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In the 458CE Olympic Ski Racing, Toma of the Mountain People (MP) region was in the lead in the downhill ski races after guiding all other participants around him into trees. This race is different, being similar to a normal skiing hill except it was really long and treacherous, like a double black diamond. Toma had run and pushed off every other skier from the path, including skiers also from the MP.
Toma was zooming down the hill, quickly zipping around another bend as he swerved, sending snow up behind him. He laughs to himself as he watches Varizia, a competitor from his region that he occasionally dances with who is also known as Mountain Person 8, get disoriented by the snow and tumble down the hill. “Face your fears!” He calls out behind himself. “Unless you’re a coward.”
He was a smug bastard. He knew that no other mountain person could keep up with him, and the only one who could was a pathetic toddler that his coach made him babysit frequently. Even then, he’d destroy him in a race to the finish line on a bunny hill.
He considers how pathetic his country is. Stupid Leshi and his stupid child Freya, focusing on comradery instead of winning. This is why he decided to quietly switch sides to the Gorians because at least they know what the true value of racing is. He snickers to himself. He decides to move on from thinking about those losers because I don’t know I’m not feeling creative right now.
The hill slopes down, revealing the finish line a mile ahead straight down. Toma smirks to himself. An easy win.
Until he hears a rustle in the trees. A figure launches out from the brush, doing a front flip before landing in the snow just ahead of Toma. It’s a small form. A form of an infuriating, familiar form.
FREYA, the bastard. Not like a bastard child, just a child Toma wished he had pushed down the stairs.
“Freya!” Toma’s eyes narrow, and he swerves to get around the snow Freya had kicked up in the landing. “It’s impossible for you to get here so quickly without cheating-”
Toma pauses, gears turning. Of course, there’s no way Freya would win. Children aren’t smart, but Toma is. He’s better than everyone.
Freya remains quiet, focused on recovering from the landing. He’s only a hair in front of Toma, and a small smirk forms on his face. Toma scoffs, trying to swerve Freya off the path. Somehow, Freya easily twists around him, finally looking at Toma.
“You forgot about the shortcut, Toma,” Freya hums with a grin.
Freya crosses the finish line. The crowd cheers.
Toma runs into a fucking tree and dies.