Chapter Text
You settle into your seats. Custom-made to your specifications, like everything in your personal audience lounges. Like everything in your life. For some of you, you're about to get your first glimpse of the world before all that.
The screen flares to life, displaying a room of dark red velvet. Facing you is a stern, angular woman in a waistcoat and dinner jacket. A noticeable scar runs diagonally up her chin to her lower lip; a deliberate design choice, of course.
Silently, she extends a hand to the side. On cue a pair of maids rush into frame, one placing a cigar in her hand and the other lighting it. They withdraw just as fast, and she gives it a slow puff before finally acknowledging you.
"Welcome, seekers of glory, to the Desire Grand Prix.
"We are here for the same reason. There is something missing from our world. Something we're too afraid to take back for ourselves, but its absence drives us crazy. I am Axia, Producer of this programme. I thank you for your continued support, and hope you find what you are looking for.
"I will be on hand to explain my vision for the show, but for now, I will leave you in the capable hands of our Navigator, Janus."
The screen flickers, and now displays a man standing–-judging by the clear blue skies and sound of seagulls behind him-–on the coast. A loose toga leaves most of his upper body revealed, but a carved mask conceals his face completely. Gentle curls of hair frame its angelic visage, disturbed by the slight wind.
“Greetings, honoured masters. I am Janus, and I will be your Navigator.” He speaks softly, but with perfect clarity. “It is my role to guide you through the world of the past, and the players through the world of the future. I can only hope my performance will please you.
“The Producer feels the ‘tourist spots’--ancient Greece, say, or the Three Kingdoms–-have been overdone by previous seasons, and has instead opted for a personal favourite setting of hers. Indulge me, then, a brief introduction…not that you need to know the politics to enjoy our game of desires, but perhaps it will help ground you.
“The year is six hundred and fifty. The founding of Islam is still in living memory, but already the Caliph is the most powerful figure short of China. The west is lost to the Romans, but their society survives in the east, centred around the great city of Constantinople…from which we have sourced this season’s valiant contestants.
“The City, as it is simply known, is also where this vessel is bound for.” The camera tilts down slightly, revealing Janus stands not on the seaside but on the carved prow of a huge ship, balancing perfectly as if taking the place of its figurehead. A helpful info-box pops up to inform you that the ship, a dromon , is a direct descendant of ancient Greek triremes, but your attention is far more drawn to the movement on deck. Humanoid, but not human. Whether you’ve tuned in to the DGP before, or just seen clips floating around, there’s no mistaking its enemy combatants: the plant-based, ever-evolving Jamato. These ones are dressed in adorable novelty pirate outfits, and seem to be crewing the ship quite competently.
“As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the ship is crawling with Jamato,” Janus says, unmoving. “And down on the lowest deck, probably still getting their bearings, are our thirty potential Desire Gods. Their first task is simple: Reclaim control of the ship.
“Although…I must applaud the Game Master for the nuance behind that simplicity. Have you, perchance, heard of Greek Fire? This is around the era of its invention, and its first use. To defend the City from naval attack, projectors mounted on the walls spewed forth liquid flame, incinerating the enemy fleet. Now, what do you suppose would happen if a vessel still crewed by inhuman monsters was spotted approaching the harbour…?”
He pauses, inclining his head slightly. “Well, I’m sure they’ll act with due haste. This is just the kind of crucible in which Kamen Riders are forged.”
ENTRY
The view now shows you a scene below decks–-several angles and locations, in fact, as the screens multiply to ensure you get whatever view you want. It’s chaos. Whatever introductory pleasantries the contestants managed to exchange, now the Jamato have found them, and the cavernous wooden chamber is a mess of chases and desperate struggles. Most people, sadly, are not cut out to be Kamen Riders, and several bodies already litter the floorboards.
A few of the players have managed to break out onto the upper below-decks level; they’ve reached a safer spot thanks to one-–a tall, brawny woman dressed for hot weather–-keeping the nearest group of Jamato focused on her, leading them away towards the maze of cargo crates. Her eyes alight on one tall box in particular and she heads straight for it, hauling on it with her whole back and tipping it over into her pursuers. From the pile of broken boards and flailing monsters she triumphantly produces a pair of swords, shaking one from its scabbard and meeting the next Jamato to come at her with a swift, practiced slash.
