Inexorable Chaos
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Chapter 1

The musky smell of old paper and masculine sweat permeates the court chamber—no doubt caused by the combination of a struggling air conditioner, the brilliant sunshine pouring in through large windows, and the eighty seats filled with sweaty lawyers.

Yes, the courtroom is packed with tall, muscular lawyers dressed in intimidating black suits and black sunglasses. They sit at attention, like soldiers, but instead of weapons, they carry clipboards and laptops. Each one carries himself like a seasoned veteran of many bloodless battles.

Well, my lawyers look like that, and of the eighty lawyers present, seventy-five serve as my legal counsel.

I take a gander at the five state attorneys who sit nervously next to my linebackers, who could break them like twigs. Indeed, the largest and most muscular of my lawyers are sitting around the five. Each moment, they flex their muscles to elicit the quiet but distracting whisper of flesh-stretching fabric.

The government lawyers—two men and three women—nervously stare forward. They are sweating, distracted, and absolutely out of their league.

I wonder who’s bullying these poor people?

Wait, that’s me. I won’t deny that I allowed this charade of a case to get this far just to make a point.

I glance at the live cameras streaming everything that’s happening within the courtroom. Every news outlet is currently making sure that all Americans, as well as the international audience, can see this one-sided, metaphorical bloodbath.

The audience can also see the petite, four-foot-eight bailiff in charge of keeping the peace. Yes, somehow, the powers that be went ahead and placed what looks like a grade-schooler in a uniform and told her to protect people.

“Mr. Eludo,” the judge begins, “you state that the combined net worth of a trillion dollars of rare metals appearing on your properties is a result of a…” The judge pauses, exhausted. He glances at the witness stands, where two suited men, one named Todd and the other Bob—or maybe Bob and Todd?—share a knowing look. “… a god”—he says the word slowly—“teleporting the metals from the bottom of oceans and into all of your warehouses.”

He pauses for a moment. “This teleportation”—he tests the unfamiliar word—“is in payment for services successfully rendered during a hero summoning to a world called Orbis. The service rendered was”—the judge checks another stack of paper, a document with my signature on it—“destroying the world.” The judge grimaces. “Is this correct?”

“Yes,” I answer completely and truthfully.

The judge looks at me with annoyance and distrust. Which I completely understand. All the gods that had ruled Earth fled this mana-starved coop for Orbis thousands of years ago. All they left behind was some fancy rocks and unlikely stories.

“You also state that you can offer no proof, correct?”

I grin toward the camera and spread my arms. “My proof is that there is no evidence of any wrongdoing. One moment, there were empty warehouses, and the next, they were filled with valuable metals.”

“Mr. Eludo, please answer the question.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, correct.”

The judge nods as he goes through the documents. After several more questions, I am finally allowed to speak freely.

“Alright, let’s get this straight.” I lean forward. “This entire case is a sham. There is no evidence that any malfeasance has happened. The government is just being pissy about my wealth increasing by four zeroes overnight. They want some of it, if not all of it, for themselves. Not that that is going to happen.”

I scratch my chin and feel the annoying stubble growing since the last time I’d shaved. “They have no legal way of accessing my wealth, nor can they explain how it was obtained. I’ve had the metals tested, and the sediments on them reveal that they were under a pressure in excess of seven miles below sea level. Other than seven redacted nuclear subs designed and launched by the U.S. military, there are no other publicly known vehicles that could travel the distance to access the metals.”

I grin, knowing full well that I have just thrown a wrench into international plans.

“And even if I did have some craft capable of accessing the ocean floor, then the metals would be taken in international waters, wherein there is no legality. Regardless, though, the metals were obtained by a god and transported to my warehouses. You’re free to try and tax me, but that would involve accepting the existence of divine beings into law, which, as much as I hope you do, I know you won’t.”

I lean back into my seat.

“Is that all, Mr. Eludo?” the judge asks after a moment.

I open my mouth to answer but pause. A chill runs down my neck, and the hairs on my arm stand up.

“Really? Worst possible timing.”

