(Preshow) Registration (Where you Sign up IC)

[Strazio Rockwell]

Signing up in The Pale Moors

“So!” Gamzee exclaimed, “what’s this place like, lotsa smashin’ and motherfuckin’ hackin’?”

Strazio tipped his head to the side, shrugged, and said, “yeah, I suppose you could say that, I guess it changes every year, but the year I participated it was a free-for-all deathmatch.”

“Sounds like an awful time,” Valerie moaned.

Strazio rubbed his arm, it never did heal quite right after Ganondorf broke it.

“Yeah,” the mage conceded, “it wasn’t fun, but the prize is worth it.”

“What’s the prize?”

“Dunno about this time, but they usually give out artefacts of unimaginable power,” Strazio said and added jazz hands for effect.

“Did’ya win last time?” Gamzee asked.

“No, but I placed,” he answered.

They approached the sign-up booth and Strazio did a double-take. The attendant was familiar, a youngish girl dolled up with glitter and an inch of makeup. Her hair was a shimmering blue that acted as a beacon of fashion in the drab city of Darkshire. But it wasn’t her trendy Coruscant fashion sense that plucked the string of memory in Strazio’s noodle. No, it was the Omnidamned wad of chewing gum in her mouth. She lazily flipped through a magazine, chomping on her bright-pink glob of gum. Every now and again she’d blow a bubble, but most of the time she just sat there smacking it. This girl was the same one that manned the sign-up booth in the Endless Dunes two years ago. Strazio began to reconsider his decision to join D.A. and even considered traveling to a different verse to sign-up.

“You here to sign up hon?” the girl asked Strazio, who had wandered too close.

“Uh,” he responded, scratching the back of his neck.

“We both are!” Gamzee exclaimed, throwing an arm around his buddy’s neck.

She passed them both a set of forms and a pen.

“Fill these out waivers and questionnaires out, then we’ll move onto the interview.”

Strazio mumbled some off-color statements and snagged the pen from her. After a few minutes he handed back the papers and the attendant pulled a camera out from under her stand. She pressed record and pointed it at the white-haired mage.
--
“So hon, we’ll start with something easy, what’s your name?”

“Strazio Rockwell, Defender of Darkshire.”

”Right, I remember you now, so since you’re a recurring player are you hoping to see any familiar faces on the island?”

“God I hope not, everyone of those jackasses can go get bent.”

”What about The Rock?”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like to play favorites.”

”Your fans were disappointed that you didn’t show up last year, any words for them?

“I have fans?”

”Sure you do! With your performance first time around, plus your appearance in the Colosseum, plus the release of your book ’Fifty Shades of White’ you’ve garnered quite an audience.”

“I have nothing to do with that damned book, that piece of trash is nothing but slander, written by that snake Shang Tsung.”

”Oooh how scandalous, what’s your gameplan on the island this year?”

“Well, I’m not looking to make friends so I’m going to move fast and hit them hard.”

”Looks like we’re running out of time, anyone you wanna acknowledge hon?”

“Yeah… yeah, I’m here for the people of Darkshire, and my friend Demetri.”

[Gildarts]

This is continued from this thread, A Birthday Party for Molly and also, Gildarts has removed his artifact for this event! Thank you!

[spoiler]
The mage felt his one flesh foot aching with blisters as he sweat through some of the most scalding heat of the year, he had always walked everywhere he ever needed to be, but he was getting pretty old for this game. His amber eyes looked up, last time he had looked up the moon had been beaming and bright, now, the sun was finally starting to fall into the horizon. Where had the time gone? Where had the day gone? Had he set his shoes on autopilot and they had just walked on and on like a little marching wind-up toy?

The Prime sighed and got his bearings as he looked at the path, how tall the trees were and couldn’t tell how long the day would drag on and the trail along with it. He was a frequent here in this verse, the one he always seemed allergic to. Sneezing every time he got a whiff of those trees for the first time. He’d be glad to leave and also leave the Malefactor behind him. She would be in Guu’s safe and trustworthy… Nubs. Can’t rightfully call those hands, but the princess could somehow throw a mean punch regardless.

Bearings, right. No getting distracted because you don’t have a voice in your head to tell you what to do anymore. “Hmm..” he mused audibly, “I think last time I signed up it was in the white-room.”

Gildarts saw the portal to the Nexus waiting in front of him a few feet away. “Huh, how did that get there?”

Well, Gildarts always found it was best to go, usually those shiny gateways brought him somewhere new, his best option to find the white-roomed Nexus was to cross through it. One step and his eyes were immersed in bright, vivid streams of pearl. Yes, this was the place.

“Extra, extra!” A boy selling a newspaper was stating the news, “Hello sir, can you happen to read?”

The child was about Molly’s age and had a strangely tangy accent, one that was very unfamiliar on his ears. In the boy’s hand he held a black and white newspaper, on the front, there was a little flag with stripes lined up in all directions, similar to a star, in the picture on the newspaper and it was being held by someone in a uniform.

The caption read: THE GREAT WAR HAS ENDED! A GREAT VICTORY FOR THE ALLIES!

“Yes,” Gildarts informed the young kid, seeing where this was going.

“Can you tell me what the caption of m’ paper says sir, so tha’ I can sell it better?” the young chap asked.

Gildarts blinked looked at the paper, then he looked around, worried this was a trick of some kind. Then he looked back into the bright eyes of the youth and his heart melted, “Sure, it reads: The Great War has ended, a great victory for the Allies.” He paused, “It is said with excitement.”

“Thanks mister! You’re the best!” the young boy ran off before Gildarts could say anything else, it was at that point did the Prime notice the child was in completely soiled rags. The sounds of his feet clicked as he ran and soon enough in the swarm of beelining people. Within a fraction of a second, the moment like a ghost had disappeared, and the kid was out of sight.

“Look mommy,” this little girl tugged on her mother’s sleeve, she was about thirteen but still had a layer of baby fat in her cheeks, she had tan skin and bleach-blonde hair. She wore a blue longsleeve shirt, one of which was empty. “He looks just like me. Do you think he lost his arm in a shark-attack too? I’m gonna go ask him!”

The little girl bounced free of her mother’s grip and ran up to Gildarts with her curiosity brimming. “Did you lose your arm in a shark attack? Mom says it’s not like to ask, but if I don’t, it always makes me wonder and wonder...”

Gildarts blinked and looked down at his steel arm, then back up to the blonde little girl with the bright blue eyes. “It was… Something like that,” he agreed, “If you lost yours to a shark, you must be a really brave little girl.”

“I still surf, I don’t let it stop me, and I never will!” She declared with the zest of a Fairy Tail mage.

They both looked up, awakened from their exclusive “armless club” conversation by her mother’s strutting heels. Her footfalls were deliberate and powerful, she gave her daughter a dirty look and then narrowed her eyes to Gildarts. Her lips curled into a protective snarl, the Prime was likely just another creep needing to be set straight, so he had to be punished.

SLAP!

It felt like the child’s mother had a steel hand from the slap she’d delivered. “Don’t you ever talk to my daughter again! Come along honey, he could’ve been a bad guy, remember what I told you about them? What happened to your brother? You’ll soil his memory. And well, I won’t have that happen to you, too, now come along.”

The girl’s face quenched into a silent cry, she mouthed “Sorry” to Gildarts as her mother dragged her away.

The mother continued her nagging, “Honey, it isn’t nice to presume to armless people that they want to talk about it either, let’s go dear.” the mother, a more tidy and well-to-do woman wearing a pea-coat and a royal looking hat with a giant plumed feather sticking out of the side of it hushed her daughter and the two moved along, though she had to drag her child by the other arm.

“But mommy… He wasn’t a bad guy…” she sniffled with a soft whimper.

“Honey, you can never tell by their faces,” her mother growled, “Never. Don’t ever forget that. Your brother, God rest his soul, never will.”

Then they were out of sight and out of earshot and Gildarts was left looking at the ghost of his arm, and feeling the flood of memories nearly swamp him away. It had hurt, a lot, before it stopped hurting at all. Losing his arm, that is. The red of his cheek was more numb than heated. The Prime sighed and blinked that woman’s motherly instincts of protection away. Her intentions were good, even if the fact that she had assumed Gildarts was a “bad guy” and still decided to slap him, would’ve likely made him angry and if he was a “bad guy” he could’ve done something bad to her for just her slapping him. Her reasoning was all twisted up. Good intentions gone bad...

Meanwhile the Prime now hesitated at the portal and his cape still glimmered in the transient fluid light. Gildarts looked down at his steel hand, that wasn’t exactly how it had happened. Right now though, he had to stay on track, even when his memories generally caused him to get side-tracked on a regular basis.


“EXCUUUSE me fine-sir, you look like a great, strong, and proud man. Would you say I’m right?”  a man walked up to the Prime wearing a suit and tie and a crooked grin.

“I wouldn’t say so, no,” Gildarts said channeling his inner humility. Never had he bragged about his power. He had only ever used it as a tool to defeat his enemies with. He was only there to wield it, nothing more.

