[Skell]
I… I'm going up against… Hyland?
Memories of Belza Hill flashed into my mind, and as if on cue, a ghost of torment gnawed at my side.
Whatever expression it forced on me, Hyland lapped up with a smile as eager as it was smug. I let it fall, and hardened myself. Inside, a part of me wanted to tell off the Commandant for pairing me up with the ex-Knight. Another wanted to press for a different opponent. Wasted words, I figured.
He would've been told of Hyland's attempt to kill me in the preliminaries, and Karthwyn almost certainly spied on us as Hyland led the charge to make me "forfeit" afterwards. Results that'd only benefit his ideal of a dark mage never becoming a Templar. What's more, I was sure he had a rebuttal to shut down any protest I could make.
At the end of the day, I'm playing his game. And while he's overseeing the board, my only option's to stick to the rules he stacks against me.
But this isn't the first time I've defied the odds.
"Then let's get this over with," I stated. "I've got a title to win."
"Do you now?" Hyland probably would've laughed if he wasn't so overcome with revulsion. "As if you possess the right to even kiss our Order's greaves."
"No less a right than you - ex-Templar," I growled.
"Enough - the both of you," interrupted Valérie. "Come. Receive your wards."
I did so, my eyes and Hyland's needling each other the entire time. Well, except for a moment. During the warding process, I glanced up at the Warden. I could've sworn I caught doubt in her eyes. Like this was a bad idea.
I blinked. And it was gone.
"Chromatic Ward!"
Verdant green magic flared to life over every illusory pore of my body. A sheathe over a sheathe. Both of which Hyland would peel off me, if I let him get the chance.
I took off for the western escalift, looking to Soleil as I passed her by, secretly hoping for a vote of confidence. To my surprise, I got one:
"Hey!" She cut a slanted grin and whispered. "Do the world a favor and kick his ass."
—————————————————————————————————
Whirring underfoot was the hexagonal escalift. A moment's wait, and the glowing platform dropped even further underground.
Faces of all kinds rose out of sight:
Karthwyn's exacting glare.
Soleil's spirited wink.
Ra'Kol's itching sneer.
Niles' unreadable, pinched expression.
And of course, Hyland's malignant scowl. But alongside his scorn was something more. Like… a new perspective?
Time didn't let me look deeper. And to be entirely honest, I didn't care. As I descended the cylindrical shaft, my mind fixed solely on the battle ahead.
He's stronger than me. Quicker and more skilled, too. But I've proved the gap's shrunk since Belza Hill - more than he could ever imagine. As I am now, I can at least keep up. But I'll need something more than staffplay to steal the win. Magic, then?
I sulked. Same as the Second Ordeal - there isn't a single shadow onstage to exploit. And Hand of Decay, well, I doubt Hyland's just gonna sit there and let me grab him. Especially since he's seen it before. Abyss, and that's not even mentioning his arts. This ward should save me from Radiant Arc, but that doesn't mean it won't still wreck the ward and lose me the match.
On every level, he's got the edge. But I won't just keel over. There's a way to win this, I know it. But what?
The enchanted platform slowed to a stop, slotting perfectly into a divot at one end of a hall lined in the same magical prisms that lit the rest of the facility. I winced at the closest light, let it sit with me, and moved on.
Sheer-white steps rose ahead, calling me to the arena. Seeing the stage from below was what really piled on the pressure. No more was I an onlooker. Now I was the main event.
I stilled uneasy bones. Pull yourself together, Skell. What's there to fear? A glory-hounding bully that play-acts a hero? No, he's not even a Templar anymore. He's the same as you. An applicant. An enemy. A hurdle. He didn't stop you from reaching closer to life before.
And he won't stop you now!
Energy surged through me from Shroud and attitude both. I flew up the stairs like I'd grown wings. Hyland already awaited me on the other end of the stage. Confidence lifted his features. Just like they lifted mine.
"You cannot comprehend how much I've craved this opportunity," he cracked his neck. "No distractions. Nowhere to run. No blasted children to get in my way."
"Speak of him again and I'll break you, Hyland."
"The match will begin in three!" Karthwyn called.
Hyland unsheathed his sabre, extending it sidelong under narrowed eyes. "Typical. Posturing and pretending to the very end."
