear into the crowd. "I go out in public there, I'm mobbed up to my eyebrows."

"We Dycordians honor privacy," Claude reminded him, his voice tinged with a hint of pride. "Or have you forgotten?"

"It's been a decade since I've been here. I never realized how much I missed it, until now." Kane paused, cutting a sharp look toward his friend. "By the way, how did you know I was here?"

"I just knew."

Kane snorted. "Want to vague that up a little more?"

"Remember that shooting game I had?" Claude asked, ignoring the jab.

"Puzzle Shot? Yeah, I'm still the reigning champion."

"If I remember correctly," Claude countered smoothly, "it was 139 to 137. My way."

"Like hell. You can't take my championship away, not after everything it took to get it."

Claude stopped walking and pointed behind Kane. Tucked between a food stall and a fortune teller sat a rectangular booth, boasting a row of sleek plastic guns and a gallery of holographic targets.

"Winner take all?" Claude challenged.

Kane grinned, the old competitive fire sparking in his eyes. "Games are for friends to bond and kick each other's ass. Let's go."

They took their positions, soon becoming utterly enthralled with the rhythm of the game. They traded shots, sending beams of harmless light into floating targets. Claude maintained a narrow, frustrating lead until they both noticed a third competitor. A woman, the only other person playing at the far end of the booth, was rapidly closing the gap.

The two men intensified their focus as they realized she wasn't just lucky, she was surgical. Every time she pulled the trigger, a target vanished. Before Kane or Claude could reclaim the lead, the game's chime signaled its end.

The stranger had won. She pumped her fist in the air as the serve-tek whirred to life, depositing a large, stuffed polar bear into her arms.

Claude inclined his head. "Your aim is impeccable, ma'am."

"Damn right!" she crowed. "Whoo! I love stuffed animals!"

Kane smiled the way he smiled before trouble. "Hi, I'm Kane. This is my friend, Claude."

"They call me The Dawn," she said, hugging the bear.

"Oh," Kane said. "You're Braloorian. I'm an Earthling."

"Figures."

Kane's smile fell. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You suck," The Dawn said, cheerfully.

Kane blinked. "What!? Well, maybe you had a little extra help in the aiming department. A cheat code."

The Dawn tilted her head. "Meaning?"

"You people can't breathe without pulling a rabbit from somewhere."

The Dawn's grin widened.

And then she was in Kane's face, nose to nose, eyes bright with delighted violence.

"Do you want to fight?" she whispered. "Do you?"

"This got intense fast." Claude said.

The Dawn stared at Kane another second, then turned and walked away like he'd already lost.

Kane watched her go, jaw tight. "You see why people don't like Braloorians?"

"I like her," Claude said.

"You can do better."

Claude didn't dignify that with an answer. "Seriously," he asked instead, "why the animosity between the two planets?"

Kane shrugged. "No clue. I used to research Braloor, back in the day. Never found anything. They're just hostile."

Claude's eyes slid toward him. "You did use the term 'you people.'"

Kane winced. "I-okay, you're right. I didn't mean it like that."

Claude's voice softened. "Apologies are fruit for the soul."

Kane sighed. "Yeah. Guess I should."

***

The Dawn wandered through the carnival, making her polar bear roar at strangers and laughing when they looked uncomfortable. She should've been heading to the opening ceremony, but she didn't care. Then, the vibration hit against her breastbone, subtle but unmistakable.

Her smile vanished. She froze, eyes scanning, hair whipping as she turned.

"What?" she hissed under her breath. "What?"

People gave her space without knowing why. Instinct; a sense that her mood had shifted from "chaotic fun" to "something's about to break."

She saw them then, four men in a group that didn't fit: a Dycordian, a Human, a Tilris, and a massive Dagon. Suspicious glances. Tight movement. The kind of body language that didn't belong at a carnival. They entered a small structure.

She handed her stuffed bear to a passing Dycordian woman like she was discarding a distraction, then moved, quiet, fast, hungry for confrontation.

***

Claude's gaze sharpened as he tracked her path without looking directly at her.

"There she is."

Kane frowned. "You sure are useful. Where is she going?"

"That small building," Claude said.

They reached the squat plastoid structure and slipped inside. Half the space was piled high with dug-up earth. The other half was a ten-foot hole yawning into darkness.

Kane stepped to the edge. "What's going on in here?"

Claude moved around one dirt mound and stopped.

"Someone is unconscious over here."

Kane's gut tightened. "Who?"

"A Dycordian."

Kane exhaled hard. "You know, Claude, I'm starting to think this Dawn lady's kinda unhinged."

"We do not know the whole situation," Claude cautioned. "Should I retrieve a Defense Force officer?"

"Nah," Kane said, already committing to the worst option. "We're Superstars. We can handle whatever is going on."

Claude nodded once. "Agreed. After you."

Kane stared at him. "I'm a guest on your planet and you're making me go first? It could be dangerous down there."

"Almost assuredly," Claude said, and there was no humor in it now. "Which is why we should stop the banter in case The Dawn needs help."

Kane muttered, "Her eyes told me the only help she needs is therapeutic."

Then both of them jumped. They slid down a steep forty-five-degree pitch into the dark. Ten seconds later, dim green light glimmered below like phosphorescent breath.

Kane landed, feet skidding. Claude landed beside him, calm as ever.

Thin glowing trails ran along the dirt and stone, slimy, luminous, painting the tunnels in sickly green.

"These tunnels run beneath Topaz City," Claude said.

Kane swallowed. "I remember reading about them. Created to transport refugees thousands of years ago. Never said refugees from what, though."

"School books refer to it as the Luminary Web."

Kane made a face. "Don't tell me there's giant spiders down here."

"These are glow slug trails," Claude said. "They are small."

