RE: The Battle of the Victors (*S1/2*) - Round 0? - Ill Fortune Theatre
11-30-2023, 01:27 PM
The corridor outside the private boxes was also dotted with trees growing inexplicably out of the carpet. Off to the right Fran could see a large crowd of various different entities clustered around the entrance to one of the boxes. Hovering just outside the doorway was the spirit bound to the roulette table; The Gambler.
“I’m not taking any bets on overall winner or even early elimination until we have our whole cast finalized. But we do have many interesting and potentially profitable side-bets. I’ll give you 5/1 that One-Billion-Blades kills a Host before the battle is through.” Many hands were raised with fists full of cash, one of the hands raised was a fist made of cash, The Gambler snatched it up and started writing hurried notes in their notebook.
“What about Thrillseeker?” Someone called out.
“Oh hmmm.” The Gambler set their roulette table spinning as they contemplated. “1/8 she kills at least one of us.” There’s a grumbling amongst the group, but a couple of hands go up. The Gambler grabs the cash, makes their notes and chuckles. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a solid 10/1 she kills every last one of us.” This one is met with a murmur of approval, and one person trying to ask who would pay the bet out if it did come to pass and receiving no response.
Not wanting to get involved in any of that Fran took a left instead. The next box along had a Do Not Disturb sign hung on the door. The one after that had a group of grey eyed people clustered around the open door. They watched her silently as she walked past.
Fran had needed a little space to process the magnitude of what was happening. She’d told The Baker she was going to go and get drinks for everyone and in response she had conjured a tray of refreshments for them out of nothing. She’d said she was just going to go for some fresh air and then the temperature of the box had dropped dramatically and a stiff wind had started blowing in from somewhere. Her next instinct had been to say she just wanted to stretch her legs but she’d wisely refrained from voicing that one out loud. Instead she’d just slipped away and neither The Baker nor Ginger had moved to stop her.
Eventually Fran reached the end of the corridor and pushed open the fire escape door. Outside there was a small railing where a couple of ladies where sharing a cigarette and beyond that was nothing but colourless infinity. Fran had seen space. She’d been voyaging through space for what felt like years now. This wasn’t that. This was oblivion, an emptiness that instinctively in her bones she knew was actively hostile towards life. It hurt to look directly at it.
“Evenin’ Franchesca.” One of the two ladies said. She was a furless woman with white skin and straight black hair reaching all the way down to her waist. Her eyes were hidden behind a small pair of rose-tinted glasses. She was wearing numerous necklaces, bracelets, dangling earrings, all of which were decorated with intricate symbols and sigils. She was wearing a loose tie-dye dress and a heavy pair of combat boots. Fran wouldn’t have liked to guess how old she was, that seemed impolite, but she had a sort of weariness of age about her, a state of perpetual ‘frick it’.
“You know me?” Fran asked.
“Of course. I used to read your exploits to the girls all the time.” she said. “I’m Cindy Sparkkle and my new friend here is Thrillseeker.”
Fran looked over at the other woman. She was also furless, her skin was tan, her eyes obscured behind a pair of aviator sunglasses with cherry red lenses, her lips a glossy black. Her hair was gelled up into a gaudy blood red pompadour. She was wearing a black t-shirt with a stylized logo of a lantern in white, a faded denim jacket, one fingerless black glove, a miniskirt and big black boots. Her legs were almost entirely covered in tattoos, images of awful nightmare creatures with bright red xs across their faces.
But the most immediately noticeable thing about her was her mechanical right arm. It was made from gleaming metal, bone white, with accents of black and red so dark that it was almost black. At its end it had a little cigarette holder, which was currently in use tightly clutching a roll-up. Thrillseeker gave Fran a nod but didn’t say anything. She held out her arm, offering her the cigarette.
“Oh no thanks.” she said. Cindy chuckled to herself, and took back the cigarette when Thrillseeker offered it back her way. With the cigarette out of her hand, it transformed, what had looked like an entirely solid piece of metal revealed it was a series of panels that slid apart to allow pieces to emerge and some pieces to retract. After a moment she had a rough hand shape comprised of two fingers and a thumb. She gave Franchesca a polite wave. “Nice to meet you both.” Fran said. “You’re contestants too?”
Thrillseeker nodded her response and Cindy said: “Yeah, but I’m new. My nieces were in the Willowy Upsetting or something like that, and when they got back I insisted that I was joining the band so I could put a stop to all this nonsense.”
“You’re both looking to fight the Hosts?” Fran asked. “Is it really possible? They were practically laughing it off when One-Billion-Blades was trying to kill her Host earlier.”
“I know that it's possible.” Cindy grinned. “You remember that In Memoriam presentation earlier? That’s almost entirely the work of this girl right here.” She gestured towards Thrillseeker who took a small bow. Fran was stunned, she looked the girl up and down again but it wasn’t as though with this knowledge she gained some unexpected grandeur. She was still a weird aloof girl with a ridiculous haircut and what appeared to be a band t-shirt on.
Before Fran had time to respond or to really formulate her thoughts on the matter she was back in her box with The Baker and Ginger, who eagerly grabbed her hand once again.
“Welcome back ladies.” The Authority was back on-stage. “The good news is The Bigger Fight is back down to 30 contestants again. The bad news is its time to see what The Baker has prepared for us in The Delectable Confection.”
“Yes we all know my fight wasn’t the most thrilling to watch, but there’s no need to be rude about it Thora.” The Baker said. Suddenly she, Fran and Ginger were on stage together, looking out over the crowd of living gambling paraphernalia. Ginger was still holding Franchesca’s hand and she was grinning and waving at the crowd.
