Chapter Text
The attendant glanced up as a hand slammed down onto the table, rattling the jar of ink and the quill within it. From the look on his face, the man was entirely unimpressed.
“Can I help you?”
The teen before him grinned, a toothy smile shot full of confidence and promising nothing but trouble.
Not one of these kids again.
“I’d like to be entered into the tournament please, if you would,” the kid said with the casual air of someone who expects everything to magically work out in their favor, somehow. He’d seen it all before, though. Some upstart wandered into the tent every year, expecting to be entered into the fights and win because they were Mommy’s special boy with an ego and a god complex.
The attendant glanced down at the scuffed iron sword tucked into the waist of the boy’s pants, skeptical. “Are you sure about that?”
“Absolutely, big man. Completely fuckin’ positive.”
The grin hadn’t faded.
This kid has no idea what’s coming.
He squinted up at the teen. “You have a proper sword? A shield? Literally any gear? That toothpick you’ve got there won’t do much for you, I’ll be honest.”
There was an annoyed huff, followed by a rolling of eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s not fancy or anything, but I’ll be fine.” The boy reached down and patted the worn hilt lovingly. “She’s saved my ass plenty of times, don’t worry about it.”
The attendant sighed, reaching out to pluck the quill from the bottle, hovering over a chart of names. “Your funeral, I guess. Name?”
“Tommy Innit.”
There was a scratching of pen on paper, another name added to the growing list of participants. This kid would simply be one of many who got their ass beat in the arena. Wouldn’t be the first time.
With a final flourish, the teen’s name was registered. “Alright, rounds start tomorrow, at noon. Bracket system will be used, winner advances to the next round, you know the drill.” The attendant looked up at the boy who stared back at him, eyes filled with both excitement and a serious determination.
“Welcome to the Tournament of the Gods, Tommy Innit.”
———————
Tommy sauntered out of the tent, whistling merrily to himself. A grin split his cheeks, hands tucked into his fraying pockets as he made his way down the crowded street, dodging tourists, vendors, and the occasional small child with ease.
He had done it. They had actually let him in.
He was in the Tournament.
The crowd up ahead grew thicker, the flow of people slowing down to a crawl as different stands popped up from the streets, all sorts of fruits and baked goods stacked upon each other, bright banners and scarves hung and fluttering in the wind, ornate knives and swords shimmering in the noonday sun. Tommy meandered through the market, stopping at the occasional stand to admire a neat sword, or to chat with the nice lady who ran the fruit stand and always snuck him an apple or two. (He loved that lady.)
This time of year was always the busiest, the most lively the city ever was. It was also Tommy’s favorite. People flocked from all over the place to participate in the annual festival, and to witness the main attraction, the infamous “Tournament of the Gods”.
The whole point of the celebration was to honor the deities who were believed to watch over the earth, bestowing hints of their powers and wisdom upon only the most worthy and righteous. The whole idea of the tournament first began as a way to provide the gods with a clear candidate for the blessing, offering up a victor at the end of many duels and trials. Over time, the seriousness of the tournament relaxed, and more people entered just for the sake of the challenge.
But there were still some who took the tournament seriously, training year round just for the chance to obtain the blessing of the gods. Personally, Tommy thought those people were insane and really needed to get a hobby.
He, on the other hand, had entered because he was bored and had nothing better to do with his time. Plus, it’d be funny.
Not that anyone else would get the joke but him, but still. The opportunity was too good to pass up.
Seventeen was the cutoff for the competition. Sure, some kids snuck in every year, squeezing by with a bit of early height to them, but no one younger than 20 or something had made it to the finals, much less won the thing.
Tommy was going to be the first. That was just a fact.
After a little more perusing, Tommy left the crowded market square, making his way down toward the older part of the city, ancient buildings built of stone and brick, friendly fronts sagging with age and generations of memories.
He’d go back to the market that night for the ceremony and dance at sundown that celebrated the official opening of the festival. The music was always wonderful, and he couldn’t wait to retreat to his favorite rooftop and let the melodies wash over him, warming him even as the sun dipped below the horizon. It was tradition, after all.