Kane nodded, relieved. "Okay, okay, so where'd she go?"

Claude's eyes unfocused slightly, listening to something that wasn't sound. "I can sense her. And whole groups of people." His tone shifted. "Something is definitely going on. No one is supposed to be down here."

Kane started moving. "Tourists think they can go wherever they please."

Claude pointed. "Closest group is that way. The Dawn is in that direction as well."

They ran for a few moments before they heard it. Clanking armor. They rounded a bend and found half a dozen lancers aimed directly at them.

"Halt or die!" the squad lead barked.

"Face down! Now!"

Kane and Claude raised their hands.

Claude spoke carefully. "I am Claude of Styfe. This is Superstar Kane of Earth. We followed someone down here, but do not know what transpires."

The squad lead signaled. Weapons were lowered, slightly.

"There's been a terrorist attack on the Mag factory," the lead said, clipped. "Dangerous material stolen. Terrorists are using the Web to move through the city."

Claude's brows drew in. "How do you know they are terrorists?"

The squad lead's eyes hardened. He made a gesture and his team marched off. He looked back with an impatient expression or thinly veiled hatred.

"They claim to be members of the Trust. They threatened to blow the Tower of Laws along with two other public locations." His mouth twisted. "We know how to do our jobs, even if you do not think so. Good luck in the competition, Superstar Claude."

And he was gone.

Kane's voice came out low. "So the Trust wants to disturb the opening ceremony. Make some kind of statement."

Claude's eyes sharpened. "What does The Dawn have to do with this?"

Kane didn't answer, because he didn't have a good one.

"We gotta ask her," he said, and started after the Defense Force.

Claude grabbed his arm.

"I do not know what signal they are following," Claude said, "but I can sense a battle taking place further up the north tunnel."

Kane was already sprinting. Not thirty seconds later, they found bodies.

A Dagon in worn armor, a broken lancer gun at his side. There were two more unconscious folks nearby, discarded like broken furniture. They reached the chamber beyond and saw her.

The Dawn was mid-motion, a vicious roundhouse kick snapping into a Dycordian's helmet. The lancer slipped from limp hands as the body crumpled. She stood among four more fallen bodies like she'd arranged them.

Kane took in the scene. "Nice form."

Claude stepped forward, controlled. "What are you doing down here?"

The Dawn didn't even look guilty. "Breaking jaws. Isn't it obvious?"

"Are you aware what is actually going on?" Claude pressed.

"No," The Dawn said brightly, as if the word had no consequences. "But some guys were acting shady. I followed them. Big guy saw me. Took a shot. Dropped him on his head. Got here, heard the word 'bomb,' so I started dropping bombs."

She shadowboxed the air, threw a kick for emphasis, then posed like she expected applause.

Kane cleared his throat. "You know any of them?"

"Cannon fodder?" she shrugged. "Who cares?"

A voice snapped from the tunnel mouths.

"We do!"

Figures emerged-men and women in mercenary gear, weapons raised. Seven tunnels. At least three per tunnel. Lancer pistols and rifles glinting in the green light.

"You've been interfering in Trust affairs," one of them growled, "which ain't healthy."

Claude tried diplomacy, like it was a blade he kept sharp. "Tell us what you want so we can discuss a solution for the betterment of all involved."

"Betterment?" the mercenary scoffed. "Is that a word? I don't care. Ice them!"

Over two dozen lancers opened fire.

***

The squad lead pressed a gloved thumb to his helmet's receiver, his voice a low gravel against the static of the Dycordian channel. "I sent the wannabe and his buddy packing," he muttered, eyes scanning the jagged horizon of the wasteland. "No resistance on this end. Any of the other units having better luck?"

Beside him, the Lieutenant broke formation. He didn't speak; instead, his hands flew in a series of sharp, frantic Dycordian battle signs. The lead watched the gestures, his brow furrowing beneath his visor. With a sharp, silent jerk of his chin, he signaled the rest of the squad to fan out.

"The planet spirit may be shining on us yet," he said into the comms, his tone darkening. "Squad out." He flicked the channel to local. "What is it, Lieutenant? This better be more than ghosts."

"The energy signature, sir," the lieutenant's voice crackled, breathless. "It's back. Low frequency, moving slow. It's heading right for our position."

"Get ready."

The squad shifted with practiced lethality, dropping into offensive staggers as they advanced. The silence of the canyon was absolute, until a rhythmic tap-tap-tap began to echo off the stone walls. It was steady, patient, and unnervingly physical.

"What I do here today," a voice vibrated through their headsets-not through the air, but directly into their encrypted feed-"will forever be remembered as the true blessing."

The squad lead's hand flew to his helmet, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Who is this? How did you hijack this channel?"

"Simple, really," the voice replied, smooth as polished glass. "Radio waves are easy to manipulate. At least, for one such as I. Like so."

A sudden, agonizing screech erupted inside their helmets. It wasn't sound; it was a psychic spike that drove through their temples like a heated needle. The lead let out a strangled cry, his knees hitting the stone floor. Around him, his unit collapsed in a chorus of static and groans, their weapons clattering uselessly against the rock. Through the blur of his failing vision, he saw the source of the tapping.

An elderly Ksush emerged from the dust, hunched and supported by twin canes. His tan skin was a map of deep-set wrinkles, yet beneath his loose gray tunic, his stooped frame held the corded, terrifying muscle of a predator. His most jarring feature, the Ksush third arm, curled over his head like a scorpion's tail, its taloned fist clutching a small steel box.

The old man stepped over the unconscious soldiers, his wrinkled lips peeling back to reveal a row of dull, yellow teeth.

"After all," he whispered to the cooling air, "I've had a lot of time to perfect my techniques."

He didn't break his stride, his gaze fixed on the path ahead.

"Report!" the old man commanded.

