Tournament Arc

Written by HikerAngel

Commissioned by The First One

Ophelia awoke without an alarm—she didn’t need one. Her morning routine was so disciplined that her regimented sleep schedule had never once been broken or compromised. Six o’ clock, on the dot.

She didn’t even need to wake up at such times. As the richest woman in the world, she wasn’t exactly in a rush to get stuff done to meet her basic needs.

She performed some morning stretches, whistling a catchy tune she had composed herself last night as she twisted and contorted her muscular body beyond what should have been possible for a human of her size and stature. While she stood tall at an impressive 6’4”, clad in musculature that would make most bodybuilding men jealous—and paradoxically possessing a bosom and hips that would make most supermodel women jealous—she was effortlessly reaching acute angles well into the single digits with her surreal stretches.

With her wake up warm up complete, she now saw it fit to exit her room in the only way she knew how, to lift her two-thousand-pound metal door up and over her head so that she may pass underneath it. As the only known human who could deadlift a ton of pure steel, complimenting every entrance with a door no one else could even hope to move proved to be a very effective security system.

So it was easy to imagine her confusion when a thin, spindly man was waiting for her in her kitchen. He didn’t look malnourished as much as he looked… off. It was as if he had arrived from the depths of the uncanny valley but could camouflage as a human with some degree of competence.

“Ophelia Wilson…” spoke the man ominously, or at least it would’ve been if everyone on earth wasn’t already familiar with her name. “You live a life of extravagance, one that the powers that be do not approve of.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s asking?” She replied, a hint of arrogance in her tone. She didn’t mind that there was a weird man in her house, but if there was any aspect of the world she couldn’t stand, it was people telling her what to do or who she was supposed to be.

“My masters have determined that you need to be humbled, Ms. Wilson. Exceptional people such as yourself are selected by them for a grand tournament in a far off galaxy. You will be the first human ever selected for this tournament, and they do not expect you to get far.” He spoke bluntly, as if emotionlessly reading his lines off of an invisible teleprompter, delivering only what was on a need-to-know basis.

“Well, if this is anything like Earth tournaments that I’ve been invited to on occasion, this should be a piece of cake then.” Ophelia responded. “I mean, I’ve mastered every martial art, then I built a bunch of robots that also mastered every martial art, only to beat every single one into scrap metal with a blindfold on and one hand tied behind my back. Also I have, like, twenty PhDs so I’m sure that’s gotta count for something if one of the challenges is some sort of brainbuster!”

“...We shall see,” was all the creepy man replied with.

Then, Ophelia was no longer in the kitchen of her personal island. Instead, she found herself in a strange, dark location, the only stimulation of her senses coming from a distant cheer, as if a crowd of millions was one room over and their endless infatuation with spectacle had somehow breached through an otherwise noise-proof room.

“Welcome to the 862nd official Rigil Kentaurus Tournament of the Chosen,” an automated voice spoke from nowhere in particular, immediately drawing her attention towards the disembodied tone. “You have been selected to partake in a series of escalating battles with other beings of similar caliber. For every battle you win, the abilities of your fallen foe will be transferred over to yourself, added atop your existing attributes for a dynamic and escalating tournament experience.”

It seemed that even aliens utilized unconvincing robotic voices for repetitive actions. Despite the fake enthusiasm, Ophelia’s surprise was still supplemented with excitement. After how effortlessly she had disposed of any opponent she could think of on earth, this was the step up she had been itching for this whole time.

“Lemme at ‘em!” she exclaimed, connecting a right-handed fist with a left-handed palm in front of her chest with enough force behind it to make her prominent bosom jiggle to and fro like balloons full of jelly.

As if on cue, the wall nearest to her opened up from a seam in the middle, splitting apart like bay doors and revealing the influx of noise which had been smothered earlier from her containment. Were she not already intimately familiar with massive crowds of cheering fans back on earth, she may’ve been intimidated by the bleachers that seemed to stretch into the horizon in every direction—especially ones filled with incomprehensible alien beings.

