Conscious, Conscientious

“Here we are: welcome to Crooked Plateau!” Gibblezgorv said as they lowered to the ground. He landed with a rumbling thump, and folded his wings.

Deon eagerly hopped out of the saddle, but his foot caught a scale and he tumbled down to the ground. He quickly stood and brushed himself off as Skrili climbed down neatly to join him.

“Should you ever like to do business again…” began Gibblezgorv. He reached for a scale on his neck and pulled off a top layer. Then he handed the mint-colored scale to Skrili. “You can contact me and schedule an appointment with this. Simply follow the directions on the inside of the scale.”

“We’ll definitely be in contact with you,” Skrili assured with a small smile.

Gibblezgorv nodded as he crouched low to the ground. “And don’t worry, friends: I’ll make sure they give you a great discount.” He winked, and immediately after, launched back into the sky. A gust of wind shot past Deon and Skrili as they watched the old dragon leave.

“We definitely need to do that again,” Deon said.

Skrili nodded. She looked at Deon emotionlessly. “Let’s go.”

Just like that, the excitement and joy she expressed only minutes ago was completely gone. Deon shrugged to himself as they left the landing platform and entered the town.

Besides the platform, nothing on this plateau was entirely flat. It didn’t seem like the ideal place for tall buildings, yet most of the gray, clay-like structures stood high with multiple stories. Deon and Skrili stepped onto a road that ran downhill, leaned sideways, and then curved upward. The ground was a dusty mixture of sand and clay.

The air was incredibly dry and warm around here, and the town was extremely quiet—especially compared to the bustle of Conscious City. Occasionally a local would pass by, dressed in mostly gray. They had the same colorful hair and eyes as the majority of the people Deon saw in Conscious City, but seemed much less enthusiastic.

If anything, they seemed rather irritated, avoiding eye contact as Deon and Skrili walked by.

“So how do we find the registration center?” Deon asked.

“We keep walking,” said Skrili.

“Why not ask for directions?”

“So far, this doesn’t seem like the kind of place where that’s the best idea.”

They turned onto a long, narrow road that curved uphill towards the center of the town. Here, they saw several people sitting along the sides of the street and between the lopsided buildings.

These people didn’t look much like the rest of the locals, however: some wore faded purple and black rags. They had dark skin and thin, ice blue eyes. The others wore much longer, tan and brown cloaks and dresses that seemed equally damaged, with different combinations of large hoods and scarves. While their bodies were mostly covered, their faces showed an olive complexion and round, dark eyes.

These two peoples kept to themselves, sitting in groups of families quietly in the shade. No one smiled.

What happened to them? Deon wondered.

As Deon and Skrili walked up the road, practically everyone glanced at them for a moment before looking away. Deon realized the other, better-dressed locals were nowhere in sight on this street.

Out of the corner of his eye, Deon noticed a tiny hand reach out and tug Skrili’s sleeve lightly. They turned and saw a little girl standing alone, looking up at them with ice blue eyes that practically sparkled with awe. She was clearly of the people dressed in black and purple.

Skrili reached into her bag and calmly pulled out her wallet.

“Um—no thank you, miss…Mommy says it’s disrespectful to beg for money,” the little girl stammered. “I just wanted to know…um…are you guys…Hiroko Hamasaki’s friend?” Her eyes sparkled even more as she smiled.

Skrili gave her a subtle, warm smile. “We’ve never met her, but I respect her fighting very much. Why?”

The girl grew bashful, looking down. “Um…well…you dress like her, so I thought maybe…” she trailed off, before suddenly perking back up. “Hiroko and Kotono Inoue are gonna win the whole Fantasy Country tournament for us!” she beamed. “Hiroko is from my clan, so she’s gonna win for us and save our home!”

Deon recalled when Kotono Inoue and Hiroko Hamasaki appeared in Conscious City to make that announcement. They had partnered with an organization that promised to fund a lake in the Fantasy Country Mainland Desert if they won.