“Well sir, I’d say that a man as modest as yourself deserves the best, wouldn’t ya say? Before you protest sir, you must realize what I’m talking about, fine sir,” the man with the slanted smile winked at the Prime, expecting him to play along and nudged the prime’s ribs, right on top of the bandages that secured them in his skin.

“Ow,” Gildarts winced, he was a prickly bastard, this one. And Gildarts was completely oblivious to the salesman’s nature.

“SO YOU SAY YOU ARE TIRED AND THIRSTY AND IN NEED OF THE PUREST DRINK IN ALL THE OMNIVERSE?” the man practically shouted, there was a flood of sound in Gil’s ear and he cringed now, more confounded and flummoxed than before.

“WELL, THIS BEVERAGE IS FOR YOU!” the said, bending over a cooler he’d been standing in front of and pulling out a glass bottle of, “Pure Perfection! That’s what it is and if you doubt me, taste it! Every Prime who has ever tasted it can never get enough! It is bottled at the source of Omni himself! Come on, give it a taste.”

The suited man cracked open the clear bottle of water and Gildarts looked closely at the printed-on label, it read Fountain Fresh Water! Bottled at the source ©

“Uh… I don’t exactly know you?” Gildarts blinked, squinting as though he were trying to recognize the guy.

“No, but I know you! You’re Gildarts Clive! My new spokesmodel. So drink up, so I can sell these damn things to the unsuspecting masses. They’ll drink anything if endorsed by you. Your poster is all over Camelot, and you’re extremely well known!” The con-man had whispered and then nudged the bottle into his hand.

“I don’t do sponsors unless I get paid,” Gildarts extended his hand back to the guy, reluctant to back anything this slimey looking guy was selling.

“Alright, alright, I’ll give you a cut, but quit it, you’re makin’ people stare in the assuming, skeptical kind of way,” the suited man whispered and shoved the bottle back into the Prime’s hand.

“Where’s it from, exactly?” The mage said, first sniffing the bottle and then holding it up to the ceiling of light.

“Why, Omni himself, of course!” He announced loudly.

A female’s voice interjected as the bystander walked closer, Gildarts shrugged and began to raise the glass to his lips, “If you’re being fair, everything in the Omniverse could be considered to be made from Omni himself. Excuse me,” she said in a presumptuous tone, “ I saw you bottling that at the Nexus Fountain, you know I’ve seen people -one man specifically, I still get chills, burr!- pee in the Nexus fountain, he must’ve mistaken it for a urinal. Another left a blow up doll in there, and not the kind you use in a pool. All you men are filthy.”

Gildarts spit out the water he’d just barely let pass through his lips and nearly hit the poor woman in the face with it. In fact, a splash hit her cheek as Gil gagged at the idea and the woman shouted, “FILTHY!” at him too. Frankly, he didn’t blame her.

Her expression cringed into one of soiled disgust as she thought of the urine and Gildarts’ saliva both forever immortalized on her cheek. She could never wash away the idea or the memory. It was and insulting assault on her self respect and dignity. Never would she be the same. She fled in a huff, she’d tried to be the hero, and gotten water sprayed back in her face.

“Uh, I’m very sorry ma’am,” Gildarts shouted after her, she was strutting off and using her gloved hand to get the spit from Gildarts off of her cheek. Gildarts returned the glass bottle to the peddler who’d basically made him drink diluted pee. The Prime turned his gaze on the sleazy man fully now and Gil shook his head saying, “Not enough money in the world, pal.”
[/spoiler]


Gildarts was about to walk off when a hand grabbed his from the other side of the portal and pulled him back into the Tangled Green verse. The Prime readied himself for a fight but was surprised to see a lanky looking young lad who released Gil’s wrist the second the tall, very muscular Prime turned around.

The secondary’s eyes widened at the dauntingness of the Prime. A shiver of fear ruffled through the Syntech secondary. “O-oh, bruh, sorry I didn’t mean to scare ya, did I hear you say you were looking for the sign-ups? I thought I did, but then I figured you’d gone into the Nexus and like, I chased you down cause I get a kind of commission if you sign up at my booth,” the kid explained. The male was kind of a hippy hipster. He used slang whenever he could and his attitude was totally chill, bruh.

“For… Dante’s Abyss? Are you…” then Gildarts’ eyes noticed the Syntech corporation’s logo on the guy’s shirt.

“Yeah dude! Come here to my tent! You can see how dope it is.” The man who was in his mid-twenties grinned hugely at the man and ushered him over to a little tiki-looking tent that had somehow been weaved into the trees of the Tangled forest. “Like, isn’t it rad? I’m like, going all out for best booth this year, me and one of the other guys has a bet. I’m gonna win though. Wanna know why?”

Gildarts blinked and hesitantly nodded, the middle-aged prime didn’t like to let down the youth of the next generation even if their personalities didn’t always quite “click.”

The sign-up attendant went over to the tent and flicked a switch, “I set this up last night before my shift, some people say the last day is always the hardest to recruit people but I won’t let it stop me.” Twinkling holiday lights hung woven in with the branches of the already cool looking tiki hut. “The next part’s the best,” the boy said as mini fireworks came out of the table and shot off just above the paper, which was more like a fire hazard and a good way to lose the sign-up forms. But liabilities like those were not Gildarts’ forte.

“Isn’t it sick? It’s to celebrate the people signing up and stuff, sometimes they stick around for it, sometimes they don’t, most just go inside after, ” The twenty-something year old smiled and looked up hopefully at the Prime.

Sick… As in ailment? No no, stay on task, if you nod, he might let you through without a… You spoke too soon.

“I’m sorry sir, but is that like, paint, dude? You look like you’ve come from a rave or some kind of… Rainbow themed orgy,” the college-aged attendant observed a few missed-spots of caked on color from Gildarts’ last outing, it was weaved into his auburn hair. A shower before he’d left might have been a good idea.

When Gildarts realized what the kid had implied with the word orgy his eyes bulged with shock, “What? I was at a little girl’s birthday party for the Gods’ sake!”

“Well I mean, if that’s like some kind of orgy, then you’re into some pretty sick stuff, bruh. My niece's birthday party didn’t have any paint spewing like confetti just a cake and a few good friends... Ohhh I get it now, Little Girl’s Birthday is a festival! What verse is it in, hook a bro up?” Silence. “Hey, I ain’t judging you and your tastes, though you are a little old for the emo phase, you’re like, what, a hundred and twelve years old? EDM is really in right now on the west coast though, ever been surfing, bruh?”

“Wha…?” the befuddled prime’s jaw hung open. All the slang and terms he had never heard before was overwhelming on the middle-aged “bro’s” mind.

“OH! Dude, duuude, I totally didn’t realize you were stoned right now, like, you came right from the festival and that’s why the paint, it all makes sense now bruh,” the kid was nodding his head up and down, causing his grunge looking hair to bob, “Don’t worry, I’m getting some when my shift is up here but like, power to ya.”

“I’m not stoned? I tend to break those when they are thrown at me by the villagers,” Gildarts was getting more and more perturbed by their conversation.

“Haa, you must’ve had some harsh enemies bruh, or some bad trips, but hey, life as a secondary, we oppressed gotta rebel against somethin’ somehow. Especially when you work for the Man.” The kid nodded again and clicked his pen, clipboard at the ready, “So what are you doing here?” “

Gildarts was relieved, finally he’d get to where he was going, he wasn’t even sure how many days he had until it started. He wanted to maybe get some sleep for once without the Malefactor controlling his nightmares.

“Here?” he parroted.

“Like why are you joining Dante’s Abyss this year, bruh?” he said.

“I’m on a mission… Sent by a princess.” Gildarts explained.

“A princess? Oh right, now we are roleplaying now too, gotcha,” the secondary scribbled down: Girl problems, probably the sub in the relationship.

“So have you ever participated here before, and uh, are you like, married bruh?” The secondary forgot that the first way to tell that was to check and see if their left ring finger was wearing a band, but that wasn’t always custom for many cultures.

“What? Is that question really on there? Last time I just signed my name after being told it was a cruise ship going back to my home realm which was in danger. Then I died! Well… I mean, I guess not technically since I’m here but, now you want to know about my ex-wife?” Gildarts was perplexed and perhaps a little enraged.

“Aww bruh I didn’t mean to hit two soft spots with one of those stones you break, like I was just curious if you had good taste,” the stoner-secondary writes not responsive to clever jokes about rocks, divorced a hottie and feels bad about it.

Gildarts wasn’t looking at the “bro” anymore and began to walk through the portal prematurely.

“Bruh, you can’t go in there yet! Bruh!? Whoa! Your arm is like, a robot!” the guy said, initially grabbing the Prime’s steel arm and feeling the unexpected chill of metal.

“You gotta sign this first or else no fireworks and no access, bro!” the employee called back, but there was no stopping a Prime that was as dense with muscle as an armless Dwayne “the Rock” wrestler might have looked.

“Oh so I do have to sign?” his ploy had been successful, “Sure,” Gildarts unexpectedly turned back and picked up the pen writing on the dotted line To Carl, -G unknowingly spelling it wrong, granted, he had never seen Karl’s name written down, or rather, the aloof prime would’ve never remembered the correct spelling of the mostly random character’s name anyway. Gil kept walking as the mini chorus of fireworks went off at the flick of the secondary’s switch.

