"An owner is obligated to give their Champion a fair share of the prize money if the Champion is successful at Neoclash."
The Law of the Castaways, abridged
My Neoclash life finally started when I won my first Skirmish.
My first performance in the Third-league tournamment ended in a fiasco, so I decided to gain some more experiences in Skirmishes. Before the winter was over, I managed to win about seven more - with the prize money, we can afford to travel into other cities where Skirmishes are held, so I could participate in more beginner tournamments, gain experience and win some more money.
Even though Ryan could choose to save the money, he had different plans. He cleared out a room in our house which served no actual purpose and was, according to his own words, pretty much redundant. We painted the walls white, laid a carpet and bought some furniture - a wardrobe, a table, a bookshelf and, most importantly, a bed. Yes, the room is for me. So I'll finally have my own room where I can sleep and relax.
At the first glance, the room looked so-so, more like a warehouse. But as we worked on it together, it turned into a lovely little room with a window offering an outlook at my garden and, of course, with numerous flowers in pots I can take care of. I've never felt so home.
Finally, thanks to my effort, I don't have to sleep on a couch anymore.
With the remaining money, I could also buy my own pentop. I finally have my own device where I can upload my own music, play games (Ryan considers them "a waste of time", but they help me unwind), follow Neoclash networks and even keep a diary.
I am so glad I didn't give up after my first defeat.
Also, I found my new favorite thing in this new world. Christmas. The trees, colorful lights, its story and fairytales, the omnipresent atmosphere of peace and friendship. I celebrated Christmas with both Ryan and Odin and his group. We had a great fun singing carols, with Odin's mighty voice drowning out all of us. When I came home, Ryan already finished a great feast. His stuffed turkey was truly miraculous.
I was surprised that Ryan spent money on gifts for me - some new clothes, this time more expensive, and also books. I discovered the joy of reading shortly after my room was complete and it didn't take long for me to become captivated. Discovering adventures which never happened, but seem completely real to the person who reads about them. That's what I call magic.
A week later, I have the opportunity to watch the fireworks during the New Year's Eve. It also means the Neoclash season of 131 ended and the new one begins. Nightingale managed to retain the title of Champion of Champions by winning the European Neoclash Showdown roughly a month ago.
It was a truly splendid tournamment with millions of viewers. Only the best of the best could fight there and the fights were intense, also thanks to various arenas the Champions had to fight in. The final battle (it's estimated that about 85% of the Europe's inhabitans saw it) was between Nightingale and another female Champion, another female fighter nicknamed Comette.
The final arena looked like a tropical rainforest, including the rain. Unlike the other fights, the grand finale is fought until five Fatal points are scored.
At the beginning, it seemed that Comette has the upper hand. She had a Counter-gravity engines in her feet, allowing her to glide around the battlefield and perform deadly strikes from above. However, Nightingale used a similar tactic, so the fight soon turned into a mostly aerial battle.
Even though Comette had all the trumps on her side, Nightingale still managed to win. She took advantage that while "walking" in the air, Comette's balance suffered. A few rapid, ferocious strikes with the right timing were enough to bring Comette out of sky and score the required points.
The European Neoclash Showdown was awesome to watch. I hope that I'll be able to compete in this prestigious tournamment at least once.
A new season, a new chance.
We start to travel more so I can try Skirmishes and even Third-leagues in different cities. It's great how do the cities differ. Some Skirmishes are held in quiet, countryside towns where the arena's terraces are sometimes made of wood. I attended a Third-league in Leeds where I saw its majestic, ancient beauty and also in Liverpool which became a hypermodern, busy city. (I have no idea who were The Beatles, but their legacy is still alive even though they were active long before the Impact. I will have to ask the internet about them.)
Unlike Skirmishes, the Third-league tournamments pay a small amount of money for every victory since they already have lots of viewers and the promoters are willing to give out some of the money they received for the rights to broadcast the tournamment.
Unlike the Skirmish, the Third-league has either 32 or 64 contestants, depending on the city, and in each round, half of them are eliminated. My best result before the New Year was Top 4. However, at the end of January, I made it to the final round in a tournamment in Manchester.
While the winner won the ꝶ1000 prize money, I left the arena with a ꝶ500 cashcard in my (okay, Ryan's) pocket which is more than for winning a Skirmish. Thanks to my successful fights, we no longer live on the verge of poverty and we can afford some higher living standards.
However, our journey is still at the beginning.
It's February. That means I'm in this new world for a year already.
"You've come a long journey considering it's only a year since you started fighting," Ryan says. "I really owe you a lot, Zoya. Thanks to you and your victories, I no longer have to worry if I'll have money for the next week's food. Thanks to you, I... we will rise to the top. I just know it."