"Ran into three Superstars!" a mercenary screamed. "We're getting overwhelmed! We need-"

"No need to shout, I can hear you very clearly," the old man interrupted, his voice chillingly calm as he tapped his way toward the battlefield. "I will be there shortly."

***

Bodies and shattered weapons carpeted the cavern floor. Kane's fist finished the count, driving into the jaw of the last standing Trust goon and dropping him like a loose cable.

Across the chamber, a red-black lancer beam carved a lethal line through the air. Claude moved before the shot finished screaming, vaulting clean over the streak of death, landing beside its source in one smooth motion. His bare foot snapped up, connecting with the Human's head. The mercenary folded, weapon clattering uselessly against stone.

Silence rushed in to fill the void.

The Dawn slowly turned in place, surveying the wreckage. At least a dozen bodies lay unconscious at her boots. Not dead, but broken.
She frowned.

"That's it?"

Kane rolled his shoulder. "Would've thought more of the Trust. These guys were weak."

Claude glanced between them, calm amid the ruin. "Amazing how similar the two of you are."

"Nah," The Dawn said without looking at Kane. "He weak too."

"We came here to help," Kane shot back. "Rude ass."

"And to apologize," Claude added evenly. "Remember."

Kane snorted. "Screw the apology."

The Dawn's grin sharpened, predatory. "Want to go a few rounds? These Trust chumps weren't enough."

A new voice slid through the chamber-old, smooth, utterly unconcerned.

"They are merely hired mercenaries, and not an indication of the truth of the Trust."

Kane spun. "Who said that?"

Claude's eyes narrowed, senses stretching outward. "They do not appear to be present in this chamber."

The Dawn tilted her head, listening to something no one else could hear. "Nearest waking soul is twenty meters north-northeast."

Claude nodded once. "That is correct."

Kane grimaced. "Showoffs."

The unseen voice continued, closer now, threaded with quiet certainty.
"My mission is of great importance. If that means your deaths, then the fans of this ridiculous competition will simply have to forgive an old man."

The sound hit without warning.

Not an explosion, but pressure. A violent cascade of noise that slammed into their skulls, rattled teeth, turning balance into a suggestion. All three Superstars staggered, clutching at their heads as the cavern seemed to scream.

"What the hell!?" Kane shouted through the pain.

The voice answered, pleased.

"I am Fiaster. Soul Master of Sounds. Telling you to turn back would be futile. Instead..."

The noise sharpened.

"I'll just kill you."

The fanfare of dozens of horned instruments hit every holoview in every district, on every ship, and in every bar where someone had ever bet their last c-chip on a stranger's fists.

Blue-and-gold letters slammed into existence:

COALITION CARNAGE

Seventeen planets flashed behind the title in violent, strobing bursts-Tilris wings slicing air, Humans throwing light with their knuckles, Dagon silhouettes like carved war, Ja'ir ice swallowing bodies, Ksush limbs moving faster than the eye could forgive.

A high, girly voice cut through it all, bright as a blade.

"After a decade of anticipation-ten long years of wanting-it's back."

Quick images of beings of every race, mixed with diverse settings.

"It's the year that brings us together in spirited rivalry. A show of strength of body... and the power of the mind." The voice rose like a countdown. "To the victor, blessings beyond the wildest of dreams. One thousand years in the making..."

The music dropped into a rhythmic pulse that matched heartbeats across the galaxy.

"It's the 100th decennial Coalition Carnage Competition!!!"

Screens go dark. Then fireworks. Topaz City burned with celebration, even under daylight.

Fireballs looped through the sky with bangs and pops, their sparks spilling in every spectrum, brilliant even in the sun, thanks to the shade thrown by the sky-high topaz gem that hung above the city like a god's eye.

The gem shifted colors in time with the explosions. Blue, gold, blue, gold.

Below, Dycordians packed the streets; laughter, street drums, children on shoulders, vendors screaming offers no one could hear over the noise. Floating viewscopes drifted like curious insects, catching everything: kisses, brawls, dancing, bets made with trembling hands.

And then she floated into frame. A pink-tinted Tilris, arms and legs spread like she wanted a hug from the sky. Her feathers were long and luxurious in some places, near non-existent in others, her slight form curated with the kind of purposeful sex appeal that made viewers forget they were being sold something.

On closer inspection, she was incorporeal. A hologram. A ghost in glamor.

"Happy New Year, my fellow carnies!" she sang. "My name is Roxy Boss, and I'm your host for this year's mega event! Open your hearts, purse your lips, and blow me a kiss, oh loving galaxy!"

She floated down until she hovered a few meters above the roaring crowd.

"Ready for some carnage!?"

Topaz City answered like it wanted blood in a chalice.

Roxy grinned wider. "And I'm sure you're not alone, just as I'm not alone. Joining me as our on-the-scene commentator, coming to us all the way from the sixteenth planet... Coalition Carnage Color Correspondent Ksush... Grodin!"

The holoview cut hard to chaos.

Grodin, three armed, seven feet tall, built like a walking wall, held a five-inch microphone in the overhead hand while the other two arms shoved drunk Pians away from his frame.

He stood before rows of wooden seating arranged like a colosseum. Every seat was full; six hundred thousand bodies, vibrating with anticipation and alcohol.

"Don't forget, crowd-pleasing former host of this very Competition, Roxy," Grodin said, smiling like a professional while beer slid down his head. "I'm here on Pia, partying with Pian carnies who hope to see some action up close here at Pia's new geodome, the Stadium."

Behind him, the ring: a 366 square of dark glass with ten-meter-high pillars in each corner.

Empty thrones sat atop those pillars, waiting.

"No longer content with battles taking place on their moon," Grodin continued, "the Pians now have a front row seat for the battles that make this Competition so great."