“Bruh! You’ll tell me where Little Girls’ Birthday is at, right? I wanna go next yeaaarrrr!!!!” he called out, but the Prime was gone, he had stepped into the threshold that the Syntech beach-bum couldn’t yet cross.

[spoiler]

A brunette was seen crashing through the forest huffing and puffing, “No! I just saw him! I know I did!” she hollered back to her friend who was lazily following the fortune teller along the pathway. There was no need to get excited, the Prime they were searching for was out of sight. Likely already in the Abyss.

“Did you just see a red-haired Prime sir?” Cana asked, still panting from her run. Cana was a secondary searching for Gildarts and had been since she’d arrived to the Omniverse, she’d had a vision that he died, and it horrified her. Cana was also the daughter of this known Prime, but he didn’t know it. She’d never told him. Now, she wanted him to know, and she also wanted to save his life.

“Uh… Yeah dude, he just signed up for DA,” the syntech employee informed her.

“Well then… Sign me up too,” Cana huffed, she would not be stopped by the idea of competition.

“Listen lady, it can get really dangerous and last year and the year before that people like, totally died. Most were Primes, mind you, but we got some complaints as a company and now we are only allowed to sign up Primes,” he informed her, “Whoaaaa are you like, the princess he mentioned?”

It had dawned on him, but Cana’s brow crinkled, “What? No I’m a wizard, I’m not just any secondary either. Gods, you and your Omniverse rules, Primes this, Primes that, well, some of us aren’t Primes, we aren’t immortal, which means we know that every battle counts, as it may be our last. We fight harder, because we fight to win, or to die. I’m joining and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!”

The brunette was determined as she declared her statement, the man nodded, there was no battling with crazy, he lead her to the location for spectators and told her, “Here you are!”

No, this Syntech bro wasn’t losing his job over a determined wizard who had a death wish. Hopefully, he had just saved her life, he could see why Gildarts had himself some girl problems if this was his very stubborn ex-wife. Yes, he was feeling pretty good, he set the fireworks off again and felt as though he’d saved a damsel in distress.[/spoiler]

[Deadpool]

Darkshire

That time of the year again. That time when asses tightened, and sweat lathered palms. Dante's Abyss was not for the faint of heart. It served the purpose of satisfying those with a passion for competition, blood, or chose chaos as a form of therapy.

Deadpool fell into none of those categories, yet all of them simultaneously. This year, his motivation was parted from the usual yearn for excitement. What drove him were the sour memories of past failures. They tasted like Chumbucket leftovers. Two years prior, withering away and severely injured, he dragged himself to the finale; he gave Mickey, Sasuke, and helmet-head all they could handle, nearly killing each of them. Last year, Vincent's pet animal trumped him for Karl's reward (he was pretty sure the damn aeon-mutt thing wasn't even a real main character, but rather one of Vinny's NPC slots)—a sting to his robust ego.

Though he doubted his author's ability to consistently produce enough material for him to succeed this year, he'd be damned if he didn't try.

He rushed through the application, eager to hand it back to the attendant.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Name: Wade Winslow Wilson

Time in Omniverse: Longer than Karl

Occupation: (Unemployed) Mercenary

Pre-Omniverse Life: See above, then add more sex, drugs, and entertainment

Purpose for Joining: For the luls. Its always for the luls.

Extra/Misc.: [b]I enjoy long walks on the beack (without zombies or pokemon), and quiet evenings at home eating tomato puree, while watching The Magic School Bus reruns.


[/b]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

[b]”Finished!” the mercenary said, catching the woman's green eyes.

He slid the pen clip clamping the paper, and power walked over to the registry counter, his boots clapping against the hard floor. The lady reached a freshly manicured hand—soft pink nail polish, with a glaze of glitter— over the counter to receive the clipboard. She moved a chunk of brown bangs behind her ear and glared the application over.

“H-how did you write your answers in bold text font with a ballpoint pen?” she stammered, looking at him with the visage of a woman realizing the Adam&Eve sex toy she had delivered from Amazon was way too big

”It woulda been in red, if not for that prepubescent humanoid glowstick you call a God didn't restrict me from doing it,” Deadpool quipped.

[Dane Regan]

Continuation from A Nice Change in Scenery at the Camelot signup station.

"Hey! You liar, Ceph. You said I only had an hour left. I could totally have finished my work and signed up tomorrow." 

"Yeah, but then you wouldn't get to make lots of friends at the preshow," Cepheya chippily chipped in.

Dane grumbled to himself before speaking up. "Look after my books and stuff for me. We can meet by the bacon tree afterwards."

"Okie-dokie."

---

Dane walked into the signup tent fitted in a fresh set of leather armour. Cepheya followed despite her not participating.

A secretary looked up at the duo from her desk and opened her mouth, about to speak, before being interrupted by Dane. "Cepheya here isn't entering, it's just me."

"Hmm. OK. Well, I need to ask you a few questions." She adjusted her glasses.

"Name?"

"Dane Regan."

She scribbled on the application sheet in front of her while asking the next question. "Occupation?"

"Uuhhh." Dane hadn't had a job in years.

The secretary wrote a few capital letters on the paper, and Cepheya giggles upon reading them.

"Hey! Don't write NEET. Put down 'Mad Scientist' or 'Mad Magician' or something cool." Dane protested over the laughter of his friend.

"Moving on, place of residence?"

"Dalaran's Library," Cepheya interjected before Dane could answer. He was considering trying to give an actual answer but figured beings as he didn't actually have one to give it probably wasn't worth speaking up about, so just nodded aimlessly causing Cepheya to stifle another laugh.

"How long have you been in the Omniverse?"

"About two weeks."

"What was your life like back in your old world?"

"Pretty good. I did some fighting, some research, magic and science stuff, wrote a few books, and convinced some people that spiders had six legs. And some general folk hero stuff."

"Lastly, what is your reason for joining Dante's Abyss?"

"It looked kinda fun, I guess."

"OK. We're all set, just sign here at the bottom, please."

Dane patted Cepheya's back. "See you later."

"Not if I see you first," she laughed, leaving the tent.

Dane scanned over the answers briefly and scribbled his name at the bottom - he'd never had a proper signature or anything like that, so it was just a messy way of writing his own name. He signed reading that the secretary had literally just written "something cool" for his occupation, as he walked on to finish the application process.

[Little Ghost]

Continued from A stumbling misadventure at the Tangled Green sign up station.

The silence was stifling. Correction, the silence would have been stifling if not for the sounds (of the relatively tame and domesticated parts) of the Tangled Green around them. Little Ghost was still staring expectantly at the attendant of the sign-up booth. The man cleared his throat once more before he once again asked the question that had started this whole mess, "A-are you here for the Dante's Abyss r-registration?" Though his voice trembled slightly it was otherwise clear. Little Ghost had probably scared the piss out of him, if a bit unintentionally. Little Ghost simply tilted his head to the side in reply, a questioning look upon his face. "Oh, you want me to tell you about what the Dante's Abyss is? I take it that that you're a rather fresh Prime, then?" Little Ghost nodded in reply to the first question and then paused slightly before replying in the same fashion to the second question. He had no idea what this 'fresh' business was about but assuming the strange bug meant 'fresh' as in 'new to this place' he was most certainly spot on.

The attendant quieted in thought, wondering how to best describe the Dante's Abyss to someone who had either obviously not read the large posters on the fortified recruitment office right behind him (nor the ones at the little booth in which he sat), or couldn't read. Eventually he arrived at a conclusion. "The Dante's Abyss is a yearly tournament held by the Syntech Corporation to determine the Strongest Prime out of those willing to join in. It's a wonderful opportunity to learn where you stand in the world and even to make friends! Though I guess that friendly rivalries are all the more common than pure friendships." A tournament? Brief flashes of a large stadium, of being enclosed in its midst and fighting not only for his life, but also for his honour, his skill, and the sheer thrill of it all! That sounded very interesting indeed! And friends? Little Ghost wasn't sure that he knew what a friend was, but this would allow him to learn that as well! "So are you interested in signing up?" Speak of the grubberfly and it shall appear! Little Ghost was very much interested and his fervent nodding made this very clear, the attendant smiling at the enthusiasm. Though the smile was tinged with sadness, for such a new Prime would likely vanish in the press of the initial hardship, the attendant gathered a stack of papers, gave Little Ghost a pencil (which apparently works just like a quill), and instructed Little Ghost on how to fill out the forms.

---

What is your name? A question that at first made Little Ghost stumped. How was he supposed to answer this when he didn't know what a name was? He quickly skipped to the next question, fully intent on coming back and filling out the first one later.

How long have you been in the Omniverse? Oh, this one was very easy. It couldn't even have been a day-cycle yet, right? And even if the travel through that strange gate was not as nigh-instantaneous as it had felt, Little Ghost believed that he should only take into account the time he himself had experienced. Thus he answered with a short, and to the point: "Less than one day-cycle." Content with that answer he turned to the next question.

