Hey all! The next chapter is going to get into the Senior's bracket, but, to be honest, I'm quite torn. I like the three main character seniors we've been introduced to so far in Circe, Ava, and Cannon and I don't know who's bracket the story should follow. So...I'm going to leave it up to you! I created a poll for you guys to vote who you want to see in the upcoming tournament. Whoever wins, will be the main focus at least until the final match of the pools. I have a few things planned for that...

Othello didn't bother to show up for the sophomore competitions, nor the junior ones. He had heard from Ava that neither of the victors were from Price, but there were some in the top four for each. For the juniors, the Minor League Champion, Hollis, had been in the semifinals and lost and the sophomore girl he had run into days ago, Acantha, had made it to the finals, but, likewise had lost. That girl…her face was already fading from his memory. What did it matter anyways?

He sighed. The past two days had been ones spent in solace, but tomorrow would have to change. Whether he felt like it or not, he was going to cheer on Circe, Ava, and Cannon…it wasn't like he didn't want to though…he just…

Othello turned over in his bed, facing the closest wall. No…he didn't want to go. It was the same reason he hadn't bothered to attend the other two tournaments, he simply didn't want to see battles right now. His head was still aching from his encounter and the advice Cannon had given him. He had been assured that battling was an avenue for him, but even now he wasn't sure. Everything just felt like it was moving too quickly. It made him long for the days where there was nothing expected of him but to become some murderer…but the more he thought about that, the more he dismissed it. He didn't really miss those times, he was just unsure of what the new days would be like…a frightening prospect.

Nonetheless, he needed to sleep. Yes…sleep and hope for no dreams…no dreams that would sway him one way or another when he was at his most vulnerable. His drooping eyelids blocked his vision, distracting him from any thought but following the dark lull of unconsciousness.

– Chapter Seventeen: Guardians –

It was blinding and he hated it.

Othello's skin was fairly pale. He often chose to lock himself inside in his earlier years. Perhaps if he hadn't, more death would have occurred…at least, that was always the view he held. It didn't matter much though, right now, it was excruciatingly bright, enough to distract him out of these thoughts.

"Welcome."

It was an emotionless voice, echoing out from the expanse of brightness, an odd contrast that somehow made him feel more at ease. It gave him something to focus on besides the brightness.

"Welcome…" he repeated, "Welcome…"

He had meant to ask where he was, but the word was another distraction. Othello's mind was clearly not in the place to be having a decent conversation. That thought was an odd one…why did he feel so distracted? Why was everything around him a matter of pain or distraction? It…

"You may stop there."

A new voice. The words were so compelling…he definitely should just stop. There was no point in worrying over the hurt this world may harbor toward him. In fact, there was no point in worrying at all. Worrying was pain and pain was vicious, unforgiving, and to be avoided.

"There, there."

This voice was separate, much more motherly than the others, although Othello wasn't sure he could say the voice belonged to a woman.

"I understand. It is a harsh and unforgiving world here," the third voice continued, "But you will be alright. Your sorrow is not the end."

They were right. This torment, this blinding brightness that brought him nothing but pain, it could be resolved. He did not need to despair because that kind voice was there for him! It would help, surely.

As he thought this, the white nothingness dimmed, becoming more gray and giving the world more visibility.

Before Othello could vomit at what he saw, the kind voice spoke again, "It is harsh, I know. You have been so strong."

"Indeed. Very strong, Othello. We are…proud."

This one's voice was very harsh, nowhere near the caring, nurturing voice of the other one, but behind it was something new. It even felt like it gave him more reason to believe he was strong than the other voice; it was pure conviction.

He turned to face the world, not caring what he saw because he was strong. No amount of destruction could change that.

Were it not for the voice, he would have regretted it. In the gray beyond, all that existed were corpses and ashes. Much to Othello's horror, the former may have outnumbered the latter.

But he was strong. It was horrible, but he needed to see it.

"You have been so strong to survive this."

"So strong."

"So wise."

"It will not be much longer. Soon, you will not need us to tell you you are strong because you will know it for yourself."

Othello scanned the piles. He reached out to grab one body, though he wasn't sure what he intended. To mourn it? To pray for it? To give it one last hand to hold? That wouldn't matter, however, as the body slowly crumbled away to join the ashes in the air. The last thing to crumble was the face, and before it did, Othello could swear he saw it smile…a genuine, true, loving smile. In their final moments, this person had felt comfort. It was almost enough to make him smile…almost. It was still a depressing sight seeing them wither away at his touch.

"They are strong too," one of the emotionless voices echoed, "Do not worry for them. If you can smile…"

"They would love to see it," the motherly voice added, "Can you smile for them, Othello? So they find some final closure?"

Othello nodded. He was determined to do this…whatever "this" was. If he needed to do it with a smile, so be it. He would smile at these poor bodies as if they were his only friend, a friend he hadn't seen in years.

He gingerly picked another one out of the wreckage and cradled it in his arms, although it was much too large to be held like a baby. That didn't matter. All that mattered was that they could see his smile, hear his words, feel his breaths…

"It'll be okay," he whispered with a smile.

This one was much slower to decay, giving him time to really study the person. They were a man…no, a boy, of about his height. It was hard to tell the color of their skin or hair in the murky gray domain, but he could make out the features and the color of the eyes.

That was where his smile dropped.

Staring back at him, golden eyes and all, was himself. A brutalized, bleeding…dying…version of himself.

Othello's breathing quickly increased in its pace. How? How had he died? How was he still alive as himself though? Who was this? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What?

"I fear we have gone too fast," the motherly voice sighed, although the words didn't register in Othello's mind; he was still attempting to process what he had seen…his own amber eyes fading from this world.

"We will succeed," it was the determined voice…was it?

"For now, we will work ourselves. Let us clear this abhorrent vision from his mind."

Othello hadn't heard any of their words. For too long he had thought himself immune to death. Every person around him had met the fearsome entity, but he was never allowed near them. But now…now he was unsure, a feeling he had never had about death. That uncertainty clouded out the questions he had had earlier. No longer was he thinking rationally about "why there was a second of him; the only thought that was behind his eyes, was one word:

How?

– – –

Othello woke up with a start. He tried to remember the details of the dream that were causing him to hyperventilate, but they were gone. They had evanesced to a world of nothingness…maybe it was better that way…

In the meantime, Othello tried to calm himself by thinking calming thoughts. His mind wandered to a warm embrace and warmer words that told him he was enough. The two wrapped him in a cocoon, suffocating the panic he felt until he was gone. Oddly, there were words he had never heard before echoing in the back of his mind.

"So strong. So wise."

They were strange words too. Why would he need to be told that he was wise or strong? It seemed like it was just…comfort?

He rolled over in his bed and nearly jumped out of it when he saw bright light shining out of the window. What time was it? …Whew, only 8 AM. He probably didn't need to worry about missing any matches…assuming he got up and got ready right now.

Othello cleansed all the other thoughts from his mind as he got dressed, grabbed his Poke Balls and went to the stadiums. He had clearly left a bit too late as the lines to the stadium extended almost a mile long. He was dumbfounded and anxious seeing it all. There were people that clearly weren't from any school trying to get in, which meant these matches were open to the public, something Othello hadn't been expecting.

Cannon is participating in this, right?! I can't believe I get to see our next Champion battle before he's even Champion!

This is going to be so cool! They're such strong trainers for being so young!

"Well…" Othello thought to himself, his face pale, "I'm…going to be waiting to get in for a while…"