I get comfortable on a couch we bought a week ago to replace Ryan's old, damaged one (ꝶ280). I'm wearing a back blouse and a comfortable skirt (ꝶ25 each). "Thanks, Ryan. However, I still have some places to test my mettle. The Nottingham Challenge is tomorrow and I think I could be able to win this one."
"That would be great. You would be finally qualified to join a Second-league tournamment." Ryan sits next to me, drinking a cup of latté from the brand new coffee machine I bought him recently, just out of friendship (ꝶ170). "I would finally have an excuse to travel more!"
I nod. "The reward for winning a Second-league is ten thousand royals plus possible bonuses from sponsors. Would it be enough to finish your research?"
"Yeah," Ryan replies. "But... I feel a bit guilty. It's you who makes all the money. You should have them for yourself, buy the most expensive electronics and clothes, live like a queen. However, it's mostly me who spends them. And I feel it's not right."
I smile at him. It's not common to see him so dived into self-reflexion. "I keep as much money as I need," I reply. "You spend most of the money for things we both can use - food, furniture, electronics. I am good at fighting, you are good for maintaining the family budget."
Ryan frowns. "Did you say... family?"
"Well, we're not strangers anymore," I shrug. "We're already together for a year."
"That's true." Ryan takes another sip of coffee. "I'm glad you see it this way, Zoya. Well... when it comes to you... all the emotional walls I was building through the past ten years were... kinda shattered. A year ago, I was freaking out that I will lose my precious solitude. Now I'm freaking out I could lose you."
"Having an emotional day today?" I smirk.
"It's nine in the morning," he replies. "My assholeness is still loading."
"I think I should communicate with you more in the morning, before it loads. I actually like this side of you."
"Okay, now it's gone," Ryan claims with his usual annoyed tone. "Asshole loaded."
I laugh. "You're never gonna change, are you?"
"I'm the same for twenty-six years already. It's too late for me to change. Too much effort."
The talk with Ryan motivated me to train even harder for tomorrow's tournamment. If I win the challenge, I will leave with a thousand royals and a permission to register to a Second-league. The very first of these tournamments, the London Challenge, takes place in ten days.
If I win the tournamment in Nottingham, I'll be able to participate in the London one. If I don't, there's the Athens Challenge in Greece in three weeks. But I still think it would be great if I started my advanced carreer in my home country. I'll have to try hard tomorrow.
I still use the improvised gauntlet I built near our house, but I add things to make it more efficient, like weights on my ankles or glasses that simulate seeing while drunk. I'm used to training in freezing temperatures only in a tank top and shorts (even thought I caught a cold when I tried it for the first time).
Three hundred and sixty-five days ago, I was just a malnourished, one-legged weakling shivering at the Castaway market in an embarassing, skin-tight white underwear.
Who would have guessed I'll make it this far?
I just wish Isaiah could see my progress. I'm certain he would be proud of me. I wish I could see his beautifully ugly face again.
The bond formed over five years can't just disappear so quickly.
But I'm aware I'll most probably never see him again. And maybe it's good. He's completely different from me. He would never get used to this new world. He's a free spirit and rather than living here as someone's vassal, he would prefer to stay in the Dead Zone, even if it meant fighting for his survival.
Maybe he would even, as Odin hinted, become an Outlaw. And that wouldn't be good for him.
The next day, we catch a train to Nottingham.
The tournamment is for thirty-two people. The first two rounds are fought during the first day, that means there are eight Champions remaining at the end of the day. The tournamment finishes during the second day.
Right next to the train station, there is a bus station which offers a shuttle service to the tournamment and back. We take the first bus available. There are several more Champions inside, but most of the passengers are the Healthy who want to buy tickets and watch the tournamment.
"You are Tempest, right?" I hear as soon as I step inside. "You're cool! I like you!"
I blush a little; I'm still not used to the fame Neoclash brings me. Even though I'm far from being as famous as Nightingale, Comette, Odin or similar great Champions, some of the hardcore Neoclash fans already start to recognize me on the street.
Needles to say, most of my fame originates from my collapse in my very first fight. But still, being "the girl who screwed up her first fight, but grew into a badass later" is better than being completely unknown. Maybe the fiasco in the very first fight was actually a lucky move. It gained me negative popularity which I slowly transformed into positive.
I start to casually chat with the fans (if I can call the people who know me "fans") as the bus starts to move towards the arena. Nottingham is a beautiful city, with old buildings still resisting the time accompanied by their modern counterparts. The whole England has a strange charm I can't describe well. I think I can imagine exactly how did the cities look like before the Impact without much effort.
