Ned and Bonita darted from pyramid to pyramid like a runaway cannonball and its unwitting passenger. They leaped, crashed, and claimed flags with such speed and absurdity that it felt less like a strategic tournament and more like a slapstick comedy. On every captured pyramid, the deposed teams scrambled to their feet, clutching at their stolen pride and waving their fists in outrage. It didn't take long for a crowd to form, growing with each new stop.
Now, a veritable mob of students was chasing them. Hundreds of angry participants from different teams, united by their shared indignation, swarmed after Ned and Bonita. To any outside observer, it looked like a bizarre parade: a cannonball-shaped beast bounding through the air, a gangly teen clinging to its back, and a horde of furious teenagers trailing behind, their war cries echoing across the field.
Ned clung to Bonita's shoulders, shouting over the wind, "Bonita, faster! They're gaining on us!"
Bonita replied, "Bonita. Fastest. Already."
Ned risked a glance back and groaned. "Yeah, well, fastest isn't cutting it right now! I think we've bitten off more flags than we can chew!"
The spectacle wasn't lost on the event's host, a flamboyant commentator with an affinity for the dramatic. As the camera panned to Ned's escapades, the host adjusted his bright orange bowtie and leaned into the microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing history! Never before has one man united so many enemies in a single cause: the utter humiliation of Ned Forester! With his trusty beast Bonita, they've turned this prestigious tournament into what can only be described as 'capture the flag' meets 'a Benny Hill chase scene!'"
The crowd in the stands erupted in laughter, cheers, and a few scattered boos. The leaderboard displayed Ned's pyramid with a solitary point. Yet, anyone who had been paying attention knew that wasn't the whole story. Ned's true stash of flags was being carried on his person, and everyone wanted their cut.
Among the throng of pursuers were some of the tournament's top competitors, each cloaked in an air of enigma and power that seemed to distort the air around them, as if reality itself bent to their presence.
At the forefront was Zara, a towering warrior with piercing amber eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of storms and the fury of untamed winds. Her weapon, a colossal blade etched with ancient runes, shimmered faintly, as though it were alive, pulsating with the energy of the wind she commanded. She hailed from the Kingdom of Azure, one of the Big Three in the tournament, and her reputation as "The Storm Warden" preceded her. Zara's movements were a blur of windborne grace, her strides almost too fast for the eye to follow. When she spoke, her voice carried the weight of authority and the promise of unrelenting power. "This Ned guy is clever," she said, her tone both admiring and calculating. "He's planning to deposit the flags at the last moment to claim the top spot."
Beside her was Lucius, a sharp-eyed marksman whose pale, angular features exuded a predator's intensity. As Zara's right-hand man and the deadliest archer in the tournament, Lucius was a legend in his own right. His bow, a weapon of gleaming blackwood adorned with pulsating runes, seemed to hum with a latent hunger. Each arrow he drew was tipped with spectral energy, a swirling amalgamation of light and shadow that promised utter devastation. His voice was calm, but every word dripped with cold precision. "One clean shot," he murmured, his eyes narrowing like a hawk's. "Let's see him run without that beast of his."
Trailing them was Marco, a hulking brute whose sheer presence was a spectacle of raw power. His massive frame seemed to absorb and amplify the sunlight, casting an ominous shadow that loomed over allies and enemies alike. His skin, hardened to the texture of unyielding stone, glinted with embedded flecks of minerals, as though the earth itself had chosen him as its champion. Known as "The Earthbreaker," Marco's mere footsteps left cracks in the ground, a testament to his immense strength. His voice rumbled like the prelude to an earthquake, deep and unrelenting. "No tricks, no games. We crush him, take the flags, and then we split the spoils. Simple."
Each of these competitors carried an aura that set them apart, their unique blend of raw talent, enigmatic powers, and sheer force of will making them unstoppable forces. The crowd's eyes followed their every move, spellbound by the knowledge that wherever they went, the tournament's most electrifying moments were sure to follow.
---
As the timer ticked down, Ned urged Bonita back toward their pyramid. He landed amidst his teammates, their expressions a mixture of shock and exasperation.
"What the hell, Ned?" Reena said, crossing her arms. "Do you have any idea how many people are chasing you?"
"Uh, about half the tournament?" Ned guessed, scratching the back of his head. "Look, it'll be fine. We just need to deposit these flags."
Ambessa raised an eyebrow. "Fine? You brought an army to our doorstep! What's the plan, genius?"
Ned grinned. "Trust me. I've got this."
Before anyone could object, a shadow fell over the pyramid. The horde of students had arrived, their faces set with determination. At the forefront were Zara, Lucius, and Marco, flanked by their equally formidable teammates. The tension was palpable.
"It's over, Ned," Zara called out, her voice amplified by her wind talent. "Hand over the flags, or we'll take them by force."
Ned held up his hands innocently. "Relax, guys. No need to get violent."
To everyone's shock, Ned didn't move to deposit the flags. Instead, he pulled out a portable grill from his inventory and set it up on the pyramid's platform. Moments later, the mouthwatering aroma of sizzling chicken skewers wafted through the air.
The crowd blinked in confusion. "What is he doing?" someone whispered.
"I think he's given up," another replied.
Zara frowned. "This is a trick. It has to be."
Lucius lowered his bow slightly. "Or he's just lost his mind."
Ned, ever the showman, flipped a skewer with a flourish and waved it toward the crowd. "Come on, guys. Let's not fight. Let's feast! Who wants chicken?"
The crowd grumbled but held their ground. It wasn't until a smart individual shouted from the back that the real chaos began.
"He's bluffing! If Ned doesn't deposit the flags, he gets eliminated, and all the flags disappear with him!"
Realization dawned on the crowd. If Ned refused to play, he could take everyone down with him. The strong teams, whose flags were safely stored in their pyramids, saw this as an opportunity to eliminate the competition. Meanwhile, the weaker teams, whose survival depended on Ned's stash, decided they had to protect him at all costs.
The battlefield erupted into chaos. The strong teams charged at Ned's pyramid, while the weaker teams formed a protective ring around it. All the while, Ned and his teammates casually enjoyed their chicken skewers, watching the mayhem unfold.