Where do you live in the Omniverse? Hmm, come to think of it, he had not found a place to live yet. Depending on how long this tournament lasted for he should really start working on a nest of his own, so another easy one: "I have yet to make a nest anywhere in these strange lands."

What is your current job? Huh, how queer a question. "What is a job?" The attendant was sneaking Little Ghost glances as he filled out the form, eyes widening slightly at some of the answers though this one prompted what sounded like a weird snort of mirth.

What was your life like back in your own world? This was another question that stumped Little Ghost for a while. What did they mean by this? Hallownest had once been a mighty kingdom, but its fall was what had caused him to begin his journey in the first place. Maybe he should write something about that? He put this strange pen-quill thing to the paper and began to write, each word carefully considered. Capturing Hallownest's essence in words was difficult. But then, why put it in words? letting the quill-thingy rest beside the forms, Little Ghost put his hands upon it and focused on the swirling Duality within him. Soul and Void. A quick flash etched a black and white image into the paper, an image formed from half-forgotten memories of face-masks and adventures: [spoiler]

[/spoiler]

Why are you joining Dante's Abyss? And now came the final question, if one discounted the first one that he had so far left blank. Why was he interested? There was only one answer to that question: "Because it sounds fun!" There! Little Ghost looked to the attendant, whose weird fuzzy thing above its eyes had shot up very high on its forehead-plate (they were almost concealed by that strange fuzzy thing on top of its head), and made to hand the forms back.

"Hold on there, buddy, you forgot the most important field of all." Little Ghost looked at the field the attendant pointed at. The text What is your name? was clearly emblazoned upon it. Little Ghost scowled, he hadn't forgotten. But he had no idea what a name even was! "Look, what do you call yourself?" the attendant helpfully queried. Call himself? He didn't call himself anything speci- A memory flash of a quick female bug. Sleek, with large face-mask-horns, and wielding a Nail and Thread in ways no one could hope to replicate. Hornet. She had called him something, but what was it?

After much deliberation, he arrived at an answer and wrote "Little Ghost." in the proper field with clear and precise strokes.

---

The attendant-bug shuffled the forms into their proper order after checking that they all fit regulations, 'i's dotted and 't's crossed and all that. "Ok, everything looks to be in order. If you'd follow me, please," the attendant bug stated as it got up from the chair it had sat on. Leading Little Ghost into the larger blocky building, the one with the geo-gulka and geo-sporgs hidden in berths on the outside. "If you'll just stand right over there you'll be sent to the proper station for the rest of the pre-tournament procedure." Little Ghost obediently stepped up on the small dais in the middle of the room. The attendant-bug walked over to a console and pressed a button. A slow hum began in the background and the dais began to glow. "Good luck, Little Ghost," the attendant-bug said. Little Ghost waved in reply just before the recall-station fully activated and he was sent to Syntech Station 17.

[Enel]

The Town With No Name is as shitty as ever. The signup station is pretty easy to locate, because it’s the only thing there that doesn’t look like it’s made out of rotting wood. It’s a raised platform with some steps, a loudspeaker and a gigantic sign with the words Dante’s Abyss! and Do you have what it takes to survive?! emblazoned beneath it. It looks like a stage set up to broadcast.

I raise my palm to the attendant as I draw close, indicating my intent to register.

The woman, a neon-redhead with pigtails and a hyperkinetic demeanour, greets me. “Welcome, welcome! Are you here to register?”

“Yes,” I smile. “You have the great pleasure of being the one to recruit God himself.”

“A-hahaha!” She laughs, then sees my face. “Oh… kay then! What shall I put your name down as?”

“Enel.”

She produces a slip of paper. “Please fill this in, with your signature here, here and here.”

More fucking paperwork? “What is it?”

“Just a waiver!” She says cheerfully, “Absolving Syntech of any responsibility should you be maimed, killed, or otherwise humiliated during the course of the competition.”

“Tch.” I sign my name. “And what’s this?” I ask, gesturing to the other.

“Oh, just some questions. It’s to give the audience a picture of who you are, your background, so on, you know, the usual things.”

“You fill it in,” I point. “I’ll answer.”

“Very well! First off, introduce yourself and tell us where you’re from!”

I spread my hands. “My name is Enel, I’m the One True God of the world. Frankly, I’m disgusted that I have to explain to everyone here who I am, but I suppose it’s an opportunity to spread my influence.”

“And where … you’re … from?”

“The sky.”

“I … see …” She scribbles this all down. “So Enel,” she says, with the tone of an overenthusiastic interviewer. “What are your powers?”

I point to behind her. “Is that camera on?”

“It is! But I must ask you not to damage the recording equipment.”

She has a point. The technology of this world doesn’t seem to agree with even low voltages of my power. “Very well.” I spread my palms, creating a rope of sparkling electricity between them. “I am lightning. More than simply control over it, I should be able to transform to and from it at will. But …” I slap my hands back together, nullifying the beam. “Dear Omni has suppressed my powers to some degree. It’s only a matter of time until I regain them all, but … for now, I can’t transform my body into lightning.”

No point telling them about my other abilities. I’d rather keep them a surprise for the other contestants.

“Ohh that’s a shame!” She looks genuinely disappointed. “So that’s your goal, then? To reclaim your power?”

“Tch. No. It’s to kill Omni.”

“Wow!” her eyes light up. “Ambitious!” She hesitated. “D-do you have a plan, or …?”

I scowl. “Well I’ll start by winning this competition. Then I’m going to go take his head.”

She turned to the camera. “Wow! You heard it here first, folks! How far will God Enel get in the competition? We’ll have to see!”

I had the distinct feeling this was all for theatre. “You’d do well to take me seriously, girl,” I say, placing my finger on the back of her skull. I channel just enough electricity to tickle her neurons, and her pigtails stand on end.

She spins around, breaking contact and taking a step back. “R-right! Well, please step right this way, sir!”

She gestures to the doorway behind her. I’d been wondering what the door had been doing, standing by itself like part of a home décor display. But as she gestures with her keycard, the thing swings open and it’s a portal to somewhere else entirely.

I grumble. Omni is such a showboat.

[Tearen Wover]

Tearen shuffled up to the attendant by the massive Fields gate to the Nexus. He could tell that the small man running the desk had drawn the shortest straw in a long bundle to be given this post, of all places. His mind was rife with self-pity and gloom, and as he saw this bedraggled figure walking towards him, the Syntech associate half rolled his eyes. Tearen liked him already.

"Hello, yes, hi. I'd like to enroll please." The Shadow said, smiling quaintly over the lip of his shawl. The Syntech grunt was slightly incredulous, but nothing had happened for the past several hours. A breach in the chilly monotony was welcome.

"Oooooohkay. If you think you're up for it, sure!" the man quipped, sliding a form over his desk to the Prime. For all intents and purposes, the guy looked like a hobo. I mean, most Primes basically WERE hobos, but they usually had laser armor and stuff. Tearen didn't respond as he penned in the token disclaimers and rights-to-broadcast. It was quite liberating to know that he wouldn't be in the Omniverse long enough to suffer whatever downsides had been weasled into the contracts. The legendary Prime slid the paperwork back to the attendant, who let out a long sigh, followed with a sharp sniffle.

"Hokay. Now I just need to conduct a small interview for all the betting and TV spots and stuff. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Name?"

"Tearen Wover. Formerly known as Nealaphh."

"Nealaphh, eh? How is that with a...how uh...do you spell that?"

The Prime said nothing, simply writing the names down on the back of the forms. The Syntech man blinked and drew his mouth thin. Real personality on this one.

"Feel like I've heard that name before."

Tearen mumbled something wry, but inaudible.

"Alright then. How long you been Omni's pet?"

"Eternity."

This was starting to get weird, but the employee was under strict orders to take every answer seriously. Even if they didn't make sense.

"Deee-lightful. Now Mr. Wover, what do you do here in the Omniverse?"

Tearen turned this over in his mind for a moment, then decided to go with what could arguably be called the truth.

"Blogger."

"Sounds interesting! We'll have to find a way to promote your website!" the Syntech man chirpped. Tearen could taste the confusion and indignity wafting out of his mind.

"That won't be necessary." the Shadow said, with a mysterious smile. The Syntech man, who will now be named Bob, hated the smile.

"If you say so. Next...what was your home universe like? Hm? How did you spend your days?"

This was, honestly, a question Tearen didn't have an answer for. The ex-enigma opted for the shortest answer possible.

"Infinite."

Bob smiled softly.

"Your home universe was infinite?"

"Indeed."

"In-deeeeeed." Bob said, scribbling something on his notepad. Thank Karl this was almost over.

"So final question,Tearen. Why join Dante's Abyss?" Bob asked with all the enthusiasm an impending lunch break could generate. A very serious tone fell over the Prime's face and speech.

"I have a grave warning for the people of the Omniverse."

Bob blinked and smiled.

"...OH! OKAY." he half shouted before calming himself.

"The blog uh, just isn't gonna cut it huh?"

"No." Tearen said. The elder Prime nodded towards the swirling Syntech portal. Bob glanced over at the red and blue aperture and laughed nervously.

"Oh! Sure. We're done here. Good luck!" Bob said, giving Tearen one final, saccharine smile. The Prime just waved a hand and proceeded through the gate.

