Part 1
There were still three hours to go before the preselections.
We still had a lot of questions, but we had no choice. We had to go.
- Kameron had said it wasn't a classic bare knuckle, Persival reminded us.
But I think that, as in the classics, training gear won't be compulsory. We can wear protective gear if we want, but it probably won't be to our advantage.
Nael nodded. He said nothing, concentrated.
The only thing left for us to do was to get to Konfrant-Sud, to that old disused underground parking lot. The venue for the tournament.
Yuna stayed with Kameron. Just in case. Even though... I knew the atmosphere between them was going to be heavy.
She had also warned Kameron's family.
If anything went wrong on our side, a phone call would suffice. She knew that. And she'd also keep an eye out for Section 11 guys.
But that's unlikely:
They didn't need Kameron in person, they just wanted the number of participants to be complete. Now that Naël was taking over, it would surely suit them. As long as their participant quota didn't change, the rest didn't matter to them.
Part 2
We had just arrived in the Konfrant-Sud neighborhood. It was raining that evening.
The scenery changed slowly as we went along. Alleys became narrower, shop windows emptied, and walls were covered in graffiti. Here and there were torn posters, iron curtains permanently closed. The smell in the air was different. It wasn't fresh bread from the bakeries, nor rain on the asphalt. It was a mixture of chemicals, weed, cigarettes and cheap alcohol. There were vendors on some corners, and groups of consumers farther away. People were trying to get by, both financially and mentally. It was visible.
We weren't the only ones walking in this direction.
Other groups were taking the same route. Young people, often. Some walked fast, others in packs. Two girls wore dark jogging suits and hoodies. A shirtless guy with scars on his back walked barefoot holding a stick. Others were older. A man in his forties was striding along with a boy of about fifteen. They each held some kind of wooden katana. Another, even older, was following close behind. He had long hair, sunglasses despite the darkness, a toothpick between his teeth, and a large wooden blade resting on his shoulder, much larger than those of the other two. He wore a long, unzipped jacket with floral motifs, the sleeves hanging down. There were many of these atypical people.
Some spoke loudly, laughed, sought to be noticed. Others remained discreet, in the background. You could see right away who knew the place and who was new to it.
Eventually, we saw the building.
An old shopping mall, half collapsed. The underground parking lot opened up beneath the building. It was closed by a rusty gate, twisted on one side, which all participants passed through without difficulty.
I huffed, a little loudly, trying to release the tension.
- This is the place.
Persival still looked calm. He seemed determined.
- Many of them are scum who have committed the worst crimes," said Nael. Let's beat them.
We went through the gate without saying anything more.
Noises were coming from the basement. Screams, metal banging, laughter. The floor vibrated slightly.
We descended the concrete ramps. The lighting was cobbled together. Bulbs dangled from cables, LEDs flickered, neon buzzed. The place was dirty, damp. The walls were covered in tags: misshapen faces, eyes, names. Words in unknown languages. It covered everything.
The parking lot was huge. They had organized three levels of spaces around a large central square.
Above it, a banner hung in the background. It took up the whole view.
There was a sentence in Latin that we couldn't understand, encircling a strange emblem: ten black wings formed a ten-pointed star around a bearded face with a single eye. The eye was black, and at its center was an Egyptian symbol. Two lines of red blood had been painted downwards from the eye. It wasn't clear whether this was decorative or symbolic. But it was disturbing.
- It's Latin," said Persival. This phrase means:
Visit the Earth's interior, and by rectifying it, you'll find the hidden stone.
I understood even less what this tournament had to do with it.
- I was right to take the Latin option. he added
The participants had gathered in the main square. Others, like us, were still arriving. There were far too many of us, all divided into teams of three. Some were already warming up. Others were observing the surroundings or analyzing the other participants.
In the improvised bleachers, spectators were already seated.
I could hear native languages and accents from other French towns. This tournament isn't just regional, then...
I also heard talk of betting. Apparently, Section 11 had set up an online betting site to follow the event live.
