Galfore watched Komand'r and K'li look around at the markets of the Warworld. Those two were his students, one as a princess, the other as a servant of the said princess. As a royal teacher, he was tasked with their education and daily life.
Sometimes Galfore wished that the royals would partake in the child education more, especially considering how low the birth rate at Tamaran was. Tamaran was a small kingdom on the outskirts of the Vega system, which was described as the most densely populated corner of the universe.
Vega was home to many races and inhabited planets, and Tamaran was just one of them, one of the few that had managed to stay politically and economically independent from the Citadel and its Empire.
Galfore was once a military officer in the Tamaranean army. While in service there, through his talent and dedication, he caught the eye of the royal family.
He was a burly two meter tall man, laden with battle scars and past wounds. Unfortunately, he was not in his physical prime, as his youth had been laid upon the altar of the battle. His red hair had a streak of white going through it, indicating the horrors of the war that the mad had seen with his own eyes.
The years of military service had left a visible toll on the man who was still considered to be in the early years of his lifetime. He was only in his fifties, and considering that Tamaraneans lived for several centuries, he was still very young, even though he was a war veteran. A couple of years ago, Galfore had retired from the military as his physical prowess had taken a dive after decades of active duty.
Soon after his retirement, the princess Komand'r was born, the first heir to the throne in a century. Unfortunately, their enemy, the Citadel Empire, had chosen her birthday as a date to start a new war. Thus, Komand'r became known as an omen of the war.
Galfore was chosen as a guardian and the teacher for the princess. This was practically the only gesture of goodwill the king and the queen showed to their little daughter. Not only did the royal family take their anger and frustration out on the newborn, but they also forced the populace to do the same. Komand'r became ostracised in her own kingdom.
His personal feelings on the matter aside, Komand'r was truly a gifted child, smart, dedicated. Her illness and the consequent inability to fly were a hindrance, and the cause of hatred and discrimination against the princess, but they did not stop Komand'r from improving and learning.
K'li was a special case, too.A single surviving representative of a noble house. She was chosen as a shieldmaiden for the princess; thus, the obligation of her education was also cast on Galfore's shoulders.
K'li was a frail young child, no less capable than the princess, even if a little too timid and scared. The two of his wards became the light of his life soon after he took them under his wings. To him, these two were like his own daughters, as he spent days and night teaching and caring for them.
"Komand'r, K'li, it's time to go to the arena, fights are starting soon".
They were currently far away from Tamaran, on the barren metallic planet known as Warwold. Once he had learned of the tournament, he decided to show it to his wards.
Being sheltered in Tamaran was not a good idea for the future ruler of Tamaran. She needed to see the dangers of the universe firsthand. As a war veteran, Galfore knew that there were many dangerous and evil things out there; one should always be prepared to face them. Or have a way to retreat to safety. The universe was a vast, empty space, and there were many mysteries and secrets hidden away in its void.
His wards had taken on the journey fairly well. Warworld was an exotic sight for them. A metallic artificial world that still somehow housed a massive population of organic life. It was vastly different from the lush jungle rich with soil and agrarian yields that was Tamaran.
The major similarities started with the fact that Warzoons were a warrior culture, just like Tamaran was. And even though slavery was rampant here, something that the Tamaraneans despised as a trait of their enemies, the Citadel and their subordinate slavers, Gordanians, there were still some things to enjoy here. A variety of weaponry and armor was a welcome one, arena fighting was also a popular sport on Tamaran, and Warworld's society was practically built on that.
Soon, the three of them had entered the ominously named Crucible, the central arena on Warworld housing the tournament open for the intergalactic participants, an event that happened once every decade.
The arena itself was a bit lacking. It was a giant ring stadium made of black and silver metal, and even though it held a lot of audience seats, the seats were hardly comfortable. The arena floor itself was made of the same metal; it was clear that Warzoons were not keen on interior design (or exterior for that matter) and providing for their own comfort.
After the speech made by Mongal, the sister of the local ruler, gladiators were allowed to enter the arena. The show had officially begun. Galfore looked over his wards, both of which seemed entranced by the entertainment.
The fight itself was a bloody mess, though it was a godsend to the nature of their trip here. Galfore wanted to teach girls the cruel nature of the universe, and the rogue ruler of Apokolips that crashed the tournament had provided that in full bloom. Together with his bodyguards, they tore through the opposition, and a fight with one of the local elite warriors was just as brutal and swift.
It was unfortunate that the whole fight had ended that fast. Although the day of the fights had just started. There would probably be more opportunities to see what the New Gods were capable of, and perhaps there would be more capable warriors participating in the tournament.
***
At the clan compound of the Clan of the Claw, one of the most influential groups on the planet, there was an emergency gathering of the clan elders and other prominent clan members.
Current clan head, Templar, was sitting at the helm of the table and listening to the report of one of their members. The report was regarding the ongoing tournament that the Clan had participated in, and the unfortunate results of the first round. All of the participants from the clan were eliminated. Not only was the clan humiliated by a foreign warrior, but they were also heavily reliant on the good results of the tournament.