Still wearing just her standard sleeping attire of a tank top and sweatpants, Ophelia appeared even more out of place than she already was, especially when compared to her armor-clad opponent that stood on the other side of the football-field-sized arena. He was covered from head to toe in machinated metal, complex gears and pumps churning constantly through slight gaps in the suit’s plating, though they too seemed equally as difficult to penetrate. Standing tall at over twice the blonde billionaire’s height, the metal man commanded the attention of the crowd.

“Is this the warmup round? Or is this some sort of joke?” Ophelia’s opponent remarked, his voice deep and booming, heard clearly to the human even from so far away. “I, Axiomar the Merciless, decimator of countries, conqueror of bloodlines, am faced with a mere weakling of a woman as my opponent?”

“Hey now, no need to be rude, let’s have a good fight here, big guy,” she quipped, further drawing the ire of Axiomar.

Ophelia assumed a fighting stance of her own creation, Axiomar didn’t, preferring instead to lift his hand up into the air and summon a mighty sword from the ether. It constructed itself out of manifested gears and blue flames, a seamless integration of magic and machinery that few else could claim such a mastery of. His dominion of such a unique domain seemed almost overkill when compared to Ophelia’s mixed martial arts.

“I will ensure you understand that this will not be a good fight, but a slaughterfest,” he spoke definitively, assuming an offensive stance. A bell rang, the match had begun.

Axiomar charged at Ophelia, believing that he would eviscerate her in an instant. She would be no different than the countless cannon fodder, turned canon fodder, as his magic-enhanced blade removed any instance of their existence from the greater world. This was the technique that ensured his domination, a strike that would erase entire memories, replacing powerful familial bonds and everlasting friendships with vague static in the back of people’s mind.

This was overkill—Axiomar knew this—but he did not care. He felt insulted that this pitiful being would even be considered within a similar realm of power to his own, and that he would likely receive no enhancements of his own from such a weakling. Perhaps he could rationalize it as merciful, putting this poor woman out of her misery, lest she encounter an ability of his that would break her mind beyond repair.

In a split second, Axiomar traversed the entirety of the arena, two tidal waves of brown-gray dust fanning out in either direction serving as the only tangible sign of movement for the audience. A great big buildup of noise, only for palpable silence to follow. The massive metal man now stood behind Ophelia, his body twisted in a pose that implied a powerful slice, one that went directly through the blonde billionaire bodybuilder’s torso. Everything was going exactly to plan. Any second now, physics would catch up to Axiomar’s actions and this puny human would be cleanly cut in two.

Any second now.

Any… second… now…

Axiomar pivoted around confused as to why the distinct sound of Ophelia being cleaved from existence hadn’t occurred when it was supposed to. Sure enough, her body remained together, raising a sculpted eyebrow as if she was just as confused as he was.

“You good?” She asked, genuine in her questioning. It was as if she didn’t even seem to care that he had just attacked her.

“Am I go—? What!? How are you still standing?” Axiomar demanded, quickly assuming a fighting stance once more, though his posture faltered slightly from uncertainty.

“How am I still standing? Well, I mean, it’s pretty obvious why. You missed.”

“Missed!? I didn’t miss. I don’t miss. It’s you who is surely mistaken and soon you will be erased from existence!”

“Well, uh, I hate to burst your bubble, but you did miss. I dodged your blade before it hit me.” She then shrugged her shoulders as if such a feat was no big deal. “What, has no one ever dodged you before? You weren’t that fast.”

“Silence!” he commanded, his booming voice echoing across the entire stadium and quieting the endless crowd in an instant. Ophelia didn’t seem to be phased.

“Well? Are we going to keep chatting or are we going to fight? I don’t really have any stakes in this fight. I was kinda teleported here against my will.”

Axiomar’s rage boiled over and he attempted to strike Ophelia again, and again. Every time it seemed like a surefire hit, yet the tinier blonde woman continued to exist. There wasn’t even a mark on her meager clothing.