"Two."
I did the same with my staff, wringing it like it was his neck. "You don't know anything about me."
"One."
"I know everything about you."
"Commence!"
Waiting and watching was my usual M.O. Not this time. Animosity spurred me just as it spurred Hyland. In his eyes I spotted buried disgrace. Losing his position. Being looked down on by the citizens he once lorded over. Bed-ridden by a country bumpkin and the weakest species of the undead he hunted for glory.
And that's just the start!
Sabre and staff clashed in the middle - eyes inches from the other. Hyland pivoted and put more weight behind his weapon, breaking off the clinch and jumping and twisting into a kick.
I barely blocked it in time. The force barreled me onto my back and I pushed off the tiles just to find his sabre flashing for my eyes.
A deflection. Another. Whorls and spins beat away a series of methodical swipes that escalated into a crescendo of aggression. Sparks shot between us as I slipped fingers to the staff's middle to swing both ends with near-double the speed.
He still outpaced me. Our breakneck rush of blocks and counters left an opening his blade snuck through to graze my waist. I grimaced and backstepped. He pursued.
Teeth grinded like steel as I withdrew past tile after tile. Sabre slashes were diverted just inches from my ward, but I almost scored on him a few good times too.
A shame that might not have mattered.
I glanced back from our frenetic struggle for a split-second. Only so many tiles stood between me and the stage's edge. Hyland was unrelenting; I wouldn't be able to slip away.
The gap shrunk to just a few feet behind me. The smallest smirk crept at Hyland's fierce expression as I dawned over the edge.
Then I pulled it out of my back pocket and shut my eyes.
"Agh!" Hyland cried.
I ducked under his blinded slash, a much wider, almost nostalgic smirk slashing across my face.
Normally I shouldn't have been able to slip away. And his ward made for a near-impenetrable barrier. But a sudden flash from the magical prism I nicked from the stage's hall - brightened immensely by Selem's Domain - could still shine through.
While he flinched away from the harsh light tossed at his eyes, I rushed past and battered him square in the spine. Freely hitting Hyland was priceless enough. But that was only step two of the plan.
Steps three, four, and five came as Hyland stumbled involuntarily toward the stage's edge.
The ex-Templar scrambled to stop himself to no effect. He teetered over the rim. Locked eyes with the grass below.
Then his sabre dug into the stage.
My smirk fell.
Using the planted weapon as a tool of leverage, Hyland's arm fought to wrest himself back from the fall of shame. I lunged forward and thrust my staff to knock him off.
Too late. He spun and knocked away the butt of my weapon. By the time I recovered, he'd found solid ground, leapt high overhead, and reversed our positions.
But he didn't press the attack. Something greater drew his attention.
"Applicant!" roared Karthwyn from his lofty perch. "Vandalizing Order property? Throwing smuggled objects in a desperate bid to attain victory? Tainting an honest bout with your trickery? I am compelled to disqualify you this instant!"
Of course, I wouldn't have chosen this plan if I didn't expect and prepare for Karthwyn's inevitable whining. I opened my mouth to argue.
Hyland beat me to the punch.
"With all due respect, Commandant Karthwyn," he lowered his sabre, shifting his yellow-green ward - same color as mine, "no part of the outlined rules states that one cannot make use of outside objects within a match."
Merriline and even Valérie sent side-eyed glances at the Commandant, whose own ireful gaze flicked to Hyland.
…What is he doing?
"As well," he continued in a tone of practiced, if feigned, obedience, "I'm certain Skell meant not to deface this fine facility. Only to win at all costs. Like the rest of us."
The network of deep wrinkles on Karthwyn's face grew even deeper. "…No part of my rules state that one cannot utilize outside objects? Then the rules are amended: from this point on, any who bring to the stage anything aside from permitted weaponry shall be disqualified immediately." His stared targeted me once again. "Have I made myself clear?"
"As a prism." I shot away from the Commandant, booting his precious "stolen property" along the tiles and offstage. He wasn't worth the attention then, anyway.
Hyland was.
"…What's your angle?" my glare narrowed. "This some sorta pride thing? Don't want a ruling to steal your thunder?"