Two Pians roared in agreement and slammed their black-glass mugs together, sloshing beer all over Grodin's head again.

He threw them a look of murderous restraint, then smiled back at the viewscope.

"It's late afternoon local time," he added, voice smooth, "so the alcohol is flowing freely here for this historical event. This will be the first time a Coalition Carnage battle takes place on Pian soil since its conception. The energy is electric, with hopes of a first-round match pick. Will the Pians get it? We'll have to wait and see."

Roxy's voice slid in like silk over flesh. "Awesome! The opportunity to have blood and sweat spray directly in front of them has got the Pians hype and I don't blame them."

Roxy winked into a new location, her holographic legs knee deep in a flowing river of lava, while in the distance, a volcano exhaled black smoke into the air.

"Some of our viewers may remember this place, the Fire Eye," Roxy purred. "For our viewers too young to remember, the Fire Eye is a moon orbiting the planet closest to the Papuru Star. It's a volcano moon! How awesome is that!?"

She bounced in enthusiasm, the lava never reacting to her presence.

"Something new for the rest of you carnies out there, the geodomes have a wicked upgrade."

She floated over to a group of Yuni drinking beside a lava bed, their smooth rock skin reflecting orange light.

"Anybody interested in demonstrating the new geodome feature?"

One drunken Yuni leaned forward. "I'll do it, sweet wing."

Roxy tilted her head. "Pick up that stone and throw it across the river bed."

"If you go out with me."

Roxy didn't blink. "Anybody want to test the geodome?"

The Yuni huffed, embarrassed by laughter from his friends. "Okay, okay. I got this."

He grabbed a stone only slightly bigger than his hand, hauled back like a punchball pitcher, and heaved.

The rock made a third of its journey across the lava river before it struck something invisible, a barrier. The barrier stretched, the landscape beyond distorted like a sick mirage.

Then the surface snapped back, the stone also, and nailed the Yuni in the forehead. He did two backflips before face-planting. His friends howled while he started doing pushups, trying to show he was still fit and uninjured.


Roxy squealed. "Invisible geodomes that stretch when an object or person comes into contact! Imagine a body bouncing off into an outstretched spear! Whoo, the strategies! Let's take a look at more new and returning geodomes!"

Images flickered:

A mega glacier on a frozen lake, snow trapped in a bubble. "First fire, now ice. Ja'ir's constant contribution, the Whisper Wall," Roxy said. "How many frozen Superstar bodies will it produce this year?"

A neighborhood of dilapidated buildings shrouded in dust and darkness, trash everywhere. "Another returning geodome. The Superstars better tread lightly here. Many undesirables occupy this place, some of which may not want to be seen. A shot in the back would end a battle real quick. No one is welcome in...the Underbay! Now come on, give me a new one."

A metal room, floor, walls, ceiling, all steel, with a maroon pyramid floating high center. "The Randomizer. Rumors indicate it fits what would come from the world of Prees. I got a feeling it won't disappoint."

Roxy's smile sharpened. "We've got experts running analysis on the Superstars. Interviews with family. A special word from the winner of the 99th Carnage. All this and more as the Opening Ceremony starts right now, with the comedic stylings of the Magic Donkey Brothers!"

Roxy winked out and reappeared in luxury. Burgundy carpet, lush furniture, and a wall of glass overlooking the landscape of egg-shaped structures outside; the giant topaz gem disappearing above the view.

The opposite wall was one enormous holoview showing the Magic Donkey Brothers.

Food and beverages from multiple worlds lined another wall in a tasteful arrangement, except for the mess: spilled drinks, dropped portions, puddles, the smell of everything mingled with the distinct aroma of smoking root. Roxy's hologram didn't have a sense of smell, but she could see the smoke.

"This is a non-smoking room, Superstar Morihilus."

Morihilus leaned against the wall by the food table, puffing a root lit on one end. Dark red skin shining with moisture, he was dressed like he was going to a formal event where someone died. A pointed rapier fish blade sat at his hip like punctuation.

"This is not some common root, you annoying bird," Morihilus said, "but shay root, fit for only those of royal blood."

"Don't care," Roxy replied. "Put it out."

"I will not."

A voice from the hover chair nearby, lazily and hungrily. "Smoked fish is a delicacy on my world."

Morihilus's purple eyes glowed. "Watch the insolence, buffoon."

The speaker rose.

Gorjon stood over two meters tall, shirtless, his three arms heavily muscled, bunched like a bag of perfectly placed marbles. His black and white tights showing he loved to workout.

He strode toward Morihilus, footsteps heavy even through the thick carpet.

Roxy floated between them immediately. "This is not the time, Superstar Gorjon."

Gorjon reached out calmly, grabbed the root from Morihilus's lips, and crushed the still-lit shay root in his oversized hand.

"I would rather taste your blood," Gorjon said, voice flat. "But then, I already have. Didn't care for it. I'll just spill it instead."

Morihilus's hand slid to his rapier.

"That was ten years ago," Morihilus hissed. "Have a taste now."

A loud laugh cut through the tension. Morihilus turned his head slightly. "Must you guffaw so ridiculously loud?!"

A man-sized reptile lounged on a hovering couch, laughing at the Magic Donkey Brothers like comedy was oxygen. A yellow reptilian eye peered at them, slow and deliberate, then returned to the holoview and laughed again, boisterous, unapologetic.

Morihilus turned on Roxy, voice sharp. "How long must I endure these miscreants? I have strategies to discuss with my Syncs."

"The Lords of Continent want all the Superstars here during the speech portion," Roxy said.

"To parade us around for the rabble to gawk at us like split fish?"

"Don't be vulgar-"

Gorjon cracked his knuckles; the sound was like fireworks. "I'm bored. How about an exhibition match, fish man."

