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A Contestant and a Claimant must be on the same page for great things to happen. Whether that page is coated in cellular crimson, raven-feather seidrbending, raw anomalous hatred, or some multicoloured and ethereal, anxious mix of fear and self-loathing, or even nothing at all, so it required, for Claimant and Contestant to ebb in unison.

Light a nudge on what Jorj sees and feels along to his body. Varhas is trying in that very slight curvature of foresight, to put his mindflow at ease and while he strives for ease, Jorj presses himself to action. On swirls of red, the other is absent, but yet so rainbow-reflective when the other matches that whim.

The pits of Ulm are just brutalism built on top of brutalism, layers upon layers of drab steel and concrete blocks, with an odd layer of brick and cobblestone inbetween. The score is three to three and the other Contestant moves around the bulky steel open corridors and factory-sealed gates with ease.

One versus one, there is a struggle of movement and sight. Rapidly do appear, the tight corners between matter, pockets of sight where one can shoot through.

Such an accurate kill is performed by Jorj. The close range flak cannon shot is fired with a delay, in anticipation of the enemy and as soon as Harrun turns that corner, he is blown to bits. Despite the closeness to a victorious finish, the chaotic strain between the two continues.

Jorj is sluggish at the distance. His weapons produce erratic light. Where the Lanza turns bright azure, there is but a microsecond where it turns lightless. The Lanza powers off and then back on.

In such a lapse of technical ability, what could have been the winning shot, is instead a wide floodlight of blue. Harrun, the other Contestant basks in that brightness, but other than a harmless sizzle of all his body's hair, he is unharmed and ready to continue.

Where the Contestant gets angry, the Claimant turns to shame.

Jorj then runs for the high ground as the rapid elevator propels him in the air. Harrun sneaks by and he grabs a weapon somewhere in the distance.

The next time the two contestants stand face to face, a distance of twenty meters exists inbetween them and Jorj scores the final blow with an arching flak cannon shot pounding with that extra force of gravity next to Harrun.

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They would not speak to eachother for two days and when they happened to come close to one another, the Claimant would always say that he had no words to explain what is happening and the Contestant would point at the moments he remembered the other not being able to act.

Anax, Hab even Voliphoe had made attempts to mend that gap between the two. To each, their own ways. Anax tried giving advice to Varhas, on how often it was that master painters became unsatisfied with their muses and how their works suffered as a result. Hab simply spoke of letting time pass, mending of such gaps between people by waiting it out. Voliphoe urged Jorj to open himself to speak earnestly to Varhas.

Misplaced, all such advice appeared to matter little to either person. Feeling the pressure of events, both turned about their own minds to figure out this knot that kept tightening as they pulled it.

At the present moment, both are in underground places on the planet of Ulm. Between layers and layers of steel and stone, the industrial and bureaucratic planet had always been a place where people got lost. Five layers of life, where factories span wide and tall through them. Entire cities, concrete apartment blocks that also function as pillars, meadows with cobblestone houses, post-modern streetways and Romanesque cathedrals dominate the underground horizon. The two, kilometres apart in a drab, hybrid vastness of urban sprawl.

At that same moment, Anax is petitioning the planet's Pantokrator. Voliphoe smokes and speaks the day away in one of the many balcony-plazas. Hab and Zanuvia walk the long crystal, ebony marketplaces and Lacata meets with a promising Contestant at the forge depths standing beach-side to seas of oil and underneath underground skies of chemical thunderstorms.

Five times each, Jorj and Varhas, will listen to hints and small suggestions on their everyday talks.

Further from this moment, where all are spread out and about, one mouth will speak of an empty petition, where the bureaucracy won the best of him and he felt nothing but the urge to get lost in one of the hardcore techno districts. Another mouth will speak, that she is bored. In the ennui of the moment she seeks to be amongst the moving crowds, to be lusted for and to dance the night away. Two more will think and speak of it, lost between youth and oldness, marvelling at the grand, urban landscape and its spectacles away from their home. Last, is one more young mouth, exploring the ecstasy of the world, casually speaking of places to see, beats to lose one's mind to and to bond with new arrivals.

At the suggestion of a very stout and tall man of blonde hair, a point in space time is given to the young woman. And the spot itself manifests at a later moment, promising completion for all such wishes.