Kathmandu, Nepal sprawled beneath them as the plane descended, a city of ancient temples and modern chaos pressed between mountain ranges. The air smelled of incense and exhaust fumes, a collision of centuries existing in the same moment.
Alexei and Mr. X stepped off the plane into humidity that hit like a wall after the aircraft's climate control. Their target: Karl Mordo, Grand Master of Kamar-Taj.
Unlike the other files, this one contained minimal information. Just a name, a hand-drawn portrait, and a single designation: Master Sorcerer.
Mr. X studied the portrait as they climbed into a taxi, noting the man's sharp features and intense gaze. "A magician," he murmured. "I've seen plenty of stage magicians in New York—card tricks, disappearing acts, theatrics. But actual magic?" He shook his head. "That's new territory."
Alexei grinned, his massive frame barely fitting in the taxi's back seat. "My daughter Natasha mentioned that Kamar-Taj is the real deal. Sorcerers who bend reality, open portals, fight threats from other dimensions." He cracked his knuckles. "This should be interesting."
The taxi wound through narrow streets, past prayer flags and market stalls, eventually depositing them at the base of a stone stairway that led higher into the mountains. They climbed in silence, the city noise fading behind them.
The building they sought was ancient, nestled against the mountainside as if it had grown from the rock itself. Stone walls weathered by centuries, ornate carvings that seemed to shift when viewed peripherally, and an atmosphere of power that made even Alexei's enhanced instincts prickle with awareness.
They approached a wooden door at the end of a quiet corridor. Alexei raised his hand to knock.
The door opened before his knuckles made contact.
Karl Mordo stood in the doorway, his expression calm and knowing. He wore the traditional robes of Kamar-Taj—deep browns and golds, simple but elegant. His posture radiated the controlled power of someone who'd mastered both body and mind.
"My name is Karl Mordo," he said, his voice carrying a slight accent. "Please, follow me."
Alexei and Mr. X exchanged glances—impressed despite themselves—and followed the sorcerer inside.
The room beyond was sparse but comfortable. Cushions for meditation, shelves lined with ancient texts, a single window overlooking the mountains. The scent of sandalwood hung in the air.
"You knew we were coming?" Alexei asked, settling onto a cushion with more grace than his size suggested.
Mordo nodded, pouring tea from a ceramic pot with practiced movements. "The moment you entered Kathmandu, the city's wards informed me. And given that you carry a Dragon Ball tracking device—" he gestured at Mr. X's jacket pocket where the radar rested, "—your purpose is self-evident."
Mr. X couldn't help but smile. A master sorcerer who could sense magical artifacts and penetrate mundane disguises. This was going to be an interesting delivery.
"We represent the Dragon Ball tournament organization," Alexei said, accepting the tea Mordo offered. "We're here to confirm whether you'll participate in the competition."
Mordo settled onto his own cushion, cradling his tea. "I will participate."
The answer came without hesitation, though something in Mordo's eyes suggested deeper contemplation behind the simple words.
Alexei produced the gold coin from his pocket, the metal gleaming even in the room's dim light. "This is your tournament ticket. Before we proceed, we need to confirm your wish. If it involves evil intent or threatens the world, you'll be disqualified regardless of victory."
Mordo accepted the coin, turning it over in his fingers. "Can Shenron truly grant any wish?"
Mr. X leaned forward. "Evil wishes—those involving mass destruction, genocide, cosmic threats—will not be granted. So no, not every wish comes true. But within those boundaries? Yes."
Mordo fell silent, his gaze distant. The Ancient One had given him this Dragon Ball as a test, that much was clear. But what answer was she seeking?
Could Shenron resolve dimensional invasions? Strengthen the barriers protecting Earth? What was the appropriate wish for a protector of reality?
And more importantly—what price would such a wish carry? Power always had a cost. Always. The dragon's magic might grant the wish, but would it create new problems in doing so? Disrupt the natural order? Attract unwanted attention from cosmic entities?
If this was a test, then the wish itself mattered less than the reasoning behind it.