The judge raises an eyebrow at me.

“Mr. Eludo?” he begins, but I ignore him. Instead, I focus on the influx of mana. My soul resonates with the all-too-familiar energy. I glance around, trying to pinpoint the hole into this reality.

“Mr. Eludo?” the judge asks again.

I continue looking, growing ever more confused. Normally, the mana comes from one direction, but this is uniform.

“Something is wrong.”

As the thought escapes my lips, I feel the mana vibrate.

The judge opens his mouth to say something but pauses. His eyes widen, as do every single persons’ on the planet.

In our vision, a block of text appears in the world’s most common language.

Congratulations, Homo Sapiens. Your species has been magnanimously chosen for the great honor of being part of the 17,894th God Games. Once your world is adequately suffused with energy, I will commence the testing phase upon your planet. Those who pass the trial shall be worthy of joining the God Games and becoming a divine champion.

So, please take your time and prepare for the trials.

-Pandora, Master of the Labyrinthian, Bestower of Laurels, Divine Lord of Games

The block of text disappears when I finish reading. As it disappears, I can hear the sounds of distant car crashes happening all at once.

“So”—I clear my throat and pull out my phone—“in light of recent events proving the existence of the divine, I would like to request”—I check my phone calendar—“a week-long break to attempt to contact my ex-employer.”

The court room remains silent at my pronouncement. I sigh. “No, that would waste too much time,” I admit. “I would like to plead no contest to any and all wrongdoings.”

Chapter 2

Upon the top of his castle, Pandora gazes down upon the lowered drawbridge that stretches into the void. Colors swirl around the feet of each divinity as they cross the translucent, glowing crystal span, each according to their power and aspect. She takes the measure of each god as they arrive. Loosely speaking, they fall into three categories. The numerous minor gods are nascent beings still struggling to survive against the wiles of fate. Mid gods, true immortals, sustain themselves from the mana of their worlds and will last as long as there is mana. Typically, each world hosts one mid-level god. Major gods are rare beings, free from the shackles of worlds or mana or even physics. To them, a universe is but a toy. They usually become creators… or destroyers.

It opens a second eyelid. A human god from one of his seeded worlds saunters out of the void. The bridge beneath the god’s feet blazes an eye-hurting violet, completely dyeing the crystal’s soft white glow in black light. The newcomer strolls across the span with the power and poise of a major god.

“Chaos…” Pandora tastes the air. “It seems the tides are changing.”

Pandora continues to watch the arrivals, all the new and old divinities until no more gods are on the bridge and the appointed proper time is come. With a thought, the drawbridge begins to rise.

Just then, a late arrival forms from out the void. The latecomer is a bipedal goddess reminiscent of a human in general form, except for the single large eye in the center of her head. The goddess, seeing the bridge rising, rushes across the causeway and jumps. She almost makes the jump, but her foot catches the edge and she sprawls eye-first onto the crystal bridge. The crystal glows a very muted rare silver-gray, insinuating the girl is a minor goddess of explosive luck.

The bridge continues to rise and the goddess panics. She wipes the tears from her eye and attempts to rush down the bridge. Unfortunately, the bridge is already too vertical, and she falls forward, then begins a roll.

Pandora snorts bubbles as the goddess rolls into his castle.

________________________________

“Ughhhh… Yazula is unlucky today,” she cries aloud. The one-eyed goddess pushes her body off the floor and looks around the stone antechamber.

“Yazula is also lost,” she announces with a pout.

Then she notices the massive glowing arrows on the ceiling.

“No, not lost. Yazula is blind.”

Then she remembers her timing.

“And late!” she screams and runs down the hallway. After a minute of running and occasionally tripping, she finally enters a massive stadium filled with thousands and thousands of gods. She looks around, unsure if she should take a seat or stand with some of the standing gods.

Confused and a bit overwhelmed, she hurries to the first god her eye falls on. “Hello,” she says, tapping the god. “Yazula has a question!”

The god, towering over her height by three Yazulas and heavier by twenty, glares down at her with red tusks, sharp-pointed teeth, and spiked horns made to rip and tear.

