CHAPTER SIXTY THREE

LXIII
The Coliseum was filled to capacity; not a person alive wanted to miss this fantastic battle. Many would, of course, have to miss it, as the recently-restored (at Josiah’s bidding) stadium couldn’t hold six billion people. A mere two billion could attend.

Josiah arrived a few hours before it was to begin and immediately sought out Cyprus, whom he found wandering around the stadium floor, unsure of where to go.

“Excellent, you’re here,” said Josiah. “Accompany me to the observation box. I’ll be administering the instructions.”

“I know you will. I’m a mind reader, remember?” asked Cyprus.

“Of course I don’t. Hurry up.”

The two walked up many flights of stairs until they reached the observation box, whence they would view the furious fray. A security guard informed Josiah that both John and Mischa had just arrived, along with their companions.

“Good. Tell them to enter the stadium so I can insult them in front of everyone and make them feel bad. I love doing that,” instructed Josiah. “Oh, and bring me a Pepsi. I love Pepsi.”

Less than ten minutes later, Josiah saw John enter the stadium, followed by an army comprising Danes and zombies. It was most impressive.

On the other side of the stadium he saw Mischa enter, followed by…some dude. This battle looked as though it would be a little one-sided.

“The handsome one will win,” whispered Cyprus. “My psychic powers are telling me so.”

“That’s impossible!” said Josiah. “Telepathy doesn’t give you the power to predict the future. Precognition is an entirely different psychic phenomenon. The third area of extra sensory perception is known as clairvoyance, the ability to be aware of objects or events typically unable to be perceived by human senses.”

“Yes, well, I have all three,” said Cyprus.

“Oh. Well, you don’t even need psychic powers to know that John will win. His army is a hundred men strong, and Mischa’s is only one. Also, Mischa sucks. I always knew Mischa was a loser. That’s why I fired him, you know,” said Josiah.

“I thought he betrayed you,” replied Cyprus. “Isn’t that why you fired him?”

“Yes,” answered Josiah, “but I fired him before he betrayed me.”

“How could he have betrayed you if he wasn’t working for you anymore?” asked Cyprus.

“This conversation is boring me. Get out of my way; I’m going to start the battle!” commanded Josiah, striding forward to the microphone.

Upon seeing the visage of his former boss towering so high above him, Mischa grew frightened, now much less confident in his and Rupert’s ability to overcome the insurmountable challenge of defeating John’s army.

John, however, didn’t notice Josiah at all. He was focused intently on Mischa, the man he would have to defeat in order to gain Cyprus’s hand in marriage. Nothing could stop him now.

Jeannine and Bill were watching from the audience. They hadn’t been able to afford tickets, so they had ambushed a hotdog vender and stolen his uniform. Jeannine donned it; she had Bill hide in the hotdog cart.

He spotted Josiah and pointed him out to Jeannine. She looked up at the Secretary of Evil – and then saw Cyprus beside him. Bitter envy welled up inside of her. She was secretly hoping that John would lose, so that he wouldn’t marry Cyprus; but her sense of loyalty prevented her from voicing her opinions.

Josiah spoke, his voice amplified by some sort of voice amplifier.

“Attention all participants. The following battle is to be fought to the death. The man whose army overcomes the other shall receive the hand of the lovely Cyprus Papandrou in marriage. The loser shall be condemned to eternal torment in the fiery pits of Hell. And Mischa, you are a stupid, stupid man and I hope you lose because I hate you. FIGHT!”