[Skell]
Four hundred and twenty-eight applicants embarked on the Sacred Ordeals just a few short days back. Now? Ten of us still played the grim game. Five matches left. With the final round of the Final Ordeal looming… that number would just keep shrinking.
"Congratulations," Karthwyn announced without a shred of enthusiasm, "to those three who have obtained both required victories. You have been all but sworn in to my illustrious Order."
Soleil lazily picked wax out of her ear beside me; she was as thrilled as I'd come to expect.
"As for the rest," the Commandant continued, "a single battle erects the barrier before you. Surmount it and you shall join your brothers and sisters under the proud Templar insignia. Fall short, and relegate yourselves to a life of mundanity and insignificance."
Not happening. Itching fingers craved to get this over with. I'd go against the world and win, for this. For resurrection.
"However," Karthwyn's pale eyes turned to gloss over the half-darkened stage, "one order of business must be attended to before we commence. Initially, I found our fallen chandelier to be of little concern. I trusted the other would grant enough light."
What? What's he on about?
He continued. "I now understand that was folly. Variance in lighting may distract in the heat of combat, and in an environment bearing such lofty stakes, even seemingly small factors can deny one their deserved victory. "
No… He can't be serious…
Soleil's carefree look faded. Others watched in confusion. Or dawning interest.
"Thus," focus ran across the Commandant's aged features, "I will ensure that equity reigns supreme. Grand Glow!"
Gold shined through the slits between both his metallic gauntlets. Clasping them together, Karthwyn conjured an even greater light, then let the art fly like a released butterfly. It flittered like one too, rising to where the chandelier once hung - and flashed even brighter than the old fixture.
I couldn't believe my eyes. I really couldn't.
Darkness. My safety net. My most unpredictable weapon. My lifeline. Snuffed out in an instant under Karthwyn's harsh, exacting light.
"He's full of it…" I growled through clenched teeth, "Karthwyn doesn't care one bit about fairness - he just wants me gone. He's barely hiding it anymore."
The fire within me crackled hotter as I willingly fueled it with violent, terrible thoughts. How could I not? No matter what I did to break through the walls set before me, the Commandant just built taller, sturdier ones to block my path. Not again.
I knew it was stupid. I knew it'd solve nothing. But these days of hatred were boiling over, and on its own, my body stomped towards the Commandant.
A hand gripped my shoulder, stopping the death-march.
"Cool it, Skell," Soleil urged me quietly. "Ya lose it here and things'll only get worse."
"Worse than this?" my eyes snapped to hers. "Without darkness I can't use Shadow Form, and I can't just stride into the final round without my full abilities."
"I know. But ya don't get to be stupid, here. Best case scenario, you're booted out of the Citadel. Worst? You die in the Citadel. Your chance of passin' is higher than your chance of walkin' away from a tussle with a Commandant."
I chewed on her words. Then bit back a sigh. "Abyss… why can't you be wrong for once?"
"Same reason why water's always wet." She flashed me a reassuring grin. "Now, simmer down that hot head and get to usin' the brain inside it - you're not down n' out yet."
I shut my eyes. "Already on it."
Abyss, I was still pissed. But I had no real choice but to suck it up and work with what I did have. Luckily, that included more than one trump card.
Within the depths of my mind, I noted my remaining mana. Just over half still simmered in the pot. Meaning I had one more use of Hand of Decay, with a decent shake of mana left that could've went toward Shadow Form.
No, don't think about that. Focus on the battle ahead.
And I did, even as Karthwyn called the first match of the last round. Both applicants were nobodies to me. Intuition told me I wouldn't have gone anyway - neither would I go in the next match, or the one after. If the Commandant was gonna use my failure as proof that no dark mage should join the Order, he'd make it the final, most dramatic match of the entire Sacred Ordeals. What better evidence was there, after all, than that which made the loudest point?
Intuition also told me something else:
Just exactly who I'd be up against.
—————————————————————————————————
Match four was here: Yamui against a red-head man I didn't know.
The man conjured serpents of wind to slither by his side. Didn't matter. Yamui cut him down faster than the snakes could even flicker their white tongues.
I'd almost forgotten I'd beaten him - fearsome as he was. And now he was officially a Templar, though he somehow seemed even less thrilled than Soleil and Hyland. Cirian and Ryzza made up for the gloom when they won their matches, delighted to join two others to form seven succeeding applicants.
One spot was left among them, like a silhouette waiting to be filled in. A spot with my name on it.
Of course, I'm sure he thought the same thing.