“What do you want?” the god of rippling muscle and spikes asks with a deep and powerful voice.

Yazula blinks rapidly. She swallows as she gazes at the monstrosity before her.

“Um, Y-Yazula has a question.”

The god wraps a massive appendage around the goddess’s petite frame, eliciting a squeak of surprise. He raises her until she’s eye to face with his toothy visage.

He grins. “And why should I answer the questions of fresh meat?”

Yazula swallows audibly. “Because Yazula is cute?”

The monstrosity guffaws. He raises his arm back, and the goddess realizes what‘s about to happen.

“Yazula is sorry. Yazula will not ask questions from you. So, if you can find it within your heart to not thr—ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

Like a professional pitcher, the spiked god throws the petite goddess across the stadium. Her cries of panic elicit chuckles from many gods. Finally, just as she is about to crash into a god, the god in question reacts quickly by taking a step back. Yazula screams as her body crashes into the just-vacated stadium seat with a sickeningly deathly crunch that would have been the death of her if not for the fact that she isn’t mortal.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Groaning in pain, Yazula gets up off the ground and finds that everyone except for her is seated. Panicking, she quickly sits down in the empty seat she crashed into, next to a bipedal god with white gloves, a top hat, and a red suit of some kind.

“Oh,” Yazula realizes.

She taps the man, and the man glances at her.

“Yazula is sorry for almost crashing into you,” she apologizes.

He tilts his head. “That’s not your fault.” The man looks across the stadium and locks eyes with the spiked god. “I was just being targeted because I’m new.”

“You’re new? Yazula is new, too. We should be new buddies!” She grins happily.

The man laughs. Luck, it would seem, is by his side. He opens his mouth to say something but stops.

“It seems the show is starting.”

________________________________

The stadium falls silent, and the lights go down. A single spot shines on the raised dais in the center of the stage.

A gray fluid slowly rises into a column until it stands two Yazulas tall. For a moment, it is still. Then it flows into the shape of an anomalocaris, then a woman, then a goose, then things less identifiable.

The mercurial being spreads its antenna wide as it turns a full circle to welcome the audience.

“I am Pandora, and I welcome each and every one of you to the 17,894th God Games.”

The crowd of gods roar into the sky. They yell and scream, creating a cacophony of noise that sounds less like a cheer and more like a zoo filled with screaming animals.

Pandora lowers his arms.

“Now then…” Her words echo over all the adulation, silencing everyone and thing. “This next game of mine will be very different from those before.”

Above the stadium, a holographic planet lights up. The planet is massive and covered with numerous floating islands. Underneath those islands is the planet’s half-frozen and half-molten core.

“For this next game, I have spent a great deal of time creating, testing, debugging, and finally finishing something I like to call a World System. For those of you who don’t know, the World System is a self-sustaining mana-based planetary interface wholly designed to change and enhance living beings not just as a species but on an individual level.”

The crowd… continues to be silent, to the growing annoyance of Pandora.

“Some of you may have enjoyed one or even several of the many thousands of beta test worlds. For your contributions, thank you. And now you all have the opportunity to play, experience, and immerse yourselves in this, the culmination of an eon of efforts, World 177.11!”

The crowd doesn’t cheer.

Pandora sighs flame.

“Fine, fine. You’ll understand the greatness of my system soon enough.”

Pandora points at the hovering planet.

“This world is called Tristique and will be the playground for my game.”

Six more planets rise up and float around Tristique.

“Tristique has six different species that I have seeded from different worlds. From these worlds, you will be required to choose a champion from among the critters that survive my tests.”

Twenty-one bursts of light emanate from Tristique.

“As for the game, I have placed a blessing into twenty-one floating towers. Your champion must collect all of the blessings either from the towers themselves or from a previous champion who did. Once all blessings have been collected by a single individual, then the final tower will reveal itself. The champion that completes that tower will win the God Games and be awarded this.”

Pandora raises a tentacle that flows to unveil a single glowing box.

