The tension in the Colosseum was thick and oppressive. The judges, combatants, and spectators remained absolutely still long after the fighters were announced and the starting bell rang. Naroki and Satori stood apart for several moments in total silence.
Not a single audience member dared to breathe, afraid they might miss the moment. It was the kind of battle often decided by a single strike—a battle of the mind. Changes in the fighters' stance, grip, and posture betrayed their true intentions, much like the opening moves in a chess game.
This battle began long before the starting bell. They had been watching one another throughout the entire tournament.
Satori knew Naroki's growth as a warrior intimately. Every move, every disciplined step, showed his years of learning and drilling into muscle memory from youth. She recalled her promise to Kyou to give this boy a chance to surrender. Offering it now would be an insult. She first had to make it clear he couldn't win. This was a puzzle she was enjoying unraveling.
Meanwhile, Naroki had been watching Satori just as closely. He observed how she fought, noting that she tended to reveal her moves before she struck. If he could identify her tells, he believed he had a chance. He refused to let her long history of near victories in these Championships discourage him. Just because the only one to ever defeat her was the elf named Kyou, who was sitting as an honorary judge, doesn't mean he couldn't become the second.
In the stands, Goji and Sumitsu watched intently. Sumitsu sensed Naroki's tension and fears; she could feel them from where she sat. This woman decapitated every single opponent she faced. What would stop her from doing the same to Naroki?
Goji, on the other hand, leaned forward eagerly. He couldn't wait to see how Naroki would win this. He had no doubt in his mind that he and his best friend would face each other in the finals.
Their first move was a blink-and-you-miss-it clash of weapons. They leaped at one another. A single clash rang out through the Colosseum. Naroki's sword and Satori's glaive vibrated in their hands. They stood past one another, facing away from each other. In this moment, traditionally, the loser would lose their ability to stand and collapse to the ground. The moment dragged on. Neither one buckled.
They turned to face each other and took another stance. The audience roared. They both lived. This fight was promising to be more than a one-and-done.
Naroki turned to face Satori. There was something fundamentally different about her strike. Did she miss on purpose? Was she holding back? Why?
Satori turned, and a moment later her cool, aloof gaze met his. He could swear there was a glint of something bordering on admiration somewhere in her eye, but he couldn't put his finger on why.
He gripped his sword with both hands and held it in front of himself in a basic stance. He found his footing and readied himself.
The slightest of grins curled Satori's lip, then like a flash her glaive spun in her hands with the speed of a hummingbird's wing.
Clang, clang, ka-clang. The strikes were impossible to see, even harder to predict, but Naroki's defense held. Satori was having fun. It had been too long since she faced an opponent who could keep up with her speed.
She got cocky. She got too close. Naroki jabbed at her chin with the pommel of his katana. Too slow. Her head shifted suddenly to her left and dodged the handle strike by a fraction of an inch. Her grin vanished. Playtime was over.
Kyou noticed Satori's shifting mood. Dread filled the pit of her stomach. She leaned forward, a sign the other judges realized meant she was hyper-vigilant, looking for any reason to stop the match.
Satori's blade moved with precision and grace, then did something Naroki hadn't seen before. It changed shape. The pole remained as is, but the blade of the glaive was alive. It wrapped around Naroki's blade like a snake.
"That's a neat trick," Naroki remarked, then pulled his blade cleanly out of the glaive's grip.
"THAT'S MINE!" Amashi screamed from the skybox. "Thief!"
"She's been using that glaive every tournament for the last two centuries." Shiratakemaru admonished the succubus. "It is hers by right of conquest."
"So she stole it from me a long time ago," she pouted. Amashi was compelled to return to her seat.
"Why are you even here?" Minori asked, genuinely curious. Amashi hadn't attended a single tournament in her exceptionally long life.
"I'm here to watch the Werewolf lose."
"The one called Daraku? Isn't he up next?"
Amashi indicated her disinterest in conversing with Minori further with a rude, dismissive gesture. This earned her a service ban from the Hogaran girls which Okomikeruko wholeheartedly enforced.
The glaive's blade formed a double-sided slashing spearhead. Satori resumed twirling her weapon, but added dancing to her moves. Her athletic and limber body bent and twisted around as she moved expertly over and around Naroki like a predator.
Naroki followed her moves, always careful to keep his footing. Jitsuno trained him against this kind of attack. Satori was surely looking for an opening, a weakness, some misstep. He couldn't afford to open one up. Or could he?
Naroki knew he couldn't bait this warrior easily. She would see right through him if he didn't play his cards just right. He would have to make a mistake so subtle she would think it was due to his naivety. He started slightly over-anticipating her circling, turning a little more than he needed to. Anyone else might have missed it, but he saw the moment she decided to take him up on his invitation.
