1
"Easy money bettin' on the Young Lord," a tall grizzly man gloated from a few rows down, "'erd his old man makes him swim in the Emberfield Voclano first thing in the mornin' and last thing before bed."
"Finish this fight Young Lord!" Her child crying against her bosom, a woman implored the nasty Ember boy to seize his impending victory.
"No mercy! His Eminence is right!" a man, likely the child's father, proclaimed. He looked toward his child and scrunched up his fists, before raising them both in the air and shouting, "Those filthy witches took our first son from us! Mercy only begets violence—don't you dare listen to The Chief's disgusting drivel. Shinobi Hunters must know fear!"
Watching on with bated breath as the raging pillar of orange and blue flames dragged itself toward Lady Ember whilst the crowd in The Phoenix's Nest clamoured for the curtains to be drawn upon this bloodsport spectacle, Fena felt herself helplessly shrinking. Her eyes panned across the sweeping arena, jumping from stand to stand and scanning each and every row, looking at the faces of the people who were doing everything they could to have their voices heard.
They all just looked like regular people. People that she'd see at the hospital; people that she saw whilst making her way to the academy; people that she'd seen whilst she walked around inside The Phoenix's Nest—never for a moment could she have foreseen that any of them were capable of such preternatural barbarism like this.
Crammed shoulder to shoulder at the sweeping circular table, the spectators salivated at their mouths. The translucent cloche that housed the bloodsport happening right before their eyes tantalised and teased their burgeoning lust for bloodshed and the wait for a sacrifice was becoming unbearable—the people wanted blood; the people wanted to be satiated and such a time was nigh, or at least they were surely hoping so, lest their carnal desire for a feast of merciless slaughter turn them feral.
"Now, my boy," The most sadistic man of the lot glided through the noise with a rasp of anticipation in his voice. "Claim what is rightfully ours—find that Flame. Demonstrate to our honourable guests, and to any miscreants who dare to cause harm to my people—toThe Goddess'schildren—what it will mean to make an enemy of an Ember." Horace Ember waddled toward the edge of the platform with a hefty red jewelled goblet in his hand. He flashed his wicked half-moon smile. His pufferfish sized wrists flopped about as he traced arrogant circles in the air, swishing and swirling the spilled blood of his inferior successor around in his cup before he savoured an unceremonious gulp. A red teardrop wetted his puffy cheek.
He's… enjoying this. He's enjoying all of this. Fena's feet were nailed to the floor; an inexplicable feeling of listlessness invaded her body, seeping in through her toes and crawling all the way up to her waist like the very ground beneath her was trying to drag her under. In her mind's eye she saw herself, Koria, Elira, Lady Ember and Fenrir, even all of the spectators awash within a deep red calamitous sea, careening off of the harsh metal walls as the tides raged, helplessly awaiting their impending doom—when that pig-faced man would raise his goblet high and tilt a cascading red waterfall straight down into his gullet.
Meanwhile, step by languid step, Fenrir dragged himself toward Lady Ember's battered body. This time his fathers words elicited from him no response, there was no jolting in fear; no tripping over his feet, even the nasty snarl that Fena had grown accustomed to seeing smacked upon his face had hollowed out into an empty stare whilst, on the contrary, his vortex of flames seemed to rampage more severely by the second. It was almost like he was about to completely lose control.
Fena thumped herself hard in the stomach, right at the epicentre of where that dreadful feeling was festering, where it had always seemed to fester. She'd grown so familiar with it over the years and though that fact in and of itself never made dealing with it any easier, she'd always dealt with it the only way she knew how: by crushing it beneath her knuckles. She'd dig them into her skin, twisting right into the spot where that feeling lurked within her and without fail, it would disperse—until today. That dreadful feeling within her continued to claw at her organs, intoxicate her bloodstream with dread, sink its malevolent teeth into her heart and scrape at her skin. She thumped herself again, this time considerably harder, but to no avail.
A madness pulsed in her eyes. Now she clawed and scraped and threshed at her stomach desperately, wanting to tear the very skin off of her body and rip the source of her discomfort right out.
"—F-Fena…?" Koria gasped. Her soft brown eyes made themselves scarce, darting back in Fena's direction for a fraction of a second before retreating away again.
"I—I just…" Fena's heart sank. Why was Koria looking at her like that? Like she was some sort of monster? And in a place so utterly crammed full of them… It made her feel cold.
"Blue… flames… My babies…" Elira mumbled, completely oblivious to the pair. She'd been interminably mumbling throughout most of the fight, awash amongst her sorrows. Fena was about to shrug it off and make her way towards the edge of her stand so that she could see Lady Ember, until something truly terrifying leaked out from her lips. "'Dream Eater'…" Her voice fizzed and crackled like oil in a heated pan, as if the very invocation of the name itself singed at her flesh. She pressed her bony hands against the mask that was hiding her pain.
For a moment it sounded as though she was hyperventilating. Fena pivoted on one foot, turning to face her and as she did, she realised that what she was actually hearing was something completely different. Hunched over herself, her short, shrill, hysteric laughs pinched at Fena's ears. "It's too late now… The Phoenix has roused The Dream Eater… he seeks eternal succor once again… The Chains hold him no longer—no, The Chains cannot hold him anymore… Fate smiles today, it's always smiling, always laughing, always plotting, always choosing, always stealing things from me… my babies…"
"'Dream… Eater'?" A dull ache throbbed deep inside of Fena's head, as though invoking the name itself was enough for its implication to begin to take effect, but she shook it off as best she could—Lady Ember was in serious danger and all that mattered right now was supporting her with everything that Fena had.
She swivelled back toward the direction she was headed, vaulting into a neighbouring box section, the gasps and complaints from the people that she ran by and leapt over fell only on deaf ears. "You gotta get up Lady Ember!" she shouted when she'd finally caught sight of her again. "You're so close. You can do this! I believe in you!"
Lady Ember didn't move at all. She lay slumped against the wall amongst a pile of rubble and in a pool of her own blood. Fena's voice rasped and croaked and shook as she squeezed the air out from her lungs with every ounce of might in her body, praying that her support would penetrate through the cacophony of barbarism and reach Lady Ember.
Time was running out. Fenrir had finally closed the distance. For a moment he stood before his opponent, his sister, watching her, stalking her, or perhaps he wasn't, for his uncharacteristic placidity at this moment was making it impossible for Fena to get a read on him. His right arm vacated his side, raising itself into the air. The vortex of flames bent and twisted violently like it was in agony, then rapidly it began to lose its shape and size before it was all slammed back into Fenrir's raised right arm. Like the flames themselves had housed his very spirit, that spiteful, callous look resurfaced upon his face once again—he was out for blood.
"Say it… This is your last chance, say it!" Fenrir wrapped a handful of Lady Ember's dress around his left fist and hoisted her up into the air, pressing her against the smashed stone wall. He cocked his right arm back; orange and blue light shone from underneath the surface of his tanned skin whilst wisps of compact, concentrated flames of the same colour sizzled over his skin in a cylindrical-like form. "Don't… make me… Beg father his forgiveness, accept your role as I have accepted mine."