“This is a single-use item that contains the power to transform any mortal into a god!”

Now the cheering begins as all gaze at the simple box in Pandora’s hand. Even the major gods are sitting with rapt attention.

______________________________

As the cheering continues, the single human god tilts his head thoughtfully toward a cheering little girl.

“Yazula, right?”

“Hm?” she stops cheering and grins. “Yup, Yazula is Yazula’s name.”

“Do you plan on joining the God Games?” he asks.

She nods. “Yazula wasn’t listening to what blob person said, but Yazula thinks games are fun!”

The man snorts and looks at one of the six seed planets.

“Then how about I give you a recommendation for a champion?”

Chapter 3

“Franky, everything is fine. It’s all going according to plan.”

“But you’re going to prison,” Franky repeats for the tenth time.

“Which is part of the plan!”

“How is going to prison part of the plan?” he yells on the phone. “Yo-You’re going to prison. Some guy is going to beat you up and then make you his bitch.”

I roll my eyes. “Really, Franky? Really? I know not to drop the soap.” I sigh. “When did you become such a pessimist?”

He frowns. “’Cause of the stupid dreams.”

“Memories,” I correct. “Those are the memories of your previous life. Speaking of which, why are you remembering only the shit parts? You had three gorgeous wives and nine goddamn brats. How the hell aren’t you remembering that?”

“The fuck if I know! I get a lot of bits and pieces of random things. It’s so very confusing. I-I remember the guild, Camelot, and some of the quests.”

“It will come to you in time,” I assure him. “It was your first summon, so it takes a while for your body and soul to reintegrate.” I stop grinning. “Anyway, that’s not important now. Are you following my directions?”

He pauses for a second and takes a moment to stare at the outlines of the glass screen separating us. “Yeah, I found the house and all the stuff…”

“You’re free to talk. This conversation isn’t being monitored,” I inform him. “I’ve already got everyone in this holding facility on payroll.”

He stares at me, wanting to say something, then shakes his head.

“Yeah, all the weapons are there. The food, guns, ammo, fuel, and the, uhh, tank.”

“Armored personnel carrier,” I correct him, “but good. You’ll need it to survive. If you want, bring a couple people with you to the hidden compound, but not too many. Eight people tops. If you have too many, then you might be targeted for the God Game, at which point you’ll surely die.”

He sighs.

“Alright, I’ll follow your directions.”

“Good, good.” I nod.

I glance at the clock on the wall and see my time running out. I stand up from my seat.

“Well, Franky, it looks like it’s time for me to go. Try to stay alive, alright?”

He sighs but nods.

I hang up the phone and walk out of the room. At the exit, several waiting guards handcuff my wrists and escort me out of the holding facility. They lead me, alongside a procession of other criminals, to a bus. We all enter and are subsequently tied to very uncomfortable seats.

With my butt seated on the thinnest leather possible, the bus starts up and we are on our way.

Not even ten minutes into the ride, the prisoners get bored and start talking with one another, which elicits a “shut up” from the armed guard in the bus. The prisoners then reply with various forms of “go fuck yourself” alongside other insults.

Regardless, the constant shit-eating grin from the guard puts a big damper on the mood. After all, everyone in this bus is going to prison for life.

“Hey, cabrón. Puto with the black hair,” the prisoner on the seat next to me calls. I turn to the guy, a skinny Hispanic dude with tattoos all over his neck and up to his jawline.

“You’re that rich pendejo from the news. Why ya here? Don’t you have money?”

“Good question.” I tilt my head to the guy. “You’ve heard of the world message about the God Games, right? Well, I’m planning on joining the games, and the prison we’re heading to will be the perfect place for it to happen.”

“Valió verga,” he curses. “You’re fucking nuts if you believe that shit.”

I roll my eyes at the guy. “The entire human population just so happens to see the exact same message as everyone else, and you think it isn’t real?”

He scoffs.

“You know what?” I shrug. “You can keep thinking that. Just know that when shit hits the fan in prison, you’re going to be one of the first to die.”

“Chinga tu madre! I ain’t some pinche gabacho.”