Roxy wagged one see through finger at both. "Save it for the sanctioned battles, boys. Besides, you should show a little modesty, for Superstar Narshira's sake."

Narshira, standing by the entryway, munching fruit, two forehead antenna wriggling with amusement, shrugged. "What modesty? He's already half naked."

Gorjon's grin was all teeth.

Roxy floated closer, sweet voice sharpening. "Don't make me penalize you two."

Narshira popped another piece of fruit. "Excuse me, Roxy?"

"Hmm?" Roxy's attention flickered, like she'd heard something no one else could.

"Do you know Superstar Bram?"

Roxy wasn't looking at Narshira anymore. She wasn't looking at anyone.

"Umm... get back with me, okay," Roxy said too fast. "I have another situation brewing."

Roxy's holographic form condensed in less than a blink to the size of a pinprick and vanished.

The reception area of the Assembly Hall smelled like polished metal and nervous sweat.

A serve-tek lay crumpled like discarded paper; another rolling backward in panic, a metal bracelet held in its scoop-like appendage. It was fleeing a slim Pian woman stalking toward it like a predator. Roxy snapped back into full size, hovering between them.

"I left instructions for a mortal attendant to usher Superstar Avia when she arrived," Roxy said. "My apologies. Relax, please, our serve-tek is completely harmless."

Avia's eyes cut like blades. "They are abominations. So is that thing it wants me to put on."

"You will need to wear the omniband," Roxy replied, voice smooth. "It tracks vitals for spectators and is necessary for travel between-"

"I don't care," Avia snapped. "Even a little bit."

"You agreed to follow rules and regulations-"

Avia stepped closer. "Are you going to put them on me?"

Roxy lifted her hands in exaggerated helplessness. "Hello, incorporeal here. But I will disqualify Pia from the competition. Your fellow Pians will like you even more."

Avia's already ridged brow creased deeper and for a moment, it looked like she might attack the air out of spite. Then she stomped to the serve-tek, thrust out her extremely thin right arm, and the robot clamped the metal bracelet onto her wrist with trembling efficiency.

Roxy clapped, producing no sound. "See? Still alive."

Avia stormed off like rage was fuel.

Roxy turned to the obviously relieved serve-tek. "Is everyone here?"

The serve-tek's voice came out clipped, nervous. "No, madam. Superstars Kane, Claude, and The Dawn have yet to arrive. Delegates report The Dawn disappeared en route."

Roxy's expression went flat. "No matter what," she muttered, "it's always Humans and Dycordians. Always."

---

Deep underground, the air was damp, thick with the glow of slime coating the walls. The tunnels were wide enough for refugees, wide enough for soldiers, wide enough for lies.

The screech of death drove The Dawn to her knees. Kane stumbled back against the glow-slime wall, hands up to his ears, face twisted in pain. Claude yelled something Kane couldn't hear over the noise.

The Dawn crouched and drew a small circle quickly in the dust, symbols packed tight inside it. The sound ceased so suddenly it felt like losing a limb.

Kane lowered his hands, his mouth moved, yet no sound emerged. Claude pointed toward a tunnel mouth and made a walking motion with his fingers.

An old male Ksush shuffled into the cavern using two metal walking sticks. He held a case in his third hand. His smile widened when he noticed The Dawn's circle.

Then the ground tremored; rumbling rolled in like an approaching beast. The circle shifted.

The old Ksush's voice was smug and disappointed at the same time. "A Mage Style user. Magic has its uses, but is primarily for the weak, in my experience."

Kane forced a grin through the tension. "You look like you've racked up a million experience points, so we'll take your word for it."

Claude's eyes were steady. "What grief do you have with the people of Dycord?"

"That is not your concern."

Kane's gaze sharpened. "Got anything to do with stolen explosive material?"

The old Ksush, Fiaster, snorted. "Hmph. If you must know... for the public, including you and yours, to see the truth the Coalition has hidden from the galaxy, there needs to be a spectacle."

Claude's jaw tightened. "And blowing up the Tower of Laws, killing a million people, would do that?"

Fiaster shrugged. Then he was a blur. One second he was eight meters away, shuffling like age owned him. The next, he was three feet from Kane, swinging one metal walking stick in a wide arc.

Kane moved on instinct, quickening barely out of range as the cane buzzed through the air where his head had been. A stone slab rose between Kane and death, but the cane speared through it anyway.

Claude's outstretched hand twisted and the stone column veered ninety degrees, ripping the cane from Fiaster's grip.

Fiaster raised his remaining cane toward Claude and The Dawn.

"Move!" she snapped.

Kane didn't see the attack, but felt the air pressure change, like the cavern inhaled. He charged anyway, refusing to waste an opening.
Fiaster clapped his right and third hands together rapidly.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.

Sonic booms filled the cavern with white-hot noise. Kane felt it crawl up through his feet, into his bones, into his teeth. Rock and dirt began falling from above.

Claude's voice finally cut through: "Cave in!"

Kane bolted for the nearest tunnel as the world tried to collapse on him. Choking dust envloped him, the glowing slime dimmed. The Web turned eerie, muffled, like the planet itself was holding its breath.

When the rumbling stopped and Kane finally stopped coughing dirt out of his soul, he discovered he was alone. Boulders crowded the cavern entryway like a sealed tomb.

"You better not be in there, Claude," Kane rasped.

"I am fine, my friend," Claude's voice said, behind him.

Kane spun, startled into a fighting stance. Claude stood calm as clear weather, as if he'd stepped out of the stone.

"Glad you're alive," Kane snapped, "but where'd you pop up from?"

A second voice, dry, annoyed, came from behind him again.

"I'm alive too, if it matters, " The Dawn said.

Kane nearly fell over. "You two can teleport. Good to know. Teach it to me."