A sparse caption box appears beside her as she continues to fend them off with growing confidence:
-Name: Aisha
-Occupation: Raider
More contestants have spilled out onto this upper level, and as she clears out a space for herself, Aisha spots one trying to hold his own rather than running. He kicks one Jamato back but barely stops a second skewering him, grappling with it and being forced back step by step.
“Here!” She tosses the spare sword over, and he swivels on instinct to catch it, smashing the hilt against the Jamato to drive it back, giving himself a second to draw the blade and run it through.
The man–-sturdily-built, but scruffily-shaven with tired, sunken eyes–-jogs over his saviour’s way. “Thanks…”
-Name: Nikephoros
-Occupation: Soldier
Aisha clasps his offered hand. “My gut told me you could handle a sword.” She catches him not meeting her eyes. “What? Pride wounded that a woman helped you? Or a foreigner?”
“Pfft.” He waves this away. “I’m not some big city prude who jumps at the sound of Arabic. It’s just, aren’t we supposed to be rivals?”
She sweeps a hand at the bodies around them. “I don’t think we have time to worry about that yet. Besides, I reckon we’re the only real fighters in the group.”
“Yeah, this could be a bloodbath,” Nikephoros agrees, holding up a small Buckle claimed from his foe. “Any idea what to do with these?”
Aisha shrugs, pocketing hers and raising the sword instead. “This seems to work fine.”
Someone, surprisingly, has slipped all the way up on deck, now leaning on the handrail with a yawn. “We’re not far from port…I hope they all hurry up and kill these things for me soon.”
A Jamato notices the interloper with a start, dropping the barrel it’s carrying to charge, but it swings through empty air. A flash of hair dyed bright red, beads and scarves billowing in the wind, a melodic laugh-–with effortless grace, the target is already behind it.
“C’mon, don’t bother me. I really don’t feel like dirtying my hands today.”
Abruptly another, louder voice rings out: “Move, move, move!” A bright-eyed blonde man comes barrelling across the deck, shoulder-charging into the Jamato and hurling it clean overboard. The newcomer straightens up with a whoop, pumping an exuberant fist. “Now this is what I’m talkin’ about! What a rush!”
-Name: Leandros
-Occupation: Chariot-racer
He turns to the person he just helped out, flashing a grin. “You okay, man? Or…wait, no. You one of those…how do they call it it, ‘self-made women’ they got in Egypt?”
“They got us all over, friend, but good eye.” She gives his shoulder a playful smack, carefully putting her hair back in place. “Get back to fighting, would you? Fisticuffs are beneath me, so someone has to pick up the slack.”
-Name: Maia
-Occupation: Dancer
Leandros salutes. “Can’t say no to a babe this fine. Just watch me!”
A few seconds later, a new camera angle appears off the side of the ship, giving you a cinematic angle of him leaping overboard with a jubilant cry, a flailing Jamato gripped in a headlock under each arm, now releasing to let them tumble into the water while the rope he tied around his waist jerks him to a halt a few feet from the surface. “Fuck…ow…yeah!”
“What on earth is wrong with him?”
High above, safely ensconced in the crow’s nest, lounges someone with–-somehow–-even less motivation than Maia. The richly-dressed, well-groomed man has found a small crate of apples, tossing one over his shoulder and reaching for another. “I’ve been feasted in Babylon, you know,” he mutters to himself. “Antioch. Jerusalem. Ctesiphon! This…” He gives another glance at the struggles down below, shrugs and takes another bite. “...is still better than down there.”
-Name: Surena
-Occupation: Scholar
What he’d spotted is that a second group of players has now made it up on deck, only to find it just as hostile as below. Most have already been hacked down, and now the last one is sliced across the shoulder, falling onto his back and crying out for help–-a cry which is answered, as Aisha runs up to block the blade, sword-fighting the Jamato back while another player who’d been tagging along with her hurries over to the injured man in priestly garb.
A stocky, middle-aged woman with faint bloodstains on her clothes, she holds him steady while quickly cleaning the wound. “Calm down. Let me look at that.”