He backed off, voice quieting to a pitch too low for the others above to hear. "Pride is my right to bear over you, undead. I won't sully it by allowing superiors and stage rules to take you away. Not again."
I followed cautiously, taking back ground like breadcrumbs leading to the stage's center. So he didn't actually intend to knock me offstage? Urgh, small comfort. Neither that or his defense of me could ever come from the "kindness" of his rotten heart.
"However… that isn't the whole of it," Hyland's words carried an uncharacteristic hesitation. "Truthfully, some errant fraction of my psyche wishes to allow you a fighting chance. For you to manifest one of your typical miracles… and become a Templar."
My guard didn't drop. But my jaw nearly did. "You… what?"
"Don't fool yourself, undead," his whispers turned acidic. "I don't speak out of some sense of absolution. To parade your unveiled, light-ravaged form to the nation would be my greatest pleasure. But I've come to realize… in Belza Hill, I thought too small. Uncovering you and rewriting our understanding of sentient undead, it would've thrust me out of that dead-end post and into the history books. But just as a name. An impetus to knowledge that would likely be forgotten in under a century. Uncovering an undead that has infiltrated the Sacred Ordeals, like I planned a couple days prior? Far greater of an accolade."
"And one you'll never achieve," I taunted.
"Of course. Why settle for less?"
What?
Ambition flared in his eyes. "Even you must be aware of how monumental it would be - how swiftly Lumerit would be flipped on its head - if it is discovered that an undead bested the Ordeals and was bequeathed the mantle of Templar - holy guardian of the nation… only to then be cut down and caught by one Hyland Peredur."
I squinted at the man, grasping for words. "You're… you've lost it, Hyland. I'm not some… investment you get to profit off of."
"Wrong. Your existence has always and forever will be nothing more than my ticket to everlasting greatness. All those times you've slithered through my fingers? Fate's way of compounding my ultimate reward."
"Fate? What a load of crap. But sure, I'll play along. You want me to pass the Final Ordeal so badly?" I shooed him away. "Walk yourself offstage."
Hyland scoffed. "And harm my own chances at rejoining the Order? No. A fighting chance at a duel is a far cry from forfeiture. If there is one merit of yours I can admit to," his expression turned sour, "it is your cunning. Something that may avail you in future matches."
I readied my staff in the scant shadows underfoot. "And this one?"
His sabre glinted in the overhead radiance. So did his smirk.
Brilliant chandeliers oversaw our renewed assaults, sweat-drenched reflections dancing on the surface of clashing weapons.
Tireless sweeps forced Hyland outside his sabre's range. One strike missed and shattered a tile. He rushed into the next and let it clang against his blade as he approached me. A quick shift of his fingers and he bashed me in the face with the pommel.
I backed off but he kept in perfect step. In close-quarters I feinted. He saw through it in moments and blurred past my guard, his blade shearing fragments of light off my ward. Moments moved too fast to assess damage; I had to keep moving.
He hacked at my neck and I ducked. I lunged for his chest and he rolled aside. We twirled and flickered and analyzed every angle of attack and gauged if they were real or decoy and fought like our bones were aflame. He slashed my arm and I cracked his chin like a whip. We drove close and pushed apart and only then…
Did I realize I was losing.
Orange, I grimaced at my ward, then looked to Hyland's. Yellow. Shade, that's all I've amounted to?
I need a different approach. Can I tire him? No… not enough to take the advantage. If we were elsewhere I could exploit my surroundings, but this flat stage?
"Considering your next deception?" Hyland kept his lordly expression even as he panted. "Too slow!"
Suddenly Hyland's sabre shot skyward. And old tremors were reborn in my side.
Shade! I gave him too much distance!
Ruthless light consumed the ex-Knight's sabre, casting his face in the darkest shine.
I almost rushed him. He'd fire before I could stop him. My eyes darted around. There was nothing to take refuge behind. Dodging, then? Fast as I'd gotten since Belza Hill, I still remember how quickly Hyland's art blazed through the sky. And with clear eyes this time, I doubted he would miss.
That left only one option.
"Radiant Arc!" he roared.
Hyland carved into the air like he meant to slay wind itself. Golden light formed in that same razor-thin shape and blasted toward me in an instant.