Satori moved with the speed and grace of a panther. She turned on the ball of her foot and leaped towards her prey. Her glaive whirled around her in a blur. She aimed straight for the opening to Naroki's left, just as he planned. Unfortunately for him, she saw through his strategy a mile away. Her blade came down and pierced the stone stage less than an inch away from his left foot. Then she swung herself bodily around her pole, kicking Naroki in the back twice, and gripping the back of his neck with such speed that he didn't see it coming. She bent him backwards in her grip and looked him in the eyes.
Naroki didn't realize she would take such advantage of his opening, and in a bid of desperation, attempted to swing his sword at Satori, who didn't even flinch as it bit into her glaive's pole.
With a smile that didn't reach her eyes, Satori tightened her grip on Naroki and stared menacingly into his eyes. Then she tossed him across the stage. She could have chosen to hurl him in any direction, but she selected the one where the line to out of bounds was furthest away. She didn't want this fight to end. Not yet.
Naroki rose to his feet. The deafening roar from the audience filled his senses. He was unarmed. His katana was still embedded in the handle of Satori's glaive, which remained stabbed into the ground next to Satori. He watched her wearily, wondering what she would do next.
Satori gingerly traced the weave of ribbons that wrapped around the grip of Naroki's blade, admiring the texture and pattern. Her gaze softened as though she were admiring the beauty of a wildflower in nature. She gripped the handle and dislodged the blade from her glaive. She took a moment to admire the weight and balance of the weapon in her hand before crossing to the middle of the ring, where she stabbed the sword into the stage floor.
Naroki watched in awe as this battle-hardened warrior handled his weapon with such grace and polish. He had feared for his life when she approached him with his sword in her hands, but suddenly realized her intentions. She was returning his weapon to him. He approached his blade as she walked back to her own. They watched each other and simultaneously drew their weapons from the stage, assuming new stances.
"She is so cool!" Goji shouted. "Look at her! She is loving this fight!"
Sumitsu was still nervous. Naroki's beheading was just around the corner; she could feel it in her bones.
Naroki stood, stoic but uncertain. This was not going as he thought. She saw right through him, and he knew it. A thought crept into his mind. It wasn't doubt. It was a certainty. He was going to lose.
Satori saw the resolve in Naroki falter. This was the moment she had worked for. She walked toward Naroki with a purposeful stride. There was a note of finality in her step. Even the audience knew this bout had drawn to its conclusion.
She placed the tip of her blade against Naroki's shoulder. "Naroki of Solaris. You have fought valiantly. You have within you the seed of greatness. You are indeed much stronger than I was at your age."
Naroki's stiffened posture relaxed visibility at Satori's words.
"You have the heart of a champion beating in your chest," she continued. "You will win this tournament someday. But not today. Yield, and live to fight another day."
The spectators collectively gasped. Satori offered this boy the chance to yield? Why? Such an offer was unprecedented.
Sumitsu felt a glimmer of hope in her heart. Naroki had a chance to live. She hopes he takes it.
Conversely, Goji was deeply offended. "Never surrender!" he shouted in an otherwise silent Colosseum, which earned him a rare punch from Sumitsu.
Naroki weighed his options: risk a continued battle against an opponent so vastly superior to him that the odds of victory were near zero, or honor this teaching moment and accept defeat.
The fact that his head was still on his shoulders was a testament to how much Satori was already holding back. He knew he should have died a thousand times before.
Then he remembered Sumitsu's plea.
He remembered his promise.
He dropped to his knees and bowed his head.
Kyou rang the ending bell. She somberly ascended the stairs and declared, "The winner, by honorable yield… Satori Yoshi of Tapferkeit.
Goji booed alone, but the overwhelming cheers from the rest of the audience drowned him out. Veteran spectators were awed by the unprecedented and unique nature of this bout.
Naroki stood and bowed at the waist toward Satori. Satori returns the bow, but not as lowly, acknowledging respect from her place of strength above him. Naroki then left the stage with his head held high.
Goji stomped petulantly to the stage. Never before had he felt so betrayed by the people he thought he knew the best. Naroki surrendered? And Sumitsu supported him? How could they? He could not rein in his temper over this absolute breach of trust.
He didn't acknowledge the cheers from the crowd when Kyou announced his entrance. He didn't play to the spectators. He didn't care. He was supposed to fight Naroki in the final. Now his perfect tournament story was ruined.
He was so focused on his emotional distress that he didn't hear Daraku's name announced, he didn't smell the smoke rising off the werewolf in broad daylight, nor did he hear the starting bell. He was snapped out of his internal rage when he got punched in the gut by the werewolf towering over him, smoke billowing off him like he was on fire.
