Victory poses

Steps up with a stomp, folds both arms and lifts the chin. The win speaks for itself.

Leans back and laughs from the belly at how that round went.

Brushes the dust off one shoulder like the whole round was nothing.

Hands on hips, chest out, one slow nod and a fist over the heart.

Both arms up, swaying side to side to get the whole lobby waving along.

Slaps an invisible time clock - ding, punched out - then a big stretch, hands behind the head, and a lazy sway. Shift's over.

Snaps to attention, heels together, and holds a crisp salute for the fallen.

Two finger guns, two pew pews, and a cool blow on the barrel.

Four hard fist pumps, each one sending up a burst of sparks.

A sudden gale slams into the winner, who leans into it behind a raised forearm. The wind drops, they stumble, then sweep their hair back as if nothing happened.

Tips an invisible hat and bows a little. Much obliged.

Makes a heart with both hands and sways happily. Love to all the losers.

Fists on hips, chest out, scanning the horizon for the next threat.

Three happy jumps with both arms in the air, then a big V for victory.

Hollowgate's lamplighter lifts a lantern out beside their face, leans into its light as the flame flares up, and gives a slow, knowing nod: all's well.

Points straight up at the sky to remind everyone who came first, then points at the camera.

A hand on the hip and one big biceps, squeezed twice for the crowd.

Standing with their back to you, the winner glances over a shoulder, then spins round with a two-finger salute.

Two peace signs and a little sway. Too easy.

Jumps and lands both feet in a puddle with a huge splash, shakes the water off one foot like a cat, then throws the arms up and lets the rain come down.

Two happy hops with both fists in the air, then a fist pump that never gets old.

A small, very dignified wave with the other hand on the hip. The people adore you.

Brushes the arena dust off one shoulder, then the other. Barely broke a sweat.

A smooth little side-to-side shuffle with the shoulders bouncing along.

Head tilted, deeply unimpressed, you clap. Slowly. Very slowly.

Stands to attention, snaps off a crisp salute and nods once.

Arms wide, head back, soaking in the win like warm sunshine.

Hunches over cupped hands like a stage magician hiding a secret, then springs up into a jazz-handed TA-DA in a puff of stage smoke.

Wags a finger like a metronome, tick after tick, stops dead on the last tock and points straight at you. Your time's up.

Two thumbs up and a few enthusiastic nods. Good game, everyone.

A big, friendly overhead wave for everyone who almost made it.

Looks around the empty arena, then leans in and points straight at you.

Claps above the head and gets the whole crowd clapping along.

Sways in a warm autumn breeze while golden leaves blow past.

A chair tumbles onto the stage. One kick flips it upright, then a boot goes up on the seat.

Flicks a glowing coin sky-high, snatches it out of the air and holds it up to the camera.

Cups a dandelion clock, bows the head to make a wish and blows - a drift of seeds lifts and circles the stage while the winner rocks on their heels.

Widens the stance and hits a double biceps, pumping it until the sparkles fly.

Brushes the sand off both shoulders after crawling out of that round.

Flexes so hard the air around the arm catches fire and embers float up.

A theatrical sweep of the arm, a deep bow under the spotlight and a shower of roses.

Shreds an air guitar solo and finishes with a windmill strum.

Sits cross-legged and floats a little off the floor, completely at peace.

Low stance, four sharp punches, then a respectful bow to the opponents.

Conducts an invisible orchestra with big sweeping arms as notes sparkle around.

A few final words into a glowing mic, arm out, and... drop. Then they walk away.

Arms wide as a shower of petals swirls down around the winner.

Finger guns that fire little pixels. A perfect score.

Pats down every pocket, fishes out a little star, huffs on it, polishes it on the chest - and flicks it back up into the sky where it belongs.

Holds out a fist like a falconer; a raven of Hollowgate swoops down out of the dark, lands with a caw, and the two of them give the camera the same smug look.

Springs up and lands in a hunched gargoyle crouch, claws out - and for a heartbeat turns to stone. The crust cracks and crumbles away, and the gargoyle of Hollowgate flashes the camera a toothy grin.

Watches the last grain fall in a little hourglass, sighs, then flips it sky-high and snatches it back full - more time, of course.

Becomes the clock: one arm ticks down from twelve to six, the other ticks back up, one stiff second at a time - and at midnight both arms fly up.

Blinks left, blinks right, trailing afterimages, and lands centre stage in a low ready stance.

A quick spin on the heel that ends pointing right at the camera.

