A New Day, A New Man.

The room was lit by the chandelier above the table. The table was circular, one that you would see at a bar. She could see some bookshelves on the left and on the right. Some plants, however, she wasn’t sure why they would put plants in a room with the only light coming from a chandelier. There were two doors, one behind her, one in front. You could tell which door she came from. There were also two chairs. One that she was on, and one that was across from her. You could tell what she was waiting on.

Her hands were clasped over the table, waiting patiently. But for what? For why? Why was she waiting when she could just take him?! No. No, she couldn’t. He would find out; he would know even before she moved. He would stop her and then she would never be able to see him again. She let out a sigh and turned to a clock which ticked ever so slowly. She squinted her eyes. Ten-thirty-seven. It was still morning. However, it felt like she’s been here for years. Decades, scores, centuries, millenia, eons! Why were they taking so long?!

Her feet tapped restlessly beneath the table, her eyes leaving the clock to focus on the door. Come on… When would they come? When? When? When? When? When–

–The doorknob rattled.

Her eyes widened and light was brought to her face, her lips twitched threatening to form a smile. The door eventually opened and what she saw immediately stopped her smile. Stumbling out of the doorway is a man in rags, a collar around his neck. His wrists and ankles chained. He had brown hair and emerald, green eyes. He gazed upon her and dragged his bare feet towards the table, but not before he could close the door behind him. He looked like he had not a moment's rest, bags under his eyes. He pulled the chair in front out slightly and walked over to sit down. The rags he wore shifted down a little, revealing a couple bite marks around his neck. He grabbed his rags and pulled them back up, noticing the upset look of his guest.

“Hello, Screwball,” His voice was devoid of any emotion. It was pure indifference.

“Hello, Ryker,” She said back, “How…” she stopped herself. She knew how he was doing, how everything was; he was miserable. “...What do you wish to talk about?” she gazed upon his collar, noting what it said: ‘Pet’.

He took a glance down at the table, “...My Commanders,” he finally said, “...What are their ranks now?”

A soft smile graced the lips of the Chaos Spirit. “Well, Herobrine is ranked one.”

Ryker winced, “From Eight to One, huh?”

“Kyle is rank two,” she continued, “Necrozma is rank three,” this made Ryker’s eyes widen.

“But he’s one of the strongest bastards in the ranks! How is he ranked three? That’s outrageous!” Screwball laughed at his outrage, even the Irishman couldn’t help but smile. “He was number seven under my rule!”

“Well, times have changed,” Screwball noted, “Zabuza is Fourth, Arkham has risen to Fifth.”

This made Ryker grin wide, ear to ear, “Ah, Mike, my beloved son… From first to fifth. I couldn’t be prouder.” The Irishman’s grin displayed his sharp shark-like teeth that even still looked like they could bite through diamonds.

“Lord Twigo ascended to Sixth, Ganondorf is Seventh, Fujitora is Eighth, Bullet is still Ninth, and Akainu is Tenth,” Screwball concluded, this time without any interruption from Ryker.

“Eh, sounds about right,” He muttered, “Who won the tourney?”

“Dillan.”

The Irishman paused and looked up to the ceiling, trying to recall who that was. “Dillan…” he muttered under his breath, “Ah, him. Who’d he beat?”

“Arkham.” This made Ryker tense a little, his brow furrowing slightly.

“...I see.”

A smirk appeared on Screwball’s face, and she leaned in on the table, “He fought valiantly, y’know. That Ichigo fellow, you know, part of Ed’s clan? Yeah, he punched a hole through Arkham’s chest,” she chuckled, “He almost erased him too.”

The Irishman clenched his fists.

“He beat Zabuza easily, beat Akainu…”

He leaned forwards this time, putting his fingers together. He glared ahead; not at Screwball, no, past her. Through her.

“And Dillan? He blew off Arkham’s arm. He watched as he struggled to win and fulfill a promise he could never keep. Dillan chucked him off the stage and watched as he struggled so desperately,” She saw Ryker’s teeth crack against each other, “trying his damndest to save his new friend,” Ryker’s green eyes glowed a little, “...And watched him fall.”

When it appeared as if he was going to snap, he paused, “...I know what you’re trying to do, Screwball. You won’t enrage me. I won’t let you.”