So this girl…these people…are from the Mainland Desert, Deon realized.

“Daddy says we can’t go to the tournament, but that’s okay because I know they’re gonna win!” the girl exclaimed.

Her innocent certainty reminded Deon of Savannah when they were kids. He couldn’t help but share her sentiment.

“They definitely will!” he agreed with a thumbs-up.

“I’ll be rooting for them,” added Skrili. Then she leaned down and looked the girl softly in the eyes. “I insist,” she said, taking several scale cards from her wallet and placing it in the girl’s palm.

A man and woman called to the girl from a nearby alleyway.

“…Thank you, miss,” she uttered, before turning and rushing to her parents. Deon noticed the man had the same black, triangular tattoos on his arms that Hiroko had all over her body.

As Skrili began walking again, Deon followed. Nobody else approached them for the rest of the street.

Deon found himself growing uneasy as the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows on the roads.

“This place seems kind of rough,” he said to Skrili. “You don’t seem uncomfortable at all, though.”

“I’ve…just seen this kind of thing before,” she shared.

Deon’s mind returned to Skrili’s ruined photo with her brother. They were both dressed in rags. He wondered just how similar her childhood was to the people they had passed by.

While he considered asking her about it, he figured it was still too soon. After everything Pang said and did to her in their last faceoff, he didn’t want to throw salt on the wound.

More time passed, and they still saw no indication of a registration center. Even if they wanted to ask for directions, even fewer people walked the streets now. They found themselves on a wide, curvy road.

Soon Deon could hear footsteps behind them, moving at the same pace. After a minute, two more sets of footsteps joined them.

“Uh…Skrili…” Deon mumbled.

“I know. Keep walking.”

Another minute passed, and they grew closer. Deon clenched his fists, mentally preparing imagining attacks.

“Hey you two,” one of their stalkers finally said. “We already have enough outsiders taking up our streets.”

Deon looked to Skrili, but she simply kept walking, unfazed.

“Hey!” the man shouted again. “Think you’re too special?”

One of the other stalkers whistled. “Eh, maybe we’ll just leave them be. I could watch the blue-haired broad walk all day. What’s your name, gorgeous?”

Still not looking behind her, Skrili waved a hand to shoo them away.

“Hey, hey!” the three men all shouted.

“That’s not how it works around here, girl,” the first one warned.

Deon had it. He spun around to face them. “Oh, and how does it work? You prefer your bones broken?”

Skrili sighed and turned with him. “I guess we’re doing this, now…” she uttered.

“What? They’re harassing you,” said Deon.

“Yeah, thanks. But I was fine.”

The three goons glared at them with smug smiles. They all dressed in sophisticated, gray button-up shirts and dark shorts. Two had spikey green hair and yellow eyes, while the third had short, pink hair and brown eyes.

“How about we have some fun,” snickered the middle one.

“Even for a thug, that was a pathetic line,” Skrili said plainly.

“Thug? We’re just average guys,” the man said. “And we’re sick of outsiders stomping around and taking up all our space.”

“Wow, how heartbreaking,” said Skrili. “No one cares.”

Here they come, thought Deon. On the bright side, I’ve been itching for a good fight.

On cue, the goons started approaching Deon and Skrili, knuckles cracking.

“I really wouldn’t recommend that,” someone said from the side of the street.

They all looked over to find a short young man leaning against a building. His muscles were very toned, showing off through his sleeveless deep red tank top and knee-length black shorts. His hair was a deep, grayish-purple with spikes of red, and it swooped across his face coolly. Strangely, one of his confident eyes was green and the other red, and they seemed to have many pupils, like a bug. His light brown complexion and unusual eyes made it clear he wasn’t from this area or the Mainland Desert.

“Huh?” one of the goons pried, raising a hand to his ear in annoyance.

“They’re obviously consciousness fighters. You’re not gonna want to mess with them,” the young man continued.

“Yeah, so?! You don’t even know if they’re strong. Stay out of our business!”

