“We’ve come a long way, ladies and gentlemen. Two hundred days have passed, but we are here at last. Today marks the 6233rd birthday of our founding father, the Thundergod! To commemorate him today, our Tornado Sect hosts the championships for this year’s competition at the Dome!”

Solera paid little attention the announcer’s amplified voice booming at him, preferring instead to look at the people sitting around the Dome.

He had been flown in this morning along with the other Grays, and was sitting in a booth outside the massive arena that was the Dome. Up close, the Dome’s twisted metal formed the rough outline of a birdcage a hundred meters in diameter. Ringing it was a rounded mountain which had been terraced hundreds of times into rings of seats upon which Solera and tens of thousands of others sat.

His eyes were focused on a family, he realized. A father, a mother, and three young children. The youngest one was only a baby, clinging to the mother’s neck.

What was a family doing here? What was a festival doing here, right above the prison where the Grays had tried to possess him? How could this be?

“Of the thousands who joined the tournament this year, only six remain today! These six have proven themselves here in the Dome over the course of countless matches. They are among Land’s best, with the potential to be the gestalts, the archmages, and the immortals of the next century!”

A tournament. So he was here to watch people practice their fighting. It interested him a tiny bit, but he couldn’t understand why families would come to watch.

“Rest assured, ladies and gentlemen, that the duels shall begin soon. First, let us welcome Elder Oblako, an archmage of our High Council and the manager of the Dome!”

The tens of thousands of people present clapped, the sounds of their individual claps combining into a powerful roar, like the tornado itself. The cloud layer above abruptly split apart, forming a hole in the sky that was easily over a kilometer wide. In the center of that hole was a single dot, a person in gray robes and gray wings.

The Patriarch, who sat beside Solera, sneered.

The dot fell for a full minute, slowly growing in size to become a gray robed man, his wings wrapped around his body. When he was nearly upon them, his wings erupted out, creating a tremendous gust that could be seen with the naked eye. Even as his boot touched the very top of the birdcage, a small gust of wind blew across Solera’s face.

“Clashes between such talented individuals can involve huge amounts of destruction. It is Elder Oblako’s duty to power the Dome’s thundersteel, which can absorb any attack! Will we all give thanks to Elder Oblako, Patriarch Zatem, the Thundergod, and of course, our army, for using their power to protect us?”

The audience roared their approval. Elder Oblako, who was standing at the very top of the Dome, gripped with each hand two rods which protruded out of the structure. The air began to hum, and a slight blue aura appeared around the metal. The aura spread out to envelop the entire cage, creating a thin, transparent film separating the viewers from the arena’s inside.

Solera sat there, frowning. Something wasn’t right.

“Yes! We give thanks to the elders of the Tornado Sect, and to all the young men and women out there shedding blood in a foreign country to protect Land from insidious demons! In their honor, let the duels begin!”

A chorus of ‘thank yous’ rang out from the audience, accompanied by clapping and even some stray bolts of light shot into the air.

“As always, we begin with the controllers. On the north end is Reika from the central continent, with a soul count of seven and a power purity of 762! Everything about her screams distance! The distance she has traveled to participate in our tournament! The distant fighting style she employs! Even the look in her eyes shows just the vast distance in stature between me and her!”

As the audience was laughing, a hand patted Solera’s head. The Patriarch leaned in from behind Solera, smiling his unnerving smile.

“Look, love. She’s one of our best vessels, just like you. She was able to maintain several hundred clones after taking the vessel, and her power purity can reach 30,000!”

Solera looked at the girl, his face paling in shock.

Several hundred clones? Did that mean several hundred souls? The announcer said seven, and that was enough to be among the world’s best!

30,000 purity? Solera’s purity was a measly hundred! Chianti’s was under 400, and he distinctly remembered her saying nobody in Land had a power purity over 5,000!

The Patriarch must have seen the shock on Solera’s face, because his patting grew even more affectionate.

“Love, she truly is amazing. We are working hard to make her immortal, it would be horrible to lose such an excellently possessed vessel.”

He seemed very smug. Solera turned to look at the Patriarch. He hesitated, but his curiosity overrode his fear.