Boo's rang out from the crowd. Fena punched and smacked at the barrier as she continued to do her best to fight back against them. Her hands stung ferociously as the anger that coursed through her veins at her inability to help Lady Ember ate away at her spirit. She couldn't get through to her, couldn't fight for her—was there anything she could ever do for her if not be there for her right now, in this moment of dire circumstance? Fena's legs buckled from beneath her. The noise in the stadium gradually became fuzzier. Her feelings for Lady Ember made no sense at all. She'd come here today to begin forging towards the peaceful life that she wanted to live with her mother, not to cry over a person she'd never even met, yet in spite of being completely aware of that, her heart ached so much.
"—Don't… don't you dare break your promise, Ruby!"
A pained voice suddenly snatched up from underneath the surface of her despair. A voice that carried with it precious memories and deep love and compassion sounded. She felt all of it deep within her heart. That voice brought hope, it brought belief and Fena clung on to that feeling with everything that she had. She turned to face it.
Tears of unwavering affection shone against Koria's cheeks. She stood with her hands pressed against her chest and bore her and Lady Ember's special bond against the cacophony of unforgiving, uncaring barbarians like a tiny island refusing to be swept away by a rampaging tsunami. "I won't let you, you hear me! Wake up Ruby, please, wake up!"
Just as Koria's voice had imbued Fena's heart with a renewed sense of hope, it truly did seem that it had transported vitality back into Lady Ember's body. Gingerly, she raised her bruised arms and wrapped her hands around her brother's outstretched arm.
"What was that?" Fenrir asked impatiently.
Fena and Koria shared a nervous glance. One of them prayed desperately for a surrender and for her dearest friends life to be spared, suffering the consequences of the days events and everything that'd led up to this point afterward, so long as they could face it together, whilst the other was certain that there was one more twist left in this tale, ready to watch the girl who'd painted her world in colours she'd never even knew existed before claim the victory that she'd worked so hard to achieve.
Fenrir retracted his arm, pulling his sister in closer. "Say it. Speak it loud and true so that the people are under no doubts—end this silly game of yours now."
The stadium fell deathly silent. Predatorial glares picked at Lady Ember's flesh, deciding which part of her body to sink their teeth into first. There were two words that the beasts crammed at this sweeping table simply wouldn't abide, yet it seemed that they could all sense that those words were about to spill out of their prey's lips.
With what seemed like the last of her remaining vitality, Lady Ember extended a weak arm towards her brother's face. She reached for his left eye, running her fingernail gently over the nasty looking scar. "I—I'm… sorry…" she said, before she slid her hand down from his eye and pressed her palm flatly onto Fenrir's chest. For a moment there was nothing, save the look of utter confusion on her brother's face, but Lady Ember's answer became quickly apparent, and it wasn't the one he'd been looking for.
Suddenly, following a colossal earth-shaking thud and the ear-splitting sounds of chains clinking and rattling, Fenrir was yanked away from his sister, dropping her limp body to the ground as he lost his grip and was pulled into the dead centre of the battlegrounds. He tried to wrest himself free of the chains that bound him, but shortly after the first fiery golden pillar pierced the earth, more rained down from above, until there were a total of five flaming pillars with fiery golden chains wrapped around them, all connecting to the central pillar and restricting him completely.
An ethereal red glow oozed from Lady Ember's body. She tried her best to lift herself from the ground, but her arms gave way and her face slammed against the unforgiving stone floor. She tried once more, this time managing to slide her knee underneath herself and sit upright. The ethereal glow emitting from within her was becoming more and more bright, as though the birth of a star was taking place right before everyone's eyes. Then suddenly, a hellacious screech came rushing out of her mouth, like some unforeseen force was wringing out her soul like a wet rag.
Was this what she'd had planned all along? Would it really work? Fena looked closer—Lady Ember was… healing? She wasn't bleeding anymore, not from her head nor from anywhere else. The burns on her body, even the bruising—all of it was gone—no, Fena was watching it all mend by the second. Nevertheless, it seemed her miraculous recovery was granting her no relief whatsoever; Lady Ember was still in agony, keeling over as she continued to scream and flail around like a woman possessed.
Fena's palms stung. Her spine tingled. Something swam up to the surface of her mind, "Is she… awakening?" she turned to Koria and asked, thinking back to a warning that her mother had imparted upon her many times before about this exact situation, "If you ever fight someone and they awaken to their Aura for the first time, you run, you run away and don't even think about turning back, is that clear?"
"The Blessing… No, you can't…" The words tumbled out of Koria's mouth. Her hands trembled against her chest and a fright set upon her. "You have to stop! You can't control it yet. You'll burn yourself alive! Ruby please!"
In tandem with one last blood curdling screech, a small pillar of flame burst out of Lady Ember's back and with it, a ghastly spray of her own blood. It was thin and wiry and it made jerky and stiff-looking movements like the arm of a child clawing at the empty air of the world it'd just become a part of. Then it began to develop, drawing upon the glow that was emanating underneath the surface of Lady Ember's skin and around her body until its form became clearer—it was a wing.
Right as it had fully materialised, Lady Ember burst into deep red flames and a blazing symbol manifested behind her back, Fena was certain that it was the same crest that had appeared behind her father's back when he'd erected the barrier; The Crest of The Phoenix. Her newly birthed wing, its deep red flaming feathers, stretched out to its limit like an expanse of red sky, as if to announce its presence to the world.
"BY THE PHOENIX'S FLAMES!" Horace Ember roared in disbelief, but there was more than just shock laced within his tone. Fena could taste the disgust in his voice even from so far away. He'd wanted Fenrir to win from the start and Fena felt an exhilarating rush of energy pulse right through her, because he wasn't going to be getting what he wanted today—no way, Lady Ember's gonna shut that fat pig up for sure!
"N-N-NOO! PLEASE—SPARE ME! DON'T KILL ME!" Fenrir begged and pleaded as the fiery chains seared their unforgiving patterns upon his skin. He continued yelling, almost incoherently, but it seemed his words weren't reaching his sisters ears whatsoever.
In one swift motion, Lady Ember's newly birthed wing thrust her into the air and simultaneously, like a seamstress of fire and flame, she began to weave the deep red flames around her into a shape. Fena was in awe. Every action she made looked graceful beyond description and the crescendo to this devastating deathmatch was surely going to be the most phenomenal of the lot. A huge blazing bow materialised before Lady Ember and without hesitation she took it within her grasp. Its flames scorched at her skin, searing her almost down to the bone, but somehow Lady Ember's body would just as rapidly regenerate. The pain was wracked upon her face, yet still she didn't relinquish her grip, she created a flaming arrow in her free hand and drew back the blazing bowstring, still suspended in the air. "Don't you see now, brother!" she cried. "You don't have to do this alone anymore. We can bear the burden together. You don't have to protect me anymore. We can fix this. I need you, mother needs you, please!"