Claude's tone was almost gentle. "I did not teleport. I was one with the planet."

The Dawn's eyes were sharp. "Your Talent level is too small to teach even rudimentary magics."

Kane stared. "Nice."

He exhaled once, hard. "Anyway. That Boom Sonic is as powerful as I imagined."

The Dawn's gaze narrowed. "You know him?"

"What, you've never heard of the Soul Master of Sounds?" Kane said, incredulous. "Fiaster competed in Coalition Carnage forty years ago and almost won."

Claude blinked. "I have never heard of him, either."

The Dawn's expression didn't change. "So he's the Trust leader?"

Kane shrugged. "Hell if I know. He disappeared a while ago. Thought he was dead. One thing I do know? He's strong, and age doesn't seem to have weakened him."

Claude's eyes shifted like he was listening to the rock itself. "All we know is the Trust is down here. We must stop them."

"I'm in," Kane said, already moving. "Gonna cost the Dycordian government, though."

Claude started to speak, something about tracking soul signatures-

The Dawn cut him off with a flick of her fingers.

"I don't need these anchors holding me back. They'll get in the way."

White energy wrapped her body. And she flew down the tunnel into darkness.

Kane watched her vanish and muttered, "She's starting to annoy me."

Claude sighed, an old sigh, like childhood and responsibility lived in it. "Still. Should not let her go alone."

Kane rolled his shoulders. "If you weren't here to guilt me, I would. Let's go."

They ran.

---

Fiaster shuffled slowly through a dim tunnel deeper in the Web, his remaining cane clanking softly, boots scuffing along the rock.

"It's going as planned," he murmured, as if the planet was his confessional. "Alpha team is approximately ten kilometers east of the Tower. Beta and Gamma have the DDF running around these tunnels chasing shadows."

He paused.

"And Delta has just completed her mission."

He smiled to himself.

"I will tell the teams to withdraw," Fiaster continued, voice amused, "but I want to hang down here and have a bit of fun. Three Superstars playing hero..."

A pause, then, a soft chuckle. "Look. Calm down. I won't kill them. I know how important the Competition is."

Then, quieter, almost affectionate. "I just want to see what this generation can do."

---

Kane and Claude hit a branching path.

Two tunnels. Two sets of presences like distant heat signatures in the soul.

Kane frowned. "Which one?"

Claude's eyes narrowed. "I do not know."

"I thought you were tracking her."

"Not while she is in flight," Claude said. "Both directions have people."

Kane sighed like the universe personally offended him. "Fine. I'll go this way."

Claude nodded. "Yell if you run into trouble."

Kane grinned, already running north. "Will do."

He barely made it a dozen meters before he felt them.

Several presences, alert. Aware of him. Thugs clustered together, lucky for him. If they'd spread out, he might not have sensed them until it was too late.

Kane's wrist began to glow with silver energy. He smiled like someone about to enjoy themselves.

"Challenge accepted."

Beams of death snapped toward him. Kane bounced, floor to ceiling, wall to wall, never predictable, never still, Quickening flaring under his skin like a second pulse.

The corridor was thirty feet across, twenty feet of headspace, fine for moving refugees, terrible for dodging continuous energy streams.

Kane punched forward. The silver energy around his wrist shot ahead, expanding five times its size, into a ring. The lancer beams bent toward it like forced rainbows, the ring devouring them like a hungry mouth.

A mercenary's voice panicked. "Stop aiming at the circle, ya idiot!"

Another screamed, "I'm not doing it!"

The moment the beams ceased, the ring exploded in a blinding flash. The tunnel lit up: moss, slime, half-inch glow slugs doing their little errands, and six gunmen flailing as they tried to regain sight.

In that blink of brightness, Kane saw one of them clutching a small metal box. He didn't hesitate. He surged, Quickening output spiking.

"Nap time, gentlemen."

---

Claude moved differently.

He used wind like an extension of thought, propelling himself down tunnels in controlled bursts, fast, but not reckless. He eased up when he sensed nine souls ahead, likely Dycordian Defense Force.

When he reached them, his hands were raised and his identity proclaimed loudly before anyone's fear could decide to shoot. The squad leader looked at him like contempt was a religion.

"Maybe you should have switched to Guardian caste if you were going to get involved this much."

Claude's voice stayed calm. "I am only here to help. My friends and I encountered the suspected leader. He is a Ksush by the name of Fiaster, a former Superstar."

Surprise cracked through the squad leader's expression. "Did he reveal anything else?"

Claude hesitated. "Nothing of importance. I do not believe he intends to destroy any buildings or kill anyone."

A grumble rolled through the troops.

The leader's face darkened. "Four Mag-factory workers are hospitalized. Possibly over a million c-chips in damage. And they sent us a holoview proclaiming to blow up landmarks to make a statement. What evidence do you have?"

Claude met his eyes. "Merely a feeling."

The squad leader's jaw clenched. "That does it. Squad, move to the target area and set up a defensive position."

He turned back to Claude, venom in his gaze. "Mr. Superstar. You may think you're hot shit, but to me you're nothing but a glory hog. You will not win the competition. Get the hell out of these tunnels before I test your heart, boy."

Claude stood still as they ran past him. He turned and followed anyway.

---

The Dawn reached a cavern so wide it felt like the Web's belly. Ten exit tunnels yawned around the space like options for fate. The dust lay thick. Ambush territory. She hovered in the center, arms folded, expression bored.

"I'm waiting."

A screech hit the cavern, a high pitch wail, amplified into agony. The Dawn's hands flew to her ears. She crashed to her knees, writhing. Fiaster appeared behind her, like the punchline to the pain.

"Magicians!" he laughed. "You rely so much on spells and curses, you forget how to truly fight. Disabling you was simple enough. A Supreme, no less. Hah!"

