Chapter 127: The Queen and the Crane
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Her presence had a discernible effect on the world, akin to a drop in temperature or a shift in barometric pressure. The jade guards, men who likely hadn't felt fear since they were children, instinctively took a step back.
They didn't know who she was, not really, but they knew power when they saw it. And Illyana Rasputina radiated power the way a star radiates light. Effortlessly and constantly, with the quiet promise of burning whatever got too close.
And she wasn't even in her Darkchilde form.
This was just Illyana, dressed in dark, flowing robes that seemed to drink the light, a massive soul-forged sword strapped to her back.
No need for a fight, at least. I tapped the Omnitrix symbol on my chest. The green glow faded, and the hulking form of Blitzwolfer dissolved back into plain old me. A guy in a t-shirt and jeans, standing in the middle of a mystical thunderdome. The contrast was ridiculous. I loved it.
"Of all the mystical tournaments in all the hidden dimensions," she said, her Russian accent a familiar sound in this alien place, "you had to walk into this one, Tennyson, just when I was attending it. You have a talent for attracting trouble."
"I could say the same about you," I shot back, unbothered. "Isn't this the Heavenly Tournament of the Seven Cities?" I recalled from the comics. "Last I checked, your Limbo was a Hell Dimension. Not one of the Seven Capital Cities."
Her lips curved into that familiar, dangerous smirk. "It isn't. But the Crane Mother and I have… mutual interests. She invited me as an honored guest. I accepted." Her ice-blue gaze slid past me, landing on Charmcaster and Kwannon. "I see you brought your harem with you. Can't go anywhere alone, little boy?"
"Ben and I have professional relations," Psylocke replied.
The air around Charmcaster crackled, a faint scent of ozone and lavender filling the space between us. "We don't need your permission to be here, Demon Queen."
I stepped between them before the wards started flying. "Play nice, Hope. She helped save you, remember?"
The reminder made her eyes twitch. Charmcaster's hostility didn't vanish, but a flicker of grudging acknowledgment tempered it. She remembered being a damsel in distress, and she hated it. Illyana, for her part, looked at Hope with a dismissive sort of curiosity, the way one might examine an interesting but ultimately harmless insect.
Guess that's the difference between an up-and-coming sorceress and the ruler of Limbo itself. Unfortunately, my Charmcaster was outmatched here.
"Ah, the little witch," Illyana said, her tone dripping with condescension. "Still clinging to Tennyson's coattails, I see. At least you've learned some new tricks."
Hope clicked her tongue but didn't say anything. Illyana's attention then shifted to Kwannon. It was a different kind of look. The recognition between two predators. "You've gotten stronger," she stated, not a question. "Heard you ate a Chi pill?"
Kwannon gave a single, sharp nod. "It was a gift."
"Yeah, a teenage boy running on hormones can be a necessary tool at times like this." Illyana's eyes found mine again. "Luna was talking about you, by the way. I saw that selfie. Wait." A golden portal opened beside her, and the Demon Queen yanked a phone out of it. She quickly tapped away, and my phone buzzed.
I pulled it out. The picture was exactly as I remembered. Luna Snow, cheek pressed against mine, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Mhm, yes, looks good. We exchanged numbers too."
"Don't get any ideas, alien boy," Illyana's voice dropped to a possessive purr that was ninety percent threat. "Luna is mine. Touch her and I'll show you what Limbo does to thieves."
I couldn't help but laugh. She was serious. Luna was her anchor, her soft spot. It was a weakness she wore like armor, daring anyone to test it. I understood that kind of loyalty. "Message received, your majesty. Hands off the K-pop idol."
She nodded, satisfied.
"Can you tell us more about this tournament now?"
The brief flash of vulnerability was gone, replaced by the cool, calculating queen she pretended to be. "Hmm, about this little circus?" She gestured to the fighting pit below. "Every 88 years, the Seven Cities merge. They hold this tournament to determine who will walk the Earth for the next decade. The losers get fifty years of isolation. It's all very dramatic."
She paused, letting the information sink in. "There's a problem this time, though. The Crane Champion slot is empty. Has been for nearly a century since a drunk Iron Fist killed the last one in cold blood." Her smirk was wicked. "Normally, K'un-Zi, the city of dark magic, would just send a placeholder to lose gracefully. But our mysterious 'special guest' – the one with enough juice to make even the City Rulers nervous – ordered the selection process thrown open this time. For the first time ever, anyone can compete to take the Crane's place. Even outsiders from the mortal realm."
The pieces clicked into place.
This wasn't just a random tournament. It was an opportunity. If I could use it, I didn't have to be here to find an Iron Fist spirit by wandering around a mountain asking for directions. I could be here to make an entrance. To become a player in their game.
"So anyone can enter this preliminary?" I asked, my voice calm.
"Well… Anyone with the guts can step into that ring and the power to survive it," she confirmed. "Thirty enter. One leaves with the title. The rest leave in pieces. But if you win, Ben, you walk into the main tournament as the seventh Immortal Weapon. Instant legitimacy and power." She looked me up and down, and smirked. "Instant target on your back, too. What you think, alien boy? Interested?"