Fenrir's desperate incoherent yelling ceased. Fena could've sworn that for the first time, even from so far away, that she could see something other than spite in his eyes. Whether it was love or something near to it, or another thing entirely she couldn't say, but Fena was certain that Lady Ember was getting through to him.
This time sparks of indignation met flames of fury, not in battle, not to draw blood and not in an effort to take the burden of The Flames alone, but to create a bridge, a connection; to reach out and share the fate of one born with The Flames of Creation slumbering within their soul together. Every happiness. Every sadness. Every pain and every joy. Every defeat and every victory—the burden must not be harboured alone, for there is nothing The Flames of Creation cannot burn and the spirits of those who live with it closeby are no exceptions.
Smashing into the bridge unseen to the naked eye with no remorse like a spear thrust into the earth from the sky, thunder struck once again. "FLICKERING FLAMES DISAPPEAR IN THE DARK, BOY! FIND THAT FLAME OR FACE YOUR FATE, THE PHOENIX SHALL NOT TOLERATE AN UNWORTHY HEIR!"
As if the shock had rippled through her own body as well, Lady Ember began to lose her control. She was struggling to remain in the air and the bow that she'd created was flickering and losing its form. The Chains clinked and rattled as they rapidly loosened and began to fade. "Brother please!" Lady Ember begged as her own fire continued to gnaw away at her body.
Suddenly, Fenrir started violently coughing and choking, soon that choking turned to laughter and soon that laughter turned to absolute hysteria. He tore his flaming arm free of its bindings and began to rip away the chains that restricted him. "You… You just don't get it," he hissed, as The Chains crumbled underneath his heat. "I'm doing this for YOU! I've done all of this… for YOU. And yet… you've already been chosen—HOW LONG!? No… it doesn't matter now… For me to earn his Blessing—you've left me no choice."
Fenrir had almost completely freed himself. Simultaneously, Fena could see that he was charging up a hellacious blast, one far more concentrated and devastating than any he'd unleashed thus far.
Koria's hands covered her mouth. She didn't move a muscle, utterly powerless to intervene at what was poised to be the final clash between brother and sister, and possibly the final time that she'd see her dearest friend alive.
In a split second, Fenrir took flight, a blur of scintillating orange and blue. Lady Ember had screamed at the top of her lungs, " I SURRE—" but before she could even finish, Fenrir had smashed into her and the pair of them exploded into a cataclysmic eruption of flames.
2
The savages crammed into The Phoenix's Nest fell into an uneasy silence. The dense cloud of dust that obscured the crescendo to the deathmatch they'd so slovenly enjoyed was making the wait to crown their winner and feast upon the loser utterly unbearable.
Finally, after it had settled, the result became clear. Fenrir Ember stood over his sister's scorched body, looking listlessly towards the sky. The Phoenix's Nest erupted, showering him with plaudits befitting a God amongst men. He'd run his flaming fist clean through his sister's stomach and burned her with what seemed to be the fiercest of flames that he could possibly muster, yet for all of it, he looked like the one who'd lost—he looked like he'd given up. "Look at me," he told his sister, his voice wavering. He sounded on the verge of tears. Lady Ember's body was glowing like before, but the light was dull. Though she wasn't sure whether she should've, a cautious relief somewhat soothed Fena's thumping heart.
"Look at what you've done, dammit. Now you've got no choice. I—I tried…to ki—to free you—I was meant to bear that burden. Ramus was meant to take me so that you could escape. Now… even death won't take you… you can't escape The Flames—escape him—"
"Aaaand with that, allow me to draw the curtain upon our first bout this morning! And my my, I must say, truly it was an extravagant Ember encounter for the ages, wouldn't all of you, my treasured supporters and wonderful fans, agree?" Not so much as a care in the world, the eccentric orator Caleb John Emberfield sauntered towards the middle of the battlegrounds with a troupe of Medical Shinobi trailing behind him. Fena watched nervously as they promptly lifted Lady Ember onto a gurney, but all of a sudden her nerves vanished, giving way to spite. She spotted Salacia, namely her dark blue hair, amongst the group. Reasoning with herself, Fena surmised that the reason that she had to be there was to serve as Lady Ember's security, yet still she refused to trust her, even a little.
Meanwhile, indulging in what Fena had already decided that no other person in the world could do quite as well as he could, the crowd oohed and ahhed in tandem to every playful lilt of Caleb John Emberfield's velvety voice. Horace Ember on the other hand, in spite of his subdued demeanour, couldn't hide the fury that was smacked upon his face, a face which looked like a barrel of squashed tomatoes and Fena could've sworn that she could see steam rushing out of his ears and rising up from the top of his head.
Belatedly, Fena noticed that Koria had departed without notice from where they had been standing, returning to Elira Ember's side and placing a nervous looking hand on her shoulder. Though it didn't bring them much relief, Elira's cryptic ramblings had finally ceased; it seemed her yelling and twisting and despairing had sapped every bit of energy from her frail frame as she lay slumped in her seat, drawing infrequent and shallow pulls of breath.
Fena made her way back up towards the pair. "Is she… gonna be okay?" Fena asked, sliding her left hand down to Bolt and rubbing at the shaved sides of her hair with her right hand.
Koria's eyes drifted waywardly towards the battlegrounds. "I… don't know. I don't know."
Fena crouched down to the ground, sitting upright on her knees. She reached toward Elira's tiny, still hand, then hesitated, watching as her own cowardly hand tried to scurry back to her body, but she refused its return and pushed it back towards where she felt it was needed most. Elira's hand was so frail, so weak, her pulse tapped at the surface of Fena's skin, a dull metronome that at least granted some semblance of relief to Fena's anxieties, but her skin felt cold. Fena reached out her free hand, wrapping it around Elira's hand and squeezing it firm, but not too tight. "I uh… I said some really mean things to you M-Misses Ember and I'm sorry but… even though I don't know you or Lady Ember or even Koria and I'm barging in on someone else's problems, I meant everything that I said. Lady Ember showed the world her answer today—she's chosen to fight. She probably already knows it's useless; I bet you ain't the first to count her out, even I was starting to… but she's strong, maybe not in battle, but in her heart, she's super strong and I've gotta be even stronger."
Fena felt herself beginning to ramble, unsure of what it was exactly she'd even been trying to say in the first place. She looked towards Koria. Her face was searching, she couldn't understand why or what exactly it was that made her feel that way, but Fena could sense that she had something to say. "I-I'm sorry, am I not allowed to?"
"N-no—well, I don't really know actually, but…"
Fena's heart hurt for her. She looked frighteningly pale. "Do you wanna go see Lady Ember, is that it?"
Koria's body rippled at the question. "Of course! But… I can't go, if I leave her mothers side when she's like this, she'll never, ever forgive me. Her power will see her through the worst of it."
"But there is something, right? Do you want me to help you carry Misses Ember to somewhere quieter?"
"—Fena…" Koria abruptly called out. She squinted her eyes and clenched her fists. "Why is it that you care so much about Ruby?"