“St-stand still!” the metal brute demanded, striking what appeared to be her over and over again.

“What? And let you ruin my comfiest set of pajamas? No way. You can’t buy clothes this soft, you gotta sleep in them long enough and wear them out,” she replied, not taking this encounter with any semblance of seriousness.

“Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!!!” Axiomar yelled with increasing intensity, his sword strikes becoming more boorish and less refined. There were other attacks he could’ve utilized, but he had become so caught up in the impossibility of her ability to dodge that he had developed tunnel vision. His ego needed a strike to hit her, no matter the cost.

But this insistence would be his downfall, as Ophelia was growing tired of his predictability. She had long since figured out his weakness, but was holding off as she was curious to see what he’d throw at her next. Without that, she was ready for this fight to be over.

With a single, perfectly-aimed strike, she dug her finger between a break in his chest plates and ab coverings, the digit grabbing hold of a chunk of complex machinery. Her lithe, perfectly-manicured fingernail then tugged, dislocating a crucial gear from the mainframe and lodging it into another crucial gear. Before Axiomar could realize what she had just done his suit began to fail him, mechanized limbs refusing to respond to his body’s commands as they weighed down on his joints.

The worst was yet to come, as this crucial gear began to mingle with other unintended machinery. The joints of his suit began to compress, the mechanism that once locked his armor in place now unable to recognize when the armor is tight enough for the wearer. His powerful muscles were no match for the very suit made to protect them as his armor became his coffin. His screams were muffled by the sounds of his bones cracking and muscles popping, the cruel indifference of technology crafting his downfall.

The audience cheered nonetheless, reveling in the undisputed victor of the fight. A bell rang off to signify Ophelia’s triumph, and she was promptly rewarded as a powerful light surrounded her.

“Rigil Kentaurus blesses you with your opponent’s power for conquering the first rung of this tournament,” spoke the disconnected robot lady voice once more. “May your future victories be evermore entertaining.”

Ophelia no longer remained puny as she began to adopt Axiomar’s size for her own, her clothes struggling to adapt to the changes. As the bottom of her tank top naturally rose up her body, it revealed a sexy stomach and defined abs, crafting an exquisite midriff that would become temporary as the blonde was currently four and a half lightyears away from her nearest wardrobe. Her top would simply have to serve as a bra for her sumptuous cleavage as it stretched into skin-tightness, alongside her sweatpants which were tearing at the seams as they failed to contain her growing magnificence.

Now standing at an impressive twelve feet of height—double what she had been mere moments ago—she took a moment to bask in her glory. Having peaked at six foot, four inches of height since she had been seventeen, all the money in the world hadn’t been enough to gain some extra height. Turns out, she didn’t need money. All she needed was to be warped into a tournament where she could steal the height from a magic mechanized conqueror.

Yet, Ophelia would not have much time to admire her new gains or even magical abilities, as the next opponent was quickly thrust her way. Unlike Axiomar, this second guy was on the punier side, especially regarding his build. He looked slim and feline-like in appearance, resembling an alien gray mixed with a sphinx cat. The being floated a few inches above the ground, his bulbous feet brimming with an ochre aura that seemed to keep him floating in the air, an effect shared with his equally oversized hands. Even with cheated extra height, however, he was still a meager seven feet of height—nothing compared to where Ophelia now stood.

“The last man who fought me engaged in a valiant battle of wits,” the felid alien boasted. “I would challenge you to one as well, but it seems to me you are quite unarmed in that regard.”

“Oh, so you’re calling me stupid, you bastard?” Ophelia replied, less than flattered by her new rival’s attitude.

“I am not a ‘bastard,’ simpleton!” the telekinetic tyrant fired back. Clearly she had struck a nerve with him. “I am Peallo, one of the strongest minds to have ever lived, and after defeating the respectable Game Master in the previous round, I now possess the abilities to morph existence into a game of my choosing! Prepare to be decimated! Your pathetic brawn is useless against me!”