A grand theatrical bow with a sweep of the arm while roses fall from above.

Picks a flat stone off the shore and skips it sidearm - four ripples, a perfect plink - then a fist pump and a smug brush of the hands.

Drops in from above onto one knee with a fist on the floor, then stands tall.

Jumps for joy as candy rains down from nowhere.

Fist pumps through a ticker-tape parade of falling paper.

Inches heel-to-toe along a glowing wire, nearly topples, flails back to balance - then rises into a flawless one-legged arabesque.

A great bronze bell sinks into view. Three hauls on an invisible rope swing it higher and higher, and on the last one they ride the rope up as it booms across the arena.

A stray lost hour flits round the winner like a firefly - they stalk it, snatch it out of the air and hold it up in a little iron cage, tapping the bars. Finders keepers.

An iron birdcage creaks down with a tiny comet fluttering inside. A tap, a flick of the latch - it bursts free, whips round the winner twice and perches on one finger.

Floats cross-legged inside a ring of candles that flicker to life one by one.

Floats up off the stage on pure happiness while soft clouds of feathers drift by.

Kneels with head bowed as a crown of light descends. It lands, and they rise a ruler.

A short speech into the mic, a long pause, and the mic hits the floor.

Lifts a crown of ice onto the head as snowflake crystals circle around.

Drops to one knee and punches the stage open - amethyst bursts out of the cracks, and the winner thrusts the glowing heart of the geode high in one fist before cradling it like a prize.

Flips a gold coin high, catches it, and coins burst everywhere. Heads, of course.

A headstone pushes up out of the stage and the winner dances a rattling jig beside it while restless spirits whirl around.

Glowing orbs juggle themselves above the winner, who barely pays attention.

A snap of the fingers lights a flame on one fingertip. Flicked to the floor, it races round the winner as a ring of fire that roars up into a wall of flame jets - then they blow the fingertip out like a smoking pistol.

Raises a gleaming sword to the sky and swears to win again.

Folds into a meditation and floats off the stage on turning arcane rings, then opens up to the light.

Lightning hammers the stage all around a completely unfazed winner, who calls the last bolt into their own hand.

Something big is prowling closer - the camera. The tamer fends it off with a chair, cracks the whip once, twice, then overhead, and the beast backs right off. Chair down, boot up, job done.

Gilded mask raised to the face, the winner sweeps into a deep courtly bow, rises, flings the mask spinning over one shoulder - it bursts into gold - and blows the camera a kiss.

Bows beneath a huge full moon as spirits drift up from the stage.

Drifts down from the dark like a dandelion seed under an open parasol, touches down on tiptoe, snaps it shut and leans on it like a cane.

Rain pours down; the winner pops an umbrella and twirls it through the storm, then snaps it shut - the rain stops dead, the sun breaks through, and the brolly goes jauntily over the shoulder.

A ghostly copy steps out of the winner. They point at each other, then strike a mirrored pose together.

A clean backflip that leaves two shadow copies hanging in the air.

Crouches low, then roars with arms out as a wall of embers bursts up.

Hollowgate's gravedigger struts up with a hammer on his shoulder, rams it head-first into the dirt (a startled little ghost flees), leans on the haft with ankles crossed and flips a coin.

Time stutters: the winner skips from pose to pose and place to place, leaving a frozen afterimage at every stop, then lands centre stage and straightens the collar.

Conducts the stars themselves, which spin around the stage in time.

Dances a shuffle while lightning strikes in time with the beat.

Pulls a blade out of thin light, raises it to the sky and drives it into the stage.

Points at the sky and calls down lightning all around the stage.

Spins out of a splash of water that keeps circling the winner.

Clang, clang, clang! Hollowgate's crier rings a handbell overhead, throws out an arm to proclaim the news, and a storm of proclamations bursts into the sky and flutters down around the winner.

A smouldering forge anvil crashes down in front of the winner, who squats, deadlifts it, presses it overhead with shaking arms, and hurls it into the stage in an eruption of sparks and embers.

Night falls. With slow, flowing sweeps the winner draws curtains of green and violet aurora across the sky, then pulls both curtains down round themselves in a whirl of green and violet ribbons.

Cups both hands and bellows at the mountains - which roar back with an avalanche. The winner braces as the snow thunders over them, then stands up, shakes it off their head like a dog, and flexes.

Hops into a giant bubble, leans back with hands behind the head and kicks a foot up, blowing the odd bubble.