I chuckle. “Really? Well then, prove it at prison. I dare you to insult the warden—unless, of course, you’re a coward.”

“You think I’m scared of some fat shitface? I’ve shanked hundreds and killed a dozen already. I ain’t no fish like you.”

I grin. “Prove it.”

___________________________________

After about twelve hours of constant travel, we eventually enter the Mojave Desert. Three more hours through the desert, and we eventually turn toward a rocky outcropping. As we get close, a hidden door built into the mountain opens upward. The bus drives into the hidden facility.

The bus stops in a wide hangar under the flickering glow of artificial lights. The guards in charge of keeping us from doing anything crazy exit the bus. We sit there, waiting. Minutes later, the guards return with several more dressed in Jasperz. They unlock the chains and herd us off and into a line beside the bus.

“Don’t fucking push me!” one of the prisoners curses.

With the most bored expression seemingly possible, the guard reaches to his side, unlatches a baton, flips a switch, and then jams the baton in the prisoner’s side. The prisoner screams as electricity floods his body and he drops to the floor.

“Get in line,” the guard orders.

“Fuck you!”

The guard smiles as he stabs again and again until the prisoner is a whimpering mess.

Once we are all lined up, the warden makes her entrance from a port-sized elevator that leads down into the extensive prison complex.

The warden is a six-foot-two, lean, blond-haired, blue-eyed woman wearing a German trench coat that has the American flag on one shoulder and a swastika on the other.

Heedless of said red flags, the prisoners begin hooting and hollering at the only woman they’ve probably seen in a long while.

When she finally stops in front of the prisoners, her hands move behind her back.

“Silence!” she yells with the force of someone who deals with unruly prisoners every day.

The prisoners all go silent… all except one.

“Oy, bitch. You’ve got a nice mouth. I got a pair that would fit in there real nice.”

The woman doesn’t answer. Instead, she looks at one of her guards. The guard steps forward and raises a clipboard.

“Prisoner 43372. Juan Garcia. He is incarcerated for quadruple homicide, multiple counts of rape, and the sale of illicit substances. No backing of any kind. He is sentenced to life in prison. Black-ranked prisoner.”

The warden nods. She then looks at the prisoner.

“Juan, tell me, do you like sports?” she asks calmly.

Juan grins confidently. “So long as I get to use my balls, then yeah, I do.”

The warden nods again.

“Then let us play a sport. Bring mir den Golfschläger!”

At her order, four guards step toward Juan.

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing!? Let me go!”

He is pulled forward and held in front of all the prisoners. One of the guards ties a rope around his mouth while the others force him to stand with his legs spread apart.

A fifth guard hands the warden a golf club.

She does a few test swings with the club.

“Now, prisoners”—she takes position in front of Juan—“I am Warden Irmgard von Braun, and I am in charge of the prison complex under our feet.”

She stares at the man as he is forced to stay standing with his legs spread.

“This prison is not like the other prisons. In my prison, there is no parole. There is no reduced time for good behavior. There is no escape. Each and every one of you is here precisely because the powers that be do not want you alive but cannot legally kill you… yet.”

She takes a stance. “You all are expendable.”

She swings forward with the gold club, a perfectly practiced swing that creates a squelching sound as it makes contact with a ball.

All of the prisoners go completely white as Juan screams, only to be muffled by the rope around his mouth. His legs fail, but the four guards keep him standing and his legs spread.

“If something were to happen to any of you, then nobody would know.”

She swings again.

“And nobody would care.”

And again.

“Accidents will happen to unfortunate inmates.”

And again.

“Perhaps it will be self-defense.”

And again.

“We are very lucky to have a crematorium on-site.”

And again.

“That can fit a lot of prisoners.”

Again, again, again.

She drops the bloody golf club on the ground and gives the prisoners one last look.

“If you want to stay out of the morgue, then you will show your betters some respect.”

She turns her back to prisoners and starts walking away.

Only to pause a moment and glance back.

“Oh, and welcome to Downside Penitentiary.”

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