The Dawn dragged herself upright, silver bangs trembling.

"I don't use magic as a crutch," she said, voice tight. "I use it as a means to an end."

Her eyes sharpened into a dare.

"Anyway, you use Soul Style. Might as well be magic. Stop the noise. Let's go hand to hand. No cheap tricks."

Fiaster's laugh sounded like a tree frog's mating call, wrongly joyful. But the noise ceased.

"Are you sure, youngling?" he asked. "I may have you by at least a hundred years. That means experience."

The Dawn rolled her eyes. "I'll manage."

Fiaster came in like a rocket, arms spread in a triangle, trying to grab her if she dodged. So she stepped forward and crescent-kicked him under the chin. Blood and teeth sprayed.

Before any of it could fall into her hair, she teleported behind him and drove her knee into his spine. He cursed and stomped, shaking the entire cavern.

The Dawn lost footing just long enough for him to recover.

"No magic, huh," Fiaster said, wiping blood from his mouth with a grin. "I've met Human females before. None were that strong."

The Dawn's smile was thin. "Yeah, and your old ass can move that fast without soul power. I've heard of the Quickening you soul bastards use. Shut up and fight."

She charged, twenty blows in ten seconds. Punches, kicks, knees, elbows. Street fighter violence tuned to a supernatural frequency.
Fiaster blocked each strike with three arms moving in tandem.

He pulled his walking stick from his clothing and swiped, forcing her back, then raised it overhead for a smash. A small gray brick wall snapped into existence between his cane and her skull.

The cane vibrated, carving gauges into it, then the cane shattered, sending pieces flying into Fiaster's body. He staggered but stayed on his feet.

The Dawn teleported behind him. He anticipated it, slashing a hand where he believed she'd appear. Ten feet too low.

She was above him, dropping like a meteor. He felt her descent and couldn't dodge. Her impact landed an inch from his body-THUNK-rock shivering from the force.

He countered with a backhanded fist that sent her crashing to the cavern floor.

"You almost had me," Fiaster said, breathing hard, grinning through blood. "These old bones would have shattered if not for my Aura Cloak. Or have you forgotten us soul bastards have that ability, too?"

A sudden gust of wind blew the dust away. The Dawn was already on her feet with no damage visible. She smiled, small, cruelly pleased. Without a word, she came in again.

Fiaster met her advance with a Boom Sonic.
The Dawn flew backward, kicked up dirt at her landing twenty meters away. Fiaster laughed for half a minute, as if it made him feel young again.

The Dawn's voice cut through it. "Are you done?"

Fiaster turned and froze. The Dawn stood behind him.

Shock flickered across his face. "Impossible. A Boom Sonic at that range should have put you down. Maybe there's merit to you after all," he admitted.

The Dawn shrugged. "Maybe."

Fiaster's grin sharpened. "Then it's time I took my leave. Sorry if you die."

He raised his hands. Wavy energy streamed from them into the cavern walls. The air vibrated with a dense hum, like the planet was singing a warning.

A force slammed into The Dawn's back and launched her toward a thin white line of energy emerging from the opposite wall.

A brick wall appeared, the thin line gouged deep in it, before it vanished.

She took to the air, a wave erupted from beneath her. She avoided it, then another. The near-invisible attacks came from all directions.
The Dawn teleported toward where she remembered Fiaster, and met another wave of sound.

It sliced into her leg, another thin line kissed her back. Blood spurted into the air. Fiaster stood near a tunnel deeper in the Web, eyes bright with satisfaction.

"You might have a little talent," he said, almost kindly, "but you need stronger magic if you intend to be taken seriously. Goodbye for now, youngling."

"Where you going?"

Fiaster jerked toward the voice-

Only to lean into a right hook that smashed what teeth he had left. His arms flailed as he skipped head over heels across the rocky floor and slammed into the far wall.

The booming stopped. The relentless attacks ceased. Dust made another appearance.

When it cleared, Dycordian Defense Force soldiers stormed into the cavern, startled by the unconscious Ksush at their feet.

Claude arrived with them, eyes sweeping the space until they locked onto The Dawn, emerging from the darkness.

"You get lost," The Dawn said, wiping blood that didn't seem to matter, "or were you waiting for me to finish up?"

Claude ignored the bite. "Are you injured?"

The Dawn pointed at the unconscious Fiaster with a smirk. "He thought I was. Illusions are the simplest form of magic. I hear even Earthlings can do 'em."

She glanced around. "Where's the other one?"

A voice came from behind her.

"Name's Kane. And I'm right here."

Kane stepped in holding one of the small metal boxes the mercenaries had carried. Weapons snapped up instantly.

"Hold it!" a soldier barked. "That's explosive material!"

"No it's not," Kane said.

He opened the box to reveal a small device with dials.

"This is all that was in here," Kane said. "And it doesn't fit Claude's description of magnite."

Soldiers examined it while the squad leader received a call.

"It is a device designed to mimic the same radiation signature as magnite," a soldier reported.

The squad leader's face twisted. "And so were the other two boxes found. We were played."

Fiaster, cuffed now, lifted his bloody mouth into a grin that went ear to ear. "We never stole a thing," he said.

Every weapon pointed at him.

"We just made you look like fools."

Claude stepped forward, voice low. "What was the point of this? What did the Trust hope to achieve?"

Fiaster shrugged. "I was kicked from the Trust years ago. Hired a group of mercs to embarrass the local government and show the Trust they can let me back in."

His grin widened.

"It was working too. Had you running around like the Magic Donkey Brothers."

The squad leader snarled. "Do you have his soul coal, soldier?"

"Yes, sir."

A soldier stepped up with a lump of red coal the size of a toddler's ball. Dull. Unremarkable. The squad leader hurled it against the cavern wall. It shattered into red crumbs.