Franchesca was a anthropomorphic foxgirl with an athletic build and pale orange fur. She was wearing a pair of goggles perched atop her head, a simple blouse and skirt and a leather jacket. Strapped to her back was her faithful two handed blade Phaetix, which she was pretty sure hadn’t been there just a moment ago.
Ginger was a furless teen with bright red hair, tied back in pigtails, pale skin and freckles. She wore a lime green witches hat which was slightly too big for her, and crooked in the middle, leaning quite firmly off to one side. She wore a pink t-shirt, dark blue denim dungarees, and had a bulging satchel slung across her chest.
“The winners of The Delectable Confection are Franchesca Fox and Ginger. Fran is an accomplished swordswoman who has saved her world many times. I’m sure you’re all familiar with her work. Ginger is a descendant of a great witch and the inheritor of a tome of incredible power.”
“Baker, I hate to but in,” her tone indicated the opposite, “but your initial cast list indicates that Fran and Ginger are not affiliated with one another. If they are both alive the fight should be ongoing.”
“I appreciate that, but well we run out of time.” The Baker shrugged. “Look, the rest of the contestants got to go home for a year of perceived time, prepare themselves for battle. These two are coming straight from the fight. If you want to postpone this Battle of the Victors until circumstance finally kills one of these two girls and then the additional time required to give the survivor the appropriate preparation time…” The crowd was booing at the mere suggestion of postponing the fight. “Otherwise they fight as a team, and also to sweeten the deal I made everyone a cake. Even you Thora.”
Fran watched as across the crowd cakes popped into existence, ranging from simple cupcakes to plates with a single slice and a nice drizzle of sauce and across a wide variety of styles and flavours. The Authority was holding a plate with a full cake covered in white frosting with something shredded as a topping, her face held a look of extreme disdain.
“Considering we don’t wish to delay our climatic battle any longer I think we can overlook the circumstances of this pair character’s formation and accept them as a single combatant.” she said. “Go on, off with you.”
With that said Fran, Ginger and The Baker were now back in their box seats. In her hands Fran found herself holding a slice of cake with bright red sponge and a white cream icing. She took a bite and found it to be quite delicious, but the moment was rather ruined when Ginger whispered to her. “We were baked in the same ovens as these cakes. When you think about it we’re practically sisters.”
Back on the stage The Authority had placed the loathed cake on the floor and kicked it slightly away from herself. “Next up, speaking on behalf of The Sanguine Matrimony lets give a warm welcome to the newlyweds.”
As the crowd burst into applause as instructed, Two figures both wearing white appeared on stage. They were making out, their arms wrapped around each other, their bodies pressed tightly together. The taller of the two was in an ancient floor length white dress, with a couple of faded bloodstains here and there. Her veil was draped down so that it covered both of their faces.
The shorter of the two was wearing a full white suit and bowtie. It was much less worn and stained than that of her counterpart. The most immediately noticeable thing about her though was her mismatched wings; one of which was a pale white wing with a thin layer of frost upon it, and the other a deep red feathered wing that dripped blood intermittently onto the stage below her, and had left a bloody streak down the side of her suit jacket.
Eventually, after an uncomfortably long amount of time, they managed to pull themselves away from each other. The one in the dress continued to keep her face hidden behind the veil in a way that made Fran believe that the person she was just kissing was perhaps the only person who had seen what was beneath. The one in the suit was furless with dark green skin, cut short black hair and razor sharp teeth. She still had one hand tightly wrapped around her partner’s waist, and seemed a little irritated by the interruption.
“Thank you very much.” The Bride said. “I hardly have to introduce my partner. After all most of you were at our wedding. But I suppose… for the sake of the contestants I must. This is Urzov Godkiller - my dearest and most beloved darling wife, and also the living embodiment of predation. Anything she kills and eats becomes part of her. Please don’t keep her too long, we have a honeymoon to get to after this.”
In the moments before they disappeared from the stage it was clear to see that they were going straight back to making out again.
“You know… I’ve known The Bride a long time-” The Authority had found a microphone stand to lean against.
“You’re not our Best Woman Thora. We didn’t invite you to the wedding because we didn’t want you there. You cannot use this as an opportunity to give your speech.”
“Oh, I remember the times when she’d be going through grooms like it was going out of fashion. It really did seem like she was never going to find someone who could appreciate, and shall we say, withstand, her unique kind of beauty.” Hurrying down the aisles of the theatre was an entire wedding party of groomsmen and bridesmaids. “The bodies were piled high let me tell you. She brought a whole new meaning to the term 'ladykiller'.” They were on the stage, chasing The Authority who was now hiding behind one of the inexplicable trees. “And... and 'SangMat' was my idea actually!” They were grappling for the microphone and managed to pull it away but The Authority would not be deterred, and the microphone wasn’t really 100% necessary for her anyway. “I was just trying to make up the numbers, never really anticipated that it would bear fruit so to speak,” The wedding party was dragging her off-stage. “Still not one hundred percent convinced... I mean sure they've kissed but if she survives the honeymoon I'll be really impressed.” Her voice was getting quieter as she was dragged over to the exit. “No, wait this one's really good. Hear me out! So I was thinking that if Urzov becomes what she eats then-” and then silence as the door slammed shut after her.
…
The audience started to murmur impatiently as the stage remained empty
“Are we next?” A voice called out.
