Elysian Tournament Origins

This story is set over four and a half hundred years before the events of Mana Mirror

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If you were to ask an average citizen in the modern world what the Elysian Mastery Tournament was, they could tell you that it is a test of skill and power. That it’s held twice a decade, and existed for over four hundred years. That Spellbinders and Arcanists gather to show that their nation, or their personal power, is the greatest on Ddeaer. There are all sorts of spectacles to be viewed at the tournament: Specialists in the art of flying, capable of outracing sound itself. Dreamweavers who craft stories of joy and sorrow so deep and powerful that it can make even the most stoic person cry. Water mages that race through the depths of the ocean, moving as fast as possible while avoiding the truly ancient monsters that lie in the depths. 

And, of course, they would talk about the tournament itself. That there was some sort of winnowing and selection for top two hundred and fifty-six mages of each generation were found, and that they all competed against one another, and that those who placed well in the Spellbinder division were all but guaranteed to become Arcanists. Those who placed high in the Arcanist divisions were said to be nearly guaranteed to become Occultists. The President of Suntorch had done well in one, as had the Patriarch of the Azure Rivers sect, the Director of the Aergarde Corporate Bloc, and countless others. 

But most wouldn’t be able to tell you why the tournament exists. Why the young and talented fight. Why a simple sports event could shift the borders of nations, change the fates of millions, and even create new nations. 

But the old powers of the world remembered. As Orykson’s simulacra sat in a meeting with the president of a massive manufacturing corporation attempting to outbid the Whistling Peaks Sect for the right to build the arenas as host the tournant, he allowed himself to tune out the bickering, and to remember one of the first Elysian Mastery Tournaments. 

He hovered in the air, channeling power through his Arcanist’s Tower, and into the flight spell he’d absorbed from Clairissa Du’vone, while he stood facing the few other remaining powers of the world. His ungated mana was low, but his soul modifications ensured that more was trickling up through the polished crystal of his Title, resonating and filling his mana-garden again. Even with the bindings he’d placed to reform his Title, the power he could channel was enough to stand up to any one of the potential opponents in the air around him, while the dead – eighty-seven occultists, both Titled, real but without a title, and falsely ascended, and six magi – lay on the ground beneath them. 

The Knowledge King was unlikely to strike. Not only was he – this current Knowledge King being a male – the one who’d engineered this entire situation, but none of his power was especially offensive in nature. The Words of Power spells offered a great deal of flexibility, but the Knowledge King’s Mandate and Title were worn thin. Even a King could only output so much power at once, after all. Even if he had the mana for such a strike, Orykson could cut him down before the Words of Power could be completed.

Thaddeus Kiluant, the Spirit Magi of the Northern Reaches, was the second least likely to strike. His Dominion had been crumpled, his Authority had snapped like dry twigs, his Title had shattered into fine glass, and his Mandate was weakened to the point it was barely active at all. His well had emptied, and his mana had run dry from the incredible force spells that he had used in the battle. Even when his mana and well recovered, he would need decades to reform his power back to the point it had once been, and Orykson suspected that he wouldn’t. He’d hold on long enough to find a successor, then die. 

The Space King was much more likely to strike, however. She was new to the Title, having taken over after Orykson had killed the last three Space Kings, and had joined their side in part to get him to stop doing that. The veritable mountain of structure-ore, stability quintessence, dimensional crystals, planar marble, and other resources had served to help soften the limitations, and the Knowledge King had hopes that she wouldn’t turn out as terrible as most others who claimed her Title had. The Knowledge King saw far, far enough that Orykson had to admit that it was a possibility. It just wasn’t guaranteed. A byproduct of such far sight was that it shifted constantly. Aerde’s own readings of the winds, as well as the forecasting and predictions, and Orykson’s models, had less hope. 

But it was the Storm King that was the most dangerous. His power was built on conquest. That was why Greater Daocheng was the largest nation in the world, bar none, and it continually grew. He’d agreed to the chain only because it was better than the axe, but this would be his time to try and escape both. To kill Orykson, the Knowledge King, and the Space King, and become the ultimate power on the entire planet. 

Ikki stood behind his father, prim and poised, despite the life or death battle that had just occurred, and Orykson watched warily. He liked Ikki, he’d helped the man, and the man had helped him. They’d worked together for centuries now. But if the Storm King attacked, Orykson couldn’t be sure which side Ikki would fall on.

It was a shame, too. If Ikki could simply let go of his attachment to the worthless sack of tempest mana that was his father, cut his way free, and see that he stood on his own two feet, Orykson was sure he could actualize a more fitting Title and become so much stronger. 

All of them ringed one another, none willing to break the tension. None willing to risk the others coming down on them, but also none willing to lose the advantage of being the first to move.

Finally, the Knowledge King opened his mouth, and the Winds in Orykson’s spirit didn’t flare with a warning. He was safe. For now. 

“Look,” the Knowledge King said, sweeping his arm out to the ground beneath them. 

The great battle against the Primes and their worshipers had spanned a massive area. 

Over five million square miles of land was utterly annihilated. Endless lighting from the Storm King had burned forests, boiled rivers, and blasted deserts into glass while the shockwaves released by Thaddeus’ spells rent canyons in the earth, tore apart mountains, and reshaped cavern systems. 

That was only two of them. Six magi were dead, and countless occultists. One desolation occultist had unleashed the ultimate technique of their mana type, which converted all energy in their body and surroundings into pure desolation. It couldn’t spread infinitely, but the mushroom cloud from that single spell had ballooned out for almost forty miles. 

