Zorhellian blissfully sipped a particularly delicious sour drink made from Blornges, a mottled orange fruit with blue flesh, native to a tiny world known as Verni. Verni couldn't properly be called a planet due to its unnatural shape and small size (it was barely large enough to be called a moon). The drink, known as Verni's Delight, was so prohibitively expensive that even Zorhellian, the massively successful interstellar businessman that he was, could only afford a small amount of it each year.
He drank it now in celebration.
The Games were not completed yet, so perhaps this was presumptuous of him, but at the moment, everything was going swimmingly.
How could he not celebrate?
Krogor was happily watching Participants brutalize each other, the Patrons had finally forgotten about Orochi's antics, Orochi himself was obediently and quietly watching the Games without causing further trouble, and several Patrons had willingly sold themselves into Zorhellian's debt!
He was already gleefully imagining what kinds of benefits he could get out of the indebted Patrons. Moderate debtors would be dealt with normally, but some Patrons, either unaware or in denial of Zorhellian's reputation, had allowed themselves to fall into debt past the point of no return. These Patrons were a large part of the appeal for Zorhellian in holding the Games; aliens, interdimensional beings, even gods could fall into debt, and their falling into Zorhellian's hands gave him a pleasure like no other.
Should he recruit them to form another cult worshipping Toltura? Puppeteer their involvement in various civilizations' politics and economies? Force them into his employ? Blackmail them into becoming test subjects in shady experiments?
The possibilities were endless!
Beyond even this, there were no troublesome errors in the Participants, and things were proceeding smoothly among them as usual.
The Gladiatorship Story was one of Zorhellian's favorites. He was such a fan of gladiatorship in general that he usually found a way to include it in some way in many of his Games, but the Gladiatorship Story held a precious place in his heart.
The way that, after all that had happened to them, the Participants settled into their routines so quickly, only to find unexpected developments at every turn… it was exquisite!
Zorhellian loved the drama that emerged as affairs, transformations, murders, and more occurred under the influence of Patrons' bidding. He treasured the dismay that Participants felt as they realized that, in this Story even more than any other, their lives were no longer their own. They were mere puppets in the unseen hands of the Patrons. Of course, many Participants remained unaffected for the first majority of the Story, simply because Patrons could not bid on every Participant; there were far too many Participants for that.
The chaos demon sighed deeply in satisfaction. Taking another sip from his cerulean drink, he smiled and closed his eyes. His shadow demon familiar, Caspian, floated out of his shadow and curled up in his lap like an inky snake. Zorhellian idly stroked Caspian's featureless head.
He looked almost serene as he sat there, pondering the life and death of souls he saw only as pawns.
At the beginning of the Storytelling Games, there had been a billion Participants from 328 universes, 6,912 timelines and 86,477 worlds. Many different Stories had been held concurrently in order to ensure the sheer volume of Participants could be handled -- with drastically different difficulties, assigned according to factors only Zorhellian himself knew.
Only 3,817 Participants remained.
By the end, there would be only one.
"I wonder who it will be…" he muttered, half-asleep.
----
Over the past few weeks, Alesha had noticed some definite changes in herself.
As time passed and she fully absorbed the spear techniques which had been imprinted on her at the start of the Story, she felt an inexplicable bond forming between her and her spear, Kalszoth the Ethereal. She still didn't understand why it was called "the Ethereal," but faint echoes of what she assumed were the spear's emotions would strike her at odd times. Aches of longing, pangs of regret or boredom, slivers of annoyance, and an overwhelming sense of ennui.
The first few emotions came and went rather quickly, so they were easy to both identify and deal with.
However, Kalszoth's ennui echoed her own, and came on so gradually she couldn't distinguish it at first.
Even now, she was having trouble differentiating between the spear's emotional emptiness and her own sense of hopelessness.
Was this sense of inevitability something that she felt herself, or was it something the spear was sharing with her?
She didn't know.
Lost in thought in the cafeteria line, Alesha bumped into a man in front of her.
As she looked up at him, an instinct she didn't know had surged to the fore and she took a step back.
This man was dangerous.
More dangerous than any man she'd ever met before.
Her heart began to pound and she subconsciously licked her lips.
He turned around, his rough face bearded with well-trimmed, salt-and-pepper hairs.
Something in the way she looked at him seemed to alarm him -- he froze, eyes hardening, giving her a quick glance up and down.
"Can I help you?" He asked, his gravelly voice barely registering in Alesha's mind.