A chair drops out of the sky; the winner spins it round and sits on it backwards like they own the place.

Conducts like a wind-up machine, every move a stiff tick, with one huge downbeat in front of a giant clock.

Two thumps on the chest and the heartbeat turns into a tick. The winner draws out a glowing clockwork heart, holds it high as it beats, then presses it back in - and bursts with brass sparks.

Touches the night sky star by star, each one chiming higher, stitching them together with threads of light into a crown-shaped constellation that blazes high beside them - then sweeps it a bow.

The stage splits and a burning throne rises behind the winner, who sinks into it and crosses a leg, unimpressed.

A giant clock face becomes the dance floor. The winner waltzes a full lap round the racing hands, spins three times in the centre and stamps a heel - the hands stop dead at twelve.

Hammers out a drumroll that speeds up while the spotlight shrinks, crashes it off with a cymbal flourish - and a treasure chest bursts up beside them, gushing gold. Who won? This one.

A rose clenched in the teeth, Hollowgate's duelist salutes, fires off three lightning lunges that leave crimson afterimages, tosses the rose high and splits it with one rising cut into a storm of petals.

Heaves a war hammer overhead and brings it down - the stage splits in a molten crack racing out to both sides. A stomp later, every vent of the fault erupts at once.

Lies back on nothing at all and slowly turns among the stars, hands behind the head.

The winner tears through a dozen corrupted poses in split RGB before snapping into one clean stance.

A swirling portal tears open beside the stage and the winner strides out of it, fixes both cuffs without a care, and the portal implodes behind them with a boom.

Whirls a war hammer round and round in a roaring spin and lets it fly over the rooftops of Hollowgate - a long pause, a distant BONG from the bell tower, a flinch, and a smug turn back to the camera.

The hollow circus strength test: spits on both hands, heaves a glowing mallet overhead and slams it down - the puck rockets up the tower and rings the bell clean off its hinges.

Checks the time, flips a giant hourglass overhead and plants it, then leans on it, watching the sand run.

A spinning leap and a fist pump - then time rewinds it at speed in a smear of afterimages, and replays the whole thing in slow motion from a hero angle with a landing that shakes the stage.

A hollow-circus funhouse mirror shows a reflection that is always a beat behind. A flex, a double-take, a glare, a spin - and the moment it finally catches up, the mirror shatters.

Swings a pocket watch at the camera, slow and steady, as hypnotic rings roll towards you - you are getting very sleepy... SNAP! A laugh, a bow, and the watch goes back in the pocket.

A shield surfaces on a pool of lava; the winner hops on and carves it side to side through sprays of molten rock, kickflips it into the air and catches it under one arm.

A treasure chest hops in from the dark and snaps at the winner's heels - a mimic! One boot slams its lid shut, gold squirts out the sides, and the winner poses with a foot on the tamed beast like a big-game hunter.

Pops and locks in neon, backflips, lands in a crouch and keeps a glitchy wave rolling arm to arm.

Hollowgate's night watchman creeps forward, sweeping a lantern through the dark while red eyes blink wherever they aren't looking - then thrusts the lantern out at arm's length, it blazes like a small sun, and the dark scatters shrieking. All's well.

A meteor screams down at the winner, who doesn't even look up from their nails - one raised palm and it freezes in mid-air. A curious look, a flick of the finger, and it bursts into frozen sparks.

Falls in curled up like a meteor, bursts open into a blazing star, then drifts gently back down.

A giant golden pendulum sweeps the stage. The winner ignores the first pass, limbo-dodges the second as it skims their nose, and plucks it out of the air on the third.

Twirls through a storm of petals and flops sideways across a rising throne, fanning themselves.

Juggles three ringed little worlds - frost, blood and harvest - in a real hand-to-hand cascade, flings them sky-high, spins once, and they lock into a glittering row slanting up into the sky beside them.

A throne of pumpkins bursts out of the patch, a giant jack-o'-lantern grinning behind it. The winner lounges in it like the king of the harvest while bats circle the crown.

The Grim Reaper looms up behind the winner and hands over his scythe. One wide sweep reaps a ring of souls, and the winner holds the brightest one up high.

Souls swirl into a scythe of green fire. One great swing, then it rests on the winner's shoulder.

Rises slowly from a crouch, sweeps a glowing scythe through the air, rests it on a shoulder and waves goodbye.

Curled up in the dark, the winner bursts upward as radiant wings unfold and a halo ignites.