Soundlessly, someone else dropped from the sky and landed on the other side of the street, facing them. For a split second, Deon could have sworn it was a bird, but as they stood up straight, he realized it was a young woman.

She stood wrapped in a wavy black cloak with long feathers around the opening. She was tall, extremely thin, and had hair that was white on one side and brown on the other. Her bangs covered one eye, and the visible one was large, round, and yellow.

“I can see it in the girl’s eyes. She’s defeated countless like you before,” she crooned. Her voice sounded like an owl’s song.

“Trust us, we’re saving you a broken back,” the young man added.

“Yeah!” exclaimed Deon. “And—she must not have looked into my eyes, because I’m super tough, too!”

“THEN WE’LL TAKE ALL OF YOU ON!!!” the main thug yelled.

The bug-eyed young man laughed. “Wow, how many awful decisions do we have to save you from?” he said, standing up straight. “Again, terrible idea. Maybe we should’ve introduced ourselves.”

He pointed his thumb to his chest. “The name’s Alex Malachi.”

“Ving Paw Nee,” the young woman sang with a subtle bow.

Fear immediately struck the three locals. They whispered to each other.

“Wait, that’s them?”

“No way…”

“We’re so screwed!”

“Um…uh…” stuttered the main thug. Then abruptly, he turned around and booked it down the road. His friends were eager to join him, and they vanished over the hill.

“And I’m Deon!!!” Deon yelled after them.

Skrili sighed.

“I like your attitude, bro,” Alex said to Deon with a laid-back chuckle. He and Ving approached Deon and Skrili. Again, Ving gave a small bow—this time with a tiny smile.

“Ving Paw Nee and Alex Malachi,” Skrili repeated. “You won the last Fiction Country Conscious Competition in that big upset.”

“That’s us!” Alex said with a big smile.

Whoa…these guys are champions?! Deon thought. Awesome!!

“I’m Skrili. Thank you.”

“Yeah, thanks. I mean, we totally could’ve taken them,” Deon added with a wave of dismissal. “But still.”

Again, Alex laughed. “We just wanted to spare you the trouble. You two must be just as busy as us.”

Skrili nodded. “We’re heading to the registration center to get my teammate registered.”

Deon noticed the level of respect in her tone.

“Oh, well you’re going the complete wrong way, guys!” exclaimed Alex.

“We will show you,” uttered Ving serenely.

~

As the sun continued to decline, the air rapidly dropped in temperature. Deon hoped they’d find the indoors soon. Then he thought of all the Mainland Dessert people—were they going to sleep outside all night?

“What brings you two all the way to the Crooked Plateau registration center?” Alex asked as he and Ving led the way. “Long wait in Conscious City?”

“Yep,” said Deon.

“The League has become quite popular…” Ving hummed.

Deon watched both of them with increasing curiosity—they were the best of the best, the top of their game. They were everything he was aiming for. And yet, they seemed surprisingly humble.

“I gotta know,” started Deon. “How did you guys become champions?”

“We fought,” said Ving simply. “Together.”

Deon couldn’t help but chuckle at her basic response.

“It’s true,” Alex insisted. “We just keep going. That’s why we came all the way out here: to train for the Fantasy Country Conscious Competition. Every day we’ve been heading into the desert, and staying on Crooked Plateau overnight. The harsh weather really kicks your butt, you know?”

They passed by a family from Hiroko Hamasaki’s clan that was huddled together in an alley. Alex waited until they were a good distance away before continuing.

“No wonder all these people had to leave their sacred home,” he added. “It sucks. They lost everything and traveled so far, only for the locals here to hate them. It’s not like they had a choice.”

Deon noticed Skrili turn to glance at the family one more time. She returned her focus and looked away quickly when she noticed Deon was watching.

“Wait…so you guys are gonna be fighting Kotono and Hiroko in the Competition,” Deon realized.

“Yeah, if we make it that far...which we will,” said Alex. “That’ll be the fight of our lives!”