“No, it’s uhhhmm… The Scenic Scrap next. Then you lot, and then last up is the butcher herself.”
After a moment a number of figures appeared on stage, this time instead of the two or three that had been typical so far, the entire stage was full of people, and not just the stage, any free space in the theatre was now occupied, be it the aisles, empty seats or the space located at the foot of the stage. There was almost no commonality between any of the individual members of this sudden deluge of people. Adults and children of varying skin colours, varying professions, ages, body shapes, outfits, hairstyles, some were slouching, some sat cross-legged on the floor, some were standing bolt upright. There were only three things they had in common, which were one that they were all furless, two that they were all eating cake and three that they all had a glowing grey that filled their eyes entirely. When they spoke they spoke in eerie unison. “We are a contingent of The City. Sadly our requests to have the Ill Fortune Theatre extended to allow our main body to be present have been dismissed again.”
“Fuck's sake City. We all know you’re a city of infinite size fully occupying any space you enter.” The Gambler called out across the theatre. “Please stop trying to trick us into allowing your further expansion. We’re not falling for it.”
“Regretfully few will accommodate our need for perpetual expansion, but it is to be expected at this point. Our fight was designed to give those individuals who are locations a venue to have their stories heard. Our contestant is Mortis Woods, a haunted forest where the spirits live amongst, and have free control of, the trees.” As they spoke the lights seemed to dim, and the trees that had been present on the stage this entire time seemed to twist and move and cast a sinister silhouette. “All who die within the Mortis Woods add to its collection of souls. In their time since they won The Scenic Scrap they have been using their newly acquired treant body to gather more souls and prepare for the fight yet to come.”
Sounds of scraping and banging in the walls, something heavy moving with ponderous steps. The sound of something wet being dragged along behind it. The City stood on the stage motionless as the pounding footsteps got louder and louder. The audience before them started murmuring uncertainly, twisting around in their seats to watch the doors. Closer and closer and the doors vibrating with each impact. Finally one last thud, the doors slam open and there’s nothing there, just an empty corridor and bloodied carpets. When the audience turns back to the stage The City has vanished, though the, now slightly ominous, trees remain.
“I’m back.” The Authority announced as she sprinted back up onto the stage. “Many apologies for that. Don’t know what came over me there. Anyway, just two more to go. We’re on that home stretch. And next up to represent The Winnowing Unending we have ‘The Reaper’.” She made exaggerated air quotes as she said the Host’s name.
Seven figures appeared on stage this time. Four of them were hugging, one of them was the older lady she’d met on the balcony, another one was a disembodied hand, and the last was -
“Hey that looks just like The Infanta from the memorial presentation earlier.” Fran blurted out. The Baker glanced over and gave her a nod, but offered no explanation.
The small group that were hugging pulled away from one another and two of the group stepped forward. They were both wearing floor length black cloaks with their hoods down, pale makeup to give the aesthetic of bones and shining pink eyes.
“Hello there. Technically speaking we’re ‘The Reaper’ right now.” The one who spoke first had shoulder length black hair and a general demeanour that did not suit the aesthetic she was currently sporting even a single iota. “We’re working on a title that will really speak to who we are as Hosts, but we’ve not come to any decision yet. We’ll keep you all updated if we really find what we are embodying or representing or whatever. Until then just call me Sara, and my colleague here is Zaffy.”
“It’s Zafira if we’re not friends.” Zafira said, gruffly. Her arms were folded, her face set in a scowl. She had short untidy black hair, a small handful of piercings including a couple of lip rings, a septum ring, an eyebrow barbell and a pair of earrings with a dangling black skull ornamentation. She seemed much closer to the intended aesthetic, but didn’t display the solemnity that Franchesca was pretty sure the robes were supposed to indicate.
Sara nodded. “So our contestants are… well first of all they’re not our contestants. We didn’t choose them. Look, when we were achieving apotheosis we didn’t think we had to step directly into the shoes of the person who brought us here.” She sighed. “Lets try again, the winners of The Winnowing Unending are the Sparkklechix. Obviously the band has gone through a little restructuring since we first arrived. Their current members are Debbie Finch,”
Debbie had grey-green skin, mousy brown hair, dark red eyes hidden behind a battered pair of wire frame glasses and blood in her teeth. She was wearing a plain grey tank top and equally drab jogging bottoms and trainers. She looked surprisingly muscular for a girl who was giving off vibes of I would rather die than go outside.
“Atasha Jones,”
Atasha had dark skin, frizzy black hair tied back into a clumsy braid, and soft amber eyes. She was wearing a loose white shirt with puffed up sleeves and a knee length burgundy skirt with a slit in the side. In her hands she was holding a rapier, composed of bright purple-pink light and with glitter hanging in the air around it, as her name was called she gave a couple of slashes towards the audience.
“Aunt Cindy,”
Cindy was much the same as she had been when she and Franchesca had met out on the fire escape, only now she had a satchel slung across her chest and a pistol sheathed at her hip. She held out one hand and atop it was a disembodied left hand, standing up on its finger tips. The entire thing was covered in tattoos, tiny delicately inked runes arranged in overlapping concentric circles.
“Irabeth Argent (she’s the hand), and finally… well, she said she wanted to make her own introduction.”
The last member of the group, the one who looked so much like both The Infanta of this world and Franchesca’s own, stepped forward. She was furless, with golden skin, shining silver hair and emerald green eyes. Atop her head was a sleek silver crown, with wires connecting between the crown and going into her scalp. She was wearing a full length elaborate golden ballgown that almost perfectly matched the colour of her skin.