A few minutes later, Bob got out his phone and opened up a search query on the Dataverse for Nealaphh.

"Ooooooooohh...myyyyy...god."

[Sterling Archer]

Entering from Darkshire, Pale Moors. Thread link

I continued down the uneven brick boulevard, noting the veritable deluge of derelict denizens. The alley itself measured approximately five feet across for as far as I could see--which wasn’t very far--with hundreds of people crammed in like sardines. The town’s inhabitants, or at the very least a large number of them, all seemed to want to move down this particular avenue, for reasons that escaped me. The nauseating aroma of sweat and rarely-washed cloth and flesh stung my nostrils, nearly causing me to retch. Something told me this town’s people had seen better days.

“Man, what the hell is happening down here, anyway?” I ignored the sounds of protest as I forced my way though the throng, jamming my elbows between city-goers to wedge my way past, while forcibly grabbing at shoulders to move some of the slower citizens. I’d definitely have to wash my hands later.

“’Ey, ‘ands t’ yerself, pal, these tickets ain’ cheap and I’ll be damned if I miss ou’ ‘cos o’ some soggy bloke who can’ wait ‘is turn.” The stench issuing from the speaker’s gaping gob nearly knocked me backward. The man looked quite malnourished, his clothes torn and resown numerous times, the cloth stained various shades of brown. I suspected that they had not originally been that color.

“Ugh, take a step back, Cratchit” I choked out, doing my best to cover my mouth and nose. “You smell like you’ve been surviving on cow feces. Which, now that I think about it, isn’t exactly a stretch given the general ambiance.”

“Bugger off,” Smelly retorted, the black and caramel-colored remains of his dentition flashing in his best imitation of menace. It was hard to feel both disgusted and afraid at the same time, even if he had any weapon aside from cholera at his disposal. “I’m gettin’ me tickets fer th’ big show, an’ iffin ye’ wanna push yer way pas’, you’ll ‘afta knock me ou’ ‘ere an’ now.”

“Tempting,” I returned, at this point resorting to breathing through my sleeve. “What’s this big event? Did someone bring their prized pig into town? The butcher’s daughter lifting her dress?”

“Pah,” the guttersnipe spat. “Don’ act like ye’ ‘aven’ ‘eard o’ Dante’s Abyss.”

“Okay, I won’t,” I sassed, at this point resigning myself to simply move with the crowd. “Because I don’t. I’ve been here for a grand total of like, two hours.”

Smelly released a vile burst of repugnant breath that passed for a sigh by definition only. He fished for a moment in the pocket of his burlap trousers and retrieved a crumpled-up piece of paper, forcing it into my non-stench-stifling hand before turning around and pushing through the crowd, away from me. What a hypocrite.

“Power. Fame. Wealth.” I read what remained of the mutilated pamphlet to myself, attempting to ascertain what exactly it was advertising. It seemed to depict various scenes of warriors locked in heated combat, wielding all manner of strange and powerful weaponry to slay their opponents. More than a few corpses of fallen entrants were featured prominently, the editor apparently having no shame in showing off the end result of losing such a competition. “This looks awesome.”

I waited with apprehension as the line moved, ever so gradually feeding into an enormous violet pavilion that rose head and shoulders over the rest of the buildings in the district. I could only assume I had found myself in the poorest part of town if a large tent was impressive in comparison. Slowly yet surely we passed, until finally my soggy loafers crossed the threshold.

“Attention all, for pre-sale ticket purchases please proceed to the left! Please don’t block the entrance for those wishing to sign-up!”

My ears perked up at the announcer’s words, my gaze skimming the crowd for a few moments before I spotted him, standing atop a podium beneath the center of the awning, some four feet above the rest of the crowd. I blinked hard, furrowing my brow as I stared incredulously at a man who could not have been taller than two feet. A snowy white beard clung to his face, hanging down to drag beside him as he paced from one end of the platform to the other, shouting orders and directing traffic. His clothes were over-sized, an indigo polo shirt hanging over a tiny pair of slacks of a matching hue. They could have belonged to a toddler.

“Excuse me, Doc,” I called, finally parting from the crowd as they funneled to the left. “How do I join this murder contest?”

The gnome stopped his pacing and glanced down at me, lowering his tiny spectacles to get a better look at my charming face. “You’re looking to enter, my boy?” A small smile played at the corners of his lips, his soft brown eyes leveled on me.

“You’re aware of the irony of calling someone three times your size ‘boy’, right?”

The bearded official’s face soured at the remark, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and gesturing to my right. “Over there,” he commented with indifference.

“And do I just fill out a form or something, or…?

The officiant offered no response, turning away to resume his task of directing the flow of traffic.

“Fine, then pout," I said, turning away.

I waved dismissively at the gnome as I strode toward a lavishly decorated booth labeled ‘ENTRANTS’. Aside from the large digital display overhead showcasing brutal battles from previous events, it was not unlike the kind of booth one might find at some expo advertising a fancy new variety of riding lawn mower or an annoying multi-level marketing scam. The woman seated behind the booth looked to be older than my mother, her hair well past graying and tied up in a loose bun. She, like the director gnome, wore glasses that rested on her nose, though hers appeared approximately three sizes too large for her face. He attire too matched the color scheme of the tent, a deep purple long-sleeve dress, pinned with a shiny gold broach. A placard before her on the desk indicated that her name was Candy. She sat up in her seat as I approached, an expectant look in her eyes. “Are you looking to join, sir?”

“You bet your ass I am,” I said, staring up at a vivid depiction of a caped man being electrocuted. “Awesome.”

“Alright. Name?”

“Sterling Archer,” I blurted, not even bothering to assume a pseudonym.

“Where are you representing?”

“...Earth?”

She sighed. “Normally entrants represent their faction or the verse at large.”

“Oh,” I replied, scratching my head. “Well, I’ve only ever been to wherever this is, and that white place where I woke up. So far it sucks here, so I guess I’ll just take the other one.”

“A-alright,” she muttered, scribbling on her clipboard. “Nexus it is then. Not often we hear that answer.”

“I get that a lot,” I replied, smirking.

“Uh-huh. And what’s your occupation?”

“Secret Agent,” I responded confidently. “I’ve killed like, a lot of people.”

“...Right,” Candy murmured, quickly jotting down my answer. “And why do you want to participate this year?”

“That whole ‘Power, fame, wealth’ thing is a pretty strong motivator.”

“Fair enough,” she returned, scribbling once more. “And what do you bring to the Event?”

I paused. “A pistol and alcoholism?”

“Um...no,” she said, looking up quizzically. “I mean why would people root for you to win?”

“I mean look at me,” I responded, doing my best approximation of a GQ cover model pose. “That question answers itself.”

“Oh...kay,” she said, her pen conspicuously not moving. “Anything else? In years past we’ve had legendary heroes, ninjas, ferocious beasts, deities, vampires. Just today we’ve had a murderous demonic warrior and the honorable hero of our fair city. And that’s just from here in Darkshire.”

“Wow,” I remarked. “That sounds pretty awesome. I’m...gonna level with you, I kinda just walked in off the street on a whim. I just want to beat the shit out of some people and win the adoration of my audience.”

“Well, you certainly seem arrogant and unpredictable,” she said.

“Right?”

“You should fit right in, Mr. Archer.” She produced a stack of paperwork and a highlighter, flipping through the various pages and highlighting required fields. “Just sign and initial where I marked, waiving your right to pursue legal action under any circumstances. After that you’re good to go, just head through that teleporter.”

“T-teleporter?!”

“...Yes?”

“This is so awesome!”

[Gamzee Makara]

Continuing from Pale Moors Aftermath

Gamzee scritches the back of his head with the pen the nice blue haired chick lent him, almost getting it stuck in his massive curls. Yanking it free, he tries to focus on this registration form. It's kind of a pain. Mainly because he doesn't understand half the questions. Some of them weren't very clear, others didn't really make a lot of sense in general to him. What does dismemberment even mean? Gamzee thought sign ups were free, Straz didn't say a damn thing about having to pay for a membership.

"Ya done, hun?" The attendant asked the alien after organizing all of Strazio's paperwork.

She continued to noisily smack away at her chewing gum, blowing a lil pink bubble every so often. Gamzee can't remember the last time he had gotten to enjoy a pack of bubble gum, and watching the young girl savor that chewy, sugary flavor bomb made his mouth water. Gamzee's gum fantasy was interrupted by the girl snapping her fingers in front of his face a couple of times.

"C'mon cutie, you're holdin' up the line," She says with a slight lilt to her voice. The boy swerved his head around to see that there was, in fact, no one in line behind he and his mentor.

"Uh yeah sorry, Miss. Here ya go," Gamzee says, sheepishly sliding his papers to her.

She licks her thumb and flips through the several pages, making sure he filled everything out correctly. She wrinkles her nose up once upon reading something - there's no telling what - before sliding his stack next to the mage's.

"Okey-dokey, then. So this is your first time entering the competition, yeah? What's your name, hon?"

"Gamzee Motherfucking Makara," The boy says with a little wave, as if addressing a crowd. The girl blinks.

"I-Is Motherfucking a middle name?"

