John Wick held out the gold coin, its surface catching the afternoon light streaming through Jane's windows. "This is your tournament ticket. It represents your entry and your life in the competition. Guard it carefully."
Thor accepted the coin, his large hand closing around it. He brought it close to his face, studying the intricate engravings with the eye of someone who'd seen countless artifacts across nine realms. The craftsmanship was exquisite—perhaps not Asgardian quality, but impressive nonetheless.
"Now," John continued, settling back into his chair, "we need to confirm the content of your wish. If it involves evil intent or threatens the world, you'll be disqualified from making it even if you win the championship."
Thor's expression grew solemn, his blue eyes distant. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of grief. "I need the Dragon Balls to resurrect my brother, Loki Odinson. He fell into the cosmic void between realms when the Bifrost was destroyed."
John nodded slowly, making a note on his phone. The pain in Thor's voice was unmistakable—the kind of loss that transcended species or realm. "Understood. Your wish has been registered."
"As a tournament participant," the gunsmith added, "you're entitled to bring up to ten spectators. We'll arrange transportation to the venue before the competition begins."
"Oh my god, take me!" Darcy practically bounced on her toes, her excitement uncontainable. "There's no way I'm missing something this amazing!"
Jane wrapped both arms around Thor's bicep, leaning against him. "I'll be there to cheer you on."
Thor's somber expression softened into a smile as he looked at the two women. "I would be honored to have you both there." He paused, a flicker of regret crossing his face. "I wish my companions from Asgard could witness this as well—Sif, the Warriors Three. But with the Bifrost destroyed, they remain trapped in the other realms."
His grip tightened on the gold coin. They would have relished the spectacle of combat, the chance to see him fight for Loki's return.
John Wick stood, the gunsmith following suit. "We'll be in touch regarding transportation arrangements. Keep the Dragon Ball secure."
"You have my word," Thor said, rising to his full imposing height.
They exchanged brief farewells, and John and the gunsmith let themselves out into the New Mexico heat.
The rental car's air conditioning struggled against the afternoon sun as they drove back toward the highway. Desert landscape stretched in every direction—red earth, scrub brush, distant mesas shimmering in heat waves.
The gunsmith broke the comfortable silence. "Why didn't you scan him? Test his power level?"
John kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting loosely on the wheel. "Did you?"
The gunsmith laughed, a dry sound. "And risk the embarrassment when the reading goes off the scale? He's a god of thunder. Our Scouters max out at five hundred." He shook his head. "Besides, we'll have plenty of opportunities to see his power during the tournament itself."
"My thoughts exactly," John agreed.
In his mind, Reaper stirred with curiosity. The god would be a worthy test, the symbiote whispered. We could measure ourselves against divine power.
John ignored the suggestion. Some fights weren't worth picking.
The helicopter blades chopped through mountain air, the sound echoing off the peaks surrounding the Ten Rings compound. Selene and Michael stood at the open door, wind whipping through Selene's dark hair as she studied the terrain below.
Ancient architecture mixed with modern fortifications. Training grounds where soldiers practiced. A complex that had existed in various forms for centuries, expanded and modernized but never abandoned.
The Dragon Radar on Michael's wrist pulsed steadily, confirming their target's location.
"There," Selene said, pointing. "Land near that courtyard."
The pilot brought them down smoothly. Before the skids fully touched earth, Selene and Michael dropped the final few feet to the ground, landing with inhuman grace.
Soldiers immediately surrounded them—at least twenty men with weapons drawn. Not modern firearms, but traditional Ten Rings weapons augmented with advanced technology. The discipline in their movements spoke of decades, perhaps centuries, of training.
Selene raised her voice to be heard over the dying helicopter rotors. "We're here to speak with Xu Wenwu. It concerns the Dragon Balls he's collected."
The soldiers exchanged glances. One of them, bearing the marks of a Death Dealer, spoke rapidly into a radio. The response came quickly, and his expression shifted from hostile wariness to grudging permission.
"Follow," he commanded.
