It all happened so fast.
First the world was busy tearing itself apart, like always. Then — boom. Hundreds of them. Giant alien ships hovering above Earth, bristling with tech that would've made every nerd on the planet salivate.
The government tried to respond. They always do. The world emptied its entire nuke stockpile and got two ships for the trouble. Both were replaced within the hour.
Some people were horrified — rightfully. We hadn't even seen the aliens yet and they'd already dismantled our strongest weapons.
Cults were fast, too. Some called them gods. Some corners of Christianity somehow worked them into the Bible — don't ask me how. A load of shit, to me.
Three days in, the Earth started to shake like it was being moved. Everyone figured they'd finally decided to blow us up, and honestly, at the time, I would've preferred that. What arrived instead was a ship twice the size of Earth, representing technology our species wouldn't reach in two thousand years.
That's when the world really fell into despair. Every news outlet. Every government official. Every random guy with a camera. All of them saying this was the end. The punishment we'd earned.
But they didn't do anything. Not for a day, then a week, then a month. Eventually people just... accepted it.
The government tried sending a ship up. It got shot down. The astronauts got beamed up like a crappy sci-fi movie. So that ended that.
It was quiet. A little unnerving, sure. But better than being debris.
Then they came.
A giant staircase descended from the massive ship, and that's when we got a look at our visitors.
They were green — not lime-green, earthier than that. Some darker than others. And under the green, they looked weirdly human.
The leader was an old man. Dark olive, white beard almost brushing the floor when he walked, robes puddling around his feet in priest-white and purple and gold. He looked like a leader — the type you'd see in human movies. Minus the three eyes, each with a black sclera and a different colored iris: red, green, blue. And the four arms. Two rested behind his back. One carried a walking stick. The last stroked his beard as he took in the planet.
Flanking him on either side were two figures that were similar and somehow more bizarre.
On his right was a young man, lighter green, the type you'd see making bodybuilding content on the Internet. Four arms. Walking shirtless in baggy pants and wearing a smile that could piss off a monk.
On his left was a woman who carried herself with an energy that could calm a raging beast. Three eyes, glasses that only covered two of them, and a suit in the same colors as the old man — which almost made her look like his butler. Her eyes scanned the area like we had anything that could even remotely harm them. She shot the shirtless young man a disgusted look as they descended.
Inside of thirty minutes, every world leader was hustled to the landing site, their militaries screaming in their ears the entire way. They stood in a rough line, breath held, soldiers fanned out with guns raised as if that would do much.
The old man spoke first. The cadence was human. The language wasn't any we had.
He kept going until the woman tapped his shoulder.
"Papa, ellos no pueden entenderte."
He looked genuinely shocked. Said something back that made both women laugh. The young man rolled his eyes.
After the chuckle, the old man looked back at the world leaders and cleared his throat.
"Ahem. Leaders of Earth, hello? Helooooo?"
And now he was speaking every native language at once.
"Hellooooo!" he drew out, like a kid into a microphone.
"We can hear you," said America's president.
"Ah, great news! Very well then. My name is Giontoantoslorito — or Gio, for short." He chuckled into his beard.
The world leaders were all landing on the same thought: these three were way too calm. Not victorious-calm. Friendly-calm. Like they'd arrived at a dinner party.
"My name is James Johnson, the President of the UN," he said with an extended hand.
"Ah, you're the leader. Very good. I'm assuming these are your lieutenants?" Gio said, shaking it.
James hesitated. A bead of sweat slid down his face. "Err — not quite. Everyone here is the leader of their own country."
Gio tilted his head. The young man behind him laughed.
"Maybe this planet won't be such a bore."
"You're saying all of you are equals in strength?" Gio asked, genuinely confused.
All the leaders almost looked smug, acting as if they didn't send armies to fight their battles for them.
Maybe if I say yes, he'll leave us alone, James thought. They finished shaking.
"Yes, as a matter of fact." He made himself sound confident.
Gio's eyes widened slightly — not in shock. Like a kid opening a Christmas gift.
"Well, that's simply wonderful! Let's see... there's one, two, three... eight of you! Why, that's almost a dozen! Just five more and we'll have enough for an actual Ouro!"
"A what now?"
The woman leaned in. "Papá, te olvidaste de desafiarlos adecuadamente."
Gio jumped. "Ah, yes! Apologies, apologies." He raised a fist to his mouth, cleared his throat, and his whole demeanor shifted into something more formal.
"People of Earth! We, the Anthorian representatives, challenge you to an all-out tournament!"