The room that Teacher Brutus claimed to be a "Mindspace Incarnation" manifested as a boxing ring with bleachers all around it. Gong was floating near Bell and Mona, who were seated in some of the cushioned chairs.
Teacher Brutus, an average-height boy with short, fluffy brown hair, and the tall, blonde-haired boy from earlier were standing in the ring.
Teacher Brutus spoke to both boys before a microphone with a wire descended from the ceiling, he announced into it:
[Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to a Lord of Swords competition, the winner gets bragging rights as well as a chance to gain special tutorship upon arrival to the Terrarium!]
'Wait, why shouldn't I join the tournament?' Bell internally asked.
Gong answered shortly after, "This car is going to get raided by the champion of the Crimson Moon and the son of the Golden Sun."
To which Bell's mind went blank in shock.
There were twelve celestial bodies that had emerged at the dawn of the Domain Crisis, and each celestial "god" chose a champion. Some bore children, and anyone in direct connection to a celestial god was immensely powerful.
"They're strong enough to level any fortress city if given the chance, really." Gong stated calmly, as if she'd seen it happen once before. "Well, I have, actually. It was that son of the Golden Sun, actually. He leveled a mountain range about five years ago, by my count."
Bell felt as if she were on a roller coaster leading straight to her doom.
"Well, I went on to live for another ten or so years, so it wasn't that big of a deal." Gong shrugged.
When Bell tuned back into the situation regarding the boxing ring, the two were gearing up for a fight using blunt weapons from a nearby table.
The tall boy wielded a large wooden warhammer, while his opponent picked up a sword and shield.
"The tall one's named Torm, and the other one's named Michael." Gong began explaining.
Immediately after the two had picked their weapons, Teacher Brutus announced: [On the count of three!]
To which everyone in the bleachers began counting down, including Bell.
After the two began fighting, the tall one, Torm, looked to ignite the air around him in a red aura of sorts. The boy with brown hair, Michael, ran around the boxing ring with extremely high speeds.
"Torm has the ability to either strengthen himself or make himself more durable." Gong explained as the match began, "Michael, on the other hand, can either make himself faster or make his sword sharper."
Bell nodded in understanding, 'They got lucky.'
Gong chuckled, "We got luckier."
Unfortunately, Bell was preoccupied with the notion that two nuclear threats were on their way to interfere with a simple competition to properly analyze the two in their duel. Bell felt sweat drip down her forehead in fear and anticipation for whenever the battle was going to end due to the equivalent of a meteor ripping the Mindspace open.
'They can do that, right?' Bell asked.
Gong answered swiftly and nonchalantly, "Yeah, but you don't need to worry, the other teachers and staff are going to hold them off for a bit until reinforcements come."
'That's reassuring.' Bell thought with a heavy dose of sarcasm in her mental voice.
Gong didn't reply, simply letting Bell fester in her own puddle of fear.
To get her mind off of impending doom, Bell decided to focus on the fight. It turned out to be rather interesting, which came as a surprise to Bell.
Michael was using his speed as a great advantage to Torm, who had elected to shift from using strength to fortifying himself.
"It doesn't really matter though," Gong interrupted Bell's thought process. "The Shield they use in Lord of Swords tournaments only prevents an instance of fatal damage, and outright blocks everything else."
'Can I enjoy the fight in peace?' Bell asked.
"Can you think a bit quieter?" Gong countered.
Bell decided to not argue, simply observing the fight without any internal commentary, making sure to not give Gong the chance to give any, either.
Torm was swinging his warhammer in wide ars, often being forced to block the many strikes that Michael sent.
Michael circled Torm rapidly, often trying to collect many minor injuries on Torm, but the Shield rejected them all. Each time he struck anything that didn't lead to fatal damage, a blue plane of glass simply rejected the blow.
However, Torm landed a single attack that made solid connection to the swift boy. Bell was tempted to ask why but elected not to; it was probably due to something like, "Oh, if Torm gets two more hits like this, Michael's ribcage will collapse!"
The morbid thought almost distracted Bell from the fight as it continued, but didn't. There were several exchanges where nothing of substance occurred outside of simply wasting time and energy.
Then, Michael leaped up into the air, narrowly avoiding an upward slash sent by Torm, and struck the boys head. The sound of glass shattering filled the room, and Teacher Brutus announced into the microphone: [Michael Erikson wins this bout!]
Torm stood tall but had a look of dumbfounded confusion on his face, as if he didn't understand how Michael gained such airtime. Bell didn't necessarily understand, either, but didn't question it.
Teacher Brutus led the two to the table where they placed their training weapons back on it. Afterward, they were led off of the boxing ring proper and allowed two more willing participants into the middle of the ting.
Just as Teacher Brutus was about to announce the two challengers names, the sound of glass shattering filled the room once more. Rays of brilliantly golden sunlight began to peer through the room in a myriad angles.
The cheering and general commotion in the boxing ring and bleachers died down quickly.
"It's begun, brace yourself." Gong's words echoed into the silence, but none could hear her except Bell.
Bell nodded and steeled herself for anything.
A figure started to descend from the crack in the sky. He had short, black hair and a strikingly handsome face with a neatly trimmed full beard.
Crimson priestly robes and blood-stained gambeson adorned his body. Symbols of the crimson moon flowed down his embroidered chestplate; a waning lunar crescent encircling a radiant white star.
His arms were held behind his back, then, the priest raised his right arm slowly, then his left. His left hand pointed a single finger toward the inside of his right arm. Then, he rolled the sleeve back and with a sharp fingernail, drew blood down his forearm.
Blood attempted to trickle down and follow gravity, but some quivering force prevented that. Then, the man shoved his left hand into his right forearm and pulled something out. Bell assumed that he was going to pull out a bone or something similar, but no, he pulled out a sinister shape.
The blade of a scythe appeared in the air from the blood and descended with the man. Afterward, he pulled out a long handle also made of his blood. The man's complexion turned a bit paler, but his cheeks bloated red with some sort of perverted ecstasy.
Afterward, he slammed the blade onto the handle, and began to hold it in a resting position. It was as if he were a farmer coming to reap the seeds he had sewn.
"Hello, everyone." A honeyed voice filled the air. "My name is Brother Bradley, would you like to convert?"