Wings burst open mid-flex and the winner floats up, hitting double biceps, side chest and a lat spread under a halo.

One snap of the fingers freezes the moment in glass, the shards burst, and the winner blows the smoke off a finger gun.

A knight of Hollowgate catches a falling shield on one fingertip and keeps it spinning like a plate, wobbling on one leg - then flicks it sky-high, twirls underneath and catches it on the forearm with a ringing clang.

Snaps a fuse alight and conducts the fireworks - left, right, a triple - then slams both fists down to launch a colossal golden willow, and folds their arms without even looking.

A hollow-circus troubadour strums three slow chords that ripple out as rings of starlight, lands one soaring final chord under a shower of petals and tosses a rose to the camera.

Plants a war banner and glances back as a gale rises behind them. Streaks of wind tear past, the banner cracks forward, and the winner strides into it and points: onward.

Hollowgate's tavern keeper stirs a bubbling cauldron of green punch, leans in for a good sniff - and it belches a fireball in their face. A sooty cough, a smoking smile, and the ladle goes up for a toast.

A war drum rises in front of the winner. Boom - lightning. Boom - lightning. A double-fisted BOOM and the sky answers with a ring of strikes, one of them caught on a raised fist.

A tornado touches down on the winner and spins them up into the air. At the top they fold their arms, utterly bored - then fling them wide and blow the twister apart before floating back down.

Two void portals tear open. The winner strolls into one and out of the other, sprints the loop again, skids to a stop - and a void-born copy of them steps out of the far portal to strike the pose alongside.

Plants a gnarled staff and sweeps a hand over the stage as green rushes out across it - then drives the staff down and a ring of roses bursts into bloom in a storm of petals.

Kneels to set a dull leaden orb inside a glowing circle of glyphs, pours power into it until it turns to gold - golden crystals erupt and coins rain as they hold it high.

Kneels with folded wings, stands, spreads them wide and ascends into a column of light.

Banner high and shield on the arm, the winner marches forward, sweeps the great standard in an arc across the sky and salutes with the shield over the heart - and the ghosts of Hollowgate's lost garrison fall into rank behind, saluting with them.

A singularity tears open behind the winner and swallows the stage. They float before it, gather it in, and let it burst.

A blood moon heaves itself over Hollowgate. The winner hunches, shoulders heaving, fingers curling into claws - then throws back their head in a howl that ripples the moon, and a pack of crimson shadow-wolves bounds out of them in every direction before they drop into a prowl.

Two stamps split the molten stage and fire off lava geysers. Raised palms lift a ring of obsidian crags behind the winner - then a skyward thrust sets off the eruption, and lava bombs rain down round the calm, hands-behind-the-back king.

Riffles a deck, flings it skyward and spins inside a cyclone of three whirling card rings - one snap and every card shoots back into their hand as a single glowing card. Is this your card?

A great candle chandelier sways high over the stage. The winner leaps and cuts it loose with one rising stroke, lands in a crouch - and it crashes down in a ring of fire around them, leaving them standing untouched in a circle of flames.

A golden clock assembles behind the winner, a crown settles in place, and at the stroke of twelve time bows to them.

An open coffin rises beside the oblivious winner and a ghost leans out to spook them - without even looking, a hip bump slams the lid and the coffin drops straight back through the floor. Muffled banging from below, two polite taps of the heel, silence, smug lean.

A coffin creaks open under a blood moon. The winner steps out, arms folded like a vampire count, then throws the cape wide and a cloud of bats bursts out behind.

A circle of candles flares up round the winner. A witch's hat settles on their head, and they rise into the air cross-legged as the circle burns violet and bats pour out.

Head bowed in the dark, you wait... then a sun rises behind you and you throw both arms up to greet it, standing tall in its light.

Sinks into a fighting stance as a dragon of fire coils up around them, then launches it skyward with an uppercut.

Takes a kung-fu stance, commands the dragon to circle, leaps and lands with a twin-palm strike that shakes the stage.

Snap, snap, frame, spin, dip - and half a second behind, a ghost of the winner from a moment ago dances it all again. When the echo lands the final pose, a whole chorus line of afterimages fans out across the stage.

Kneels and lays a palm on the stage. Ancient roots claw up out of the floor in two rings around the winner, who rises with them - and as the arms fly up, the grove bursts into blossom in a storm of falling petals and leaves.