Fena's heart nearly leapt out of her mouth. "Woah! Uh, well I uh—" Koria's eyes
were dead serious. Her face was a wall. "I… honestly don't know—well, I kinda do but don't at the same time. When she saved me earlier, I felt all kinds of stuff—stuff I just don't understand. I know it sounds stupid, but it was like she made the world feel like it was all upside down, but then, I guess… as I got used to seeing the trees growing from the sky and stuff, I didn't really mind seeing it that way, actually I quite liked it; I really really liked it. I mean—"
"I want to ask you something—I need to ask you something. A favour, a one time request, something I can only ask of you and you alone. It is selfish. I am selfish. But I have nobody else to turn to. Will you oblige me?"
Fena's spine tingled. She slid her left hand down onto Bolt. "Okay."
"You are aware of 'The Challenge System' for Origin's Ritual, are you not?"
Fena's eyes went wide. She scoured her brain diligently for any recollection of such a thing, but nothing came up. "No…? Was I meant to?"
"It is alright, I shall explain it to you," Though she tried to hide it behind a veil of formality, Koria's voice was shaking. "Whilst it is the traditional practice for The Chief and his brother to seed the participants and match them accordingly, there is another system, one that can supersede the seeding system, so long as both parties are consenting."
"So you can just call people out—oh crap! That's why Lady Ember fought Fenrir, did she call him out?"
"That… devil, knew that Ruby would fight Fenrir no matter what. He'd trained them to communicate through their fists and their flames, not their words, so he served them on a silver platter for the world to see, hoping that his son would awaken to his birthright. Though, in his hubris, there is an element of The Challenge System that he'd neglected to make use of—wagers."
"Wagers?" Fena repeated slowly, chewing on the word.
"Yes, wagers. Often times it is a Shinobi who is seeded low that challenges a Shinobi seeded far higher in the rankings, and so, as collateral for the added risk of embarrassment and collapse of their status, the higher ranked Shinobi will make demands of the lower ranked Shinobi should they be defeated in combat."
"Okay, got it… but what does that have to do with me?"
Koria crashed into Fena's chest and collapsed onto her knees. "Fena… I beg of you—I don't have crystals, I've no family heirlooms to give to you or anything at all, I've nothing in this world—only Ruby." Utterly distraught, Koria's tearful blushed face looked up toward Fena. Fena understood it now. She realized what Koira was searching for: salvation. "Save her. Fight Fenrir and wager for Ruby's guaranteed protection. Convince him. Convince Horace before it's too late. I'm so sorry, I can't help you but please, don't let him take everything from me again, save—"
Fena had heard enough. She placed her hand on top of Koria's auburn hair and rustled at it as though she were a child. Whilst underneath it her rage seethed and boiled, relishing the opportunity to have her fists smash into that nasty boy's face and stick it to Lady Ember's fat faced father, Fena flashed Koria a cheeky wink and a smile. "Ya know, I was trained by the best teacher in the whole wide world—she's the strongest, so don't even worry. I'm gonna win, no matter what."
Gently, Fena pushed Koria away and guided her back into her seat, giving her one last hug before turning toward the translucent red dome. She sucked in a deep, deep breath and as she did, she launched Bolt with all of her might toward the dome. A striking thud reverberated around the arena and Fena leapt high into the air, catching Bolt and then shouted, "Hey crybaby kid! You couldn't even melt an ice cream with that crappy fire of yours! Even moms baths are way hotter!" Fena guffawed at her own joke, creasing in mid-air like she was riding on cloud, harbouring absolutely no fear at all of falling back down and the entire arena laughed alongside her, she was certain of it. "Guess what? I'm using my challenge thingie on you. Oh… I'm gonna really enjoy wiping that nasty look off your face. I'm gonna kick your ass so bad you'll be begging me to stop—you better believe that!"
3
Commanding everyone's attention with her flamboyant call out, Fena felt the entire world's eyes all peering into the depths of her soul. You better be looking! she said to herself, ready to let every single one of them have it. The spectators had behaved like utter savages, Fenrir had treated his sister so horribly and Horace, he was by far the worst of the lot and Fena just couldn't wait to tell him exactly what he'd ought to hear.
"I dunno what the heck you or your fat dads problem is—what, ya think that you can just boss people around and make them do what you say just because they're weak?" Gale-forces' mountainous figure towering over that helpless woman flashed in Fena's eyes. It made her blood boil. "In that case, you better get on your knees and surrender right now, cuz I'm way stronger than you, crybaby boy!"
After setting Fenrir straight, Fena turned her attention to the crowd. "And who the heck do you all think you are? Why don't you try stepping in there you cowards! All you do is—h-hey!" Though it'd taken a while for her to notice, far too long a while in fact, suddenly spotting the recipient of her challenge making his leave of the battlegrounds and the spectators conversing amongst themselves, not a soul amongst the thousands crammed into The Phoenix's Nest had paid Fena's ranting and raving much more than an ounce of attention. Soaring through the air, she'd held the entire world within the palm of her hand for just a moment, she was certain that even The Goddess Origin must have been watching, until solid ground welcomed her back down to the reality that faced her, or in other words, had already left her behind.
"How poetic! Whomever you may be—or even profess to be—young man, it seems to me that my supporters have spoken! Though, as is the way of such cultured connoisseurs of communication, rely upon words they needn't, for their actions have delivered their swift judgement unto you in such splendid harmony."
Fena scrambled for her words. She didn't care what the people wanted at all, but having their rejection of her challenge stuffed in her face like this by someone beaming with such a playful snigger on his face made it sting far more than it should have. "I don't care what the people want. I wanna fight him."
Caleb John Emberfield raised an inquisitive gloved finger to his pointed chin. His hair swayed, following him like a cloud of gold dust as he looked on at Fenrir Ember, then toward his father, Horace. A devious grin stretched the corners of his thin lips wide. "Dare I say it, dare I confess to wish for it, dare I even disgrace His Eminence and the Young Lord's ears with such a selfish request?"
The eccentric orator swung his arms out wide of himself, slowly panning the breadth of the crowd as though he were meeting the eyes of each and every spectator who'd journeyed from all over the world to bear witness to the spectacle that he was. "My heart aches, but it is a burden that I have worn with pride since it came unto me many moons ago. I, Caleb John Emberfield, exist solely for one purpose, and that purpose is to mirror the hearts of the very people who have made space for me within their own and when I stare into those precious hearts right this moment, there is only one thing I see, one word that I hear—a word that sings to me like a 'Fairy Rock' Ballad: encore."
Fena's heart rose up alongside the cheers and celebrations of the spectators in the stadium—it was like magic. She'd no idea why he'd done it, but Fena was certain that Caleb John Emberfield was throwing her a bone. What might that reason be? Fena couldn't even begin to hazard a guess. Once he got to talking, it was his show, everyone else needed only to follow his direction.
Caleb John Emberfield's glimmering golden eyes settled upon Fena. A theatrically extended arm searched for her, ready to guide her towards her place on stage. "Right there, Young Lord, do you see him? Sweltering is the backside that bears The Flames—oh! My my, beg your pardon, I seem to have misspoke. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, Young Lord, and so to help relieve some of that weight, rely upon the faith of the people—your people."