Harsh rays beat at my eyes; it was already here. I set my feet. Drew hands to both ends of my staff.
And roared right back.
Light crashed against the center of my staff with the weight of a charging rhino. Not an ounce of force diminished at the collision. It only seemed to grow stronger, hungrier even, by the second. Like it fought just as desperately to eat through my staff, ward, and me.
Though it seemed I put my rounds in the right place. Radiant Arc could cleave through stone, but it couldn't dent my staff. Instead there was a different problem.
Force diverted elsewhere: into my arms and wrists. The staff jostled vigorously in my quivering grip and threatened to fly away and leave me undefended. Legs bent under me as the light art forced my boots to slide back past tile after tile. Had I let up on my grip even an inch, it'd be over.
So I called upon every grain of power inside my mind, and endured. The soles of my boots quit grinding against the stage. My body solidified. Eyes knit shut and teeth grit tight. An eternity started and ended and started again as the struggle blacked out everything else. And just when I thought I'd hit my breaking point?
Radiant Arc died out.
I opened my eyes. Golden particles floated skyward.
Relief almost warmed my bones. 'Til I realized Hyland wasn't behind the light.
And an arm wrapped around my throat.
"H-hey!" I rushed to swing behind me. A hand snatched to my wrist first and held it in place. I shot back to see Hyland's ward pressed against mine, the ex-Templar locking me in a grapple.
Two empty hands!? I struggled. Where's his-
"Hallowed Ground!"
A flash erupted in the corner of my eye. Planted close behind us was Hyland's sabre. Around where it pierced the stage, a disc of ominous light shined.
Waiting for me.
Hyland yanked me closer to the disc. I dug my heels and fought against his grip. That made him struggle. But he was still stronger. And every inch I was dragged, the closer defeat came.
I elbowed him. Both our wards sparked and took damage. I cursed.
Then I realized.
"Hand of De-"
Fingers clasped around my lips from the arm around my neck. The incantation muffled into an airtight hand and died on my lips.
Another tile further and I'd be bathed in the annihilating light of Hallowed Ground. All my desperate exertion wouldn't save me. Sweat shot down the curves of my face as I looked to my staff-hand, held tight. Then to my empty off-hand.
I twisted to bring my off-hand just under the other. Fingers in my staff-hand opened up.
Dropping my staff into the ready fist he hadn't grappled.
No time was wasted. My arm rounded back and Hyland's temple ate the full brunt of a staff jab. Force knocked his head aside and before he could adjust I'd struck him again and again and again and-
My arm stopped. So did my staff. The hand that wrapped around my mouth snapped to stop my weapon - Hyland glaring down at me.
Big mistake.
"Hand of Decay!"
Necrotic energy sparked green in my palm, and my palm thrust into Hyland. His ward immediately shrieked. Shivering noise like that of knives scraping glass filled the arena and beyond at the reaction of energies.
Hyland cursed and hastily threw a boot into my legs. I stumbled and he capitalized on the moment to hurl me into Hallowed Ground.
My chin hit the floor and it was like plunging into a white sun. Panic exploded inside me and I scuttled out as fast as possible - light clinging and pooling off my form like oil. Crouched, I shot around to find Hyland - ward an orange-red. A shade lighter than my deep crimson.
He unearthed his blade with a pant, before finally resolving to a beleaguered chuckle. "Well done, undead," he whispered. "Though I cannot decide if such praise tastes like acid or honey on my tongue."
"Shut up!" I still held onto my staff with a hand - the other gurgling with magical rot. "Quit pretending like I'm your pawn. Like I'm anyone's pawn.
He didn't reply, but his smile turned expectant. The look surged hot lightning through my bones. Not just because of his damn arrogance.
But because I'd seen that same look one time too many.
I charged at his expectant mug. And for a final time we engaged.
Staff came down first and crashed upon his weapon. Hand of Decay flew under for his face - ready to wipe off that smile.
The ex-Templar slanted his sabre and let my staff fly down its curved length - right into the path of Hand of Decay. I pulled back - not wanting to decay my own weapon. But behind both came a flick of Hyland's blade. My position was terrible for a block. I had no other choice but to bend back as the blade flashed over my eyes.