Spectral chains from Hollowgate's old gaol whip round the winner and clamp tight. They strain, shaking, sinking, eyes on the camera - then drop into a roaring crouch, drive both fists out and blow the chains apart in a storm of iron links and ghost-light.

Turns to watch the golden gates open, raises both arms in awe, then turns back for a long, deep bow.

Breathes frost into cupped hands and the stage freezes over; a ring of glacier spires grows up round the winner, a crown of jagged ice drops onto the bowed head, and an ice scepter is raised into a blizzard.

Books from Hollowgate's lost library flap round the stage like bats. The librarian plucks the grimoire out of the air, riffles it open, raises a glowing orb from its pages and flings it high - it bursts and the whole library goes up in a storm of pages - then a finger to the lips: shh.

A chest of lost hours bursts open at the winner's feet. They rub their hands, plunge in up to the elbows and fling the lot skyward - and the stolen hours swirl up into a giant clock that chimes as gold rains down.

Under a harvest moon a swarm of bats wheels over Hollowgate. The hunter hurls a double-bladed axe that whirls a full circle round the stage, scatters the swarm, and comes back to a hand held out without even looking.

The clock hurls its meteors - and the winner just raises a finger. They crash down in a perfect ring, lower their burning heads in a bow, then rise at a flick of the wrist as a court of flames circling their sovereign.

A pale moon lowers over the hollow circus ring. The winner leaps up, catches its rim and swings higher and higher like a trapeze artist, lets go into a double somersault and sticks the landing with a showman's flourish.

The great levitation: waves a wand over themselves, floats up flat on their back, and a hoop of light glides up and down the length of the body to prove there are no strings - then they unfold upright in a spin and stick the landing.

A giant hourglass slams down over the winner and the sand starts pouring onto their head. Pounding on the glass gets nowhere - so they shrug, crouch, and burst out in an explosion of glass and sand.

The winner opens a palm and every light on the stage spirals into a tiny black hole above it. One squeeze - total darkness - then the fist opens and the stolen light bursts out as a blazing galaxy.

A sandstorm howls round the winner, veiled behind a forearm. One sweep of the hand drives it back to the edges of the stage; raised arms drag the sand up into a burning sun low over the dunes, and a crown of gold settles on the sovereign of the dunes.

Kneels to a rising sun, then stands and lifts it into the sky; a crown of gold settles as flames climb.

The hollow circus plate-spinner, with planets: three little worlds wobble on tall staves and the winner dashes between them flicking each back into a spin - a last dive saves the third - then all three leap into the air and hang there.

Rakes starlight out of the dark into both hands, packs it like a snowball, winds up a full pitcher's leg kick and hurls it into the sky - where it bursts alight as a brand-new star, then point right at it.

Winds up a storm with circling arms, rises with it, then hurls it down in a ring of lightning strikes.

A colossal bell drops out of the dark and slams down over the winner - BONG. It lifts on a cloud of steam to find them cool as anything, arms folded, and one uppercut sends it swinging into the sky, tolling.

The winner wrenches the minute hand off a giant clock and wields it as a blade. One slash freezes the moment in mid-air; then, without looking, they flip it back over their shoulder into the clock's heart - and time stops dead at twelve.

Drops onto a golden throne, kicks the feet up and throws handfuls of gold coins into the crowd.

A towering wave rolls in from behind. The winner settles into a stance, raises one hand like a blade and chops - the wave splits clean in two and thunders past on both sides, leaving them bone dry.

Lunge, and time stops mid-motion. You hang frozen among still clock shards while the hands behind you strain, stutter and tick back.

Cranks a giant clock, stops time with a raised palm, steps backwards through it and checks a pocket watch.

Walks slowly to a dark throne, sits, rests chin on fist and snaps - and the black hole above answers.

A staff slams into the stage like the key of the world's clock. Three back-breaking turns wind it tighter and tighter - then they let go, and the whole world spins as the spring unwinds.

Seated among orbiting stars, sweeps the planets aside and raises an arm as an eclipse crowns the sky.

Whistles a comet down out of the sky, leaps aboard and surfs it in a rising spiral round the stage trailing afterimages, then kicks off into a somersault as it bursts into a meteor shower overhead.

A spectral throne rises out of the dark and the winner lounges in it, legs crossed. One by one the ghosts of Hollowgate's court drift in under a pale moon, a crown of ghost-light settles - and at one lazy flick of the hand the whole court bows as the bells toll and a tide of souls sweeps up around the throne.