“My legal name is Jessica Hall but you might already know of me as The Infanta.” A brief burst of cheers from the audience. “I’ve met several different versions of myself from across the multiverse at this point, and I mourn with you for the loss of yours. But today I am going to show you something new, something bigger than these big fights. Today you can call me Transcendence and I guarantee the world will never be the same again.”
Behind her the rest of the group were shooting each other glances and offering shrugs as Transcendence made her speech, but nothing more was said before they all disappeared from the stage.
“I’m sure we all wish her the best of luck with... whatever that means.” The Authority said returning to the stage once more. “Finally, we have one last contender to introduce.” The crowd started jeering. “The winner of the Enigmatic Skirmish, the living blight upon our community, the butcher of Hosts herself, it’s Thrillseeker.”
Thrillseeker appeared on the stage alongside an enormous contraption; a human sized translucent vat of pale red liquid mounted to a platform atop four heavy hydraulic legs. The only difference between Thrillseeker now and as she had been out on the fire escape was the jet black scythe strapped to her back. It was almost as tall as she was and seemed to shimmer with a deep purple. In response to the boos and the jeers she said nothing, simply took an exaggerated bow.
“So as you might notice she’s here on her own, which makes sense given that her Host was The Recluse. For the benefit of the other contestants they are the one bastard who has never shown their face to anyone and when they contacted me hoping to host a big fight I thought maybe we were going to get the opportunity to know them.” She sighed. “Instead every single one of their rounds was the home of a different Host. At first were content to watch the spectacle. After all it was just The Gamer. Who cares about that asshole? Then The Police, honestly you were doing us a favour.”
As The Authority spoke she stalked around the stage. Any joviality in her voice had long gone replaced with a furious anguish. “Then you killed The Dreamer, my beloved Dream... One of the sweetest and kindest among us and you fucking killed her you monster! And what do you have to say about it?” Thrillseeker shrugged. “I should kill you right now. I would be doing a favour to everyone if I murdered you where you stand.”
As The Authority ranted Thrillseeker was reaching into her pocket and producing something that looked like a small coin. Fran was too far away to see it in any great detail but it was dimly glowing. Thrillseeker slotted it into her mechanical arm while The Authority continued her tirade and riled up the crowd. In moments her arm began to whirr as it processed whatever the heck that had been, the sudden noise cutting short The Authority’s diatribe.
Nothing happened for a moment. Both women on stage frozen for a second just looking at each other and then, bright white lights shot out of Thrillseeker’s arm; ropes that homed in on The Authority, wrapping themselves around her, gripping her by the arms, by the torso, by the neck. Thrillseeker braced herself against her enormous contraption and pulled. The light ropes tensed, vibrating louder and louder, deafening, hot and burning, shedding cruel energy like heckling laughter. The audience were on their feet, crying out for Thrillseeker’s head.
The Authority grimaced, raising one hand and making a well practiced motion to freeze Thrillseeker in place. Only nothing happened. Thrillseeker only pulled the ropes harder; they were biting into her skin. It was already too much, too painful to think. It was patently absurd, a mortal able to conjure this amount of power and yet, The Authority found she couldn’t stand.
As The Authority fell to her knees a bunch of things happened at once. The Tormentrix appeared onstage, an enormous rust-coloured claymore drawn, poised and ready to swing. Simultaneously One-Billion-Blades was there, a sword in each hand and four more floating around her. She was standing in defense of Thrillseeker, blocking The Tormentrix, parrying her blows and landing several of her own, before the Tormentrix’s claymore seemingly flung itself from her hands and embedded itself in one of the nearby trees, which Franchesca could have sworn was screaming.
The Bride and her groom Urzov appeared next to the definitely screaming immobile figure of The Authority. The Bride started hacking away at the burning bright ropes with a sickly green dagger. Urzov unfurled her wings and leapt, dodging past One-Billion-Blades hanging blades, to put herself right next to Thrillseeker. She didn’t immediately strike, but anything she was saying was inaudible over the racket of everything else that was going on.
And as all that was happening The Gambler was suddenly amongst the audience calling out odds for the ongoing conflict and scooping up handfuls of cash.
“We need to do something!” Fran exclaimed, watching the chaos unfold.
“Yes I do think this farce has gone on too long.” The Baker said, “Don’t you girls go anywhere.” and she disappeared down onto the stage below where The Sparkklechix, including the two that had ascended to Host status, but notably not including Transcendance, were on stage, holding off Urzov Godkiller and now The Baker as well.
Fran cried out in frustration, and hurried to the door, dragging Ginger along behind her. “We have to get out there and help.” There was movement in the corner of her eye. The weird envelope symbol that nobody else could see was flashing again.
“But it’s dangerous out there.” Ginger said, dragging her feet. Fran tried the door but it was locked tight.
“That’s why we have to do something. It’s always going to be dangerous to fight for our freedom but we have to if we want anything to change.”
“Life isn’t a storybook!” Ginger pleaded. “The good guys aren’t always who they seem and sometimes the bad guys win.”
Fran slammed her weight into the door, once, twice, three times. No luck. “Oh god do I know that to be the case.”
“No you don’t.” Ginger snapped. “You’re Franchesca Fox! You always win! You always save your friends. Even when it looks the darkest it always works out for the best. Nobody ever thinks you’re a monster just for existing. Just for being strong.”
“I really don’t know what we’re talking about at the moment.” Fran said, slamming into the door hopelessly again. “I have to go. I have to try and stop this while there is still a chance.”
