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.
The woman 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 dual automatics off his back and opening fire.
The young man next to Gio smirked. He stepped in front of the lead spray, blocking the bullets with his forearms. They bounced off his skin like pebbles hitting steel.
The woman moved next. With blinding speed, she ducked under the constant fire, moving in a half-circle. She sliced through the soldier like a hot knife through butter. The man's body barely registered he was dead; his arms slid off at the elbows, and his head disconnected, looking down in a daze as it slid off his shoulders.
The woman simply pushed her glasses up and walked back to Gio's side.
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!"
The young man 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!"
Both the world leaders and the soldiers stood in a graveyard silence. Holy crap, we're doomed, was a thought everyone seemed to share.
James, struggling to find words that wouldn't cause the planet's destruction, sputtered. Fear overwhelmed him, tempting him to just grab a gun and end it all. Instead, he dropped to all fours and bowed. "WE'RE SO SORRY!"
Rama let out a smirk that put a fresh spark of anger into everyone's heart, even in their terrified state. 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," Gio said with a wave of his hand.
We're saved. Thank goodness, the stupid fool, James thought as he slowly stood up.
"I do apologize, though. It wasn't my intention to kill one of your fighters before the tournament started," Gio said, looking like a child who had accidentally broken a vase.
"T-think nothing of it!" sputtered James. "B-but... this tournament. What do you mean by that?"
Gio tilted his head. Before he could speak, Moe stepped forward. "A 13-on-13, one-on-one tournament. We will pit our thirteen greatest warriors against you and twelve others."
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, exactly like that. But instead of slaves, it is your strongest," Moe said, pushing up her glasses. "Unless your planet's existence means so little to you."
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 giant 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 strange, 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 giving a rare gift to his nephew.
In the world leaders' heads, the gears were already turning. They weren't thinking about the tournament; they were already calculating the profit they could make from this alien ore.
"Let's see... am I forgetting anything?"
Moe leaned in and whispered again.
"Ah, yes! Right, the rules." Gio 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 again.
"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!"
He let go and turned to walk back up the massive staircase. "Very well! We will be back in one month's time. That's enough time, right?"
Moe simply nodded as 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.