Or at least, that's what I figured would happen. A sabre never came. Instead as I bent away, Hyland leapt into the air. Right over me.
Blotting out the chandeliers above, Hyland came down - sabre thrusted. Directly onto my chest. His weight crashed me to the ground.
And that was it.
When I opened my eyes, the chromatic shield that enveloped my glamour was gone. The very point of a sabre hung where it once was: a millimeter from my neck.
Above, Valérie and Merriline poised. With the ward gone and Hyland crouched over me, I could be killed in one easy coup-de-grace. True death wouldn't just end me, but the glamour that disguised me too. The sole, perfect piece of evidence to my identity as an undead. And who knew if Hand of Decay would eat through Hyland's ward fast enough to stop him?
But the ex-Templar just stared into my eyes. Like he looked directly at the unmasked skeleton from Belza Hill. I shivered and scowled. He smirked. Then rose.
"Don't look so tense," he turned away and spoke at normal volume, smile glinting in the light above. "I've already won."
"And the victor is Hyland," announced Karthwyn, "by the shattering of his opponent's ward!"
Urgh… Shade. I shifted onto a side, watching the ex-Knight stride away like life couldn't be sweeter. Above, numerous stares beat down on me. Catharsis, relief, and restrained delight at my loss - Ra'Kol, Ormine, and Karthwyn respectively, alongside others. I could brush those off. What I felt about myself, though?
…That wasn't so easy to ignore.
—————————————————————————————————
Enchanted whirring came to an end. I'd risen to the upper chamber with the others. I didn't care to check faces or who'd been called next. I just quietly took my place at the railing. Though of course, I wasn't actually there.
I was worlds away.
…One. One slip up - one safety net, and I ripped it. Then I've really got no other choice. I don't win my next two matches, and it's over. All this effort? Wasted. I'll fall pathetically short, and knowing Karthwyn, he'll ensure I never get to apply again.
Exactly according to his plan.
The urge to indent knuckles into the railing pulsed through me.
Just like Hyland and what he expects from me. I lose and I play into the hands of one; I somehow manage to win and I play into the hands of the other. And not just them. Undead. Pawn. Dark mage. An example. I'm something to everyone. Something to be used or hated or feared! Urgh - I'm gonna lose it! If one more person strikes my nerves…
"Coucou," Soleil pat my back. "Holdin' up decent?"
My eyes darted over. …Forgot she was here.
She slipped into her usual easy expression. "Forgot I was here?
"What? No. Just thinking is all."
"And lookin' awfully down too, for someone who's neck's still in the game."
"Easy for you to say. You've got room to fall. I fall… and it's straight into the Abyss."
Karthwyn announced a name just as I finished. Then another. Two applicants I didn't know or care about.
I shut my eyes and sighed. Or tried to, at least. A much louder yawn drowned out whatever breathless noise I could make.
"I'm bored," Soleil stretched, arms over head. "Hey, you a betting man?"
"…Guess you could say so," I gave her a curious look. "I make some big gamble every other day, come to think of it."
"Figured. You pulled some pretty chancy ones down on that stage; y'know, between all that whisperin' you and ol' stiff shoulders did."
She lingered on the point, making clear her interest, before moving right along. "But since we both like ourselves risky wagers, let's make one." Soleil glanced over to the stage as the two applicants descended below. "Or several."
Anxious as I was, I couldn't help but slacken a bit. Something about her made that almost too easy. "Y'know, if people knew you were drawing bets at the Ordeals of all places - the things they'd say…"
She shrugged. "Who cares? You in or not?"
There's seven more matches this round. Plenty of time between now and when I'm called into the limelight again.
"Can't think of a better way to kill time than some quality entertainment. You're on."
"Kill time? What about the part where everyone who hates you kicks the crap outta each other?"
I flashed a small smile. "That too."
—————————————————————————————————
"Jet Surge!"
An agile duck brought him under the the first rushing torrent. The second was blocked by a shield but blasted it aside. And the last struck dead-center of the applicant's chest.
Engulfed by water, the applicant could do nothing but gurgle as the art flung him offstage.
"And the victor is Ormine," announced Karthwyn, "by knocking her opponent out of the ring.