Across the railing, Niles tapped his foot with tense, electrified impatience. A story swam deep in his grey eyes. I told myself to ignore it. Victory was so much bigger. If I was alive, I'd be drenched in sweat at the weight of the looming match. But it was looming no more. It was here.
"Skell…" Karthwyn laced my name with toxin, barely hiding his relish at my downfall. "Your next opponent shall be Niles."
A final icy tremor seized my bones. The guillotine officially locked into place; all that was left was the decision of whose head would lay on the chopping block.
"Do not disappoint," he added. "Either of you."
Stares from the few pairs of eyes left in the room picked at us both - all belonging to Templars, now. They fell down my shoulders as I shook them off and approached Warden Valérie. Niles met me by her side, fidgeting at the wrists of his gloves.
"Chromatic Ward," she incanted.
Green wards flared to life at the edge of our skin and clothes. With them, ambition thrust us toward our respective escalifts. As always, Soleil stood along my path. Her eye lifted mine when I walked past.
"Skell?" she nodded. "Ya know what to do."
I nodded back. "…I do."
My boots brought me to the whirring platform. Magical energies underneath me triggered for the last time and pulled me deeper into the earth. I closed my eyes.
I do, Soleil. I do.
—————————————————————————————————
Grand light beat at my brows as I climbed to the stage's peak. Niles stood across from me, under the neverending glow. He didn't bring the friendly smile from his last matches to this one.
Instead he stretched arms, shoulders, legs. He breathed steadily, voluntarily. Niles was working himself up.
That kinda thing was useless to a cold corpse. So I went mental. Recalled everything I learned - from humble fundamentals to advanced maneuvers - staff practice with Amara to personal magical training, my growing wealth of experience, and everything in-between. I could call Niles many things. But I'd have to include "strong" on the list. Meaning I'd need to leverage all I had in this fight… or I wouldn't stand a chance.
Not that Niles could ever let me stop and think for too long.
"…Before we go at it," he cracked every gloved knuckle he had, "tell me one thing: did you do it?"
"Do what?" I asked from across the stage. "What are you talking about?"
"That girl. From the First Ordeal. Did you-"
"Penelle? You really think I hurt her? I said all that so I could escape you and Ra'Kol."
His attention drifted aside, conflicted. "…You use dark magic. I don't know what else you're capable of. This isn't the first time you've lied, either. "
"Why would I do anything to her!? When she was the only one who…" I shook my head. "You don't deserve an explanation. You're just hopeless, Niles."
Bluffing in the First Ordeal didn't paint me as an honest soul, sure. And I knew some part of myself still wanted him - no, not just him - everyone to know I wasn't the dark demon they imagined in their heads. As much as I tried to ignore it, that desire to be understood by others… it never really went away.
But it could be buried. And I'd been given an Abyss' worth of material.
These people would never look at me like an equal. Karthwyn would never welcome me as a Templar. Hyland would never see me as anything approaching human. And Niles…
Not worth trying to understand. Take back your life. Anything else is secondary.
I drew my staff. "I'm done talking. We end this."
Loathing whetted his young features. Niles took up his shortsword, releasing it from the rustic scabbard at his side. "Gladly. Mate."
"The last match," announced the Commandant, "begins in three."
I pointed my staff in a downward stance - the end lurking within my lean shadow.
"Two.
Niles crouched and aimed his blade low - the metalwork skulking deep in his.
"One."
Resurrection… I'm coming.
"Commence!"
Blurred moments ushered us to center stage. Flashes under the glaring lights and faces. Details were lost as our stint in the Hardlight Arena came to mind. Our flawless teamwork. And… the battle between us that almost was.
Everything sharpened to a fine point when his blade darted for my eye.
A last-second deflection. The weapon bounced off my staff and went wheeling overhead - where Niles caught it and came down with a spinning strike.
Tiles blew apart by pure force. I'd shirked the carnage. Just for Niles to pounce out of the kicked-up dust like a tireless beast.
Breakneck slashes sparked against my weapon without a moment's rest. No technique. No deliberation. Only raw instinct surged through his blade. My guard raced to keep up.
One strike blazed toward my core. My hands just barely adjusted. My posture didn't.
Next I knew, I was airborne. Hard stone thud against my warded spine. Then something pulled at my ankle.
"Vine Cling!"
Chills scraped up my back as I suddenly dragged across tile after tile. Looking down the length of my body, I saw my trajectory - driving straight for the stage's edge.
No!
My chest shot upright; I jabbed my staff into the stage - right in front of the vine attached to my ankle. Obstructed, Niles couldn't pull me further, and before he could redirect me, I reached for the vine and tied it around the staff. I wasn't going anywhere.