To my surprise, the bus takes us into a forest. The concrete pathway is surrounded by a fence. There are several wooden signs on the fence which tell us SHERWOOD ARENA: THIS WAY.
"Sherwood?" I ask Ryan. "Do you know something about this?"
"Of course I do," Ryan brightens up - that's a reliable sign he's about to give a long, passionate speech about something he knows a lot about. He tells me the whole story of Robin Hood, an outlaw who stole from the rich and gave it to the poor. Even though he was probably just a myth, I still enjoy the story.
Listening to Ryan's lecture is even more pleasing considering soft green light shining through the tree tops above us. The large, ancient trees, oblivious to everything around them, surround us, accompanied by wooden huts untouched by modern world.
There were no forests in the Dead Zone, just several dried, half-dead trunks usually infested with poisonous, ugly climbing plants. I'd rather take the journey on foot, but it's probably too late to leave the bus now. Well, that's one more motivation to succeed today. If I make it to the Top 8, I'll be able to take a long walk in the evening since I'll have to stay here until tomorrow.
Finally, the arena suddenly shows up between the trees. It's placed on a large plain surrounded by the forest, largely shaded by large tree crowns. The building seems to be made of wood covered in fresh, green climbing plants, but it's only an outer facade. Since it's made for numerous viewers, concrete had to be used to prevent collapsing. However, it looks pretty neat.
Streams of people are flowing into the main entrance. Above it, a black silhouette of a man shooting a bow is placed alongside the letters SHERWOOD NEOCLASH ARENA. Instead of bright neons, the letters and the Robin Hood figure are made of old-school wood. It's a welcome change.
Around the arena, there are numerous lovely wooden huts, some of them larger, some of them smaller, for one person only. This is where the Champions and their partners are accomodated during the night between the first and second day of the tournamment. The regular visitors have to find a hotel. Too bad!
We leave the bus and I can finally inhale the chilly, fresh air of the forest. Then, something hits me. "Did they really chop down so big part of the forest just so they could build the arena?"
"Of course not," Ryan smiles. "Some years ago, a careless tourist accidentally caused a forest fire. The firefighters managed to put it out, but that part of the forest was destroyed by the fire. Since trying to regrow it would be too lengthy with unclear results, they decided to build a Neoclash arena here instead."
We enter through the door labelled Contestants only. Besides me, several other Champions and their partners enter. Right behind the door stands a hostess who scans the Champion badges on our clothes to see if the newcomers actually registered for the tournamment.
I approach the cute, dark-haired girl wearing a black jacket with the Sherwood Neoclash Arena logo on it. She aims a scanner at my chest, where the badge is pinned on my hoodie, briefly looks at the display and then nods and invites me in with a smile.
Similarly to Skirmishes, the contestants have separate seats. However, these contestant seats come in the sets of two so the Champion can sit next to their partner. Outside the contestant area, there are raging fans who already keenly expecting the upcoming fights.
I look at my possible opponents. Some are more scary than the others, but overall, they all look more experienced and seasoned. I feel hopelessly small. However, there is a face I recognize. It's Shaman, a Champion who regularly visits Odin's training centre. Even though it's still rather cold, he sits there shirtless with nothing interfering with his stoic calm. For the first time, I see his partner is a woman, an elegant lady in her fifties.
A few minutes later, the commentator gives a standard greeting speech and hypes the crowd up for the upcoming fights. He's successful. The audience cheers, the drones with hot dogs, nachos, cola and beer fly all over the terraces.
After the speech, the computer picks up the first two contestants and the first round begins. The level of the fights indicates this is so much more than a mere Skirmish. A totally different atmosphere, much more powerful contestants, larger jumbotrons, the camera-wielding drones floating above the arena.
My fight comes as number seven. The choice of opponent is rather lucky - it's a male Champion who looks rather nervous and insecure. It's clear this is his first Third-league appearance.
I almost feel bad for knocking him down so fast.
Okay, I have a place in Top sixteen and a hundred-royal cashcard. I'll get another hundred if I can win the next round. However, until my turn comes again, I just enjoy the fights that are happening in front of me, cheering for my favorites just like the rest of the audience.
Shaman also wins his first fight with ease. His fighting style, a combination of dancing and martial art, is beautiful to watch. He has also some kind of whip which can emerge from the wrist of his mechanical hand, but he doesn't use it often.
After the first round is over, there is an hour-long break. I use it to eat something and mentally prepare for the second round. It's not going to be as easy as the first one. But I'm not going to lose easily.
When the break is over, there are only sixteen Champions and sixteen partners on the contestant terraces. A half of us. And the number will be reduced even further soon.