"Enough of this farce theater boy, I've suffered enough fools for the day." Horace Ember grunted. Though the contempt on his face was clear, his eyes sagged and his face was plopped onto his fist as he sank back into his grand seat.
Fena noticed Fenrir looking aimlessly in his fathers direction. Horace languidly flicked his wrist, as if to say, "Do what you want".
Quicker than a matchstick catches fire, that spiteful snarl was seared upon Fenrir's face once again. He marched towards the centre of the battlegrounds, "Get him in here, now. I'll make this quick. One challenge, then I'm leaving." he said to the eccentric orator, much to his and the spectators delight.
Suddenly, Fena noticed a bright light and a warmth underneath her chin. She scrambled at her chest, worried for a half-second that she was being attacked, until she realized that she'd been granted the coat of flames that allowed people to pass into the barrier. She'd realised it belatedly, but after passing through the barrier unscathed, Fena looked upon the palms of both her hands. Her right palm was particularly badly singed. The barrier had burned some of her skin right off before, but now she'd passed through just fine. It didn't look like Lady Ember got burned when she got pushed onto the top bit… maybe it's just the outside?
Fenrir's face was sharp. His eyes were knives soaked in darkness, aiming to gouge Fena's right out from their sockets. "Terms. State them. Now."
Fena faced them headon. The fire in her determined eyes would not waver, just like Lady Ember. She thought hard about Koria's request. She thought hard about what Lady Ember might want. After composing herself, she stated her answer, "When I win, you and your dad better keep your hands away from Lady Ember and Koria. I don't care about your stupid clan. I don't care about successors and all that crap. I care about my friends, and when I'm done here, you'll be leaving them alone," Fena directed the fire in her eyes towards Horace Ember. "For good."
His sullen expression didn't even so much as twitch; the man couldn't even feign a morsel of interest any longer.
"Aaaand your terms, Young Lord?" Caleb John Emberfield asked with a wink.
Fenrir ignored the eccentric orators' words. He was looking toward Fena, but Fena could feel his narrowed talons passing through her. She clenched her fists tight. He thinks he's gonna blow right through me? Oh… I'm gonna enjoy this.
"Well… nevermind then?" Caleb John Emberfield took Fenrir's silence into his stride, as did he take everything in his stride, it seemed. "There you have it, my dear fans worldwide. The Young Lord, Fenrir Ember has heard the chorus that your hearts sang in earnest. He graces you with the encore you all so desired!"
His body swaying freely with the furor of the crowd, Caleb John Emberfield's eyes were like a spotlight. "Your audition today for the spot of challenger has been successful. Now, rising star, tell us, shout your name loud and clear, let the world know who shares this dance with the Young Lord!"
There it was once again, that feeling of having the entire world's eyes glued to her person, yet this time Fena felt their weight. Unlike last time, she hadn't commanded their attention at all, the spotlight had been thrust upon her and the difference was night and day. Each eyeball was like a lead weight dropped onto her shoulders. Meanwhile Fenrir's face wore his subdued fury with no reservations, and Fena could've sworn that, even though his velvety voice may have obscured his true thoughts from most, Caleb John Emberfield was expecting her to lose too.
Fena slid her left down onto Bolt, stretching her little finger out to play with the red, purple and pink tassels that hang from it's hilt, before removing it from her waist strap and pointing it toward her opponent, puffing her chest right out as she put the entire world on notice. "Listen up! I'm gonna be the strongest Shinobi in the whole wide world, because mom needs me and I won't let her down—no way! My name's Fena Alexandria—you better remember that!"
"Alex…andria…" Fena heard what felt like every single person collectively stumbling over her last name. The stadium wasn't silent, nor was it loud. Hushed voices reverberated around the arena, sounding almost like gushes of wind, all repeating the name that Fena had shouted out with pride, her surname.
"A diamond in the rough…" Caleb John Emberfield's golden eyes sparkled. The crowd burst into jubilant celebration, rejoicing like believers witnessing an act of the divine. "My, how The Goddess smiles down upon us from above on this special day! First she gifts us a Guardian Angel, and now we bear witness to the angel's daughter? Forgive me, my wonderful fans, I shall not stand in the way of this stupendous occasion any longer. Participants, take your stances! A duel to the death, do you both agree?"
Fena answered without hesitation. "You bet!"
Fenrir remained silent, but suddenly, his entire demeanour had changed. His snarl had turned into a demented, inexplicable grin.
"Fantastic! Upon my leaving the barrier, you are both to do battle! Brace yourselves! And… beg—"
"Hold!!" Horace and Fenrir cut right through the noise.
Fena looked up towards Horace. He was wearing a similar, but for it being even more twisted looking, smile to his son. Fenrir was the first among them to break the silence they'd caused, "Did you hear that father?" he asked.
"Yes, boy. I did indeed… I recognise you now, crestless peasant."
Fena threw her arms behind her head. "Aw damn, how could you possibly have forgot? Especially after I gave that boar man of yours a taste of his own medicine."
Fena was certain she saw a vein or three press up against the surface of Horace Ember's forehead. "It seems that your memory isn't quite that sharp either, girl. I recall you sprawled out on the dirt, where you belong, spared by my whim."
"Father," Fenrir cut in. "I've yet to state my terms—"
"Hey! Hold on, you can't just do take backs like that! You said you didn't want anything!"
Horace's half-moon smile bore down onto Fena like the moon descending toward the surface of the earth. "What's this I hear? No—surely not, the daughter of Origin's Guardian Angel is a coward? What a great shame you bring to her name, peasant."
"Stop it with that stupid fucking name!" Fena bit into her lip. A faint steam rose from the wound, but in her fury, she didn't notice it. "My mom is not some God or some power—she's my mom. I'm sick of you—of all of you taking her away from me."
"Then why not wager for her to be released from her duties?" Horace asked, his tone rising, matching Fena's anger with a thunderous response of his own. "Might it be that you don't believe you can steal her back?!"
Fena slammed Bolt into the stone platform beneath her. That dreadful feeling was ripping at her insides again. It threatened to swallow her whole. Once again she clawed at her stomach, but the feeling refused to fade. The makings of a thought, one that she swore that she'd never, ever have began to fester within her mind. She pushed it away, tried to lock it in the depths of her conscience, yet it refused to be sealed. She looked down at Bolt, focusing on its hilt, her mind pondering the infinite possibilities that could play out if she were to—
"Fena, don't listen to him! He's trying to provoke you; you mustn't let him reach your heart!" Out of nowhere, a voice shone through the mire of darkness that Fena was adrift amongst.
"I knew you were suspect, stable wench." Horace's voice oozed with a sort of vindication. "You've been in my childs' ear. You've uncovered secrets that are for The Phoenix's Children alone. You seem to have forgotten who brought you here, or maybe you hadn't, and that's why you've been so meticulous in your meddling."