One problem. I didn't think he'd toss aside that idea so quickly and sprint for me.
His blade shaved against the floor as it closed distance. I raced to my feet - realizing I was unarmed. Unearth that staff and I'd give him full control of my weapon. But how would I defend myself?
He swung for my neck before I thought up a solution.
Instincts pulled me back. The blade was quicker.
But it thunked against my planted staff.
That was my answer. I swayed to the other side like a pushed pendulum in time for his next attack to hit metal again. Slash and slash and slash again; all blocked by the motionless weapon I took refuge behind. He thrusted - I spun past. He rushed for me - I rotated away from his endless strikes. He grabbed the… staff, meaning to pull it from the ground and out of his way?
I latched a fist around the weapon to stop Niles from stealing it. But that's what he wanted: my hand, unprotected and exposed to his blade.
The swordsman reared back to cut my fingers. I couldn't let go, I couldn't keep holding on, and with the vine stuck fast to my ankle, I couldn't run. So I plucked the staff out of the ground. Niles' slash hit where my fingers used to be.
Cutting exactly where I'd tied his vine. The art snapped apart. I was free.
"Wha-" Niles' shock was cut short by a staff to the jaw.
Niles staggered back; I pressed the advantage. He whipped back first and swung into my hasty block.
Heels slid back against the stage from the pressure. Our eyes met.
"Good," a hint of a competitiveness peeked through his contempt. "I hoped you wouldn't be a pushover."
I tightened my eyes and stance. "…I'm not losing to you again."
"That's just it - the dark always loses! Searing Sword!"
Smog and red-hot heat bathed his blade. Then he belted past me, almost too fast for my eyes. I spun around and he was gone. Replaced by a rush of black smoke. Similar smoke dashed for the corner of my eye.
I ducked just in time to slip his sword. He doubled back to keep up the assault, driving blitzing blade after blitzing blade at me. Fumes obscured most of his weapon - making deflections twice as challenging. Narrow grazes sizzled against my ward as I fought off relentless red-black cleaves. My ward warmed yellower than his during the overwhelming frenzy. Not for a second did I spot a opening.
Something had to change. Fast. That change came to me in a stray glance. Above, smoke bundled overstage like stormy clouds, like in Niles' earlier matches. Even the hanging lights struggled to pierce their thick veil.
My eyes flicked back down to see Niles' blade ripping for my eyes. It was a big gamble. One I wouldn't hesitate to roll for.
"Shadow Form!"
His smoking sword sliced nothing. That must've been a real confusing moment for him. Second only to when I willed myself from the floor to ram him in the spine.
He tumbled into more thick smoke. When his upper body shot over it to fight back, I was gone again - leaving nothing behind but another incantation. "Come out, dark mage! Tricks aren't gonna beat m-"
I beat him across the face after rising into his blind spot.
Niles teetered back the same way his ward teetered between yellow and orange. Again I materialized opposite of where he looked. I reared back. A greedy smirk twisted my lips.
The edge of his blade cut the look off my face.
"Fool me twice!" he wheeled around.
By the time my eyes reopened, I realized he hadn't just slashed my ward. He'd attached a vine to it too. Close as we were, his next pull brought us into dangerously close quarters. Our weapons clinched. And thanks to his greater strength, they started to inch closer to my ward.
"Shadow Form!" I tried to incant. Tried and failed.
That's when I noticed the dying fumes clearing off his sword. Smoke thinned all around us too. And above.
He… I struggled. He deactivated it…!?
Our weapons hung an inch from my nose. Niles stood eye-crossingly close. I had no options.
So I spit in his eye.
Illusory spit, sure. But if breath and similar stuff could pass through wards, then a perfect replica of saliva should work too. Not that I gave things half as much thought in the moment.
Niles yelped back. By the time his eyes could reopen, I'd reversed our positions and wrapped a hand around his wrist.
An extended note of back-and-forth grunting formed the score of our struggle. Somewhere in the rush, his hand locked onto my wrist. Our clash devolved from a weapon clinch to a brawler's grapple. Hectic palms shoved against bodies. Eventually we pushed each other away.
I staggered off just as he did. But when my gaze flicked back to him, it felt like cold water to the face. In his gloves extended the shaft of a staff. A second dousing came when I looked down at my own hands.
Wh-why am I holding… a sword!?
Niles' was just as dumbfounded. "A staff!? I don't want this junk!"
"Junk!?" I scowled. "That's my treasure you're dirtying in your grubby hands!"
"And I'll only make it dirtier, too - until you gimme back my sword!"
