I do not own Chaotic nor anything related to it. It belongs to TCDigital.

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Act VI: Prosperous

The Perithon

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Everyone knows my name now. Being who effectively ended the M'arrillian war will do that.

I'm seventy-one solans old today, thirty-five years by Earth's calendar. One solan ago, I killed Aa'une, an oligarch of the M'arrillian tribe and the leader of their military. The M'arrillians were already starting to believe that I was some kind of divine being, but now they're absolutely convinced.

It's a time of rebuilding now. Everything the war had broken is being repaired, replaced, or whatever else needs doing. Part of that rebuilding is a celebration of the end of the war.

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"There was a Perithon in the show, too," I mutter to Isis as we take our seats in the high box of the Underworld Colosseum.

"Hm," Isis grunts, not sounding very interested.

I don't press the issue, instead turning my attention to the others in the high box. King Iflar is here with us, representing the Mipedians. Maxxor, Intress, and Austin of the Overworlders are to our left, and to our right are Odu-Bathax, Sarah, and... nope, I still can't tell that mandiblor apart from all the others. Past them are Chaor and Lilth.

The seating arrangement was very deliberate: keep Maxxor and Chaor as far from each other as possible. Even Austin, the least informed of everyone here, knows that those two shouldn't even be looking at each other.

The Underworld Colosseum is home to the finish line of the Perithon race, and large crystal screens are floating everywhere, showing various parts of the track, a path that, starting from Kiru City, passes by or through every important city in Perim. This isn't some half-hour race like the show implied. This event might take a whole day.

And there's Najarin's voice being carried over the screens, explaining the route of the race and the rules that are assuredly not going to be followed. No matter how many times the words "friendly competition" are repeated, the contestants are going to do anything to win.

"Michael," Isis nudges me.

"Hm?"

She whispers, "Your cue is coming up."

Oh, right.

Najarin's voice loudly declares, "And overseeing this event is the hero of the M'arrillian war: Prince Osiris!"

I stand up, approach the railing, and smile and wave. Each screen flickers, then shows my image from several different angles. The floor below me vibrates along with the triumphant roar of the crowds.

I catch a good look at myself in one of the closer screens. All of the scars from the war are gone, vanished with layers of makeup. I'm Perim's "invincible" champion, so even a tiny red spot from the earlier body hair plucking has to be hidden.

It looks incredibly fake.

I sit down as the applause fades, and I turn to Isis. "Everything still good?" I whisper.

Isis looks at my face. "Nothing's out of place."

She's talking about the makeup. If I smile wrong, something might come loose, and of course that would be an absolute disaster. I can't even kiss Isis without faking it, because it will mess up the lip gloss, because "those lips are too cracked."

I resist the urge to lick my lips to ease the discomfort. "After this is over, I'm going to wash my face for an hour."

Chaor stands up to announce the start of the race, and the screens go back to showing the track.

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It's been hours since the race started. I think my legs are falling asleep.

Chaor, deprived of the ability to pick a fight with Maxxor, is instead speaking with Odu-Bathax. The subjects of their conversation have been getting cruder over time, and I'm doing my best to tune them out.

Maxxor glares at the screens, baring his teeth occasionally at what he sees. Whatever's happening on the track isn't making him happy.

Isis has fallen asleep on my shoulder. Iflar is pretending to be very interested in his drink.

Many of the racers have dropped out of the race, mostly due to extensive damage to their vehicles. Only a few of the collisions on the track have been accidental, but it's difficult to tell who is at fault for the others.

I never found racing all that interesting. Watching races, that is. Actually competing in a race is fun. But this race is one I have to watch, and it's difficult to pay attention.

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It's the final stretch. The rest of the race is fuzzy in my memory, blurred by boredom or by drink, but I can feel my senses returning to me as vehicles approach Underworld City.

The others are also beginning to pay attention again. Chaor and Odu-Bathax stop boasting to each other and watch the road with baited breath. Isis leans over the railing, wiping sleep from her eyes. Maxxor's teeth start audibly grinding.

Sarah and Lilth remain seated, bored long ago with the race and talking about their own things, and Iflar seems to have given up hope for a Mipedian victory as he sinks into his chair.

There's Ulmar rounding the bend, surprising still in the race, considering his vehicle's complete lack of brakes. And then there's Gespedan, who likely would have won already if he wasn't restricted to driving instead of running. And finally, pulling ahead really quickly, is... a Danian that I don't know the name of yet.

It's not a very close race. The Danian blazes across the finish line a solid eight seconds ahead of Ulmar. The stands bellow with Danian cheers.

"F*** yeah!" Odu-Bathax roars. He turns to Chaor and grins wide before pointing down and saying, "Suck my d***, Chaor!"

Chaor blinks. "You want me to what?!" he roars.

"It's a Human celebratory expression," Odu-Bathax growls. "I don't want your mouth anywhere near-"

"Congratulations on the win!" I say loudly, interrupting the two of them. "I'm sure the Danians will reward your racer handsomely."

"No s***, Sherlock," Odu-Bathax grins.

Whoever taught Odu-Bathax slang is a dead man.

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I extract myself from Underworld Colosseum as quickly as I can to clean myself up. A sink of rancid water is all I manage to find, but it's sufficient.

Isis's voice calls down from above me, "You know you're supposed to bring a guard with you everywhere."

I look up. Isis is leaning on a balcony, grinning down at me. I call up, "The makeup was killing me, I had to get it off."

"I'll make sure a warrant is put out for the cosmetic's arrest, then," Isis jokes.

I laugh a little, but it rings hollow in my ears. "I'm going to be faking a grin in public for a long time."

Isis frowns. "I know what you mean. But, Michael, remember. The worst is over. If fake smiles and stuffy outfits are the most of our problems from now on, then life is good."

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Up next: The Unsteady Peace

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After a too long break, I'm finally writing again!

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