-Name: Galateia
-Occupation: Doctor
“Th-Thank you. Thank you,” he stammers, clutching at his rosary with shaking fingers while she improvises a bandage for him.
“I’m just glad I could help someone,” she mutters. “There can’t be more than half of us left.”
“Come on.” Aisha returns, pulling the priest to his feet. “We have to keep moving, all right?”
“Right. Right. Yes. Understood.” His whole bearing seems to change as he speaks, new confidence blooming, and now he steps past them, throwing his head back. “ Finally. ”
“What?”
“No matter how many people I lead into those monsters’ path, they all just get killed uselessly…I check the doctor’s pockets just now, but clearly she’s been too focused on helping her rivals to fight…but you, O brave warrior, are my jackpot.” He holds up a Buckle between his fingers. “Too used to that sword to bother with this, right?”
Aisha’s hand goes to her pocket, finding it empty. “That’s mine!”
He leans his head all the way back over his shoulder, meeting her glare with a grin. “Clearly not.”
-Name: Xanthos
-Occupation: Con-man
“The shape makes it pretty obvious where this goes.” He delicately slides the Buckle into place on his Desire Driver.
SET
“Transform.”
ARMED CLAW
A holographic projection of the Buckle’s three-pronged symbol slides into place over his body, materialising a black Rider suit sporting a pair of handheld talons.
READY
FIGHT
“So this is a Kamen Rider, huh?” He takes a superhuman leap over the first Jamato to come at him, carving it up from behind. “Not bad.”
“I’m glad you’re impressed.” Galateia stands, wiping the blood off her hands and producing another, larger Buckle she’s already claimed. “Thanks for showing your true colours early.”
“Wh-What?” Xanthos freezes up. “But I checked–-”
“I was expecting something like that. I know this is a new experience for the rest of you, but I’ve actually done this before.” Her brow sets as she adopts a practiced pose, arms crossed, fists clenched. “Now let me show you kids how it’s done. Transform!”
MAGNUM
A half-dozen Jamato fall inside two seconds from her Rider form’s pistol, saving Xanthos and Aisha, who both stood stunned–-but the sudden gunfire startles them back into motion.
“What the hell kind of weapon is that?” Aisha hisses.
“If you want to live, you’d better stop being surprised real quick,” Galateia says, striding off down the deck.
“So that’s how it’s done,” Maia says, hanging upside-down from the rigging by her ankles. A Jamato rushes her and she somersaults clear; its sword is tangled in the ropes and it tries to grab after her, but she darts back around it, and its lunge only gets it more tangled until it’s unable to free itself.
Humming to herself, she makes a lightning-quick grab to retrieve the box it’s carrying, popping it open and retrieving a Buckle. “Whatever you are, you will obey me.” She glances behind her to see Leandros finally pulling himself up the side of the boat, while Nikephoros walks up from the other side, sword in hand. “You’ve both fought some, right? You should have one of these. Just follow my lead.”
They nod, Leandros pulling out Propeller and Nikephoros Shield to go with Maia’s Fire, the trio lining up together.
“Transform!”
READY
FIGHT
“What the hell is this?” Leandros asks himself, trying to figure out the propeller attachment now in his hand. “Some kind of staff…?” He gives it an experimental swing, and his Rider form’s boosted strength lets it put a hole right through the handrail. “Whoa! It’ll do!” He races off into the crowd of Jamato now emerging onto the upper deck as they realise their remaining prey are almost all up here now.
Maia, meanwhile, sweeps her hand towards them, projecting a jet of flame from the cylinder mounted on her wrist and incinerating a whole rank of enemies. “Just like the liquid fire the navy uses! Hahah–” In her glee, she fails to notice one running up from behind, but Nikephoros jumps front of her, intercepting its strike with the shield he’s been equipped with. Maia just chuckles at this. “Good boy.”
He grunts, shoving it back and brandishing the regular sword he was given earlier in his free hand. “...just try not to set the ship on fire.”