Fiaster shrugged, still smiling. "I'm still tougher than you."

The squad leader stepped closer. "Let us find out."

A new voice cut through the cavern like a law given flesh.

"Now, now. Let no man say Dycordians treat prisoners unjustly."

A heavily muscled Dycordian strode in wearing shining gold armor. An exotic firearm at his hip and straight-edge sword strapped to his back.
As he passed, Dycordians bowed low.

Kane bent too. The Dawn didn't.

The squad leader stiffened. "My apologies, Lord Gilmesh."

The gold-armored Dycordian's mouth twitched. "We go by the law. All members and former members of the Trust undergo extensive interrogation."

He motioned, and two soldiers hauled Fiaster away. Because the old Ksush kept shuffling slowly, they were forced into carrying him, while he laughed.

Gilmesh turned to the trio.

"Now, for the reason I am here," he said. "The retrieval of three wayward Superstars."

Claude lowered his head. "Our apologies."

The Dawn cocked her head. "Who's this guy?"

Kane hissed, "Show some respect. That's the Lord of the Guardian caste."

Gilmesh's expression softened, just slightly. "It is fine, Kane. Nice to see you again." He looked at The Dawn. "But lord is not a title I like to go by. Call me Gilmesh, lovely visitor."

His gaze swept all three of them.

"And I am here to escort you to the Assembly Hall. It is time to showcase the stars of the show."

---

Roxy hovered before the Tower of Laws; open ceiling structure packed with a million people, their cheers rising like heat.

"And now," Roxy announced, "a special word from the rulers of Dycord and this year's Grandmasters, the Lords of Continent."

From Dycord's clear skies, three figures descended on rotating disks, the disks orbiting each other like choreographed planets, their hands toward the heavens.

The disks stopped a hundred feet above the ground, continuing to rotate so each Lord could address the masses. The crowd cheered until their throats should've bled. The Lords lowered their hands.

Jarrik, identified as Lord of the Govern Caste, spoke.

"On this day, a thousand years ago, a coalition between planets was established. To commemorate the historical event, the leaders of that time created the Coalition Carnage Competition. And we continue this wonderful tradition... for each and every one of you. I, Jarrik, can assure you this will be the greatest Coalition Carnage in history."

In the Assembly Hall's massive entrance corridor, Kane, Claude, and The Dawn walked beneath statues of races holding the sigils of their home planets.

Above the archway leading into the main hall, a hologram of the Papuru Star hung in glory, while off-world delegates watched via floor-to-ceiling holoviews. A serve-tek approached with armlets on velvet pillows.

The Dawn leaned forward, delighted. "Oh look at the cute serve-tek. I want one one day."

Kane leaned toward Claude and whispered, "Does she have multiple personalities or what."

The omnibands clicked onto their wrists. As the next Lord, Yemi of the Spirit Caste, spoke about faith and gods and blessings, their omnibands beeped-

Energy surrounded them and they vanished from the corridor. They reappeared high above the crowd on gravdisks, where the Tower of Laws ceiling would have been.

Claude stood two meters to Kane's left. To Kane's right stood a one-armed Dagon, staring down at the crowd like he was searching for someone he hated.

A female voice cursed softly somewhere among the disks. Below them, Gilmesh floated and spoke to the crowd.

"Victory or defeat, Superstars bleed and die for glory and the Blessing of their people and planet. We will never forget the sacrifices made by the chosen of the past, future, or present."

The seventeen disks descended, then spread outward in a widening circle until each Superstar hovered only a dozen meters from the silent crowd.

Gilmesh continued, voice steady, heavy with ceremony. "These Superstars will bear the hopes and dreams of each of you and deserve your affection."

The crowd erupted. The cheer was loud enough to be heard for miles, lasting a full two minutes.
When it finally quieted, Gilmesh lifted a hand.

"Becoming the victor, the Supernova, immortalized ninety-nine of your predecessors." His voice rose. "One of which has some encouraging words."

Between Superstars and audience, a face appeared, Human, blue-tinted eyes, smiling like he knew everyone watching.

The crowd screamed again. Kane cheered too, unable to stop himself. Claude smiled. But The Dawn's posture tightened, subtle as a blade being drawn.

The smiling face spoke.

"Hey. It's me, The Truth, here to offer congratulations to the new crop of Superstars. Get ready for the most extravagant moments of your lives and always remember: the child of the star shines bright, even at rise. And though it may seem eternal night approaches in its wake... the will of mortals will always usher in a new dawn. Good luck. And fear not."

The face vanished.

Kane turned to Claude, puzzled, and thrilled, simultaneously. Claude raised an eyebrow at Kane with a small smile.

The three Lords raised their arms and spoke in unison:

"Wisdom, strength, and faith we grant to each of you, to the end of time! Coalition Carnage has begun!"

The Lords and Superstars ascended out of view.
Roxy dropped into the feed with a grin that could move men to war.

"The first competition begins in one hour, carnies, so get those last minute bets in!"

---

Later, an empty corridor inside the Assembly Hall held Claude sitting cross-legged, eyes closed, calm as if the building's noise couldn't touch him. Kane walked up, breath still a little fast from being cheered at by a million strangers.

Claude opened his eyes. "What did she say?"

Kane frowned. "Couldn't find her. Soon as the ceremony was over, she must've teleported somewhere that's not the Assembly Hall."

Claude's gaze lowered, thoughtful. "Have you seen the matchups?"

Kane's grin returned, pure adrenaline. "Yep. You and I are up first."

Claude's mouth lifted into something that wasn't quite a smile and wasn't quite a warning. "Should prove fun."

"For me, at least," Kane said. "I'm going to win."

Claude's eyes held his, steady, affectionate, dangerous. "We shall soon see."