The world went silent. The words echoed in every human's ear like an idol announcing a global tour.
"A— ah, what now?" James stammered.
"A tournament... is that not the correct word?" Gio asked, turning to his daughter.
Moe leaned in. "Creo que están atónitos, papá."
"Oh." Gio waited for a few seconds as the world leaders stood in stunned silence. "Should I say it again?"
"Un momento," she replied.
A soldier was the first to act — a massive American, 6'8", with a kill count in the triple digits and a file as long as the credits of a blockbuster movie. The ideal killing machine.
"Fuck this! I'm sending you bastards to hell!" he roared, ripping twin rifles off his back and opening fire.
Rama smirked. He stepped in front of the spray, blocking the bullets with his forearms. They bounced off his skin like pebbles hitting steel.
Moe moved next. She ducked under the fire in a half-circle so fast half the soldiers didn't register her shifting, and sliced through the American like wet paper.
The man's body barely registered he was dead. His arms slid off at the elbows. His head disconnected, looking down in a daze as it slid off his shoulders.
Moe simply pushed her glasses up and walked back to Gio's side.
Rama whistled low. "Real killer you got there," he flashed that smile at James who clenched his teeth in response
"It's not wise to waste fighters," Moe said fixing her hair
Gio smacked his lips. "Ah, Moe, you killed one of their fighters before we even gave them the gift!" He gently smacked her forehead — an act that seemed to do more damage than the bullets, as she let out a small "Ow!"
Rama walked back to Gio's other side. "Nah, doubt that guy was a fighter. That ability of his was pretty weak."
Gio bonked him on the head with his walking stick. "Rama! What did I tell you about talking bad about the fighters? We should respect those who put their lives on the line!"
Rama shrugged in response "I am respecting him. He put his life on the line. Then he died."
Gio raised the stick again. Rama ducked.
Both the world leaders and the soldiers stood in graveyard silence. Holy crap, we're doomed was a thought everyone seemed to share.
James opened his mouth. Closed it. His eyes flicked to the nearest soldier's holstered sidearm and lingered a second too long.
Then he dropped to all fours and bowed.
"WE'RE SO SORRY!"
Rama smirked — the kind of smirk that sparked fresh rage in everyone watching, even through the terror.
Gio simply laughed. "Oh-ho! No need to worry. I understand those types. Rama is one of them — the ones who, no matter how strong they get, you just can't control."
Moe didn't even look at him. Just pushed her glasses up.
"I do apologize, though," Gio said, turning back to James. "It wasn't my intention to kill one of your fighters before the tournament started." He looked like a child who had accidentally broken a vase.
"T— think nothing of it!" James sputtered. "B— but... this tournament. What do you mean by that?"
Gio tilted his head. Before he could speak, Moe stepped forward.
"A thirteen-on-thirteen tournament. One-on-one matches. Our thirteen strongest against you and twelve others." She glanced at Rama. "Though 'strongest' is generous in at least one case."
"Wow," Rama said.
M— me? No way. They think anyone here is qualified to take them on, James thought. "R— right... l— like they did in ancient Rome?" Idiot! They wouldn't know that!
"Yes," Moe said. "The concept translates."
"Except instead of slaves, we use your strongest!" Gio chimed in brightly.
"Unless your planet's existence means so little to you," Moe finished.
James stood there, mouth agape. "You... you mean—"
"That if you lose this tournament, your planet will be forfeit."
"Butttt... don't worry!" Gio added, his voice regaining its cheery lilt. "We've seen that the materials on Earth aren't exactly the greatest, so we come bearing gifts."
Gio snapped his fingers. A massive hatch opened in the ship above, and a mountain of shifting, multi-colored metal beamed down behind the group. The world leaders watched in awe as the pile hummed with a liquid energy.
"There we are! That should be more than enough to 'feed' thirteen fighters, no?" Gio said, a smile on his face like a grandpa with a rare gift for his grandkids.
Somewhere in the line of world leaders, a Minister of Defense took a half-step toward the pile before catching himself. Another leader coughed into his fist to cover a whispered number to the man beside him.
Rama watched this happen. Didn't say anything. Just smiled.
"Let's see... am I forgetting anything?"
"The rules," Moe said, without leaning in this time.
"Ah, yes! Right, the rules." He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a scroll-like object that shimmered with the same light as his ship. He cleared his throat.
"Ahem! Rule One: Fights must be one-on-one, with the sole exception of one round, which may be a two-on-two. This round still only counts as one point. Rule Two: Fighters may request certain conditions that must be agreed upon by the opponent. These include, but are not limited to: a change of arena, a specific fighter being brought forward, or a fighter giving up their spot for another. Rule Three: No matter the outcome, both parties will accept the results."
He rolled up the scroll with a flourish. "Sound good?" He offered a hand.
Tch, like we have a choice, James thought. He reached out and shook the giant four-armed man's hand. "Sounds like a good ol' time," he said, forcing a pained smile.
Gio laughed at James's "genuineness," completely missing the sarcasm. "Yes, it is! Haha!"
Moe's gaze stayed on James a half-second longer than comfortable, and James almost cried
Gio let go and turned to walk back up the staircase. "Very well! We will be back in one month's time. That's enough time, right?"
Moe fell in behind him. Rama followed, flashing one more smirk back at the leaders.
Halfway up the stairs, Rama paused. Turned his head just enough to speak over his shoulder and James could still see the smirk
"Pick carefully."
Then they ascended. The stairs folded back into the ship behind them, and with a silent hum, the visitors were gone.
"We're doomed," James whispered, his hand over his heart.
Behind him, the silence broke as the other world leaders scrambled, rushing back to their vehicles to head straight for the UN meeting room. James simply walked back to his helicopter, the dread of potentially dooming the entire Earth weighing heavy on his shoulders.