Humming to himself, Tommy wandered down the worn cobble street. The size of the crowd was much thinner in this area, the atmosphere a more somber one, full of a quiet sort of reverence and respect as opposed to the energetic fervor of the marketplace. This attitude, while the polar opposite of the personality that was one Tommy Innit, was a familiar and comforting one.
Up ahead, the buildings fell away, singling out a lone structure, made of carefully crafted pillars of quartz and granite, the grounds well kept. The city temple, dedicated to the gods. Traffic to the temple was heavier than usual, but that was to be expected this time of year.
After all, it was a festival for the gods. Duh.
Tommy skipped up the steps, perfectly at home among the airy ceilings and polished stone floors. People flocked to a raised dais at the center of the room, three quartz statues standing proud upon it. An open skylight in the roof bathed the sculptures in sunlight, highlighting the dramatic curves and features of the deities depicted.
Tommy’s steps slowed, coming to a halt behind a group of religious visitors, some lost in prayer or simply just in awe of the sight before them.
The Blood God, the Siren, and the Angel of Death all stared back with blank expressions, looking down upon the mortals with empty stone eyes.
Majestic, right?
Snickering to himself, Tommy stepped forward into the line of sight of the statues before promptly flicking them all off.
Beside him, he heard a horrified gasp, and Tommy turned, raising an eyebrow at the scandalized look that a woman was giving him.
“You alright, miss?” he asked, choking back another laugh at the look on her face. Priceless.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she breathed, glancing up at the stern faces of the gods before them. “You’ve just insulted the deities in their temple, right on the opening night of the celebrations! How do you think they’re going to react?”
Tommy rolled his eyes, stuffing his hands back in his pockets. “I’m pretty sure they don’t mind, not the exactly first time I’ve done shit like that.”
The woman’s eyes widened even more.
Tommy smirked. “Won’t be the last time, either. Gotta keep up good ‘abits, right?”
She took a step back, shaking her head. “May the gods have mercy on you, child. You’ll need it.”
“I really don’t, but thanks anyway.”
The woman scurried away to another corner of the temple, casting a fearful glance over her shoulder as she went.
Never fails to freak someone out. Classic.
Tommy grinned up at the statues, perfectly at ease. No lightning bolts rained down from the sky, no heart attack made him drop down dead at the feet of the believers around him. This was as to be expected, considering greeting the statues with a curse or quick toss of the middle finger had been his routine for years now.
Some god-fearing believer, steadfast in their concern over the power of the gods always decided to question his sanity. The record number of requests for mercy on his soul in one day was somewhere around 11. He was still trying to beat that record, but hadn’t come close yet.
All of this wasn’t to say that Tommy wasn’t a believer in gods and immortal beings. Far from it. In fact, out of everyone in this room, in this city, hell- maybe in the nation– Tommy could easily be called the most faithful person out there. It’s just that he didn’t buy into the whole “treat them with utter respect because otherwise fiery hell will rain down upon you and curse your bloodline for the next 1000 years to always have bad luck” shit.
He knew better.
Pleased with his personal choice of greeting, Tommy separated from the small crowd grouped around the statues, slipping away into an emptier part of the temple. Torches lit up the walls where the sunlight from the central chamber didn’t quite reach, combating what would otherwise be a persistent sense of abandonment. Tommy casually passed pillars and carvings depicting the history of the city and the gods' influence, heading for the back of the temple.
Up ahead, the torch-lit gloom cleared, revealing a small window cut into the walls of the temple, the glass long gone and letting in a warm breeze. Across from it was a forgotten alcove, filled with a messy pile of blankets, the walls hung with various mementos, trinkets precariously balanced upon a shelf made of two carved quartz wings.
Home.
Without hesitation, Tommy flopped face first into the mound of blankets, enjoying the familiar comfort after a long day of standing in line in front of that stupid tent. Gods, the other people there had been so fucking annoying, telling him to go home and find his mommy.
Well he didn’t have one, thank you very much. Take that, idiots.