Alexei cleared his throat gently. "Your wish, Master Mordo?"
The sorcerer's focus snapped back to the present. "If any wish can be granted... I wish for Shenron to resolve Earth's vulnerability to dimensional invasions. Strengthen the barriers between our reality and the hostile dimensions that constantly threaten us." He paused. "If that proves too broad, then I would wish for the reinforcement of the three Sanctums' defenses. And if that still exceeds the dragon's power, then I would ask for Earth's dimensional fabric itself to be fortified."
Both Alexei and Mr. X sat in surprised silence.
They'd delivered invitations to people seeking resurrection, personal power, wealth, revenge. But this sorcerer wanted to protect the entire planet from threats most people didn't even know existed.
Selfless. Completely selfless.
"That's... quite the wish," Alexei said, genuine respect in his voice.
"Earth faces threats beyond what most perceive," Mordo replied simply. "If I have the opportunity to strengthen our defenses, I would be negligent not to try."
Alexei made notes on his phone. "Your wish has been registered. You're also entitled to bring up to ten spectators. We'll arrange transportation to the venue before the tournament begins."
Mordo nodded, already planning. The Ancient One would attend, certainly. Perhaps a few of the more advanced students. This would be an educational opportunity as much as a competition.
"We'll be in touch," Mr. X said, rising smoothly.
They exchanged bows—Mordo's formal and precise, theirs more casual approximations—and departed.
As their footsteps faded down the corridor, Mordo sat in meditation, the gold coin resting on his palm. He reached out mentally, touching the Ancient One's consciousness across the distance between them.
Master, the tournament representatives came. They've confirmed my participation.
Her mental voice responded immediately, warm with amusement. And your wish, Karl?
I chose to protect Earth from dimensional threats. Was that the correct answer?
There are no correct answers, only choices that reveal character. A pause. We will discuss this further. For now, prepare yourself. The tournament will test more than just your combat skills.
The connection faded, leaving Mordo alone with his thoughts and the mysterious gold coin.
Half a world away, the Australian Outback stretched in every direction—red earth, sparse vegetation, crushing heat that shimmered in visible waves.
Smith Doyle and Fox stood before a solitary mud-brick house, the only structure visible for miles in any direction. A single ancient tree provided shade nearby, its gnarled branches suggesting centuries of survival in this harsh environment.
A hand-painted sign hung above the door: Kiss the Chef.
Fox frowned at the sign, her assassin's instincts immediately suspicious. "A restaurant? Out here in the middle of nowhere?"
She'd seen this setup before during Fraternity operations. Remote locations, no witnesses, travelers disappearing without trace. Black market operations. Organ harvesting. Worse.
"No highway nearby," she continued, scanning the horizon. "No road into any city. Just empty desert." She rested her hand near her concealed weapon. "This screams trap."
"It's not what it appears to be," Smith said calmly, though his own senses were alert. He knew what they'd find here—or rather, who. But Fox's caution was well-founded and professional.
They stepped into the yard, dust rising from their footfalls.
The door opened before they could knock.
A massive Asian man emerged, easily six-two and built like a professional strongman. Flour dusted his forearms and the apron tied around his waist. His face was kind despite his intimidating size, crow's feet crinkling around eyes that had seen millennia pass.
Gilgamesh, the Forgotten One. Strongest of the Eternals in pure physical combat.
"Customers!" he said warmly, his English carrying a slight accent. "What would you like to eat?"
His gaze swept over them—first Smith, cataloguing the power he sensed there, then Fox.
He froze.
His eyes widened, darting between Fox and the house behind him. Then he turned, shouting with genuine excitement.
"Thena! Thena, come out here! You need to see this!"
Fox tensed, her hand moving fractionally closer to her weapon. Smith remained perfectly still, watching with quiet curiosity.
Inside the house, footsteps approached. A woman emerged into the doorway, and Smith heard Fox's sharp intake of breath beside him.
Thena stepped into the sunlight, and the resemblance was uncanny.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGaruda
You'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~