Dead Tired - Volume Four - The Competitors Two - The Anne-xious Anne-rival of the Anne-droid (Patreon)

The Competitors Two - The Anne-xious Anne-rival of the Anne-droid

Today was the day.

The advertisement she had discovered in the shop had a range of dates that someone could use it in, but today was the first of those.

She had considered waiting. After all, maybe this was a trap? Would she actually be teleported all the way east? Would there actually be a tournament?

Anne wasn’t sure, but she felt like it might be real? There were certainly a lot of people talking about it.

After giving her former employer a letter of un-Anne-ployment and sneaking out of the shop, she found herself wandering through the city of Storm Gate without much aim. Fortunately, she had thought ahead, and had found some clothes to hide her Anne-droid body. She wore a long skirt, decorated with stitched flowers and covered in colourful alchemical stains. Her top was a simple blouse, but she had thrown on a short cloak over that. It partially hid the half-dozen belts across her torso, each holding onto a few small potion bottles. 

Then there was the hood, which covered her face and head. Hopefully she would be properly Anne-onymous, and as long as no one poked at her, her disguise would hold.

She moved through the city rather aimlessly for a while. Storm Gate had changed since she had entered the shop. A century was a long time, and it showed in the new layout of streets, in old homes replaced by new, and then those new homes becoming old in turn.

There was a certain energy to the place, but people here didn’t trust easily. There were lots of furtive glances, and though she couldn’t pin how, exactly, she knew, she still felt like this was a place where trust wasn’t so easily given and it was quickly lost.

She might have looked a bit like a cultivator because people were giving her a wide berth. Or maybe that was just how people were? In anne-y case, she tried to avoid notice and especially she tried to avoid young masters looking for trouble.

So, she found a quiet space in a little tavern not too far form the city centre and ordered food using some of her meager coins. She mostly just sat there and stared at the meal for the rest of the day. She wanted to talk to people, but... well, it had been so long since she’d actually had a conversation that she really wasn’t sure how to do that anymore. 

The time eventually arrived. The poster with its inlaid magic warmed up, and she slowly pulled it out and set it onto the table, creasing out the folds and bends in the page as she did so. 

The page was glowing. Not strongly, but enough that she could make out the careful spellwork woven into it.

“Whoa,” she said, almost surprising herself at the sound of her own voice.

She was no expert when it came to this kind of magic. Tinctures and potions were her area of expertise. But still, she could recognize good work when it was laying before her.

Carefully, she stood, then pressed a wooden palm onto the centre of the page. 

She was terrified that it wouldn’t work. What if automatons like herself were b-anne-d?!

Then the world shifted. She expected discomfort or confusion, but no, she was simply in the tavern one moment, and the next she was in an open field, a gentle wind rustling by and causing the grass around her to sway.

There was a tree nearby, a tall, ancient thing, with gnarled branches that bowed down low to frame an open portal hanging a foot off the ground, bone arches rising up around it.

Before that was a man in a strange all-black suit, with a neat tie and an armoured, visored helmet. The man reached a gauntleted hand up and plucked out a small time-piece from a waistcoat pocket. 

“Good. The first of you have arrived,” he said.

Anne only then noticed that there were others in the field with her. How had she missed them? Only... while she was no fighter, she was still a cultivator’s product, and she knew how to sense threats. These people were dangerous, but the man in the butler’s suit was on another level.

It was like being surrounded by roaring bonfires at the foot of an active volcano. Anne was keenly aware that she was made of wood. 

One of the people nearby, a young man in pale lilac robes with a complex sash across his front asked. He had several medallions from the Storm Gate sect pinned to his front. An inner disciple, maybe? Definitely a young master. “Who are you?” he asked. 

“I am Ender... Sir Ender.” The man near the portal paused, then bowed. It was crisp and fast, and Anne knew without asking that it was very precisely the kind of bow that meant that he was paying the young man exactly as much respect as he needed to without causing offence or giving him more than was deserved. “I am a Death Butler in the service of the Father of Bones, Harold, the God Ender, the Arch Lich, the Mage, etcetera etcetera. Currently, the Father of Bones is the sponsor for the tournament whose grounds you will discover on the other side of this portal.”

Sir Ender shifted very slightly to the side and gestured to the portal.

“Step through and you will find yourself in Yu Xiang, shining... rock of the yet-unnamed empire of the Flaming Steppes.”

“How do we know that this isn’t a trap?” another cultivator asked. A waspish young woman that was glaring at the Death Butler while her hands held onto a staff with a white-knuckled grip. “This could just be a way to kill us all.”

The Death Butler stood a little taller, and Anne found herself curling down a little. “We would not need deception in order to kill you all, mortals. Please do not insult the capabilities of my Master so.”

There was a long, pregnant pause, then a someone huffed and stomped forwards. He was a young man, with pale skin and bags under his eyes. “Well, come on, cowards,” he snapped. “Immortality awaits, yeah?” He pulled out a glass bottle from a pocket, dropped a pill into his hand, and slapped it into his mouth.

Anne waited for a long time. Eventually she was the only one left, and that was a mistake, as the Death Butler turned his gaze onto her. “And you, young miss?” he asked.

“Is... Are non-humans Anne-titled to join as well?” she asked.

“There are no restrictions with regards to who may or may not join the tournament at this time. What is your name, young miss?”

Anne jumped at the question. It was something she could definitely answer. “Anne is Anne. I am an Anne-droid... ah, that is, an Annetomaton?”

The Death Butler stared at her and... was that a glint in his helmet?

“I think you will find your place here, Young Miss Anne. Go on through. And Good luck.”

***