Three blazing sword slashes, a spin with the blade overhead, then plants it in the stage as a dragon coils round.

One stamp splits the island: molten cracks race out, and a ring of molten crystal crags tears free and hangs in the air round the winner. A leap up among them, a fist driven into the stage - and every crag comes crashing down at once.

Hunched, then screaming at the sky as a black hole opens; rises and tears the sky down in lightning and shattered glass.

A hurricane wheels in round the stage, black walls of cloud and lightning on every side - and the winner, hands calmly clasped, simply conducts it: a sweep right, a sweep left, and the lightning strikes where they point. One burst of the arms blasts the whole storm apart, and they dust off a shoulder in the calm.

The sun rises behind the fallen and the moon swallows it. In the totality they stand as a black silhouette, then burn away in a storm of crimson ash.

At Hollowgate's anvil the smith rings three blows into a white-hot blade, plunges it hissing into a quench that explodes into a geyser of steam, and draws it out moon-silver - thrust up high, it calls down a bolt of moonlight and the heart of the forge erupts out of the anvil in a fountain of fire and a sky of embers.

A stamp calls earth, a sweep calls water, a snap calls fire and a spin calls the wind - four elemental orbs hang round the winner until they are dragged in and crushed between the palms into a blazing new world-heart, cradled at the chest.

A colossal hourglass forms behind the winner. With a sweep of the arms it turns, time runs backwards, and they take a throne of air.

Charges up, roars, leaps and slams a fist into the stage; lightning strikes and an eclipse rises behind.

A greatsword drives itself into the ground before you. You kneel, both hands on its pommel and head bowed - then look up as embers rise around you and the blade begins to burn.

Pitch dark. Hollowgate's last lamplighter raises a lantern and turns slowly, and the lamps of the ghost town flicker alight round the stage one by one - then one great swing sends every lantern soaring into the sky as a harvest moon rises and the dark finally lifts.

Cups a newborn sun and raises it high; worlds spill out of it and the winner turns slowly at the heart of a living orrery - then pulls the sun to their chest, every planet snaps into one line, a beam fires down it and the sky eclipses.

Masked, the winner waltzes with their own ghostly reflection while Hollowgate's great bell tolls midnight - step, rise, a twirl, a dip - and on the twelfth stroke the mask is torn away and flung into a blaze of crimson petals and gold as dancer and ghost bow to you together.

A murder of ravens spirals down out of the dark over Hollowgate. The sovereign holds out both arms and two of them land on their wrists like falcons - then one sharp command flings every raven skyward in a storm of feathers as the pale moon bleeds red.

One finger slashes across the stage and the winner heaves the floor open on a rift of every hour ever lost. Gold geysers up out of the pit; they snatch the biggest hour out of the flood, stamp the rift shut and hold their prize high in a rain of stolen time.

Sings with clasped hands, rises on the high note into a pillar of light and conducts a choir of stars.

A charmer of the hollow circus sways cross-legged as a great serpent coils up out of the stage mist. It rears; they rise to meet it and raise one palm - it snaps tight around them and its starry twin is written across the sky.

A soaring split-leap - and at its peak time simply stops: the world drains to grey, sparks hang in the air and the camera circles the frozen champion. Then the second ends, colour slams back, and they land like a thunderclap.

Digs both hands into the empty air and, straining, rips the sky open. A colossal rift yawns behind them, a river of stars pours out, and three strange worlds drift through to circle the winner, who hovers among them with arms folded.

The ringmaster's grand finale. In the dark, three knocks of the staff - and the hollow circus erupts out of the stage: striped tent poles, a canopy of lights, searchlights and confetti cannons, fireworks over the big top and one last, deep bow.

A colossal clock rises out of the dark and tolls twelve. The winner reaches up, seizes the hour and drags it down to a thirteenth stroke that should not exist - the face cracks open on the void, and thirteen shards of the stolen hour wheel round their new owner.

One fist into the stage and the whole world shatters and freezes - so the winner strolls out of the wreck, raises a finger and winds it all backwards as a clock spins in reverse. With a snap the world is whole again, as if nothing ever happened.

The stage floods and a whirlpool opens at the winner's feet. A colossal sea wyrm erupts from it and coils around them as a waterspout lifts them high - and at one pointed finger the wyrm rears and roars, sending a tidal ring across the world.

The spotlight dies under a huge orange moon. A witch's hat drops onto the winner's head, a broom swoops in, and they ride it into the sky, cackling, with a trail of stars and a flock of bats.