In only three words, how would you describe perfection? Could you describe it at all?
Loud cheers and clapping made Milo open his eyes. His head felt foggy, and his vision was blurred. A familiar chill of cold stone pressed against his back as his body hunched over.
What—
Suddenly, Milo's head shot up. His eyes darted left and right, but he didn't see the mysterious woman anywhere. All around, soldiers fought in rings of rocks as others cheered them on. Blood sprayed across the dirt wherever one stepped.
A soldier, hauled over another man's shoulder, was carried past Milo.
Milo looked to his lap. The elegant golden mask was gone. Just as the scenery and the woman were gone, it too had vanished.
Like it never happened.
"Augh."
Milo rubbed his head. His skin twisted into a scowl as a sharp throbbing pain radiated throughout his skull.
"Milo!"
The boy looked up to see Flio jogging toward him.
"Flio, w— what happened?"
"Ralph beat you unconscious," Flio said as he knelt in front of the boy.
Milo sighed.
"No, I— sorry, yes, I know that, but how long was I out?"
"Mmmm," Flio looked to the sun, "About two hours."
"Two hours?!"
Milo jumped up and scurried to find where his group was fighting.
"Don't bother. We lost the previous round," Flio said.
Milo's face turned to a frown. He cast his gaze to the dirt and sighed.
"I'm sorry, it's because I lost to Ralph," Milo said.
Flio stood as he slapped Milo on the back.
"Don't flatter yourself. After you blacked out, we beat Ralph's team and the team after that, without you."
Flio smiled.
"You were useless from the beginning!"
Milo rolled his eyes as Flio laughed. He pushed his hand away before starting toward the center of the arena.
The scenery was stale compared to the vast field of color he once stood in.
The Apostles of the Gods.
The words echoed in Milo's head.
"You were out for Raise the Flag, so we're moving on to the next event. But don't worry, no one usually dies. Gilva's Hand is—"
"Flio?"
Flio looked over.
"Hm?"
Milo's head was down. His expression turned sour as the excitement of the games washed from his face.
"What's the point of all of this? Why are we playing these games when there is a war right outside our walls? When people are dying from these attacks, ones we could stop."
Flio could hear the seriousness in Milo's question. Unusual candor entered Flio's voice as he looked forward.
"Look... It's not one man's job to stop a war, Milo. You're a child, and most of us in here are criminals. We obey when they ask, we rest when they say, and we enjoy life when they allow."
Flio turned to Milo, and the boy raised his head.
"The weight of this war is not on you. Or any of us. It's not our job to decide when we fight, right?"
Milo didn't respond.
Clouds above swirled together angrily. Milo looked up and observed them before closing his eyes. Thousands upon thousands of flowers were still burned into his mind.
Do you disagree, Gods?
Flio described Gilva's Hand and what to expect. It was a solo venture for each contestant. Those who wanted could refuse to participate, but it wasn't much of a choice.
Every contestant was armed with a knife. Ropes wrapped around each contestant's stomach and bound one hand to their back, while the other hand wielded the weapon. If someone cut your rope, you were eliminated from the event.
Milo looked around to see some of the men with their shirts off. Sweat dripped down their bodies and coursed over old scars that wrapped their waists.
"Sounds... bloody," Milo said.
"Yeah, you usually end up with a few scrapes, but everyone here is decent enough not to kill you... probably," Flio responded.
"And, most people play this?"
"You'd be considered an outcast or coward if you didn't. See?"
Flio pointed at a man across the arena. It was the same man who stood beside Milo as groups picked their teams. The man's knees were shaking. Yet, the guard behind him continued to bind his hand.
"He's new, but he understands. Maybe someone told him, but still. You really don't have a choice."
"What if you or Jackson cut my rope in the beginning?"
Flio's arms crossed to make an "X."
"No can do, kid. That's even worse than not playing, especially for me or Jackson."
Milo nodded and looked down.
"I see."
*Brvvvvv*
A loud horn made the two turn.
"Well, better get ready," Flio said.
He waved and walked over to a line of men. Each soldier waited for their turn to have the rope tied around them.
After being bound, most walked around and took a stance against the wall.
I guess it's good to start with your back against the wall.
Milo waited patiently until an available officer tied his rope. As Sergeant Rowen began tying a knot, someone called out to him.
"I'll take this one, Sergeant."
Elias walked behind and took hold of Milo's rope. Sergeant Rowen walked to another man in waiting. As Elias twisted the knot, he began to speak.
"You did well in the tournament."
Shocked by his words, Milo stuttered to say something.
"Th— Thank you, sir."
"There's little room for error in this event. How do you plan on winning?"
"Winning?"
"Yes, winning. Show me your stance."
Elias turned Milo around and handed him a knife. Milo raised it to his face and held it at a ninety-degree angle. Elias looked the boy up and down before moving him around. He took hold of the knife and turned it upright.
"There. You need a slashing motion to cut the rope."
The knight demonstrated a quick slash with an invisible knife. Elias's speed never ceased to amaze the boy.
Elias's movements reminded Milo of everything that took place on the fourth layer.
"Thank you."
"I'm doing it for me. I'll be your trainer starting this week, and I need to impress Captain Fowler. Don't disappoint me."
"I— I meant for saving me, sir. I never got the chance to thank you for what you did on the fourth layer."
Elias finished with Milo's rope and stance. Before he turned away, he spoke quietly.
"I don't need another child's blood on my hands."
As Elias walked away, the smile on Milo's face faded.
Another?
"Milo!"
The boy jumped and turned. Sergeant Rowen motioned for him to take his place on the wall, as he was the last one to be bound. He quickly ran over to the first empty spot he could see.
The men to his left and right smiled at the sight of such easy prey. Each person was spaced out by around three meters[1] from the next.
Milo paid them no attention as he looked around for his comrades.
Jackson.
Jackson stood against the wall on the far end of the partifold.
Flio.
Flio was near Jackson, but far enough apart not to engage with him.
Milo was alone. No one he knew was nearby. The only person he could recognize was the scared man who once stood next to him. He was directly across from Milo, anxiously waiting for the game to start.
He's the only one I'm confident in fighting.
Milo looked to the center of the field, where Sergeant Rowen stood with a shorter, stout man.
"Major Erwal and I will be judging this event! If we see that you are trying to cheat the rules, you will be punished far beyond that of a few cuts! Understand?!"
"Yes, Sergeant!" The men called out.
Major Erwal raised a large, chitin horn and pressed it against his face.
*Brvvvvv*
The horn dropped from his mouth as he shouted.
"Begin!"
[1] Around ten feet