“Fine! Go then!” The door slammed open. Fran hesitated.
“Come with me, please.” Ginger just shook her head. Fran hesitated for just a moment longer and then fled out into the corridor.
“I’m not taking any bets on overall winner or even early elimination until we have our whole cast finalized. But we do have many interesting and potentially profitable side-bets. I’ll give you 5/1 that One-Billion-Blades kills a Host before the battle is through.” Many hands were raised with fists full of cash, one of the hands raised was a fist made of cash, The Gambler snatched it up and started writing hurried notes in their notebook.
“What about Thrillseeker?” Someone called out.
“Oh hmmm.” The Gambler set their roulette table spinning as they contemplated. “1/8 she kills at least one of us.” There’s a grumbling amongst the group, but a couple of hands go up. The Gambler grabs the cash, makes their notes and chuckles. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a solid 10/1 she kills every last one of us.” This one is met with a murmur of approval, and one person trying to ask who would pay the bet out if it did come to pass and receiving no response.
Not wanting to get involved in any of that Fran took a left instead. The next box along had a Do Not Disturb sign hung on the door. The one after that had a group of grey eyed people clustered around the open door. They watched her silently as she walked past.
Fran had needed a little space to process the magnitude of what was happening. She’d told The Baker she was going to go and get drinks for everyone and in response she had conjured a tray of refreshments for them out of nothing. She’d said she was just going to go for some fresh air and then the temperature of the box had dropped dramatically and a stiff wind had started blowing in from somewhere. Her next instinct had been to say she just wanted to stretch her legs but she’d wisely refrained from voicing that one out loud. Instead she’d just slipped away and neither The Baker nor Ginger had moved to stop her.
Eventually Fran reached the end of the corridor and pushed open the fire escape door. Outside there was a small railing where a couple of ladies where sharing a cigarette and beyond that was nothing but colourless infinity. Fran had seen space. She’d been voyaging through space for what felt like years now. This wasn’t that. This was oblivion, an emptiness that instinctively in her bones she knew was actively hostile towards life. It hurt to look directly at it.
“Evenin’ Franchesca.” One of the two ladies said. She was a furless woman with white skin and straight black hair reaching all the way down to her waist. Her eyes were hidden behind a small pair of rose-tinted glasses. She was wearing numerous necklaces, bracelets, dangling earrings, all of which were decorated with intricate symbols and sigils. She was wearing a loose tie-dye dress and a heavy pair of combat boots. Fran wouldn’t have liked to guess how old she was, that seemed impolite, but she had a sort of weariness of age about her, a state of perpetual ‘frick it’.
“You know me?” Fran asked.
“Of course. I used to read your exploits to the girls all the time.” she said. “I’m Cindy Sparkkle and my new friend here is Thrillseeker.”
Fran looked over at the other woman. She was also furless, her skin was tan, her eyes obscured behind a pair of aviator sunglasses with cherry red lenses, her lips a glossy black. Her hair was gelled up into a gaudy blood red pompadour. She was wearing a black t-shirt with a stylized logo of a lantern in white, a faded denim jacket, one fingerless black glove, a miniskirt and big black boots. Her legs were almost entirely covered in tattoos, images of awful nightmare creatures with bright red xs across their faces.
But the most immediately noticeable thing about her was her mechanical right arm. It was made from gleaming metal, bone white, with accents of black and red so dark that it was almost black. At its end it had a little cigarette holder, which was currently in use tightly clutching a roll-up. Thrillseeker gave Fran a nod but didn’t say anything. She held out her arm, offering her the cigarette.
“Oh no thanks.” she said. Cindy chuckled to herself, and took back the cigarette when Thrillseeker offered it back her way. With the cigarette out of her hand, it transformed, what had looked like an entirely solid piece of metal revealed it was a series of panels that slid apart to allow pieces to emerge and some pieces to retract. After a moment she had a rough hand shape comprised of two fingers and a thumb. She gave Franchesca a polite wave. “Nice to meet you both.” Fran said. “You’re contestants too?”
Thrillseeker nodded her response and Cindy said: “Yeah, but I’m new. My nieces were in the Willowy Upsetting or something like that, and when they got back I insisted that I was joining the band so I could put a stop to all this nonsense.”
“You’re both looking to fight the Hosts?” Fran asked. “Is it really possible? They were practically laughing it off when One-Billion-Blades was trying to kill her Host earlier.”
“I know that it's possible.” Cindy grinned. “You remember that In Memoriam presentation earlier? That’s almost entirely the work of this girl right here.” She gestured towards Thrillseeker who took a small bow. Fran was stunned, she looked the girl up and down again but it wasn’t as though with this knowledge she gained some unexpected grandeur. She was still a weird aloof girl with a ridiculous haircut and what appeared to be a band t-shirt on.
Before Fran had time to respond or to really formulate her thoughts on the matter she was back in her box with The Baker and Ginger, who eagerly grabbed her hand once again.
“Welcome back ladies.” The Authority was back on-stage. “The good news is The Bigger Fight is back down to 30 contestants again. The bad news is its time to see what The Baker has prepared for us in The Delectable Confection.”
“Yes we all know my fight wasn’t the most thrilling to watch, but there’s no need to be rude about it Thora.” The Baker said. Suddenly she, Fran and Ginger were on stage together, looking out over the crowd of living gambling paraphernalia. Ginger was still holding Franchesca’s hand and she was grinning and waving at the crowd.