They were led through courtyards and corridors that seemed to blend Chinese architectural tradition with practical military design. Guards watched from elevated positions. Training continued in visible areas—a demonstration of strength, Selene recognized. A message that the Ten Rings feared nothing.
Xu Wenwu emerged from a central building, moving with the controlled grace of a master martial artist. He was middle-aged but carried himself with the confidence of someone who'd forgotten more about combat than most people would ever learn. Ten rings adorned his forearms, gleaming with power that made Selene's enhanced senses tingle.
In his hand was a second-generation Scouter.
He raised it immediately, scanning them both. The device beeped softly as it registered their power levels. Selene saw his expression shift—mild interest replaced by dismissal. Whatever the Scouter had shown him, he'd concluded they weren't threats.
"I am Xu Wenwu," he said, his English accented but precise. "What brings two strangers to my home, speaking of Dragon Balls?"
Selene and Michael both noticed the Scouter. Their own power levels would have registered—Selene somewhere in the enhanced range, Michael even higher as a hybrid. But neither reached for their own devices to scan Wenwu in return.
"We represent the Dragon Ball tournament organization," Selene said. "We're here to confirm details regarding your participation."
Movement behind Xu Wenwu drew her attention. Two younger people emerged—a man and woman who resembled their host strongly enough to confirm their identities before they spoke.
The woman's eyes widened. She hurried to her father's side, leaning close to whisper urgently. "Father, that's Selene. The last tournament champion. Leader of the vampire clan."
Xu Wenwu's expression shifted, reassessing.
A slow smile spread across his face. If this was the caliber of past winners, then his own chances had just improved dramatically.
"Ms. Selene," he said, his tone warming considerably. "To what do I owe this honor?"
"We need to confirm whether you'll be participating in the Dragon Ball tournament," Selene said, getting directly to business.
"I will participate," Xu Wenwu replied without hesitation.
Selene produced a gold coin from her jacket, holding it out. The metal gleamed in the courtyard's afternoon light. "This is your tournament ticket. As with all participants, we must verify your wish. If it involves evil intent or threatens the world, you'll be disqualified regardless of victory."
Xu Wenwu accepted the coin, his rings catching the light as his fingers closed around it. When he spoke, his voice carried absolute certainty.
"I wish to resurrect my wife."
Selene's expression softened slightly. Another man driven by love and loss. She'd seen it before—John Wick's desperate quest to bring back Helen. There was something tragically romantic about powerful men brought low by grief.
"Your wish has been registered," she confirmed. "You're also entitled to bring up to ten spectators. Transportation will be arranged before the tournament begins."
Xialing stepped forward, her expression curious. "Selene, will the champion be required to join the Fraternity? You and John Wick both ended up as members after winning."
Selene shook her head. "There's no such requirement. My membership came through personal choice and circumstance, not obligation."
Xialing's skeptical expression suggested she didn't entirely believe that answer. Two champions, two Fraternity members? The pattern seemed too consistent to be coincidence.
With the business concluded, Selene and Michael walked back toward the waiting helicopter. The rotors began spinning up as they approached.
Xu Wenwu watched them go, then turned to his daughter.
"Are you worried I'll be forced to join the Fraternity if I claim my wish?"
Xialing crossed her arms. "Both champions joined. It seems like a condition, regardless of what she says."
"If bringing your mother back requires leading the Ten Rings into the Fraternity's service, I wouldn't hesitate for a moment," Xu Wenwu said, his voice carrying absolute conviction. "I would pay any price. Make any sacrifice."
Xialing fell silent. She'd known for years that her father's obsession with resurrection consumed him. Without the Dragon Balls offering hope, she didn't know where that obsession might have led him. How many more years wandering the world, seeking impossible solutions?
Xu Wenwu turned away, the gold coin warm in his palm, and walked back toward the compound's central hall.
The other Dragon Ball rested in his private chambers—the one-star ball he'd found after destroying a hundred thousand collected stones. Soon, very soon, the tournament would begin.
And when it did, nothing would stand between him and his wife's return.
"Ying Li," he whispered to the empty air, "you will be resurrected soon. We will meet again."