The last song of the ancestors

Days passed until the tournament began. Akachi, Fadala and Nyatui proved worthy of the investment. Tuponili decided to manage the trio. Before taking them to the Grand Arena, he explained how the underground fighting tournament would work. The place was nothing more than a gambling club for the wealthy.

Men and women with too many Credibits in their digital wallets and not enough brains came underground to bet on fights. More than fights, real pitched battles. Some came for the money, others for the thrill, and some even to serve Ojwang.

This year, General Luena, the tournament's host, changed the rules a little. This forced the agents to rethink their strategies. After all, those who won put a lot of money in their pockets, and those who lost went bankrupt in the blink of an eye. Agents would receive a fixed fee, even if they lost. It was a way of preventing agents from withdrawing from the event.

From then on, the fights would be trios. A round of three one-on-one fights. The group that won two fights won. The agent needed three fighters to register his team. Members could be replaced along the way, it didn't matter, as long as a trio remained.

There were three ways to win: to make the opponent give up, to knock him out or to kill him. When he had finished these brief explanations, he turned to his team and said:

"So, what do you think?"

Akachi scratched his temple with his index finger. A bead of sweat trickled down the corner of his forehead.

"It looks like a fifth division KOF…"

"Yeah, the NESTS Saga… hohohoho."

"Only Nameless is any good over there."

"That's right! The difference is that there's no continuing here, kid. You could die during the fight. I hope that doesn't happen, I'm only loyal to the winners."

Fadala took those words as a warning. Tuponili could betray them, there was no guarantee that they would be used and discarded.

"There aren't many rules, are there?"

"Of course not, Fadala. These are clandestine fights. Of course, some fighters cling to their lives more than anything, giving up in the middle or even before the fight begins."

According to Tuponili, this tournament had sponsored a lot of Ojwang's clandestine research. Money was pouring in. Everyone wanted to be part of the scheme, like a financial pyramid or an online casino. It was the purest entertainment after virtual prostitution.

With this money and these relationships, he began to forge alliances with Ilu Nla's traditional criminal factions. He included them in government posts. He created a private army with these fighters modified by cyberware and cutting-edge biotechnology, and attached them to the country's armed forces.

"That son of a bitch got very rich. If he'd known he'd have so much money, he'd have invested in this shit before."

"Is it thanks to him that the underworld became what it is today?"

"No, there were already people here when it was just an armadillo hole. He occupied the space, he knew how to make money out of it."

Nyatui was irritated by all this admiration. He crossed his arms, tensed his muscles and asked:

"It would be good to know how many teams there are, and get some information about them."

"Well, Mr. Trent, there's no Wikipedia on them, I'm sorry. When it comes to the fighters in the Grand Arena, you can't tell the difference between information and rumors. The least subtle are the foreign teams. The Neo Axis is a self-declared neo-fascist group that seeks to assert superiority and resume the plan for eternal war."

"I thought this far-right thing was out of fashion."

"I don't think it is."

"Why do the organizers allow such people to participate, Mr. Tuponili?"

"There are punters all over the world, Mr. Trent. There are people interested in financing their ideologies, whatever they may be, in any space. They believe that here is an ideal platform to propagate their ideals of strength and racial superiority."

Fadala made a gesture with his fingers, as if he were firing a gun. He looked Tuponili in the eye and sneered:

"They seem to be an interesting group… what amazes me most is not what they stand for, but that they still cling to some kind of ideology in this shitty world we live in."

"You are a philosopher. Regardless of what they propagate, they are very dangerous. Among them, there is a German serial killer who is addicted to inoculating people with poison, Pestzart. They say there is a former yakuza among them, the ninja named Tora-Tora. And last but not least, the Greco-Roman style fighter, Caesar VXII."

"Is there another foreign group besides that?"

"Yes, there is! There's another group of foreigners just as strange. They're Americans, I think. Arcenaux LeBlanc was a decorated Seal, he fought for the US in the Texas War of Independence. He became a mercenary, but they say that's just a front to hide his true intentions. The second member of the team is Lady Bloody Mary, a Breton countess. The last is a burly guy called Eniac II. He's a three-meter-tall cyborg! That's going to be a tough one."

"Are there mediums in this tournament?"

"Yes, Fadala. Many, they even say that the Circle of Sages will play a part in the tournament. I want to see how the Phalanx will act. If you have no more doubts, we'd better go."

The trio agreed. Tuponili led them to a wagon. From there they would go to the Grand Arena. The subway car was customized. It had a bathroom, upholstered seats, terminals for accessing the cyberverse, and a bar. The criminal boss picked up a bottle of Goûts de Diamant, filled a glass and drank.

"I could offer it to you gentlemen, but you'd better stay sober for the first few rounds, hohohoho."

Akachi reflected on all the madness. When he was living in a hospital bed, he never imagined that all this was happening in Ilu Nla. War between criminal factions, a world of underground fighting beneath the metropolis, political feuds between cybersoldiers and mediums. It was a lot of information for him to digest.

At the center of it all were the Seven Keys of the Spirit. Mystical artifacts that emanate the Divine Power of Fante Obataiye. Taking part in the tournament had been his idea. He didn't measure the risks he would be taking. He acted on intuition, but in an ill-considered way. He could only count on the help of his companions. The tournament would be more than a fight, it would be a war.