Fena took a deep breath. Thank you, Koria, she said to herself, meaning it from the very bottom of her heart. She found her words and spoke them true. "Mama loves technology. I don't understand it. I don't even understand her—but I love my mom, and I'd do anything to protect her happiness. I'm not trying to take what she loves away from her, I'm just gonna become strong enough myself so that everyone doesn't have to rely on her so much."
Fena pulled Bolt out from the hole in the ground she'd made. "But that won't happen today; I've got a long, long way to go before I can achieve that dream. Today, for the first time in my life, somebody's really relying on me for help—if I'm gonna be the strongest, I can't let them down, I won't let them down. Pick whatever you want for your wager, I don't care. I ain't losing today, not even if Origin fell out of the sky and tried to fight me."
The crowd burst into an uproar, saying things like, "How dare she speak The Goddess's name in vain!" and "Pish! That runt ain't never our Angel's daughter, she don't even look like her!" amongst an onslaught of other insults and complaints, but Fena didn't care.
This was bigger than her. It was hard to keep that fact at the forefront of her mind when the world, even what little of it she'd managed to see thus far, was such an incomprehensibly vast and terrifying place, yet she found herself feeling inexplicably grateful that amongst that space, she'd been fortunate enough to have met Lady Ember and Koria.
It's because of you girls that I'm gonna be able to stand up and face the world without crumbling away today. Fena turned back to look at Koria, flashing her another confident smile. I'm gonna win, no matter what and I hope that afterwards, we can be real friends, I'd love that so much.
Horace Ember's thick, drumbeat voice made the demands of his side clear. "The angel will serve me, exclusively. For far too long my brother has allowed her to spread her wings and fly carefree, whilst those who intend to do us harm prosper in the shadows, both off their own merit and by making use of her creations. No more silly gadgets or passion projects—she will see us prepared for war. Now, theatre boy, commence the battle. "
"One more thing, father. Send in the Technology Unit." Fenrir asked. His father seemed confused, but also strangely intrigued, so he granted his son's abrupt request. "I have disappointed you enough today. The Phoenix deems me unworthy. No doubts—I must leave no doubts. Give me the 'Lightning Blade." Fenrir swiped through the options displayed to him upon the holographic image of a small device attached to the wrist on one of the Technology Units assistants.
The assistant nodded. He pulled out a scroll from his pouch and sprawled it out flat onto the ground. At first it was blank, until he weaved a series of hand signs and planted his palm flat into the centre. Then black ink spread across the scroll like thick clouds of smoke, until their paths all seemed to converge and create the shape of a sword and then poof, in a puff of grey smoke it appeared in the assistants' hand. He promptly passed it on to Fenrir.
"Winning alone will not be enough, father. This crestless peasant must be taught a lesson," Fenrir held the sword out beside him, as if to measure its reach. It remained within its sheath, until Fenrir twisted his arm and it shattered into tiny pieces. There was no steel, only lightning that pulsated in the shape of a blade. Fenrir took up a prepared stance. "You say we're taking your mother from you? Today, there will be no more doubts… I will rip what matters most to you right from your filthy hands, and I'll do it with your own mothers innovations!"
His booming guffaw ruling over the cheering crowd, Horace Ember, for what Fena thought was probably the first and would definitely be the last time in his life, praised his son. "That's it my boy! I see it now! Bring me the Angel and you may yet find that Flame within you."
Fena wordlessly motioned the assistant that had approached her away. She was ready to fight.
"Terms have been settled; our stars are ready and waiting to put on a show, yet one more question remains… to my wonderful supporters worldwide tuning into Origin's Ritual on this historic day—are you ready?!" The crowd's cheer was deafening, they were desperate for the bloodsport to begin once again. "In that case, may the battle begin!"
In a flash, a flaming thunderbolt zipped across the arena. Fena smiled a devilish grin. Half a step off and she'd lose an arm, a leg, or even worse, she'd be dead on the spot, burned to ashes. Yet she was prepared. Fena slammed Bolt onto the ground and used it to launch herself into the air. The blistering heat stung her cheeks as she hung over her opponents head, no further away than a hair's breadth. Fena mischievously bopped her opponent on the back of the head with Bolt and watched on with delight as the nasty Ember boy smashed into the unforgiving stone wall in a burst of lightning and fire.
Fena cackled playfully like a child having their stomach tickled. "Oh man, I was worried you wouldn't go for it for a sec. Wooosh!! You didn't even wait a second! How's that wall taste, crybaby kid?"
Before Fena could take a second to realize that not a single soul was laughing alongside her, a chunk of stone came hurtling towards her direction. Quickly she evaded by leaping to her left. Fenrir emerged from the cloud of dust. The Lightning Sword, or at least what was left of it, still in his hands.
"Useless piece of shit," he hissed. Tossing the remains to the ground. "You gutter rat… You dare make a fool of me? I'll burn you to ash!"
Fenrir weaved two quick hand signs. Fena felt her back tense right up. She hadn't seen him use anything like this during his fight with Lady Ember. "Smoke Release: Smokescreen."
All of a sudden, like he'd plucked one from somewhere in the sky, thick grey smoke oozed out from Fenrir's body until a ghastly cloud permeated throughout the entire battlegrounds, almost completely obscuring Fena's vision. Instantly Fena covered her mouth and held her breath, whilst also gauging her ability to see, making note that she could see her hands if she held them directly before her face, but if she were to extend her arms, she'd only be able to see about up to her wrist—she was at a severe disadvantage.
Can he see me? He hasn't awoken his Aura, so he probably doesn't have any special abilities in his eyes, but that still doesn't mean he can't feel me somehow. Or maybe he has some hearing ability? It's probably not poisonous either, he's in here too, way too risky. Shit, gotta figure him out quick, then stick to the plan.
'Earth Release: Duplication'. Fena weaved a single hand-sign, creating multiple copies of Bolt.
Bolt was a special sword unlike any other. Though she was still strong without it, inhaling any Essence whatsoever, even impure Essence as a byproduct of used techniques, would put her body in perilous danger and would mean almost certain death. Bolt, so long as it was close enough to Fena, with the Essence infused by her mother allowed Fena to use a technique that almost all Shinobi, particularly those of the highest level, can do innately, one that allows the user to coat their bodies with a sheet of protective Essence—the stronger the Shinobi, the more dense and durable the cover. The technique was called, "Veiling".
Considering it was her mother's Essence that she was Veiling with, it provided her with robust protection. Though there was a drawback, and that was that it drained the most Essence from Bolt's reserves by far, so it heavily restricted Fena's freedom when it came to using techniques—she'd mostly have to rely on her hand to hand combat, though there was one exception.
Fena and her mother had never quite figured out why, but Fena could perform her Sheath Step technique without needing any to draw Essence from Bolt whatsoever. Even its effective range was vastly superior in comparison to any other technique. As a result, the pair had spent countless hours theorising, planning, practicing and refining battle plans all structured around one definitive outcome: creating the perfect situation to perform the move, and then defeating the opponent with a single blow.