“How can it be so high? Nobody in Land can be that strong.”

“No,” the Patriarch agreed. “But we are not from Land, love. You should know this.”

Solera nodded, still not understanding. He felt he was toeing some line he hadn’t known existed.

The announcer had introduced the other person by this time, and already the duel had begun. The Gray in the Dome was using hundreds of flying swords, blades attached to a combination of two circular bands. The bands, Solera remembered, granted the blades the ability to fly. The flying swords were split into seven large groups, whirling through the air towards the other side of the arena.

The second person was encased in a thick of suit of armor; from each of his arms sprouted twin blades, and around him were three giant Vigors rising out of the mud within the Dome.

“Four souls against seven! Golems versus flying swords! A tight defense against a scathing offense! Reika has more souls, but the golems are easier to use compared to the flying swords! This battle will come down to whoever can control better, as it should be!” The announcer was screaming as quickly as he could, his voice charged with excitement.

The armor’s blades began to rotate as the flying swords neared. Rocks emerged from the Vigors arms; one of the Vigors chucked a stream of mud at one of the approaching clumps of blades. The cloud of swords fell, ripping out a jagged trench in the ground as the blades broke upon each other. But no screeching sounds came out of the Dome. The crowd below Solera cheered.

“An unexpected takedown! The battle hasn’t even started and already a batch of flying swords has been taken down! How will Reika deal with this upset?”

The other batches of flying swords had split up to surround the armored boy and his Vigors. They hovered for a moment, before whirling towards him. Solera frowned, but kept watching. He felt something was wrong, but he couldn’t look away for even a moment, the action was happening so fast.

The Vigors stepped backwards, raising their arms and expanding their very bodies to block the incoming onslaught. Yet without warning, the six groups of flying swords split up into a formless cloud of blades!

When before the blades had moved as seven groups, now every single flying sword moved in a seemingly independent path. Above, below, to the sides, they dodged around the Vigors effortlessly to move in on the armor. Solera’s eyes widened.

Those swords were going straight for the kill! This tournament was a tournament to the death!

Even as he made the connection, the first sword slammed into the armor. Another sword hit, and another. The armor disappeared from view altogether as a dense cloud of flying swords surrounded him. The Vigors scrambled back, as if in a panic, then slumped down, dissolving into sludge.

Solera’s hands were trembling in shock. How could it be? How did this exist? Who would take part in such a savage, grisly tournament of their own, free volition?

The announcer had casually mentioned that there had been thousands of people who had joined. Could it be… could it be that they all died?

“Heh. The fool believed love could only control seven groups at once. What a joke. She could fight an immortal and win.” The Patriarch was panting with delight, his mouth open and his eyes glazed. He seemed... hungry.

Solera turned away, trying not to shiver. This monster, this fucking monster, he was enjoying this.

“REIKA!!!” Someone in the stands below screamed.

The entire stadium erupted in cheering. Loud whistles accompanied whooping as the flying swords flew away, revealing a shredded hill of metal. The screeching sounds of horns blasted across the arena.

“REIKA! REIKA! REIKA!” The opposite end of the arena began to chant the Gray’s name. Within seconds, the entire stadium had taken up the call.

Solera looked at the pile of scrap, dumbfounded. There was a corpse in there somewhere. Did nobody here understand that?

His eyes landed on the family again. One child was laughing as he pointed with his finger. Solera followed the fingerpoint, tracing its line through the air, and found himself looking at the broken metal again.

Was this funny? How was this funny?

He saw the people in the audience. Their faces were red from shouting and their eyes glassy with passion. He glanced at the Grays, then back at the rest.

He couldn’t tell the difference. Their crazed smiles and heated expressions were the same.

Solera’s forehead began to sweat. To be this drunk off of bloodlust… how many Grays were there?! He could see thousands of them! Not just elders or gifted ‘vessels’, but also normal men, women, and children! They all seemed to be possessed by the same manic spirit!

“What is it, love?” The Patriarch leaned down to Solera again, putting a hand on his shoulder. His smile, it was demented.

Solera opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked at the spectators, then back at the Patriarch. “How many Gr- how many of us are there in here?”