Franchesca was a anthropomorphic foxgirl with an athletic build and pale orange fur. She was wearing a pair of goggles perched atop her head, a simple blouse and skirt and a leather jacket. Strapped to her back was her faithful two handed blade Phaetix, which she was pretty sure hadn’t been there just a moment ago.
Ginger was a furless teen with bright red hair, tied back in pigtails, pale skin and freckles. She wore a lime green witches hat which was slightly too big for her, and crooked in the middle, leaning quite firmly off to one side. She wore a pink t-shirt, dark blue denim dungarees, and had a bulging satchel slung across her chest.
“The winners of The Delectable Confection are Franchesca Fox and Ginger. Fran is an accomplished swordswoman who has saved her world many times. I’m sure you’re all familiar with her work. Ginger is a descendant of a great witch and the inheritor of a tome of incredible power.”
“Baker, I hate to but in,” her tone indicated the opposite, “but your initial cast list indicates that Fran and Ginger are not affiliated with one another. If they are both alive the fight should be ongoing.”
“I appreciate that, but well we run out of time.” The Baker shrugged. “Look, the rest of the contestants got to go home for a year of perceived time, prepare themselves for battle. These two are coming straight from the fight. If you want to postpone this Battle of the Victors until circumstance finally kills one of these two girls and then the additional time required to give the survivor the appropriate preparation time…” The crowd was booing at the mere suggestion of postponing the fight. “Otherwise they fight as a team, and also to sweeten the deal I made everyone a cake. Even you Thora.”
Fran watched as across the crowd cakes popped into existence, ranging from simple cupcakes to plates with a single slice and a nice drizzle of sauce and across a wide variety of styles and flavours. The Authority was holding a plate with a full cake covered in white frosting with something shredded as a topping, her face held a look of extreme disdain.
“Considering we don’t wish to delay our climatic battle any longer I think we can overlook the circumstances of this pair character’s formation and accept them as a single combatant.” she said. “Go on, off with you.”
With that said Fran, Ginger and The Baker were now back in their box seats. In her hands Fran found herself holding a slice of cake with bright red sponge and a white cream icing. She took a bite and found it to be quite delicious, but the moment was rather ruined when Ginger whispered to her. “We were baked in the same ovens as these cakes. When you think about it we’re practically sisters.”
Back on the stage The Authority had placed the loathed cake on the floor and kicked it slightly away from herself. “Next up, speaking on behalf of The Sanguine Matrimony lets give a warm welcome to the newlyweds.”
As the crowd burst into applause as instructed, Two figures both wearing white appeared on stage. They were making out, their arms wrapped around each other, their bodies pressed tightly together. The taller of the two was in an ancient floor length white dress, with a couple of faded bloodstains here and there. Her veil was draped down so that it covered both of their faces.
The shorter of the two was wearing a full white suit and bowtie. It was much less worn and stained than that of her counterpart. The most immediately noticeable thing about her though was her mismatched wings; one of which was a pale white wing with a thin layer of frost upon it, and the other a deep red feathered wing that dripped blood intermittently onto the stage below her, and had left a bloody streak down the side of her suit jacket.
Eventually, after an uncomfortably long amount of time, they managed to pull themselves away from each other. The one in the dress continued to keep her face hidden behind the veil in a way that made Fran believe that the person she was just kissing was perhaps the only person who had seen what was beneath. The one in the suit was furless with dark green skin, cut short black hair and razor sharp teeth. She still had one hand tightly wrapped around her partner’s waist, and seemed a little irritated by the interruption.
“Thank you very much.” The Bride said. “I hardly have to introduce my partner. After all most of you were at our wedding. But I suppose… for the sake of the contestants I must. This is Urzov Godkiller - my dearest and most beloved darling wife, and also the living embodiment of predation. Anything she kills and eats becomes part of her. Please don’t keep her too long, we have a honeymoon to get to after this.”
In the moments before they disappeared from the stage it was clear to see that they were going straight back to making out again.
“You know… I’ve known The Bride a long time-” The Authority had found a microphone stand to lean against.
“You’re not our Best Woman Thora. We didn’t invite you to the wedding because we didn’t want you there. You cannot use this as an opportunity to give your speech.”
“Oh, I remember the times when she’d be going through grooms like it was going out of fashion. It really did seem like she was never going to find someone who could appreciate, and shall we say, withstand, her unique kind of beauty.” Hurrying down the aisles of the theatre was an entire wedding party of groomsmen and bridesmaids. “The bodies were piled high let me tell you. She brought a whole new meaning to the term 'ladykiller'.” They were on the stage, chasing The Authority who was now hiding behind one of the inexplicable trees. “And... and 'SangMat' was my idea actually!” They were grappling for the microphone and managed to pull it away but The Authority would not be deterred, and the microphone wasn’t really 100% necessary for her anyway. “I was just trying to make up the numbers, never really anticipated that it would bear fruit so to speak,” The wedding party was dragging her off-stage. “Still not one hundred percent convinced... I mean sure they've kissed but if she survives the honeymoon I'll be really impressed.” Her voice was getting quieter as she was dragged over to the exit. “No, wait this one's really good. Hear me out! So I was thinking that if Urzov becomes what she eats then-” and then silence as the door slammed shut after her.
…
The audience started to murmur impatiently as the stage remained empty
“Are we next?” A voice called out.
“No, it’s uhhhmm… The Scenic Scrap next. Then you lot, and then last up is the butcher herself.”