Sheath Step would only ever work with the real Bolt though, and now wasn't the time to make use of such a technique. Given the situation she was in right now, getting disarmed would be paramount to a death sentence, so she slid the real Bolt underneath her hakama and wielded the copies, one in each hand, with another two tucked into her waist strap.
She threw one ahead of herself, then waited… but there was nothing. The inaction made a shiver run down her spine. She thought her ears were ringing and it made her second guess whether she really was hearing almost nothing at all, or whether the thumping of her heartbeat was obscuring the sounds of her opponents footsteps. Tentatively, she threw another copy out before her and shortly after it had hit the ground, a myriad of shuriken and kunai ripped into it like piranha's, leaving next to nothing left of it. Got him! Fena celebrated to herself, now she just had to lead him into her trap.
Before she was ready to engineer a situation where she could win this fight, there was one more thing that Fena needed to confirm. There was no doubt in her mind; the barrier had burned her hands when she'd smacked it. Since entering the barrier and having the coat of flames removed from her person, she'd not made contact with it again and so she decided that in order to further understand it, she needed to make Fenrir touch it. She'd already made a fool of him once, now he seemed to have changed his entire approach; he wouldn't be fooled so easily again, and so the ceiling of the barrier was the only place she could think to draw him.
Fena threw out another copy, this time making sure it landed closer to her. Fenrir's response was noticeably faster; the instant the clone Bolt hit the ground, steel arrows and stars chewed right through it. Fena was certain that next time, he'd either close the distance, or he'd make the mistake of revealing his exact position.
Taking hold of the two clones she had remaining, Fena braced herself. She'd have to be diligent and close the distance the second she caught a glimpse of his image. She threw one to her left and with a fraction of a delay, threw the other to her right.
"—Your tricks won't save you." Fenrir cursed and in a flash, he was right before her eyes.
Fena slipped Bolt out from underneath her clothes, raising it to defend herself just in time and thrusting it toward her target. Bolt's blunt tip sloshed through Fenrir's chest like he was made of mud, and by the time Fena had realized what she'd done, it was too late.
Shit! she cursed to herself, as the Fenrir that she'd stabbed began to melt away. Its skin dripped like hot candle wax underneath a flame, falling onto Fena's toes and stinging her as she tried to yank Bolt free, but it just wouldn't budge. Suddenly, Fena heard footsteps behind her. Another Fenrir came rushing at her with a closed fist, cocked back ready and aiming for her head. Using Bolt as a lever, Fena hoisted herself up and over the top of the melting clone to avoid the blow.
"You're even dumber than you look!" Fenrir's voice shouted from somewhere within the void of smoke.
The second clone's fist plunged into the melting wax stomach of the first one, but before it did, Fena noticed something spilling from its closed fist, almost like sand, but instead of brown or golden it was black. A smoky smell came rushing into Fena's nose and just as quickly as she could register that smell, what felt like a million fireworks scattered in every direction exploded with deafening crackles and bangs that popped her eardrums like they were balloons and all of a sudden she was flying.
The explosion had burned some of her face and her hands a bit, but all in all, its ferocity didn't seem anything close to the level of blasts that Fenrir had unleashed from his fists against his sister in their fight. Crucially, Bolt remained firmly within Fena's grasp. She readied herself as best she could for her opponent's next move.
"You've made a mistake that'll cost you your life, crestless rodent," Fenrir rasped, clearing away the dense cloud of smoke and revealing his true self. He stood in the dead centre of the battlegrounds, orange and blue flames fizzing around his body, poised to strike. "The Phoenix filled the hole in my sister's stomach with his flames—you shall have no such fortune!"
Fenrir blasted himself into the air like a comet launched from a catapult, his pitch-black eyes dead set on their target.
Crap!! Can't use Sheath Step; not yet! With only a split-second to spare, Fena drew as much Essence as she could from Bolt, concentrating it all around her palm. She made out like she was ready to meet Fenrir head on, but when he was within arms reach, "'Wind Release: Gale Bullet!" she blasted herself away with a ferocious gust of wind, sending herself careening into upper edges of the barrier before she tumbled down onto the ground, whilst Fenrir smashed into the barrier's roof.
Due to only having such a short period of time to cast the technique, Fena far overcompensated, sucking up way more Essence from Bolt than she had needed, thus resulting in her making contact with the barrier and burning herself heavily once again. Her back stung ferociously, but as she patted herself down to get rid of the lingering flames, something far, far worse became apparent to her. "I'm… outta Essence already?!" she gasped, after noticing that she'd only had enough left to maintain her Veil.
"It's only a matter of time. I will spare you no mercy." Fenrir spoke down to her from above, standing atop a floating red fire cloud. He weaved a string of hand-signs and it was clear that whatever he was preparing was something that required a great deal of Essence. To his left, his right and before him, three red rings of ethereal fire formed. "I may not have been chosen yet… but my Ember Release will be more than enough to burn you to ashes!"
Countless twinkles of orange light flashed before Fena's eyes like shooting stars, and though she'd not made any wishes, descend from the sky they did regardless, aiming directly for her. Fena took a readied stance, sucking up a deep breath. Innumerous flaming arrows rained down from the sky, but in the moment, that wasn't what Fena saw.
Her mind took her back to the hours upon hours of meticulous strategy talks and exhausting training sessions that her mother had been alongside her for every single step of the way and there was one particular training drill that Fena had mastered—deflecting incoming projectiles into static and moving targets. At first, it was the drill that she'd hated the absolute most out of any that her mother would make her do, always arguing that she'd be quick enough to close the distance on any enemy before they'd ever have a chance to throw things at her in the first place, but in time, after her mother hammered it into her, she adjusted. Now, for every one object her mother used to throw at her, she'd throw five and Fena was deft enough to discern which objects she could feasibly deflect and which objects she'd have to avoid entirely.
Fena used Bolt to swat away away arrow after arrow and the resulting sparks that flew in all directions looked like she was whipping up a tornado of fireflies. For a split second, the rain stopped, and Fena made her move. She pulled up one of the arrows from the ground, one that still kept its fire. It seared a stinging pain through her already burned hand so she had to act fast—now was the time to seize her victory.
"Just DIE ALREADY!" Fenrir let out a guttural roar. He fired off one more sizable flaming arrow, this time with notably more blue flames laced within the orange, that arced to his left and then zipped towards Fena once again, arcing his own trajectory to his right, a blur of scintillating orange and mysterious blue.
Here we go Bolt. We've only got one shot at this! Fena launched Bolt towards the flaming arrow and then took a readied stance. For a moment, she was dead calm, preparing herself for what was to come, then the hellacious pain wracked through her body. Bolt was too far away from her now and with no extra Essence to draw upon, the flames from Fenrir's arrow began chewing through her Veil like it were as thin as string. Then he was upon her and the pain was amplified a hundred fold. Disdain was seared across his face as he swung his flaming fist toward Fena. Fena slipped underneath it, but the explosion that followed scorched at her cheeks. She grit her teeth as she took the pain in her stride, squeezing at the arrow in her hand with every fibre of might within her being and thrusted it into Fenrir's foot, piercing the earth beneath it as well.