"You're suggesting he throw himself into a meat grinder?" Charmcaster asked, her voice tight with concern. She was thinking about Addwaitya, about the times I'd jumped into fights I had no business winning.
"I'm suggesting," Illyana corrected with a shrug, "that the boy who can reverse death itself might be capable of winning a fistfight. But what do I know? I'm just a Demon Queen."
The barb hit its mark. Charmcaster's jaw tightened.
I looked down at the arena. At the warriors clashing with chi-laced weapons. At the crowd roaring for blood. They were right. This really was a meat grinder. But uh, I wasn't some normal human. Sometimes, the only way to get to the other side is to walk right through the blades. And I think I can risk it.
"I'm in," I said.
Kwannon, who had been silent until now, spoke. "It is the most direct path to our objective. High risk, high reward. If you think you can take it, I won't stop you." Spoken like a true assassin.
Charmcaster just shook her head, but she didn't argue.
Illyana laughed, a sound that was both delighted and cruel. "I thought you might say that. I'll register you quickly. The people will think you're one of my… acquisitions from Limbo. A demon warrior." Her gaze swept over my human form, thoroughly unimpressed. "You should probably change into something more believable."
She turned to walk to the throne that waited in the middle of this gallery room, taking a seat and beginning to watch the match. "Your first match is in ten minutes. Try not to die too quickly. It would be terribly boring."
Why was she leaning against the wall if she's got a seat to sit on? I wondered as she snapped a singer as guards rushed to her aid. She explained the situation, that she wanted to register someone, and the process began.
Charmcaster whispered, "If you die, I'm dragging your soul back from whatever afterlife you end up in and stuffing it back into your body."
"I'll count on that."
****
[10 Minutes Later]
The arena was a different world. It was a place carved from black jade and living rock, carrying stories of power and time. It smelled of incense and old blood.
The crowd was an impossible gathering, beings from seven different realities packed into tiers that spiraled up into the mountain's core. They weren't here for sport but for a ritual combat that decided the fate of their homes for the next half-century.
In the front row of the audience, a man sat alone, his sheer mass creating a gravity well of respect around him. He was a mountain of a man in gray silk robes, with hair the white of sun-bleached bone. His belly was vast and round, which shook with silent laughter as he watched the preliminary bouts.
This was Fat Cobra, the Immortal Weapon of Peng Lai, a living legend who could shatter mountains with a punch and drink an entire brewery dry. He was here out of obligation, mostly bored. The preliminaries were usually just local talent showcasing their skills before the real tournament began.
But this year was different. The whispers from K'un-Zi were strange. The Crane Mother was acting on orders from a higher power, an unknown player who had changed the ancient rules.
The announcer, a creature with the head of a falcon and the body of a man, spread his wings and called for silence. "Honored guests! The preliminary for the Crane's mantle continues!"
The crowd roared, a sound like a landslide.
The falcon-man unfurled a scroll. "Our next challenger! From the Kingdom of Spiders, trained in the Venom Arts, feared across three provinces. Zheng the Scorpion!"
A wiry man with six arms scuttled into the arena. His skin was the color of old parchment, and his smile was a show of sharpened teeth.
"And his opponent…" The announcer paused. His beak clicked in confusion as a second, smaller scroll materialized in his hand, glowing with faint demonic energy. "There seems to be… a substitution. A late entry, sponsored by Her Majesty, the Queen of Limbo."
A murmur went through the crowd.
Limbo? The demon realm? What game was the Crane Mother playing? Fat Cobra leaned forward, his boredom evaporating like morning mist.
"A new contender," the announcer screeched, his voice cracking with excitement. "From the mortal realm, bearing the blessing of a demon queen and the hunger of a conqueror. Tetra-Man!"
The gate opposite Zheng the Scorpion didn't open. It disintegrated.
Black jade exploded inward as a crimson figure burst through, a four-armed blur of motion that landed in the center of the arena with a ground-shattering BOOM. The impact sent a spiderweb of cracks racing across the stone floor.
He rose to his full, nine-foot height. Four arms corded with muscle that seemed carved from ruby. Skin etched with black markings that pulsed with a life of their own. His eyes were four glowing green slits that promised nothing but violence. He looked less like a fighter and more like a natural disaster given form.
"Four Arms!"
Zheng the Scorpion, the feared assassin, the master of Venom Arts, took an involuntary step back.
The arena, which had been filled with the noise of roars and cheers, fell into a stunned silence.
Four "Tetra-Man" Arms cracked the knuckles on all four of his hands, the sound echoing like gunshots in the sudden quiet. He fixed his gaze on his opponent like a predator sizing up its prey.
"Don't just stand there, man. Let's see if you can sting," he rumbled, his voice like grinding stones.
The crowd erupted.
The falcon-man, recovering from his shock, shrieked, "Begin!"
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