Shaman is picked for the first fight of the second round and wins again. My fight comes right after. As I expected, this fight is much harder. The young woman who is my opponent seems to be much more experienced and her fighting style also looks like it.
She fights ferociously, trying to hit me with the long blades protruding from her knees and elbows. She is successful several times. One time, her elbow blade hits the area of my heart, instantly scoring a Fatal point. However, even though the fight is hard and requires my full attention, I win. The situation looks bleak and my opponent was only two Clash points away from victory, but I closed the battle with a beautiful tornado kick which lands on her chin and scores a direct Fatal point.
"Way to go, Zoya!" Ryan greets me as I sit next to him, exhausted and sweaty. "Only three more wins. Well, easier said than done... but this time, you can do it."
"Right now," I say, "I need some rest. This is getting exhausting as hell."
I watch the rest of the fights to see which Champions are my possible opponents for tomorrow. It's around three in the afternoon when the first day of the tournamment ends.
And I'll make sure to be ready for the second day.
When I leave the arena, I go to the hut they assigned to me after registration. It's a double-hut since I have no reason to distance myself from Ryan. The inside is just as lovely as the exterior - wooden, cozy, with an adorable fireplace. Yet it's well furnished with a neat bathroom, TV and several other devices for bigger comfort, including a coffee machine appreciated by Ryan.
I finally take a shower and put on a dark blue dress, stockings and a black jacket. I'm tempted to spend a while near the fireplace, but then I realize I can do it at night. I find Ryan sitting at the couch, enjoying a cup of coffee (it's his fifth today, if I count correctly) and watching a soap opera.
"I'm going for a walk," I announce. "Clear my mind a little."
"Okay, have fun," Ryan replies, not even stopping watching the screen.
I leave the hut. The sun is already hidden behind the horizon. It's dark and a chilly wind gently plays with the branches above the Neoclash complex.
The forest isn't scary at all, it seems welcoming. I accept its invitation and step in between the branches and roots protruding from the soil below me. I look back to see the arena, lifeless, sleeping. All the lights are turned off. Several Champions and their partners decided to make a small meeting near the building.
I don't join them. Solitude is what I need right now.
I go for a long, peaceful walk, thinking about the battles I fought today and those which I will fight tomorrow. I did my very best today and I'm not going to change it tomorrow. But will it be enough? Maybe I've already hit my limit and I'll never go past the Third-league level.
It's good for making some money, but I strive for more.
My legs in stockings now look completely normal, like I was a Healthy. It gives me the idea that if I've really hit my limit, I can always leave Neoclash and find a normal job. But that way, Ryan would never reach his dream.
As I go deeper into the forest, I hear quiet sounds. I presume it's just birds in the treetops, but later, I see a figure in front of me. Who is it? An enemy? I prepare to fight. Just in case.
The closer I approach the figure sitting on a stump, the more familiar it looks. And when I see the tribal tattoos on a bare torso and a shaved head, I realize it's a friend.
"Shaman!" I say. "Greetings. Here for a walk?"
He smiles at me. I don't know why, but there's something sad in his eyes which makes even his warmest smile a little heartbreaking. "Greetings, Zoya. Oh, excuse me. Tempest."
"I'm fine with our birth names," I return the smile. "If you got to know me as Zoya, then I'm Zoya for you."
"In that case, I'm Oleg," Shaman replies. His voice is quiet and somehow hoarse, throaty. "Believe it or not, I always get sentimental when I see a Champion starting out as a beginner in our training centre and then, gradually, climbs to the top. And you are exceptionally quick, Tempest."
"Thank you."
"No offense, Zoya, but you are not a natural-born talent. You had to work really hard to get here, right?"
"That's right."
Shaman smirks. "To be honest, I had some doubts about you when you came to us for the first time. You looked quite miserable. Odin had faith in you right at the beginning, I opposed him. But now, I'm glad you proved me wrong. You are... promising."
"Thanks, but... lately, I think I've hit my limit. That I can't get any better than now. Is that...?"
"A nonsense? Yes, it it. I've gone a long journey before I participated in my first Second-league. Full of doubts, psychical problems I carried from the Dead Zone... I had to find peace in nature and meditation, otherwise, I would probably kill myself shortly after my transport. That's why I got the name Shaman."
"Was it that bad?"
"Yes, it was. Fortunately, you are much more adaptive. You don't cling on the past, even though we all lost something when we left the Dead Zone. The past is gone, but the future is how you make it. I realized it too late, so I'm telling you now, in case you don't know already. Win this tournamment and aim high."
"I'm a mistress of my own fate," I nod. "Thank you. And good luck tomorrow."
"You will need it more, Zoya."