A visceral yelp scraped at Fena's ears. She formed a single hand-sign and just like that, she was in the air once again, but this time, it was all a part of her plan. Reuniting with Bolt, Fena felt an inexplicable feeling of calmness come over her. It wasn't only her mother who'd been with her on this journey every step of the way, Bolt had been supporting her too.
Fena cast her fiery gaze filled with determination toward Bolt, entrusting her everything to it, knowing that in turn, it would give her the strength that she needed. Such was the nature of their symbiotic relationship. Without it, her dream of living a peaceful life with her mother simply could never be a reality. She'd never be able to fulfill Koria's request and save Lady Ember—but together, they were unstoppable. When the two halves had the opportunity to unite and become whole, the only thing that would await them was victory.
"Sheath Step!" Having only enough Essence left within Bolt to maintain her Veil, Fena was left with only her own strength to rely upon when launching Bolt in Fenrir's direction. Even without infusing her hand with Wind Essence and amplifying her throw with Gale Bullet, Bolt zipped through the air like a javelin at a frightening speed.
Fenrir's screech was deafening as he yanked the arrow out from the ground and ripped it out from his foot, attempting to muster up a last ditch effort to defend himself.
"You made my friends cry—now you're gonna regret it!" Fena smashed her fist into Fenrir's face and careened into him from above like an asteroid crashing down into the earth from the beyond and a ghastly dust cloud obscured the pair from the audience's view.
Fena wasn't sure if the audience was dead silent or if her ears were playing tricks on her again. She'd put absolutely everything she'd had left into that strike; there was no way that crybaby kid was gonna get up from that. Marvelling at the golf ball sized welt she'd her fist had decorated his face with, Fena grabbed at the scruff of Fenrir's neck. "Now listen up. I'd love to take my time with you and really make you pay, but for some reason Lady Ember really wanted to help you, so I can't. Not until she tells me what's going on. So count yourself lucky. Surrender—it's over, crybaby kid."
The dust had finally settled and the combatants came into view of the spectators. The filthy beasts had awoken once again. They spewed their insults and their disparages and despite being prepared for it, Fena had wondered somewhere in the back of her mind whether or not the people would actually be happy to see her win, even if only because of her last name and the supposed "love" that the people bared for her mother. The answer to that query was being communicated to her loud and clear.
"Young Lord, you mustn't falter here!" an elderly woman shouted. "You are to guide our children and our children's children, you and your family are the light bearers. You mustn't falter!"
"That kid can't possibly be Lady Melina's child, right? Them Historia dogs've gotta be in on this!" Fena heard a man shout.
"How dare you! If there's any village that knows a thing or two about conniving tricks it's this one! Cowards—the lot of 'em. For a clan blessed with The Flames of a God you sure do strike in the dead of night often!" Another man bit back.
"I'll gut you for that!"
Fena found herself drifting away as her gaze travelled all around the sweeping arena—it was bedlam. People pushing and shoving, cultural divides, which seemed to have largely been united or at least ignored during the first bout and the proceedings thus far, came to a boil. Fena felt the stands drawing closer, as if some unseeable force was squashing The Phoenix's Nest between its fists as if to crush this festering cluster of malevolence that was fast growing in size.
Fena looked up toward Horace Ember. She'd wanted to shoot him a smirk that would swallow his ego whole, but his sunken expression trampled over any chances of Fena finding much joy in sticking it to him.
He was a sly fox. He bloviated and postured and acted for all of it like he had some skin in this game, yet as soon as the odds turned against him, instead of taking his loss fair and square, he just abandoned all that he'd wagered on the board, caring not a whit at the losses he was about to incur. That was just the type of sick man he was—everything was expendable to him.
A jolt ran up Fena's legs as she heard moans and groans from beneath her. Fenrir began to mumble things, strange things. Fena couldn't make out much of what he was saying, but she could hear him saying one thing for certain: "Fenrir".
That name, his own name, kept escaping from his mouth. Fena wondered for a moment whether she'd punched him so hard that he'd genuinely gone mad until something flashed at her leg and caused her to leap back. Blue flames!
"You told me… that you'd give me strength… Fenrir," he despaired. Wisps of blue flames began to feast upon Fenrir's limp body. His left arm was set alight, then his left eye. "Youlied to me, Fenrir,"
"What the heck…?" Watching on in anxious disbelief, Fena felt an inexplicable dread crawling up her spine. Within the fire of her own red eyes she withheld the ethereal hue of the blue flames that oozed around Fenrir's body. Those flames… they rejected her. Somehow, she could feel it, it was just something that she innately knew. She knew something else too, she didn't know how, but her body, her heart, the knowledge was seared into their very being—they weren't flames.
They were pure. Unprocessed by the body. Unfettered by the meddling hands of man. There was only one thing that they could possibly be, by far the worst possible thing for someone like Fena to be up against: pure Essence.
Fenrir had gotten up unto his knees. His eyes were empty. His body was limp and lifeless. He looked like a man lost. "You lied to me. I gave you my dreams, and you lied to me. You promised me that I could protect her. You promised me that I would be chosen. You… LIAR!" Fenrir slammed his head into the ground, drawing blood from his own skull, over and over again he smashed his head against the floor and scraped at his eyes as if he were trying to claw them out. "You will give me the power that you promised, or we shall both die this day! Get out here—GET OUT HERE RIGHT NOW FENRIR!"
Fena kicked into gear, trying to close the distance and land a finishing blow. A wave of scintillating heat tore at her skin and she simply could go no further. The Essence around Fenrir grew more and more violent, like he and it, amongst his psychotic ramblings were fighting for control—he was awakening.
Fena recalled her mother's warning once again. It echoed in her mind millions of times. The Essence was changing. Something that looked like a limb came bursting out of Fenrir's left eye. It wore an ethereal coat of blue Essence and tiny bits of it floated into the air, escaping from the naked eye like a vapour. Then another cluster of Essence morphed into some sort of animal and it began to rip and tear at the boy's left arm. After a gut wrenching roar, Fenrir went up in a pillar of Essence. A chilling gust of air brushed against Fena's face.
Once the dust had finally cleared, she withheld her opponent within her sights. The nasty Ember boy stood back up onto his feet. A mystical blue wolf's pelt that oozed Essence hung from his neck. His left arm and his left eye were both gone, as though the Essence had swallowed them without a trace. Standing alongside him, with eyes that feasted upon her very soul, was a spectral wolf that radiated pure Essence.
Fena's body knew. Just one touch. Even if so much as a hair grazed her body, she would die. That wolf… it was everything that she was not. It was pure, like a teardrop from the very Goddess herself, whereas she was a fake. Her body rejected Origin's Blessing.
Fate always smiles. It always plots. It always chooses and it especially likes to choose to pick upon those who choose to defy it.
"Fenrir…" Fenrir called out, his grumbling voice laced with malevolence. "I have given you my dreams. Now you shall grant me victory. Kill her Fenrir, kill her and make me victorious."