Out of nowhere, Alex and Ving came to a stop in the road. They turned and faced one of the many unremarkable clay buildings. It only had one floor.

“We are here,” declared Ving.

“This looks exactly like every other building, but lamer!” Deon exclaimed.

“Yep, that’s why we’ve had to help dozens of consciousnesses find it,” explained Alex. “It’s kinda fun meeting so many teams.”

“They will close shortly…” Ving urged.

“Sorry, I talk too much,” said Alex. “Alright, Deon and Skrili: I better see you guys at a Conscious Competition next year! And you better give me a good fight! In the meantime, add us on TeamTrack and we’ll keep in touch!”

Alex gave Deon a high-five, and shook Skrili’s hand. Ving bowed to each of them.

Then with a sudden gust of wind, they somehow shot into the sky, and Deon and Skrili were alone.

Deon smirked at Skrili. “You were awfully quiet. Even for you.”

“They’re—they’re famous champions,” Skrili said, blushing. “Let’s go in.”

Deon took a deep sigh. It was time. Time to begin the career he never knew that he always wanted. It was time to fight all kinds of consciousnesses, and travel all over the Multiverse to do it.

It was time to get registered.

They walked up to the building and Deon swung open the door.

Inside, was a boring office.

There was a single desk behind a wide window at the end of the room, with roped posts leading up to it to enforce a line. Only, that didn’t seem very necessary, because Deon and Skrili were the only two people in there.

The gray clay walls had some cracks in them, and a fly circled around a glowing lantern in one of the corners.

Well, Rob and Pete did say this place wasn’t as flashy…Deon noted.

“Get registered, and then I’ll have them fix my password,” said Skrili.

They walked up to the window, ducking under the unneeded line ropes. At first Deon still thought they were alone, until he noticed a tiny old lady sitting just behind the window. On a shelf behind her, there was a display of TeamTracks in all kinds of colors.

Deon waved to the lady.

“What?” came her scratchy voice.

“Um…well…I’d like to—”

“You registering as a fighter?”

“Oh—um, yes ma’am.”

“Ever killed anyone?”

“What?! No!” Deon insisted.

“Ever do any other bad stuff?”

“That’s vague, but no, I guess.”

The lady nodded affirmatively and slid a book in front of her on the desk. She opened it and grabbed a pen. A light projection of a blank page appeared between her and Deon.

“Name?”

“Deon.”

“Last name?!”

“Oh, uh…” Deon thought about it. His family didn’t actually have an official last name, like Savannah and her father did. Sometimes though, her father would refer to them in passing as the “Stutter family,” for some reason.

“Stutter,” Deon said.

“Deon Stutter?”

“Uh…yeah.”

“Works for me,” said the lady. “Age?”

“Eighteen.”

“Country?”

Again, it was another question he couldn’t easily answer. He was from Tailpiece—it wasn’t in a Country. All he knew was that when he left, he showed up in what they call No Man’s Land, the place bridging all of the Countries of the Multiverse.

“Uh…No Man’s Land?” he said unconfidently.

“That’s not a Country. Fantasy? Normal? Fiction? Horror? Science Fiction? Realistic Fiction?”

“Well, I’m not from any of those.”

“What, did you grow up in No Man’s Land, like some kind of jungle kid raised by wild animals?”

Deon looked around uncomfortably. “Sure,” he decided.

The lady paused and stared at him for a moment. Then, she shrugged. “Whatever. Wouldn’t be the first time,” she said, filling out the book.

All of the information Deon gave appeared on the holographic page above the book.

“One more: type?”

“I mean, I like all kinds of girls…I don’t know if I’m a ‘type’ kinda guy—”

“We close soon.”

“Okay, okay. Imaginer.”

She added this last piece of information, and then flipped the page and crossed something off.

“What color TeamTrack you want?”

Deon checked the shelf briefly. “Um…orange seems cool.”