Screwball rolled her eyes, “Come on, you never wanted to let loose? Lose your mind like you used to?”

“I do. I lose my mind every day when I get abused by that–” Whatever the Irishman was about to say was interrupted as a person phased through a wall. Entering the room is a petite woman with pale skin, long silky black hair, and blood crimson eyes. She wore simple pajamas. Blue ones with yellow stars all over.

“Be careful with your next words, Ryky~,” A masculine voice emerged from the woman’s mouth. The voice alone made Ryker freeze, completely stop. He stopped moving, he even stopped breathing. The woman walked over to him and hooked an arm around his neck, “Otherwise who knows what might happen to you when she’s gone?”

This got him to move again. He started to quiver, shaking like a leaf at her closeness. He nodded slowly, “Y–Yes… I, uh… I…” he looked ahead at Screwball. The Chaos Spirit looked at him with wide eyes.

“I…” She muttered, “...I call him that.”

The woman scoffed, “Well, he’s not yours anymore,” she grabbed Ryker’s chin and pulled his head, so he looked at her. “He’s mine.” And with not a moment’s waste, her lips clasped over his. The woman’s eyes on Screwball’s with a small smirk on her lips. She deepened the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck and firmly held the back of Ryker’s head to force him to come close. Otherwise, he wouldn't have done so on his own. She broke the kiss to give Screwball a grin, “He’s my man!”

“...I see.” She stood up to her feet, pushing back her chair with her movement.

Ryker turned to the Spirit, “Screw–” the woman’s hand grabbed his face firmly.

“Shut up, nobody cares about her. She’s background character B662.” She rolled her eyes, watching as Screwball conjured a portal behind her.

She narrowed her eyes, “I’ll show you ‘background character’.” she stepped into the portal.

“I’ll show you all.”

It’s been a few weeks since everyone went back to their own world, the Commanders shared their tokens to anyone who might need it later on. Kyle had to give them a device that would call him and give him a signal so he could portal to their location. Speaking of the Eliatrope, he sat near Saddle Lake. He sat on the sand, looking into the water.

However, he took his gaze off the water and to the sand beneath him. Kyle dragged his hand across it, making small patterns in it. He could hear Sora’s Luna in his mind, her advice. He thought back to their fight, how he had acted. He closed his eyes and sighed, “Maybe I need to change, I can’t stay scared…” He muttered under his breath.

“KYLE!” The Eliatrope perked up and raised his head. He turned to his right and saw Arkham with his arms crossed “Training with Lord Twigo starts in a few. You better hurry or we’ll be late!”

“Right, I did say I wanted to get stronger, huh?” He thought to himself before nodding, “Okay, I’ll be right there! Just give me a second,” the Knight looked like he wanted to say something, but he bit tongue. Kyle turned back to the sand, continuing to make a pattern. But something odd was happening; he couldn’t feel his right index finger. He couldn’t feel the grains of sand. He raised a brow and his hand to look at it and found that his index finger was a green translucent color. His eyes widened, “Glass?” he said out loud.

The glass spread to his hand, and he shrunk back in fear, but then the glass too shrunk back to his index. He moved his hand and watched as his hand transferred from flesh to glass, glass to sand, flesh to sand, sand to glass. Rinse and repeat until he faces a palm to him, “Sables,” he murmured under his breath. A small tornado formed in his hand, sand being picked up in its wind, but then, glass joined it. He looked at the mixture of sand and glass, “...Wow.”

“KYLE! I WILL FUCKING LEAVE YOU!”

The tornado in his hand dispelled and he quickly stood up to his feet, “C–Coming!” He cried out. Kyle jogged towards his friend and took a deep breath. With this new power, this new day, maybe he can make a new chance.

Maybe, just maybe.

He can become a new man.

Author's Note

And thus, concludes this - almost three year - journey! This one has been LONG overdue for a finish and I'm glad for it to be done. I am NEVER gonna do another Displaced Tournament of Power and from now on, I'm gonna be sticking to eight-man tourneys. Not an eighty-one-man tourney. And y'know what? I'm excited for it!

A new era, a new tournament!

A new day, a new man!

This next tournament will be...

...I forgor.