The bell rang, signifying the start of this fight, but its noise was distorted along with reality itself with a quick snap of Peallo’s fingers. Ophelia felt her options restricted, while her mind was awake and perfectly lucid, her body seemed sluggish and unresponsive. It seemed as though she was limited to mere hand gestures. Rather conveniently, she had one on hand that she couldn’t wait to show him.

“Ah, how barbaric,” Paello reacted to Ophelia flipping him the bird, holding his head up high. “I expected nothing less from an inferior being such as yourself.”

“You’re the inferior one, you little twink!” Ophelia fired back, growing snappy as she did not appreciate her range of movement being restricted.

“False. Demonstrably false. I have encountered humans before in my travels, you are all quaint and stupid! Allow me to elaborate—you have a game called rock, paper, scissors… three meager options. On my planet, our version is a robust, fifteen-tiered variant. One where every play has five different counters and mind games are crucial to win. First to five wins takes the other’s powers. What say you?”

“Fair enough, I could win with those odds.”

With a twitch of Paello’s ear, the instructions for his species’ variant on rock, paper, scissors were downloaded into Ophelia’s brain. He didn’t give her nearly enough time to read the instructions cover to cover, but It didn’t matter to the feline. After all, cats played by their own rules, not the other way around.

Paello started simple with the wolf motion, as statistically it countered most of the choices that humans started with, trumping the interesting devil, dragon and lighting options. Curiously, Ophelia threw out a rock. Not what the alien was expecting, but he supposed that was to be expected. A tactical loss was acceptable for now, it meant that he could begin to piece together his opponent’s strategy and thoroughly demolish them!

Turning back to statistics, his powerful mind produced flawless empirical data. After rock victory, a large percentage of people moved over one to the gun motion, a good chunk also switched to simply paper, as they weren’t familiar with the intricacies of the modified ruleset and simply stuck with what they knew. Paello decided to pick sponge, as it was the simplest answer that covered both options. Best not to overthink this now.

Then Ophelia threw out rock again, which beat sponge.

Down two points, Paello now switched up his strategy. Two rocks in a row clearly meant she was limiting herself to just rock, paper and scissors. This would not slow him. He was willing to play her game for a little, to show her how primitive and foolish her gameplan was.

He threw out scissors, anticipating a panicked paper from her as a mix-up.

She threw out rock again.

Now he was the one panicking, though his advanced mind quickly steeled itself. In the entire history of his competitive career, he had never seen such brazen plays. If he wanted to turn this around, he’d need to respect that she was pulling mindgames on him and play patiently. Now would be the time to pick something that directly countered anything other than rock. There’s no way she’ll throw out rock a fourth time, he assured himself.

She threw out rock a fourth time.

Now it was the final round. One more mistake and Paello was a dead man walking. His strategies had failed him, his statistics had failed him, his mind was riddled with doubt. Knowing that he had been thoroughly humiliated and tricked, he left the final decision to chance. Tapping into the randomness of the universe, he allowed a throw of pure arbitration to decide his fate. It had at least a 66% chance to produce a result he could work with. Perhaps, that was all he needed.

His randomness awarded him with scissors.

She threw out rock a fifth time.

“It’s like I said, I could win with those odds,” Ophelia spoke with a shrug, as if she hadn’t put any thought into the win, the control returning to her body as Paello’s own form began to disintegrate into pure energy per the rules of the game. She found her brain becoming rich with new abilities, reality itself seeming more like a suggestion in certain ways instead of hard-coded rules that she needed to abide by. Perhaps she could even—

“Stop this tournament at once!” came a baritone-rich voice from all directions, as if the stadium itself summoned the words. Appearing before Ophelia was Rigil Kentaurus himself, evident by the blurb of information being inserted into her mindscape. While she was taller than ever, Rigil made her look like a shrimp. His titanic size dwarfed her form, commanding all attention to his presence.

“So, you’re the organizer around here? Planning on giving me an actual challenge sometime?”