I shot Soleil the smuggest look I could, given the circumstances.
"Don't get too cocky," she laughed, then picked something out of her eye and flicked it away nonchalantly. "We're three and three. Tied. There's still another match to lose to yours truly."
"Sure - just keep telling yourself that."
Strange. Here's that nostalgic feeling again… Like this isn't the first time I've watched bloodsports with company. Though I figure it can't exactly be called a bloodsport with these wards.
Ormine and the man she beat rose up to our level and gathered back around the railing. The final match of the first round was here. However, the names weren't a surprise. We'd been keeping track of who fought onstage. And that only left-
"Niles," Karthwyn called. "Your opponent shall be Ryzza."
"On one side, a cute swordsman. On the other, a cute bookworm. Who do you hav-
"Niles," I said.
"…Thought long and hard about that one, huh?"
"Don't need to. I've fought alongside him before. He looks like a dunce. Acts like one too."
I looked over to Niles - now warded - bounding between leg and arm stretches atop the eastern escalift like he was readying for a swim.
"But I'll give him this: he's an ace with that blade."
Niles took a deep breath and let it flow through his veins. Ryzza across from him timidly tightened her bun, seeming even more overstrung than usual. The two couldn't be further apart. Though oddly, as the escalifts' humming descent started, I noticed another stark difference…
Ryzza didn't have a weapon.
—————————————————————————————————
First came Niles, zooming up the steps with the same gusto he had back in the Hardlight Arena. Headband wrapped tight. Expression confident. And his eyes only seemed slightly irritated from Selem's Domain.
Meanwhile, Ryzza crept quietly outside the hall leading to the stage, shuffling feet up the steps, arms cradled close.
I popped a shoulder that'd nagged me since my match with Hyland. "That's who your money's on? I'm shocked someone like her made it this far."
Soleil didn't respond. She just crossed her arms and watched on with amusement.
"Um…" Ryzza finally pulled herself atop the stage, holding hands meekly behind her. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" Niles rounded his shoulders in circles. "Why for? You haven't even smacked me yet?"
"W-well, you helped me in the preliminaries. Without that, and your, um… inspiration, I probably wouldn't be here. So, um, thank you, Niles. For that."
Niles' jaw hit the tile he stood on. "That was you!? Ah, it was such a rush, I never caught your face." He smiled and sent her a two-fingered wave. "Glad I could help, though!"
Ryzza's cheeks reddened. "Still… it's sad we have to fight. So… I'm sorry. P-please don't take any offense to it."
The swordsman laughed. "Of course not. I don't take anything personally."
"Enough needless small talk," Karthwyn interjected. "The match will begin in three.
"Don't hold back on me, okay?" Niles winked.
"Two."
"One."
"…Okay," Ryzza nodded.
"Commence!"
Nearly before the Commandant finished speaking, Niles charged towards the stage's other end. But Ryzza stood still. Too still.
Like she was concentrating…
By the time Niles reached the stage's center, I suddenly felt a whole lot colder.
"Glacial Armor!" Ryzza shouted.
Deep-blue ice appeared at the fingertips of her outstretched arm, crawling up them and past her wrist. Another second and her entire arm was coated. Then it spread to her chest and quickened as voraciously devouring her whole.
But as the process continued, I noticed the ice around her arm wasn't just as large as a gauntlet. It was larger. And growing. I looked back to find the ice creeping up her face. Ryzza took one last chilly breath - seemingly at a newfound peace - before being entirely encased. Yet the ice was still far from finished.
Bulky, long frozen legs lifted her torso high - an equally large chunk of ice closer to a wardrobe than a chest. Massive fingerless arms tightened around a lengthy halberd of sharpened ice. Crowning the armor jutted a spiked helmet, perfectly concealing what once was a meek girl. So well that I almost couldn't believe it was her. Ryzza stood over ten feet tall, and who knew how much she weighed. Worst of all, her Glacial Armor easily layered over her ward.
"W-wow…" Niles froze in his tracks, looking upon Ryzza in all her chilling glory. "You're really not pulling any punches, are you?"
He received no response, save for the pounding of frosted feet upon the stage as the colossus of ice lifted it's halberd skyward.
And came down with it like a frozen guillotine.