"I mean if you want it to be, sure. It's just something I say, man. I was born with the miraculous moniker of Makara, and I feel like Motherfuckin' flows all nice like with that name, ya feel me?"

The attendant gives him a strange look.

"Right...Well how long have you been here in the Omniverse, Mister Makara?"

"How long has anyone been anywhere, man?"

"What? Okay, this is an interview. You can't just answer questions with more questions, hon. You gotta give me some real answers."

"I don't have any of the answers, sister. Every unanswered question is a miracle, after all."

Strazio slaps his apprentice lightly on the back of his head before giving him a solid piece of advice: "Answer her questions, moron. And tone down the motherfuckings." 

Gamzee gives him a thumbs up, before returning his attention to the blue haired girl. "Sorry miss, won't happen again."

"Riiiight...how long did you say you've been 'Verseside?"

"Iunno. Been a while. Been here since the Coliseum, I guess. That's the earliest thing I remember. But I've was here for a bit before that, too."

"Oh, so that's where I've seen your face. Didn't you and Mister Rockwell fight each other in the coliseum? And now you're entering into Dante's Abyss together? Is this some sort of rivalry or alliance?"

"Ah I mean its all in good fun for us. We're going in together but he's my mentor, see? So it's like some kinda lesson he's tryna teach me. We prolly ain't gonna partner up or nothing."

"Good fun? Lesson? These aren't words that one would typically use to describe a deadly event like Dante's Abyss," The attendant says, crossing her arms. She throws Strazio a wary glance. The girl covers her mouth and points nonchalantly at Gamzee, saying, "You sure this one has the cognitive stability to participate in the event, mister mentor?"

Strazio rolls his eyes, waving her off.

"Just what kinda person are you, hon?"

"Whoa, that shit got surprisingly existential. I mean, I guess I'm just some guy. Don't really know what to tell ya."

"Well, is there a particular reason you're participating in this event, aside from the request of your mentor?"

"Mmm...Never really thought about it. I guess to have fun and meet new friends."

"You realize that there will be a lot of fighting in Dante's Abyss right? Maybe even some killing?"

"Well shit, there ain't a better way to get to know someone!"

Huh. She never really thought of it that way. Probably because a sane person never would.

"Well, considering you've been in the Omniverse for a while, do you have a place of residence here or an occupation? Anything like that?"

"I guess my home away from home is Ambrosia. Cute lil town. I just feel really at peace there, ya feel me? In fact, I owe my allegiance to Mistress Guu."

"Guu as in the Dataverse personality and founder of Ambrosia?"

"That's the one, yeah."

"That's some pretty serious clout, hon. Would you be representing her or Ambrosia in Dante's Abyss?"

"I mean...Am I allowed to? I dunno, I didn't really think talk it over with Mistress Guu. If you uh, get a hold of her and she all up and clears it yeah I'm down. Anything for her and Ambrosia."

"Yeah sure, I'm actually required to now that you've mentioned it. Syntech is pretty serious about the sponsorship stuff. I'll see what I can do about getting in touch with her. Alternatively, you could also use the Dataverse Devices in the library to ask her yourself. Anyways, this has been an interview. Sorta. Good luck, cutie. You'll need it."

She was pretty sure this poor little soul was gonna get eaten alive.

[The Humble Sage]

Martin B. Wilder didn’t get paid enough for his job.

The Syntech employee shivered, rubbing his hands together and held them up to the small kerosene heater his stall had been provided with. All Syntech could afford, his good ear! Martin had been sitting here in the freezing cold for who knew how long, just because Karl was worried about bad press from Bruenor and the Trolls if he skipped any of the verses. Apart from that weird ink monster in the sweater, Martin had hardly seen a soul, let alone had enough traffic to warrant the FREAKING BLIZZARD he had been forced to weather during the time he had been waiting here.

He checked his Dataverse device anxiously. It was almost time for him to leave, right? How much longer did he have to wait out here in the snow for no one to show up? He glanced back at the recall station, knowing that warmth was on the other side, but that it wouldn’t work for him until his time was up. Why did Karl need a person at these stations anyway? A robot could do this work just as well! Martin shook his head in frustration and turned back to his Dataverse device, maybe that webcomic had been updated? Nope, still on that downer arc about Stacy. He wished the author would finish it and get back to the good stuff. He looked up with a sigh and was absolutely astonished when the old man in the traveler’s cloak appeared on the horizon.

Martin gawked at him for a full minute, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them, before replacing them on his face. There was definitely someone heading his direction. Maybe they were just heading to the gate? The man marched along at a relatively slow pace, using some kind of walking stick to help him in the shin deep snow. He stumbled into a drift about 30 meters from the stall, and Martin did his best not to stare as the man scrambled to get back up.

After what felt like forever. The old man reached the little stall. “This place is harder to find than you would think.” He said, wheezing just slightly as he brushed snow from his clothes.

Martin looked around at the vast empty white plain. “I guess you must have missed it in all the excitement.” He said dryly. The old man just gave him a look, but didn’t reply immediately. In fact, he just stood there, looking at Martin, who glanced around as if expecting someone else to show up and lend some clarification.
“Can I help you?” he asked finally, after it became clear the old geezer wasn’t going anywhere.

“I believe so, this is the place for Dante’s Abyss, yes?” the old man answered, still staring Martin down.

“Uh… yeah… we don’t sell merchandise here if that’s what you want…” the Syntech employee said with a hint of nervousness. He wasn’t going to get mugged, was he?

“Nor do I want any. This is a sign-up station? I have come to enter.” The man said with the same even tone he had approached the entire conversation with.

“You’re a prime?” Martin’s voice was slightly more incredulous than he had intended it to be. The old man nodded. Martin stared at him for a moment, expecting him to say he had been joking, and ‘not to be so gullible because them something-racist would steal your wallet’, but the old man just stood there. I guess Omni takes ‘em in all sorts… Martin couldn’t help but shrug as he fumbled for the paperwork.

Wiping a coffee stain, away with his hand he pulled up his notepad.

“Your name?”

“I am but a humble sage, my name is not important.”

Martin gave the old man a look. “This is like a tournament for eternal glory and shit, man. What do you mean your name is not important?”

“Just that.” was his reply.

Martin sucked in a breath and rolled his eyes. “I’m just going to say ‘the Humble Sage’ then, make you sound all mysterious, like a wrestler or something.” The crazy old bat didn’t object so Martin forged on ahead. He was suddenly missing the solitude of this position. “How long’ve you been in the Omniverse?”

“isn’t there a time dilation effect? How would I even know that? I don’t keep track of the days.” The old man answered with an air of slight offense.

“Look man, I don’t make the questions! I’m going to just say ‘about a year’ that way no one will look twice, sound good?” again no objection, the old man seemed lost in thought, muttering to himself. A crazy old man in the middle of the tundra. What great primes Karl was getting for this year’s events. “Where do you live in the Omniverse?”

“… I travel…”

“Of course you do… uh what verse are you most fond of?”

“I have spent the majority of my time here in the Vasty Deeps, but….” Martin raised his voice as he wrote down ‘vasty deeps’ before the old geezer got any further.

“What is your current job?”

“A scholar and a scribe. I record the…”

“Yeah, yeah, a sage. I gotcha. NEXT QUESTION! What was your life like back in your own world?”

For once the crazy hobo, whom martin was half convinced was just a senile old man and not a prime at all, did not immediately reply. Eventually he fixed Martin with a stare.

“My homeland was one of outer tranquility, and inner putrefaction. I am not the lesser for leaving it, nor will it miss my existence, save perhaps for the assistance I could have brought it. Aid I will now bring to you instead.”

Oh boy. Not just senile, this one had an ego to go with it. “coolio. Last one, why are you entering Dante’s Abyss?”

The old man smiled, and there was a glint in his eye that Martin B. Wilder didn’t particularly like.
“Let’s just say that I have a keen interest in meeting Karl Jak.”

[MADBULL34]

Mad Bull exhaled loudly, his nostrils flaring like an angry steer.
 
“Now don't get cross with me Sergeant,” the Chief warned. “This comes from down high.”
 
Sergeant John Estes snorted and the thick hairs of his wide Burt Reynolds style mustache joined the protest. “Maybe they outta send one of their own 'crackshots’!”
 
The Chief scowled while puffing on the last half inch of his cigar. “We civvies take orders from the Imperial authorities whether you like it or not, and you take orders from me, so it's settled!” he shouted with finality.
 
“Why's it gotta be me, huh? You think I ain't got things to do this weekend? Me and Flopsy were gonna paint the town red…” Mad Bull whined.
 
“Because they're demanding a Prime do it. The Stormtrooper battalion didn't have any, so they asked me.  You're the only one in the Precinct, so tada! You're the big winner,” the Chief said with mock congratulations.
 
“Pardon my French, Chief, but that's a crock-a-shit!” Mad Bull said with grizzled irritation. “I better be makin’ overtime for this…” he muttered.
 
“Sure, fine!" The Chief conceded with exasperation. He pointed his cigar at Mad Bull and warned, "But I expect results!”
 
“I'm always good for a collar, Chief!”
 