“I would’ve let you continue, but I simply cannot. You’re easily the most powerful being to have ever entered this tournament! You possess the exact type of power that I need to ensure that my reign is eternal and fruitful,” Rigil spoke, utilizing one of his many stolen powers to conjure up images of his future, one of his massive form serving as the puppetmaster of the universe, turning it into endless entertainment for his pleasure. “Now, spare me the time, lay down and die for me! Trust me, I’ll make it painful if you make me take those powers from you!”

She raised an eyebrow, an eager grin on her face quickly following. “So what you’re saying is, whoever wins this skirmish gets all the powers?”

Rigil laughed a deep, throaty guffaw that shook the heavens. “I suppose so. But I find it laughable that you, a mere human, think you’ll be able to defeat a god-like being such as myself! In fact, go ahead, throw the first punch! I’m curious to see what you think that’ll do.”

~

Back on earth, the creepy officer of Rigil Kentaurus was enjoying the brief vacation in Ophelia’s home. As the spokesperson for the event he rarely saw an opportunity for a vacation, but he was sure that Ophelia wouldn’t be returning to her opulent mansion anytime soon. Propping his feet up and taking it easy, he found himself nearly drifting off to sleep on her scenic balcony.

“Oh, hey, you’re still here,” came a voice that sounded familiar, yet its larger-than-life presentation did not.

The man, not one for much emotion beyond formal politeness, awoke to a sight that twisted his face into terror and dread. The last he had seen of Ophelia, she was roughly the same size as he was, now her balcony struggled to hide more than her supple thighs as she stood tall at an absurd 70 feet of height. Her cobbled, nude musculature blocked out the sun as she bent down to inspect the tiny man like he was a particularly interesting bug, picking him up from the chair with a pinch of her fingers.

Now dangling by his collar twelve meters off the ground, the uncanny man wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else. Fortunately, Rigil, as his employer, had offered him the ability to be tied to the nigh-omnipotent alien’s power reserve. Whenever he was in a tight situation, a simple snap of his fingers warped him directly towards Kentaurus. And snap them he did, with a blinding light engulfing him as it always did. He breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that no matter what trouble he may be in with Rigil, at least he would be away from Ophelia.

But then when the light subsided, he was right back in her grasp.

“Wh-what is the meaning of this!?” the man spoke, flailing around uselessly in her grasp. “That’s an uninterruptible spell powered by Rigil himself! How could you have possibly broken through it?”

“Ohhhhhh,” Ophelia spoke, only now coming to the conclusion herself. “You were trying to warp to the source of your former boss’ power, which I now possess all of. So you really didn’t go anywhere!” She then giggled, her eyes like searchlights as they nearly crossed just to properly see the tiny man that was mere feet away from her massive face. “I guess that means you work for me now, huh?”

Testing her little theory on the little man, Ophelia raised her hand higher only to release him from her grasp. With only one option to escape imminent death via collision with concrete, he warped himself back towards his employer—right back into the behemothic blonde billionaire’s grasp. She once again giggled adorably, not at all matching a person of her size and stature.

The man’s eyes were locked into a thousand-yard stare, realizing just how hopeless his situation had now become.

“Aww, come on, lighten up. I’m not going to kill you or fire you or anything. In fact, I think you’ll make a fantastic middle manager for my social media, spreading the word and helping me drive up revenue. It’ll even be a pretty cushy job for someone like you,” she paused, bringing her tank-sized bicep into a powerful, earth-trembling flex. “Not like I’ll actually need much help getting noticed with a body like this. Hmm, speaking of which…”

A snap of her fingers and a mix of her new telekinesis, matter manipulation and physics manipulation, she expanded her puny personal island tenfold. New buildings sized for only her proportions were erected from the fertile sands, powerful magma rising from the earth’s core and cooling over to ensure that only the strongest of materials were fit to grace her new kingdom.

“Now, go forth, spread the good word of my overwhelming existence. May the vast creatures of this universe be enthralled by my magnificence for years to come.”