And that was to say nothing of the destruction unleashed by their opponents. 

If this had happened in Mossford? The entire country, all of Dragontooth, and a massive chunk of the surrounding ocean would be gone.

“This cannot happen again,” The Knowledge King said. “A war on this scale… It is inconceivable. Unconscionable.” 

“The right of strength is old, and what is so unbelievable to you is not so unbelievable to me,” the Storm King said, his voice crackling with lightning. “I remember another such war, though perhaps less… Dramatic… than this one.” 

“The one in which my predecessor from two Kings ago partook? I recall,” the Knowledge King said. “How many centuries of societal, technological, and magical development did that war cost? If I had not taken care to guard vast troves of information, it would be likely that even the process for casting iron would have been lost.” 

Orykson rarely felt young anymore. As the Undying King, he’d ruled over Mossford for more than two centuries now, ever since killing the Death King. But the Storm King made Orykson feel very young indeed. 

“I agree with you both,” Orykson said. “It is tradition for great powers to trade blows upon meeting, and mortal wars can stimulate development. But there must be a balance. It will take centuries for the world to recover the amount of strength this world lost.” 

“More than that,” the Knowledge King continued. “What of the continued developments in magic? Today, the greatest weapon a powerful desolation mage can wield is self-detonation. Tomorrow, they may be able to remotely do the same.” 

“Have us send our proxy Occultists to fight,” Thaddeus suggested. The spirit’s body was faint and shimmering, and his voice sounded only slightly better. 

“Arcanists,” the Knowledge King said. “Occultists are too rare, and present too much danger

“Rare for you,” the Storm King laughed. “Even with this war, I have both a subservient magi and an Occultist.” 

Orykson’s eye twitched in annoyance. 

“But it is true,” the Storm King agreed. “This battle destabilized the climate greatly. It will take all of my power, and much of yours, to ensure that the planet does not warm to the point of a mass extinction event. While Occultists dueling might not do the same, it can still alter global wind patterns.” 

“I agree, Arcanists,” Orykson said. “True arcanists only, though. Those who have already bound their soulself to their Purpose, Limitation, and Origin. It will allow us to raise the victors up.” 

That was agreed on readily enough, and some of the others even grew excited. If the other powers of the world agreed to assist in setting forth prizes, and their champion won, they could extract a great deal of value from their enemies, while strengthening themselves.

Eventually, the conversation drifted to the corpses, many of which were truly incredible material for weapon creation. Even in humans, the energy density inside the body increased to match their spirit as they advanced. With only the tiny amount a human had, even a ninth gate not using spellcraft would only remain healthy for a few extra decades. His Perfected Body had fixed that problem, of course, and several others had used similar spells. Beasts, whose power was tied to their body, were incredible sources of power. Plus, throughout the battle Orykson had captured several shades. 

None of the dead had been stable enough to leave full wells behind, but several of the beast’s bodies had fractions of one. He thought he might be able to reforge them into a new well or two. He and Aerde both already had a well, and even if they couldn’t take in a second – as he suspected they couldn’t, not without major consequences – it would help him raise a new generation far better. 

They weren’t stupid, though. None of the others would allow him to keep that much material. Even if none of the others had anyone alive who could make use of them, they wouldn’t want to hand him such an overwhelming advantage. 

If he tried too hard to keep it, they’d turn on him. He could escape. The vessel that housed his soul might have been shattered in this battle, but he’d formed contingencies for that, much to the disappointment of his peers. His soul had been pulled to a hidden clone body, which he currently inhabited. They thought this was his last trick, but none alive knew what he’d done to his legacy in the Sepulcher. He could die, build his power back up, and return. 

But he’d lose the materials that way. 

No, it was better to barter away what couldn’t be kept, to play at being the benevolent Undying King. 

“I propose this,” Orykson said, and Aerde began projecting out plans for an astral plane, one that could be built with the powerful materials that were the bodies below. 

As far as astral planes went, it was a small one, only about an acre in size, but that was intentional. It would ensure that the power could be concentrated as much as possible. The fragments of the well would be pieced together into a physical formation that could produce deep mana drops. The sheer density and volume of mana inside of this place would be enough that a person could improve their gardens just by pulling power from the air and settling it where they wanted it to go. 

“I call this project Elysia,” Orykson said. 

“I can see why,” Thaddeus said. “A kingly realm if there ever was one. One that any of us could use to advance once, or if we were careful, allow us to slowly grow a little over time. Any one of us, that is. Singular.”

Orykson smiled and tapped the last line of the plan. 

“If you see, I’ve designed a set of keys to this astral realm, and ensured that all the keys must be present to open it. If you look at the projections of mana recovery, energy density, and well-restoration rate, the realm can be opened to eight Arcanists, twice a decade. It would be an excellent prize for the top eight, no?”

“And all you’re asking for building it is what?” the Knowledge King asked skeptically. 

Orykson pointed to the dead Dragonlord, a dragon Magi who’d fallen in battle.

“Her bones.” 

That set them on a new round of arguing again, but he was eventually given the bones of a seventh gate dragon instead. He accepted, and the the meeting went on. They discussed formal rules for interactions, informal ones, and more. It went on for hours, and would take hours yet over the coming years. 

Eventually, though, Orykson settled back on his throne in Mortshire, some ways from the capital of Mossford, and spoke to Aerde.

“I want you to start giving me reports on the legacy and mana testing that happen every year. The strongest talents possible. I came too close to death there, and if I die, I don’t trust the others to not mess up…”