“Yeah, but they always seem come back in a bodybag, Mad Bull!" The Chief signed, and continued, "I suspect you'll still be painting the town red, so to speak, but for once I won't mind.”
 
The Chief smeared the stub of his cigar in a filthy ashtray and continued. “Imperial Intelligence believes a major criminal has entered the event, and they want him eliminated with extreme violence. If you're not the man for that job, I don't know who is.”
 
“You know me, Chief.” Mad Bull leered with sinister glee.
 

---

 
The next day Mad Bull found himself uncomfortably standing at the registration desk in Tier 1. In one hand he held a clipboard and in the other a pencil that seemed like a tiny twig in his enormous bear paws. His brow furrowed as he focused with intensity at crossing a “T.”
 
~*SNAP!*~
 
“Mother-f!@#%*^ cheap penny pinching Imperials!”
 
Mad Bull tossed the broken pencil into a pile of six others that littered the registration desk. He wiped his sweaty palms on the chest of his blue police uniform
 
“Can't Her Highness afford any pens in this joint, or do you god-d%#* nancies only write with toothpicks?!” the angry sergeant complained with crescendoing fury.
 
“Sir!” the attendant chided. “There is no need to get nasty. I'll simply ask you the questions and write your answers for you.”
 
 
What is your name?
"Sergeant John Estes. My friends call me Sleepy, but you can call me MAD BULL."

How long have you been in the Omniverse?
"Longer than the hairs on your mother's..."

Where do you live in the Omniverse?
"Tier 5, 34th Precinct."

What is your current job?
"I'm a cop. One day they'll bury me in my dress blues, but until then - I'm a cop."

What was your life like back in your own world?
"Not much different than now, I'd suppose. The Fifth Tier is full of crooks and beggars, but New York City wasn't so different. You don't need a buncha sci-fi storybook rejects prowling the streets for a cop to earn his bread. Every-wheres got creeps, weirdos and pushers… and it don't matter their skin color, a bullet to the head puts ‘em all away."
 
Why are you joining Dante's Abyss?
"Orders are orders. I'm here to kill a couple o’ crooks, and that's just what I aim to do."

[Corporal Light]

Isaac Clarke loved space. Sure, the Ishimura tainted the idea of going back out into space considerably, but he never lost that child-like wonder he got when he gazed out into the blackness of space and into the bright specks of light that dotted the galaxy. But it was the sense of the unknown that got to him the most. Even with slipspace drives, humans had only discovered so many other planets to crack open and harvest for minerals. There were still so many other planets and star systems to explore. He was hoping that, one day, he’d find a planet where the droplets of water rained upwards into the sky, or a planet where sections of the tectonic plates shifted around in different directions along the planet’s axis. Or, one day, he’d be among the first humans to discover an alien species and meet them face to face. That was what he signed up for, more than anything else. Anyone can fix a ship, but only someone like him could live in space and enjoy every minute of it.

He hadn’t felt that feeling in a long time, but staring up into the starry sky of Coruscant, an inkling of that child-like wonder surged through him once more.

He had taken to standing out in the wide open after passing through another checkpoint of stormtroopers, whom were notably surprised by his appearance but had done nothing to impede him nonetheless. People of various races, both humanoid and not, walked past him along perfectly polished sidewalks, the darkness preventing them from seeing the true state of his armor as they went about their daily business. Stars lined the night sky high above the largest, shiniest skyscrapers he had ever seen in his life. Massive hover cars zoomed overhead, following each other on invisible highways. Lining the skies were giant, holographic signs advertising various products in all the garish colors they could get away with.

It was like watching humanity evolve five generations at once. Not even in 2500 had they advanced this much, or invented this many things, or had this many aliens just walking about. He had to be dreaming. Nothing he was looking at was the real thing, surely.

His mind went back to the checkpoints. The scanning, the numerous amounts of guards at the entrance, the cautious yet aggressive nature of every single guard as they cleared him and sent him on his way. It was exactly like EarthGov. It was so EarthGov-like that it terrified him as much as it calmed him. Something had to be amiss within this world to cause the people defending it to be so on-edge all the time.

Nevertheless, it didn’t look like he had to go very far to find a place to live in this crazy, mixed-up multiverse place thing. At least he could shack up in the futuristic version of EarthGov, rather than some desert or abandoned snow palace or something.

He glanced away, noticing from the amount of whispering and moving away from his general location that he was drawing undue attention to himself. He sighed. He really did have to find a place to wash off the blood. Hopefully, none of them tried to report him to authorities; he didn’t want to spend his first day in Coruscant in an interrogation room and being asked why some child got traumatized after finding a human coated in blood and staring at him with three small, bright blue eyes.

So he walked. He didn’t have a firm idea of where he was going, however. He would have stopped a stormtrooper patrol and asked where the nearest engineering plant was, but that would just get him killed. So, he just walked, with no place to go, going into whatever alley or side road he could find to avoid attention.

He never expected someone to be IN those alleyways, though.

He had swerved into another one of those after finding a particularly large group of white-armored guards, chatting on top of a police hovercraft. As he looked beyond the corner he had past to make sure he hadn’t ticked them off to his presence, he had caused a person travelling through the alleyways to cease movement entirely. It wasn’t until Clarke sighed and started to get moving again did he see him.

The two just stared at each other, an awkward silence in the air. Despite that, Clarke was glad that, out of all the ways he could have met this guy, it had to be in an unusually sparkly, cleaned up alley with zero bits of trash or debris anywhere in the vicinity. The guy in front of him would likely have pissed his pants if he heard a leftover can get kicked and saw someone like Clarke sneaking around. Hell, he looked as if he was already about to piss his pants, given how pale-faced, slack-jawed, and wobbly he was.

Isaac Clarke raised his hands into the air, indicating he meant no harm. The man flinched, but after seeing the surrendering motion of the armored individual in front of him, seemed to calm down just the tiniest bit. He was like a deer stuck in the headlights, frozen in place and waiting for whatever death he was expecting to happen happen.

“Hey,” Clarke said, “I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t need to worry.”

No answer.

“I don’t know how I got this blood all over me, but I can assure you, I’m just… looking for work.”

The man’s eyes widened. “W-Work…? Wh-What kind?” He chuckled, his former nervousness slowly being replaced with that of excitement and relief.

Clarke looked over the man. Blond, cut-down hair as flat as a table, and a strikingly young-looking face that hid his true age very well. He wore some sort of purple suit and a black tie to match, and a sticker on his left breast. It read: “Hello! I’m Roger Arthington Your Syntech Employee!” with the name written hastily in sharpie

Whatever Syntech was, it was a good start for an actual job. “Depends. What work do you got for me?”.

“Actually…” he said, sliding a hand into the inner catacombs of his suit, “there is a competition that we are hosting that can more than likely suit someone of your… purposes!”

He pulled his hand back out, retrieving what looked to be a contract of some sort. “All I need is a few questions answered and I can send you to it myself!”

...What…? He reached over and grabbed the contract from Arthington’s hand. He looked it over.

“Dante’s Abyss…?”

“You’ve never heard of it? It’s an annual event! Those who win gain great renown, cash, pretty much anything they want!”

“What’s it about?”

“I’ve already told you! It’s a competition!” Arthington tapped his foot against the steel ground, his teeth chattering from impatience. “A contest between Primes! Or are you asking for something more specific?”

“Actually, I have two questions,” Clarke said. “First off, Primes? Second of all, a competition about… what, exactly?”

Arthington didn’t look too happy about answering his questions, but he answered them nonetheless. “You must be new around here if you’ve never heard of a Prime. They’re people summoned by Omni himself, or the Smiling One. They can summon things with glowing orbs of light called Omnillium."

He stopped, then narrowed his eyes. “Are you a Prime?”

Isaac Clarke went silent. He racked his brain for a short few moments, closing his eyes.

In the darkness, he saw Omni’s smile once more. He saw his curved hand as an Omnillium orb materialized on his fingertips. He saw the orb absorb itself into him before the abyss was replaced by the blood void.

“Yes. I’m a Prime.” His voice was shaky. “Is that important?”

“Yes! Very much so! Good segue into your second question,” Arthington said, wiping some sweat off of his young forehead. “You see… these contests… they’re very dangerous. Most contestants are, shall we say… not very polite. We don’t want to be held responsible for any secondaries meeting their demise in our events.”

Clarke wanted to ask what a secondary was, but he decided it wasn’t very important to him at that moment. What was was the description of the event itself. “Care to explain?”

“You see, this Dante’s Abyss is a bit different from last time. Essentially, um…” he said, pausing to figure out the best way to explain it to the blood-covered space man in front of him. “This contest is a bit… less focused on killing, you know. It’s more of a scavenger hunt.”

“...Scavenger hunt.”

“The point is to collect as many items as you can. Whoever collects the most is the winner. The alternative is also to be the only one left alive at the end as well. Options!”

Arthington did a little hop in place that looked remarkably artificial even by his standards.

Isaac stared down at the contract, silent. A contest completely dedicated to a bunch of people fighting each other in order to see who comes out on top? It was basically a gladiatorial arena, from the sounds of things; it was something so ancient it almost transcended modern history.