The lady tossed an orange device onto the desk, and it slid to the edge in front of Deon. The TeamTrack looked very similar to Skrili’s, but perhaps a bit bulkier.

“Registration fee. Sixty scale cards,” the lady spat.

Skrili stepped up and handed her the money. She counted it and gave Skrili change.

“Congrats. You’re a pro consciousness fighter.”

Deon picked up the TeamTrack. Well that was anti-climactic, he thought.

“Anything else? You, miss?” the lady called.

Skrili looked to Deon. “I’ll fix my password, and then I’ll help you log in since you don’t know how to do anything,” she said.

“You didn’t have to point that out…” mumbled Deon.

“After that, we can use our TeamTracks to register as a t—”

Skrili was cut off when something began ringing and vibrating in her bag. She pulled out her TeamTrack. The screen was on, displaying an image of her and Pang. In the picture, Pang was sticking her tongue out and trying to lick Skrili’s neck with a mischievous look in her eye, while Skrili was leaning away and laughing.

Skrili stared at the TeamTrack for several seconds, unmoving. “Pang’s calling me,” she finally said.

“On that thing? How?” wondered Deon.

“I’m not explaining basic technology to you,” muttered Skrili. She took a few steps away from the desk, and with a great deal of reluctance, she pressed the screen.

“Hey beautiful,” came Pang’s wooing voice.

Deon walked over. A live projection of Pang’s face lifted off the screen in front of Skrili. Somehow, her golden eyes were just as intimidating through this medium.

“What do you want?” Skrili asked flatly.

“Okay, definitely still mad,” Pang noted. “I get it.”

“Answer me.”

“Well, I was just wondering how your team with Deon is going, that’s all…Any luck…logging in to your TeamTrack account?” Her ominous smile spread wider.

“What did you change my password to?” Skrili pressed.

“Not so fast, dearest Skrili,” Pang said. “I’ll give it to you…after you fight with me in the Fantasy Country Conscious Competition.”

“What?!” Deon yelled. “Do that with your own teammate!”

“Oh hey, Deon. Looking scrumptious as ever,” Pang said, raising an eyebrow flirtatiously. “You don’t get it, huh? Skrili is my teammate. We’re still registered as a team right now. And we’re certified for tournaments, because Phillip and I got to a hundred wins under my team with her.”

“As if Skrili would want to fight with you ever again, after what you pulled,” Deon grumbled.

Pang laughed, as if rejecting an awkward confession of love. “Yeah, I don’t want to fight with Skrili either, trust me. The plan was to have Phillip impersonate her...But then you grew a pair and took back Skrili’s TeamTrack for her. Nice fighting, by the way.”

Deon noticed a strange fire in her eyes after she said this. It wasn’t anger, though. It was a craving…a deep, unsettling lust.

“What’s the point of this?” Skrili demanded.

“Relax, cutie-pie,” Pang hushed. “Now, listen: fight with me in the Conscious Competition. If we win the championship, I’ll give you your password, and then you can team up with your hunk of a boyfriend. You in?”

Win the whole championship?! Deon thought.

“No. I’m literally at a registration center right now. I’m just gonna have them change my password,” Skrili said plainly.

“And hurry up—we’re closing soon!!” the old lady chimed in.

Immediately, Pang’s smooth demeanor started melting. “Wait—they can do that?” she asked unsteadily.

“You’re an idiot. Bye,” said Skrili, about to press her TeamTrack.

“WAIT!” Pang insisted.

Her expression had gone completely desperate as she brought her TeamTrack closer to her face. “Wait, wait, wait, Skrili!”

Deon figured Skrili had never seen this side of Pang either, because she didn’t end the call.

Pang paused, taking in several deep breaths. “Okay, okay. I really need your help, Skrili. I need you to help me win the Competition.”

“Why should I?” Skrili asked. Her cold tone had warmed a bit as she tried to keep her defense up.

“Phillip,” said Pang, her voice choking. “Phillip is dying.”