Warzoon culture was built on such tournaments, and as a result, some of the most important social events relied on the results of such tournaments. For example, the current tournament's result would heavily influence seats on the local council. The disaster that happened during the competition meant that the Clan of Claw was now facing a major political defeat. It would take a decade to take back the seats on the council, and before that, they would lose a lot of power and influence. It was unacceptable.
"Find my son. Since he had been kidnapped, we had suffered defeat upon defeat". Templar said in a solemn tone. His son, Warblade, was once a shining knight of the Clan, the perfect son and the heir to the mantle of the clanhead. He was a fierce warrior, ruthless on the battlefield, but humble and kind outside of it. He cared for this clan like no other did. And he failed him.
As a father, he failed his son; he allowed his enemies to get to him. Templar felt hopelessness. His world was crumbling before his eyes, seeping through his fingers like sand.
He wanted his son back.
***
Mongul was sitting in his war room that was situated in the command center between the inhabited surface of the planet and the outer shell. He was listening to a report from his right-hand man.
The war room was a spacious chamber, sleek and modern, and various paintings of the Mongul were displayed on the walls. Most of the painting showed Mongul in battle, slaying his enemies with his bare hands.
Mongul was proud of his physical strength, something that was a key characteristic of his family. It was thanks to that superhuman strength that Guldejo, their famed ancestor, was able to conquer Warworld and other Warzoon tribes and clans. Guldejo then declared himself Mongul I, a ruler of the planet.
The exact past of the Warzoon race was long lost and forgotten, unlike the story of the Monguls. Each and every Mongul had carefully stored information about themselves and their deeds, in an attempt to immortalize their story in the annals of history. As a result, Warzoon history became the history of the Monguls, with most of the events, wars and battles depicted from the point of view of the ruling family.
The current Mongul was not an exception. He was a proud warrior regarded as one of the best that their family had ever produced. He himself had partaken in the gladiator fights all his youth and childhood, fighting tooth and nail for his life in the arena daily. It was a way to become stronger and prove himself to be a worthy successor of Warworld.
Warworld… It was a blessing and a curse of the Warzoon race. Something that brought them power and weapons, but also simultaneously alienized them from the rest of the universe.
The Green Lantern Corps and the Guardians of the Universe, who commanded the Corps, declared Warworld a potential existential threat to the universe. They had banned Warzoons from waging war and, in turn, had guaranteed their immunity from the war outside their planet.
From the Green Lantern's perspective, Warworld was too powerful to exist. Weapons that were capable of destroying planets and stars were called Sun Eaters and were characterised as weapons of mass destruction; and consequently banned from use.
Of course, from time to time, such weapons were made by various rogue states and nations, but most of such attempts were stopped and persecuted by the universal peacekeepers, the Green Lantern Corps.
Warworld was one of the Sun Eaters that was allowed to exist, only because it was a planet that housed billions. Thus, Warworld had gained a special place in the universal diplomatic arena. It was allowed to stay perfectly neutral in most conflicts, consequently becoming rich through weapon trade and mercenary business. Currently, Warworld was the center of the universe in terms of gladiator fighting. Broadcasting rights of the tournaments held here were a hot commodity among the space corporations.
For Mongul, money and status were just means for the cause, resources. His goal, and the goal of all of the Monguls before him, laid in conquest. They had never discarded their ambition to conquer the universe. But for the longest time, they were unable to do so, stopped by the Green Lantern Corps's edict on Warworld's neutrality.
Slowly, they had been building up their power base, amassing fortune and weaponry, as well as powering up Warworld. They had even gained an ally recently. Finally, they were on the verge of starting their first war campaign.
And all of that was endangered by Darkseid's participation in the tournament. Mogul knew that leaving the invitations open to incite hype around them was a mistake, but it was an old tradition started a thousand years ago. It was a mechanism that had always worked in their favor.
All the fights and races for the invitations had built up the status and fame of the Warworld's tournaments, and it was a marketing ploy made by one of his ancestors. But it fired back tremendously.
The last thing Mongul had wanted right now was the attention of Darkseid and the Apokolips Empire on himself. A key part of the plan that was created in collaboration with his allies laid in discreet preparations. He needed time.
"Mongal", he turned to his sister. It was a unique situation that Monguls had more than one child, but fortunately for her, Mongal was a girl, so she was allowed to live. Mongul had even given her an influential position before; she was family after all.
"Make sure that the tournament will go smoothly and without other unforeseen events. I don't care if Darkseid wins it or not; he just needs to get off my planet as soon as possible".
"Understood, brother". Mongal was smart; she never argued with him and had always followed his command. That's what he liked about her.
"Chaytil", Mongul had turned his eyes to his right-hand man, the commander of the army. The Warzoon, in his thirties, a rough-looking warrior with orange colored skin and dreads, dressed in an army uniform, had come forward. "Keep an eye on Darkseid, he is not here just for the tournament. He has a plan. Learn it."
"Yes, sir". Chaytil had bowed deeply and promptly taken back his place in a line of Monful's advisors.
"Ah, yes, another thing", Mongul looked over the colorful team of advisors that he had gathered throughout his reign. They were his best men, someone that he could rely on both on the battlefield and in the war room. "That Elite that had lost to Darkseid. Sell him to the slave pits".