How could there be so many? He would never be able to escape this forsaken hellhole without being caught!

“How many of us?” The Patriarch’s smile disappeared, replaced by a sympathetic look. “Just us, love, the palace workers, maybe a few hundred more. We only occupy special vessels every once in a while because the portal is not too big.”

A hand patted his shoulder. It was the girl Gray.

“Don’t worry, love. One day, they will all be one with us.”

Solera nodded blankly, his eyes returning to the fervent gazes of the people within the Dome. It couldn’t be. They had to be Grays. But he didn’t want them to be Grays.

“Haha!” The announcer laughed. “Calm down, calm down, everyone.”

They weren’t Grays. Yet they still took pleasure in watching suffering! They enjoyed being the spectators of death! How could it be?

They were so lucky, these children and students and men and women, they never had to experience war! So why would they go out and watch this pointless killing? Because it was totally pointless!

“I know that was an amazing victory by Reika. One can only imagine the sheer amount of time she spent practicing that attack algorithm, and congratulations to her for her hard won victory. Like all victors of the tournament, she gains unlimited access to the Tornado Tower for the next century! Congratulations, Reika! Do you have anything to say to all your fans in the stadium? … … No? Well, uh, that’s fine.”

The crowd laughed, but Solera’s mouth just hung open in shock. For a century’s access to some slab of glass, thousands of people had fought to the death? Was life really that cheap?

“Unfortunately, the loser’s head seems to not be intact, so we will have to skip the post-match ceremony. Will the winners please go to the gambling booths at this time to collect? Because up next is the channeling match! From the north end, we have Yixing from the Chen clan, boasting a soul count of three and a power purity of 1121…”

Solera turned off his real sight, retreating into his world of mud where he could be alone. He was no longer willing to watch this vile event. All these people here, these vile people, treated this like it was some sort of game. They were no better than monsters.

Despite trying to ignore all the sensory input flooding in, a loud clamor brought him back into the real world. In the Dome, one channeler lay motionless on the floor. A loud crackling noise rang out through the entire stadium, and the blue aura dissipated into nothing, leaving behind a skeleton of black metal.

“Congratulations on your victory, Enkudabao from the Pantheonic colony of Atakapa! Please use elder Oblako’s thunderknife to proceed with the post-match ceremony.”

Next to Solera, the girl Gray licked her lips, smiling ravenously down at the arena. Solera shifted around uncomfortably.

In the Dome, the winning channeler was standing over the motionless one. He bent down, grasping the corpse by the hair, and raised up a black knife.

Solera retreated back inside, but churning the brown seas of his Lake did not drown out the crowd’s cheering.

Someone patted his shoulder yet again, the Patriarch.

“Look, love. Dinner!” He leered at Solera as he motioned towards the Dome. Bitterly, Solera turned his head to look. The channeler was raising the severed head high into the air, presenting it to the descending elder. Oblako’s hand reached out, and grasped the head by the forehead. He flew up again, mounting it upon a spike jutting out from the very peak of the Dome. Even from his position at the far back of the stadium, he could see the head’s dim eyes, staring out into nothing.

“Excellent, Enkudabao of Atakapa! You have paid your respects to the Thundergod, and in turn our Sect grants you a century’s access to the Tornado Tower! Good luck, Enkudabao, and may your insights be many and deep!”

The announcer coughed.

“Well, these matches were much shorter than previous ones. This year’s participants in the control and channel categories truly were much more skilled than before. But I do believe that this last match will be the most intense and exciting of the three!”

“From the north end is not your typical participant! No, he is not a free man, but one of the many dangerous criminals being held under the Dome. Our Thundergod was merciful, but only towards the strong. To go free, this man must show… his will to live! If a man truly loves life, then his actions, no matter how abhorrent it may seem to outsiders, must in some way be justified, because otherwise he would not throw it away so easily! This drive to survive, is something our own Thundergod admired greatly! Countless others who have fallen before the law have attempted this path to clemency over the past six millennia, but only ten have ever succeeded! Will he be the eleventh?”

“From the southern continent, this man’s name is unknown. But he calls himself… Katzchen!”