"Ooof," he doubled over. Now he was more than mad. He looked up, glared at the werewolf, then leaped fast, smashing the crown of his head into the wolf's nose.
Daraku staggered back to get his berring after that strike. He shook his head to rid himself of the stars whirling around his vision. A deep gutural snarl shook the stage.
Amashi laughed out loud, annoying everyone around her. She didn't care. Daraku got his nose bonked, and it was the funniest thing she had ever seen.
Goji didn't hold back. He charged Daraku with whirling double scorpion kicks, followed by gripping the werewolf by the ears and headbutting his nose again.
Blood trickled from Daraku's nose. He smelled his own blood. His eyes shifted from the yellow of a wolf to the red of blood rage. He grew in size. He gripped Goji by the head, enclosing it in his massive palm. Then he punched the ground with Goji's head in his fist. Twice. Three times. Then he cast the boy away, thinking he had knocked him out.
Goji wasn't down or out. And he would not be cast away. He latched onto two of Daraku's massive fingers with both hands. The velocity of Daraku's throw was used against him. Goji's momentum and grip dislocated the werewolf's fingers. Then he redirected his momentum against Daraku's ribs, sending him flying.
Daraku's claws dug trails into the stone floor of the stage as he stopped himself from going out of bounds. His red eyes shone with feral ferocity. He stood up. He tilted his head to pop his neck. His nose stopped bleeding. His fingers healed themselves.
Goji was unafraid, but slightly awestruck at Daraku's regeneration ability. "Dude! That's awesome. Sorry, I was in such a bad mood. I promised I would make this fight something fun, didn't I?"
"I'm not here for fun," Daraku growled.
"Your loss," Goji shrugged, then charged.
Daraku's razor-sharp claws sliced through the air around Goji, but the boy was too quick on his feet. Even with all the bandages he had accumulated during the Tournament, Goji was a force to be reckoned with.
The martial prowess on display drove the spectators wild. This was a show. There were no intellectual elements or deep strategies. This was a brawl between powerhouses, a battle of attrition. Who would win? It was anybody's guess.
Naroki and Sumitsu sat in silence. They breathed a collective sigh of relief when Goji stopped his angry, aggressive pouting and began to fight in earnest. Sumitsu mindlessly put a hand on Naroki's forearm, reassuring herself he was real, alive, and right here next to her.
Goji slipped.
Daraku took his chance. He dove for the boy. His teeth sank into the same shoulder that the ninja's kama had wounded the day before.
Goji cried out in agony. Blood flowed from the bite wound. His arm hung limply beside him. With his other arm, he punched Daraku in the eye repeatedly. Then he jabbed with two fingers using the technique and force Jitsuno had taught him to break wooden blocks.
Daraku cried out in pain and dropped Goji. He took a few steps back and regenerated the eye he had just lost. With Goji prone on the ground, bleeding, victory was in his grasp. He lunged.
With the last ounce of his strength, Goji curled his knees up to his chest and kicked Daraku's chest, vaulting the werewolf over his own prone body and out of the ring.
The bell rang as Daraku's body hit the sand outside the stage. Kyou announced Goji as the winner. Daraku boiled with rage and humiliation. He was warned that Goji fought like a gremlin, but nothing prepared him for this. He could swear that he felt the fates conspiring against him.
He marched off through his porthole and into the shade where he could stop being on fire.
Amashi laughed and laughed and danced all around, shouting sing-songy taunts and insults at Daraku and mocking his loss. She was asked to leave the Avatar's Skybox and did so without any resistance. She came for what she wanted to see.
Goji lay in bed, his body bandaged and bruised. The adrenaline had left his body long ago, and the consequences of his actions remained. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. It hurt to think.
Beside him, in silence, sat Sumitsu and Naroki. They both wanted to talk to him, to assure him everything was okay. They wanted a chance to make things right. They needed Goji to understand that Naroki's yielding to Satori was a wise decision.
But Goji was not in a condition to hear them, to think, to understand. He was blissfully zoned out and let his friends hold his hands. This carried on into the night.
Meanwhile, a fully regenerated Daraku fumed. His training room dummies had been thrashed. Metal weights for strength training were bent out of shape. Satori watched him passively, letting the werewolf destroy his things to help him vent his frustrations. She recognized the need to reassert control of one's domain through destruction and waited until he was ready to speak.
"On the morrow, I will face Goji in the ring," she stated the fact dispassionately. "I will defeat him, and in so doing, you will be relegated to fourth place."
"I don't care about placement," Daraku spoke with a low growl, despite returning to his human form. "All I want is to see you send his head flying."