Back on the crow’s nest, Surena gives a long-suffering sigh, observing the tide turn in the humans’ favour. “Well, I suppose I’d better not be left out. Let’s see…I just have to defeat one somehow, right?” He rises to his knees and hefts his crate of snacks, still half-full, waiting for a Jamato to prowl by right underneath-–and lets go, the box plummeting down and smashing open on the monster’s head, knocking it out. Giggling to himself, Surena scrambles back down the ladder and claims the Buckle from its body.
“Like this, right? Traaaansform!” ”
ARMED ARROW
One screen shifts to show Janus, the Navigator, again–-now perched on the recently-vacated crow’s nest, as if acting as lookout. “Only three groups of Jamato remain,” he says softly, peering towards the horizon-–where great, gleaming walls are indeed rising up beyond the sea, though it’s unclear how he sees through the solid mask. “Just a few minutes until they’re in sight of the harbour, though, and if there’s still an active battle on deck by then…well, let’s believe in them.” He looks down, spotting the newly-transformed Surena scattering a group of enemies with his arrows, leaving them isolated for the other Riders to cut down. “See? Two groups remain.”
The last three players who haven’t found any Buckles, in fact, are currently being chased through the cabins below deck by one of those two groups. The one in front, a frantic long-haired young man, seems to have a pretty good idea of where he’s leading them.
-Name: Lucas
-Occupation: Chef
“I’ve worked on this kind of ship!” he pants as they skid around a corner. “The galley–-the kitchen should be this way! There’ll be knives we can use!” Indeed they reach the end of the corridor and he throws open the door, revealing the ship’s kitchen. He darts inside–-and immediately tips over a cabinet to block the doorway. “Now occupy them for me, okay?”
“H-Hey! What are you–” The other players’ voices trail off into screams as the Jamato fall on them. Unhurried, Lucas moves around the kitchen, comparing implements and settling on a carving-knife in one hand and a cleaver in the other, keeping his eye on the carnage the whole time.
“I figure less competitors puts me closer to victory,” he says, voice flat. “And now I have a pretty good sense for these things’ movements. Your sacrifice is appreciated.” True enough, when one of the Jamato smashes through his barricade, he easily sways around its grab, sinking the carving-knife into its chest and jamming the cleaver into its neck. It gives a dying shriek and he kicks it away, its body blocking its companions from following it through the doorway while he holds up the prize claimed from his foe.
“There’s no tool I can’t master. Transform. ”
SET: ZOMBIE
Bolstered by purple armour, Lucas’ Rider form comes tearing out into the corridor, chainsaw roaring as it carves through one one after another. Left alone and victorious, he gives one of the torn-up bodies a kick to examine its wounds. “Hm. More like plants than meat in consistency. Interesting.”
The final group of enemies are back up on deck, and while most of them are being handled by the Riders, a trio has Aisha backed up to the edge of the ship, and she’s running out of space to fend them off. “If I see that fuckin’ guy again…” She tries to back up, but finds only empty air behind her, tightening her grip on her sword.
“Hey!” Nikephoros, shield-bashing the last of his opponents out of the way, stands on the higher quarter-deck. “Take this!” Having got lucky enough to find a second Buckle, he tosses it overarm. Aisha–-throwing her sword at the Jamato now charging her to distract it-–catches it, wasting no time slamming it into her belt.
“Transform!”
SET: KNIGHT
Gleaming silver armour, one of the more substantial forms like Magnum and Zombie, covers her materialising Rider suit, a sturdy sword and shield appearing in her hands. “Oh, this I can work with.”
One of the Jamato strikes the shield, producing a flash of violent light that throws the whole group back into the centre of the deck. Aisha strides after them, glancing back up at Nikephoros. “Thanks.”
“Don’t say it.” He turns away, folding his arms. “I’m just repaying my debt from earlier. Now we can compete without holding back, got it?”
She just laughs in response, drawing her sword back while operating the Buckle.
KNIGHT STRIKE
A swing of the sword produces an arc of brilliant energy, scything through the last remaining Jamato. For a moment, they’re engulfed in a pillar of flame, which quickly fades to reveal–-Janus, arms spread wide.
“Mission clear. Well done, Kamen Riders. Please enjoy the rest of your scenic cruise into the City, and then I invite you to join us in the Desire Temple. I believe the Game Master wishes to speak with you.”