Groaning, Tommy rolled over, staring at the ceiling for a moment. He soaked up the peace, letting the events of the morning wash over him.
Once satisfied with his brief moment of contemplation, Tommy sat up, shouting “‘Ey bitches, I’m back!”
For a moment, nothing happened.
And then the gentle breeze coming through his little window picked up, rushing into the corridor and swirling about. The sunlight grew brighter, the space swelling with light for a split second, rising in a crescendo along with the wind for a moment before dying back down again. The air stilled, light dimming, and the corridor was once again restored to its previous state of emptiness.
A hand reached out and ruffled Tommy’s hair.
He smiled, leaning into the feeling of fingers gently carding through the curly mess. “Fucking took you long enough.”
There was an annoyed huff, and the hand left his hair, much to his dismay. “I was busy. Answering prayers, being a benevolent and all powerful being, that sort of thing.”
Tommy leaned back, eyebrow raised at the being in front of him. “Normally you show up the instant I offer my greeting. I was waiting for you to appear an’ cause a scene. Imagine my disappointment, Wil.”
Wilbur sighed, settling himself down on the ground in front of Tommy. “Yeah, yeah gremlin. No need to get all worked up about it. I’ll help you terrorize the public during the ceremony tonight, deal?”
“Sounds great, but ’m not sure Mr. Righteous Angel is gonna be cool with that, Big Dubs. Remember what happened last time you accidentally revealed yourself to the general public?”
Wilbur rolled his eyes, leaning back on the palms of his hands. “It was just a little increase in traffic at the temple, Tommy. Not really a big deal-”
“You started a religious revival,” he deadpanned. “There were suddenly prophets claiming the world was ending every other hour. It was awful.”
He remembered that disaster vividly, despite the years between then and now. People screaming on the streets, flooding the temple with worried visits and desperate prayers. The chaos made it hard to sleep and people kept getting in his way, begging him to save himself from the end of the world. In summary, awful.
Wilbur waved him off. “As if that doesn’t happen like once a decade or so, come on.”
Tommy leveled him with an unimpressed look.
“Fine, moving on.” Wil's expression shifted to one of excitement, a mischievous grin taking over his face. He leaned in. “Did they let you in? Are you in the tournament?”
Tommy scoffed. “Of fuckin’ course I am!” He puffed out his chest, posing. “They wouldn’t refuse Big Man Innit the opportunity to gain the favor of the gods, not with how absolutely poggers and worthy I am!”
They both grinned, knowing damn well Tommy didn’t need a competition of all things to gain the attention of higher powers.
Wilbur snickered. “Yeah, right. I’m sure that’s how it went.“
Tommy’s pose faltered, triumphant look deflating. “That guy acted like a right bastard,” he muttered angrily. “Judged my sword ’n everything. Do you know how rude that is? How offensive? I am wounded, Wil. Gutted. Destroyed. There will be no recovering from this-“
Wilbur reached forward and flicked him on the forehead, laughing at the scandalized expression he got in response. “I’m sure your pride will be fine. In all my centuries, I’ve never met someone with an ego half as large as yours. You’ll recover.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment.”
“You do that.”
Wilbur stood and stretched, golden robes shifting around him, catching the light. “I’ll inform Techno of the news. I’m sure he’ll actually bother to watch the tournament this year now that there’s someone actually interesting to cheer for.”
“Awe, so you do care!”
Wilbur laughed, reaching out to ruffle his hair once more. “Of course I do, Toms. You’re our favorite mortal, it’s always been that way-“
“You’re doing the clingy god shit again.”
Wilbur just smiled at him. “I’ll see you on the rooftop tonight, okay?”
“Sounds great, Big Man. See you there.”
With a twist of the light and warping of air, the Siren was gone once again.
Tommy leaned back into his little alcove, watching the sky through the window. He grinned.
Tomorrow, he would be competing in the Tournament of the Gods, fighting tooth and nail for a chance at victory. For a chance to win the favor of the gods.
Phil was so gonna get a kick out of this one.