The Original Mask existed before recorded history, perhaps before history itself. It was a relic of incomprehensible power, fashioned by forces beyond mortal understanding. Scholars have spent centuries debating its origin. Some claim it fell from the heavens as divine judgment. Others whisper that it emerged from the deepest oceans, born of pressure and time. A few mad theorists suggest the Mask created itself, existing outside the linear progression of causality.
What is certain is that five hundred years ago, in an event known as the Collapse, the Original Mask shattered. The moment of its breaking is lost to history, but the consequences are eternally documented. The shards fell like meteors across the world, striking with such force that the very foundations of the earth trembled. Where each fragment struck, the land was forever altered. Mountains rose. Valleys flooded. Entire forests shifted into new growth patterns. The world’s geography was redrawn by the impact of divinity breaking apart.
Sixteen fragments of immense power scattered across the continents. Unlike smaller shards that fell to dust or became inert trinkets, these Sixteen retained consciousness. A vast, alien intelligence dwelt within each piece. They waited. They observed. They searched for worthy vessels.
When they found them, the bonding was instantaneous and irreversible. Sixteen mortals became Divine Rulers. Sixteen mortals became gods. From their will and the shattered pieces of the Original Mask, sixteen kingdoms were born.
There are one hundred and twenty-eight known mask fragments in existence. Some are powerful enough to grant sentience and consciousness to their bearers. These are the ones that appear in the Drundil.
Each mask has a unique nature, drawn from the consciousness fragments that inhabit them. Some masks whisper encouragement. Others demand blood. A few are indifferent to their bearers’ fate, concerned only with the tournament itself. The masks cannot be removed once bonded. They are part of the bearer’s skin, their bones, their soul.
The masks grant three universal traits: resurrection within the arena’s boundaries, enhanced physical capabilities as the bearer’s will strengthens, and the awakening of a unique ultimate ability at peak power. But the cost is high. Masks consume memories. They demand violence. Some masks have driven their bearers to madness.
And yet, they offer amnesty. In the Drundil, all debts are forgiven. All crimes erased. The tournament is a path to redemption for those willing to bleed for it.
The Drundil has been held ninety-eight times in recorded history. Each tournament lasts six weeks. Each tournament changes the political landscape of the world. Alliances are forged in blood. Kingdoms rise and fall based on the performance of their combatants.
The first Drundil was chaos. Combatants learned the rules, learned their masks, and died without resurrection protocols in place. By the fiftieth Drundil, the tournament had become a science. By the hundredth, it will be an art.
The Ninety-Ninth Drundil is unprecedented. For the first time, all sixteen kingdoms are represented. For the first time, mask holders from previously unknown regions have appeared. The Divine Rulers themselves seem divided on what this means. Some welcome new blood. Others see it as an existential threat.
What is certain: the Ninety-Ninth Drundil will be the most watched tournament in history. Every kingdom, every god, every mask bearer in the world is waiting to see what will happen.
The arena is ready. The combatants are registered. The masks are singing their ancient songs in the darkness.
Sixteen kingdoms. One arena. Seven game modes. And the grand prize: amnesty for all crimes, guaranteed resurrection, and the eternal glory of being remembered as the strongest mask bearer in the world.
Some come for redemption. Some come for revenge. Some come because their masks demanded it, their consciousness no longer their own.
The gates open. The tournament begins. Blood spills on holy ground. Masks awaken. And in the chaos, something new will emerge. Something the Divine Rulers never anticipated. Something that will change the world forever.
Welcome to the Ninety-Ninth Drundil. Welcome to GrimJoy.