At the entrance, we were asked for our names. We were given a temporary badge, with no photo, just a number and initials.
Further on, a man waited on a raised platform in front of the large banner.
He wore a perfectly tailored black suit. On his face, a golden metallic mask covered the entire top of his face, with three neat stripes around the eyes. Just below his forehead, a small symbol was engraved: an Egyptian symbol, identical to the one on the emblem.
Nine other people surrounded him, without masks. Two were just behind him, motionless.
The other seven circulated around the square, observing the groups, talking to some of the participants. All wore the same black suit. It must have been the organizers. Maybe the referees.
Next to us, a silver-haired girl overheard our conversation about the mask.
- That mask means he's one of the three main leaders of Section 11.
- How do you know that?" asked Naël.
She lifted her sleeve and showed us her shoulder. A tattoo was inscribed on it: "Section" with the ten wings around it.
- I'm part of the gang. Anyway, see you later.
She passed us quietly. But when she raised her arm to wave as she moved away, I thought I saw, around her wrist...
A black bracelet that was turning gray. With symbols moving very slowly across its surface.
I'm almost certain of what I saw.
A bracelet like mine.
Who is she? I need to know. I hurried to join her, but they blocked my access to the square.
Before going up to the wardroom, we were asked our names again. We confirmed our team. The girl had disappeared into the crowd.
All that remained was to wait for the rules to be announced.
Just before we climbed the small steps leading to our waiting area, I took Naël aside.
- There are element carriers in this tournament.
Naël watched me, his pupils slightly dilated. He didn't ask how I knew.
- Is she the girl from earlier?" he asked. The girl with the tattoo?
I nodded, without answering. My eyes scanned the crowd, nervously, looking for that silver hair. It was somewhere in this square. But there were too many people.
- Do you think there are more?
- I don't know.
There was silence.
Persival was already at the front, near the metal railing that separated the waiting area from the central square. He turned as he saw us coming. Together, we made our way to our assigned area.
After a few minutes' waiting, a siren crackled somewhere high up in the parking lot. A short noise, not very loud, but enough to impose silence.
The man in the golden mask took a step forward. He simply raised his hand. The chatter stopped almost immediately.
He spoke without a microphone, but his voice carried. Clearly. It was deep, calm, controlled.
- Welcome everyone to the capital of Section 11... tonight, you are not yet tournament fighters. Tonight, you are candidates.
A short silence.
- Today's event is a preselection. A test. Our aim is to bring together the best fighters from all over France.
To do this, we're going to observe and judge you.
Murmurs ran through the stands. I looked around. Several groups were instinctively approaching one another.
- The test is simple," he continued. You'll be divided into zones. Eight zones, on different floors of the mall. Each zone will contain ten teams.
A guard stepped forward with a folder, which he handed to the masked leader. He turned a few pages, then continued.
- In each zone, the rules are identical. Only three teams can be selected. The others are eliminated.
How you get selected... depends on you. There are no style rules. You can fight. You can negotiate. You can run. As long as you survive and prove your worth.
Silence.
- Weapons are allowed... killing is allowed.
Here, many reactions were heard. Glances changed to fear. Hands clenched. Some were already pulling out blades, chains or homemade maces.
But I didn't move. Nor did Naël, as cautious as ever, watching the people around us with a wary eye. As for Persival, he stared unblinkingly at the chief, as if defying him.
He put his file away, closing it with a sharp gesture.
- The price for those who go all the way will be generous.
He took a step back. Then, without another gesture, he turned on his heels. The guard on his right escorted him.
The left guard continued.
He was a man in his thirties, adorned with large rectangular glasses. A toothpick wedged between his teeth accentuated his welcoming smirk. At first glance, he looked like a guy who didn't belong here.
His hair, a dull green tending to black, fell in untidy locks to the nape of his neck.
- In a few moments, you'll receive a zone number," he announced in an almost jovial voice.
The battle begins ten minutes after your assignment.
No delays will be tolerated. No early exits will be accepted.
If you enter, you stay until the end. I insist...
Those who flee, die.