Aren't these people modern enough to be way past that level of savagery?

He thought back to the Ishimura.

That answered that question pretty well.

He didn’t want to. He had never wanted to kill anything, much less fight. That was true back on the Ishimura and it was still true now. He had half a mind to shove the contract back in the man’s face and continue on his way.

But Arthington promised renown, cash, and more; all things he sorely, sorely needed. No one was going to take an engineer if no one knew who the hell he was. He had to prove himself to the world, didn’t he?

At the very least, it would be a good way to learn more about it, if only how to survive it.

How could a world that had advanced so much still have such backward ideas on entertainment?

Sighing, he responded.

“Alright, I’m in. What do I have to do?”

“Splendid!” He could just hear the relief wash over Arthington as he spoke. “Just fill out the contract and I can lead you to the preshow facility!”

Shaking his head, he filled out the contract.

--------------------

What is your name?
 
Isaac Clarke.
 
How long have you been in the Omniverse?

Not even a day.
 
Where do you live in the Omniverse?
 
I plan on residing in Coruscant. Probably wherever my commute would be shortest.
 
What is your current job?
 
Engineer.
 
What was your life like back in your own world?
 
Wondrous, very adventure-heavy, but also insane, insanely scary, and everything was almost on the verge of going to hell. In fact, it did go to hell by the time I left it. Or at least my world did.
 
Why are you joining Dante's Abyss?
 
I want to ensure myself a stable job once I’m done with it. Fame and money can do both.

-------------------

He handed the contract back to Arthington, leaving behind more than a few bloody prints from where the gloves of his RIG touched the paper. The Syntech employee grimaced from the sight before smiling again, grabbing the contract.

“Wonderful! Come with me, please. We’ll be on our way! There should be a transport pad somewhere nearby that we can take.”

Turning around, they started to traverse the alleys once more. Neither of them talked very much along the way, although Arthington did have something to say. He didn’t say it up until they actually found a transport pad and Clarke was getting ready to be teleported.

“You know, you’re lucky...” Arthington said as the pad lit up a bright red, enveloping Clarke in a red, flickering light. “We were just about to close down sign-ups. You were just in time for the whole thing."

He chuckled before giving him a cocky finger-gun pose. "Make it count!”

The last thing Clarke saw before his entire form disappeared into thin air was the now genuine smile of accomplishment on the young employee’s face.

[Lord Zedd]

Coruscant

Imperial Stormtrooper Captain Desh looked up from his desk in unsurprised annoyance as the skinless horror that was Lord Zedd barged into his office. He’d just begun to get used to the quiet monotony of not having Zedd around. Desh had known the whole time, though, that when Zedd returned it would be suddenly and dramatically. The unhinged prime had enough issues already, but for some inexplicable reason this time he reeked to high heaven.

“You know there’s a sergeant and a lieutenant between you and me on the chain of command, right?” Desh asked as he leaned back in his seat.

“I will not be pawned off on your minions,” Zedd barked, matter of factly.

“Of course,” Desh shrugged. He was dealing with way more important things than this, so he wasn’t about to put his foot down just yet. “I guess that ruckus on Tier 6 was you?”

“If you will not clean the depths of this city, then I suppose I must,” Zedd answered.

“Well, thanks,” Desh’s tone couldn’t have sounded more fake.

Zedd allowed a frustrating silence to briefly permeate the room. The only sound was Desh typing away on his computer. The dark lord gripped his staff tightly in one hand, and balled a fist in his other as his limited patience diminished.

“Tell me what else you have been slacking on, so that I might fix it, too,” Zedd demanded out of nowhere. “And where are the Stormtroopers I am supposed to supervise?”

“I don’t know, Zedd,” Desh didn’t even look up. “We gave them some time off, with Knox’s injury and the whole deal you put them through. They’re probably at some bar watching the Dante’s Abyss Pre-show or something.”

“Dante’s...Abyss?” Zedd repeated that phrase curiously.

“You know, big televised deathmatch they do every year?” Desh still focused his eyes on his computer as he spoke. “I’m surprised they never mentioned it. Those four are junkies for it.”

“I recently worked with Dante in the underbelly of this verse. He mentioned nothing about owning an Abyss,” Zedd remarked.

Desh finally looked up, skeptically. “You worked with Karl Jak when you were down in Tier Six?”

“He was there as well,” Zedd confirmed. “I thought his last name was Mar, though.”

Desh frowned in confusion. “No… Karl Jak. The big celebrity?”

“Karl Jak Mar, then?” Zedd tilted his head. “Elf looking creature with guns and a split personality?”

“No, Zedd,” Desh shook his head. The prime was clearly thinking of someone else. “Except maybe that last par-” Desh caught himself falling to Zedd’s level. “No, Zedd.”

“Then what is his connection to Dante?” Zedd questioned. “The entire time we worked together, he never mentioned owning a gladiatorial death match and the means to support it. Is it a partnership between the two?”

“Who the fuck is Dante?” Desh threw up his hands in frustration. Seriously, what was Zedd even talking about?

“You just said he owns the Abyss!” Zedd spat out every word slowly, deliberately, and angrily.

Desh slammed his hands down on his desk, causing his keyboard to bounce a little from the impact. “I don’t have time for this, Zedd.”

“Well, I’m going to get to the bottom of it,” Zedd replied.

“Go, then. We don’t need you back for a little while, still,” Desh took a breath of relief at the thought that he wouldn’t need to worry about the unstable prime for a bit longer. “Big reward if you win.”

Zedd turned, then paused briefly as he processed that. He marched out of the office as dramatically as he had entered, with his new target in mind. Desh merely watched him go, finally realizing that ‘Dante’ and 'Jak' must have been the names of some random people Zedd had encountered on his own. Was he really that dense?

“Hey, and Who’s on first!” Desh called out into the hallway, after the prime. He listened in earnest anticipation for a response for just a minute.

Nope. Nothing.

************************

After a quick stop back at his apartment for a shower, and then a considerable deal of searching, Zedd marched up to the Syntech signup station on Tier One of Coruscant. Two men were there, and they appeared to be packing their things up. Zedd wouldn’t allow that just yet.

“Hold your bureaucratic red tape!” Zedd barked as he approached them. “I wish to participate.”

The two paused and looked him over. If that wasn’t someone designed to enter this competition, they didn’t know who the hell was.

“You’re running a little late, aren’t you?” one of them joked as he pulled out the appropriate paperwork.

“Would you prefer I sign these forms with your blood instead of an ink pen?” Zedd snapped back at the condescending man.

The other employee laughed as he set the forms in front of Lord Zedd. Jackpot. “Sign right here, please! Read if you like.”

Zedd grumbled under his breath as he jotted down the appropriate information with a provided ink pen. He scanned irrelevant nonsense like legal waivers as he put in the necessary information, and finished in record time.

“Done,” Zedd announced as he dropped the pen and stood back up. “Where is the arena?”

“Hold on, just need a little bit of information about you for the website,” the first man said, providing another sheet of paper.

Zedd groaned as he bent over and filled out the closest thing to a biography he could do, mostly answering the questions presented in short sentences. An online broadcast for a reality TV slaughterfest was not how he expected to announce his glory to the greater Omniverse, but some battles you didn’t get to choose.

“Great! It’s right through this teleporter,” one of the two said, gesturing behind them. “Step on in and we’ll beam you to the Danteverse.”

Zedd recoiled in shock at that statement, but quickly moved into the teleporter. Beams of energy wrapped around him, and he prepared for the all too familiar feeling of teleportation. That wasn’t what bothered him.

The Danteverse.

Oh, they were going to have words.

[Tamsin Suzaku]

Tangled Green, continued from here

With a heavy heart, Tamsin's eyes lay upon the application form she had put down before. Every fiber of her being protested the action she was about to commit. Unlike many hopeful souls who chose to enter such events, she was fully aware of the consequences they entailed. Even void of any long-term consequences, the mental anguish they inflicted upon one's very being was soul-crushing. To subject oneself to it again seemed like nothing short of lunacy.

But understanding that there was little point in delaying the inevitable, the young woman picked up the pen and, with a deep breath, proceeded to fill in the necessary details:

---

What is your name?

Tamsin Suzaku

How long have you been in the Omniverse?

A matter of hours

Where do you live in the Omniverse?

No permanent residence

What is your current job?

Personal servant

What was your life like back in your own world?

I lived a good life. Though it was full of trials and hardships, I had an honourable mother that I could look up to and a kind master that I was able to serve loyally. Though I wish my life would have lasted longer, I accepted death with few regrets.

Why are you joining Dante's Abyss?

I seek answers.

---

As she penned and put a signature on a Faustian deal of her very own, a heavy cloud descended on her mind. Once the attendant returned, she noted that the maid had completed the form: 'Oh! Are you finished, miss? Very well, please follow me.' With a light nod, the maid meekly complied and accompanied the Syntech employee to the recall station they had prepared.

It was a different time, a different place. Yet, the cycle of violence continued unabated. Despite her own wishes, Tamsin found herself further fueling that endless cycle. At that point, all she could hope for was that, at the end of that path of damnation, lied the answers she sought.