After a moment a number of figures appeared on stage, this time instead of the two or three that had been typical so far, the entire stage was full of people, and not just the stage, any free space in the theatre was now occupied, be it the aisles, empty seats or the space located at the foot of the stage. There was almost no commonality between any of the individual members of this sudden deluge of people. Adults and children of varying skin colours, varying professions, ages, body shapes, outfits, hairstyles, some were slouching, some sat cross-legged on the floor, some were standing bolt upright. There were only three things they had in common, which were one that they were all furless, two that they were all eating cake and three that they all had a glowing grey that filled their eyes entirely. When they spoke they spoke in eerie unison. “We are a contingent of The City. Sadly our requests to have the Ill Fortune Theatre extended to allow our main body to be present have been dismissed again.”
“Fuck's sake City. We all know you’re a city of infinite size fully occupying any space you enter.” The Gambler called out across the theatre. “Please stop trying to trick us into allowing your further expansion. We’re not falling for it.”
“Regretfully few will accommodate our need for perpetual expansion, but it is to be expected at this point. Our fight was designed to give those individuals who are locations a venue to have their stories heard. Our contestant is Mortis Woods, a haunted forest where the spirits live amongst, and have free control of, the trees.” As they spoke the lights seemed to dim, and the trees that had been present on the stage this entire time seemed to twist and move and cast a sinister silhouette. “All who die within the Mortis Woods add to its collection of souls. In their time since they won The Scenic Scrap they have been using their newly acquired treant body to gather more souls and prepare for the fight yet to come.”
Sounds of scraping and banging in the walls, something heavy moving with ponderous steps. The sound of something wet being dragged along behind it. The City stood on the stage motionless as the pounding footsteps got louder and louder. The audience before them started murmuring uncertainly, twisting around in their seats to watch the doors. Closer and closer and the doors vibrating with each impact. Finally one last thud, the doors slam open and there’s nothing there, just an empty corridor and bloodied carpets. When the audience turns back to the stage The City has vanished, though the, now slightly ominous, trees remain.
“I’m back.” The Authority announced as she sprinted back up onto the stage. “Many apologies for that. Don’t know what came over me there. Anyway, just two more to go. We’re on that home stretch. And next up to represent The Winnowing Unending we have ‘The Reaper’.” She made exaggerated air quotes as she said the Host’s name.
Seven figures appeared on stage this time. Four of them were hugging, one of them was the older lady she’d met on the balcony, another one was a disembodied hand, and the last was -
“Hey that looks just like The Infanta from the memorial presentation earlier.” Fran blurted out. The Baker glanced over and gave her a nod, but offered no explanation.
The small group that were hugging pulled away from one another and two of the group stepped forward. They were both wearing floor length black cloaks with their hoods down, pale makeup to give the aesthetic of bones and shining pink eyes.
“Hello there. Technically speaking we’re ‘The Reaper’ right now.” The one who spoke first had shoulder length black hair and a general demeanour that did not suit the aesthetic she was currently sporting even a single iota. “We’re working on a title that will really speak to who we are as Hosts, but we’ve not come to any decision yet. We’ll keep you all updated if we really find what we are embodying or representing or whatever. Until then just call me Sara, and my colleague here is Zaffy.”
“It’s Zafira if we’re not friends.” Zafira said, gruffly. Her arms were folded, her face set in a scowl. She had short untidy black hair, a small handful of piercings including a couple of lip rings, a septum ring, an eyebrow barbell and a pair of earrings with a dangling black skull ornamentation. She seemed much closer to the intended aesthetic, but didn’t display the solemnity that Franchesca was pretty sure the robes were supposed to indicate.
Sara nodded. “So our contestants are… well first of all they’re not our contestants. We didn’t choose them. Look, when we were achieving apotheosis we didn’t think we had to step directly into the shoes of the person who brought us here.” She sighed. “Lets try again, the winners of The Winnowing Unending are the Sparkklechix. Obviously the band has gone through a little restructuring since we first arrived. Their current members are Debbie Finch,”
Debbie had grey-green skin, mousy brown hair, dark red eyes hidden behind a battered pair of wire frame glasses and blood in her teeth. She was wearing a plain grey tank top and equally drab jogging bottoms and trainers. She looked surprisingly muscular for a girl who was giving off vibes of I would rather die than go outside.
“Atasha Jones,”
Atasha had dark skin, frizzy black hair tied back into a clumsy braid, and soft amber eyes. She was wearing a loose white shirt with puffed up sleeves and a knee length burgundy skirt with a slit in the side. In her hands she was holding a rapier, composed of bright purple-pink light and with glitter hanging in the air around it, as her name was called she gave a couple of slashes towards the audience.
“Aunt Cindy,”
Cindy was much the same as she had been when she and Franchesca had met out on the fire escape, only now she had a satchel slung across her chest and a pistol sheathed at her hip. She held out one hand and atop it was a disembodied left hand, standing up on its finger tips. The entire thing was covered in tattoos, tiny delicately inked runes arranged in overlapping concentric circles.
“Irabeth Argent (she’s the hand), and finally… well, she said she wanted to make her own introduction.”
The last member of the group, the one who looked so much like both The Infanta of this world and Franchesca’s own, stepped forward. She was furless, with golden skin, shining silver hair and emerald green eyes. Atop her head was a sleek silver crown, with wires connecting between the crown and going into her scalp. She was wearing a full length elaborate golden ballgown that almost perfectly matched the colour of her skin.
“My legal name is Jessica Hall but you might already know of me as The Infanta.” A brief burst of cheers from the audience. “I’ve met several different versions of myself from across the multiverse at this point, and I mourn with you for the loss of yours. But today I am going to show you something new, something bigger than these big fights. Today you can call me Transcendence and I guarantee the world will never be the same again.”
Behind her the rest of the group were shooting each other glances and offering shrugs as Transcendence made her speech, but nothing more was said before they all disappeared from the stage.
“I’m sure we all wish her the best of luck with... whatever that means.” The Authority said returning to the stage once more. “Finally, we have one last contender to introduce.” The crowd started jeering. “The winner of the Enigmatic Skirmish, the living blight upon our community, the butcher of Hosts herself, it’s Thrillseeker.”
Thrillseeker appeared on the stage alongside an enormous contraption; a human sized translucent vat of pale red liquid mounted to a platform atop four heavy hydraulic legs. The only difference between Thrillseeker now and as she had been out on the fire escape was the jet black scythe strapped to her back. It was almost as tall as she was and seemed to shimmer with a deep purple. In response to the boos and the jeers she said nothing, simply took an exaggerated bow.
“So as you might notice she’s here on her own, which makes sense given that her Host was The Recluse. For the benefit of the other contestants they are the one bastard who has never shown their face to anyone and when they contacted me hoping to host a big fight I thought maybe we were going to get the opportunity to know them.” She sighed. “Instead every single one of their rounds was the home of a different Host. At first were content to watch the spectacle. After all it was just The Gamer. Who cares about that asshole? Then The Police, honestly you were doing us a favour.”
As The Authority spoke she stalked around the stage. Any joviality in her voice had long gone replaced with a furious anguish. “Then you killed The Dreamer, my beloved Dream... One of the sweetest and kindest among us and you fucking killed her you monster! And what do you have to say about it?” Thrillseeker shrugged. “I should kill you right now. I would be doing a favour to everyone if I murdered you where you stand.”
As The Authority ranted Thrillseeker was reaching into her pocket and producing something that looked like a small coin. Fran was too far away to see it in any great detail but it was dimly glowing. Thrillseeker slotted it into her mechanical arm while The Authority continued her tirade and riled up the crowd. In moments her arm began to whirr as it processed whatever the heck that had been, the sudden noise cutting short The Authority’s diatribe.
Nothing happened for a moment. Both women on stage frozen for a second just looking at each other and then, bright white lights shot out of Thrillseeker’s arm; ropes that homed in on The Authority, wrapping themselves around her, gripping her by the arms, by the torso, by the neck. Thrillseeker braced herself against her enormous contraption and pulled. The light ropes tensed, vibrating louder and louder, deafening, hot and burning, shedding cruel energy like heckling laughter. The audience were on their feet, crying out for Thrillseeker’s head.
The Authority grimaced, raising one hand and making a well practiced motion to freeze Thrillseeker in place. Only nothing happened. Thrillseeker only pulled the ropes harder; they were biting into her skin. It was already too much, too painful to think. It was patently absurd, a mortal able to conjure this amount of power and yet, The Authority found she couldn’t stand.
As The Authority fell to her knees a bunch of things happened at once. The Tormentrix appeared onstage, an enormous rust-coloured claymore drawn, poised and ready to swing. Simultaneously One-Billion-Blades was there, a sword in each hand and four more floating around her. She was standing in defense of Thrillseeker, blocking The Tormentrix, parrying her blows and landing several of her own, before the Tormentrix’s claymore seemingly flung itself from her hands and embedded itself in one of the nearby trees, which Franchesca could have sworn was screaming.
The Bride and her groom Urzov appeared next to the definitely screaming immobile figure of The Authority. The Bride started hacking away at the burning bright ropes with a sickly green dagger. Urzov unfurled her wings and leapt, dodging past One-Billion-Blades hanging blades, to put herself right next to Thrillseeker. She didn’t immediately strike, but anything she was saying was inaudible over the racket of everything else that was going on.
And as all that was happening The Gambler was suddenly amongst the audience calling out odds for the ongoing conflict and scooping up handfuls of cash.
“We need to do something!” Fran exclaimed, watching the chaos unfold.
“Yes I do think this farce has gone on too long.” The Baker said, “Don’t you girls go anywhere.” and she disappeared down onto the stage below where The Sparkklechix, including the two that had ascended to Host status, but notably not including Transcendance, were on stage, holding off Urzov Godkiller and now The Baker as well.
Fran cried out in frustration, and hurried to the door, dragging Ginger along behind her. “We have to get out there and help.” There was movement in the corner of her eye. The weird envelope symbol that nobody else could see was flashing again.
“But it’s dangerous out there.” Ginger said, dragging her feet. Fran tried the door but it was locked tight.
“That’s why we have to do something. It’s always going to be dangerous to fight for our freedom but we have to if we want anything to change.”
“Life isn’t a storybook!” Ginger pleaded. “The good guys aren’t always who they seem and sometimes the bad guys win.”
Fran slammed her weight into the door, once, twice, three times. No luck. “Oh god do I know that to be the case.”
“No you don’t.” Ginger snapped. “You’re Franchesca Fox! You always win! You always save your friends. Even when it looks the darkest it always works out for the best. Nobody ever thinks you’re a monster just for existing. Just for being strong.”
“I really don’t know what we’re talking about at the moment.” Fran said, slamming into the door hopelessly again. “I have to go. I have to try and stop this while there is still a chance.”
“Fine! Go then!” The door slammed open. Fran hesitated.
“Come with me, please.” Ginger just shook her head. Fran hesitated for just a moment longer and then fled out into the corridor.