"Are you crazy? Over my dead body!"
"Fine! Then kiss your staff goodbye!" Niles backed up to the stage's edge.
"Wait, what are you doing?"
"Weakening you!" he gestured like it all made total sense. "Without your little stick you'll be unarmed. That's why I'm going to chuck it offstage!"
"…But, then you'd be the only one who's unarmed?"
His hand - hanging over the edge with a tenuous grip on my staff - froze. "Oh. Oh yeah…"
A groan came from above. Soleil's. On second thought, I deserved it. Warriors probably dreamt of enemies who'd willingly ditch their weapon in the middle of combat. I went so far as to tighten his grip.
"You make a good point, dark mage," he continued as I resisted the urge to skewer myself. "Guess I'll hafta make do!" he brandished my staff in the same scrappy reverse-grip that he did his sword. Not that I could flaunt much more skill with the blade. I had barely a few days' practice with it, and those were the most unproductive days of my unlife.
Still, I've seen and scuffled with several swordfighters between now and then. I raised the blade. They won't mind if I nick a page from their books.
Niles closed the gap as I picked someone to imitate. As he swung the staff at my head, I propelled forward into a speeding slash.
Too slow; the staff clocked me square in the head first.
I backstepped. All right, not Yamui. But how about somebody a little closer to home?
The blade flipped backwards in my extended fist. A reverse-grip.
Shock shot across Niles' eyes.
From a crouch I sprang forward with my hasty boots a hair away from tripping over each other. Wild and breakless slashes were thrown at Niles' guard.
His range was difficult to deal with, but he didn't know how to make the most of it. I snuck my way up close and hacked at the center of the staff. It braced against his chest. I pushed hard - pressing him a few steps.
Though when he adjusted his hands to be more like how I held the staff, I found that I was the one being forced to fall back. One big push from Niles sent me stumbling off before I caught myself.
"Y'know," he tossed the staff and caught it in his orange-warded hands, "this thing isn't half bad. Makes defense awfully easy."
"Especially when you ape its wielder's fighting style," I accused with a pointed finger of the same color.
"You did the same thing! First it was Yamui, I'm sure of it. Then you copied me. And as an expert on Niles, lemme say this: it wasn't up to snuff."
I frowned. …Does he have a point? I'm imitating different styles, but I can't execute them like their owners do. But if that's the case… then maybe I shouldn't borrow other styles at all.
Whose strengths and weaknesses did I know better, than my own? If he came at me with my style, I'd counter with an evolved version. I just had to wait and watch…
The swordsman - or staffman, now - scanned me up and down. A spark glinted in his eyes. "Back to the classics, huh?"
I raised my guard. He's planning something. But what?
Last thing I expected was for him to whisper two words to himself. I still heard them, of course. But I couldn't figure what exactly they heralded.
"Briar Patch."
Niles formed a fist. The slightly bulging kind that implied more than just a pocket of air sat inside his palm. He stuck another hand's fingers into that fist.
Then something whizzed past me.
What was that?
Something else quickly flew by the other side of my head.
A… seed?
More flew around me, sinking into the stage. I was concerned. But should I have been? Nothing was happening. Nothing seemed to be about to happen.
So I kept poised, prepared for anything.
I never really expected that.
A storm of briars emerged from where the seeds delved underground. Sharp turns and curves expanded them upwards and inwards at shocking speed. Thorny wood rushed me from all sides. There wasn't time for thought. Only instinct. The instinct to raise arms and shut eyes.
A few seconds passed before I gathered the courage to open them. Not seeing much but the back of my arms, I moved to drop my shoulders for a better view.
I couldn't.
I craned my neck to look over my arms. What I saw injected terror throughout my entire skeleton.
Up to my chin extended roughly thirty feet of a thick system of bramble, weaving into a tangled web that trapped me and Niles' sword, stuck just ahead. Branches grew around every angle of my body. None of my joints had freedom to move. And if I struggled against my prison, I'd only get a gasp from my ward as thorns dug deep.
Beyond this wooden maze stood Niles, watching with a dung-eating grin. "Ryzza wouldn't have let me cast this, y'know. Neither would Hyland. But you? You've always been the wait-and-see type. That just lost you this match."
"Niles!" I shouted, trapped with an explosive anger and no way to use it. "What is this!?"
"…Your coffin." His smile faded into grim matter-of-factness. "This is over, mate."
He raised a fist. Just then did I notice he'd deactivated Vine Cling at some point during our struggle. Turns out that was only temporary.
"Vine Cling!"
That same vegetation laced up his sleeve and around his arm.
Something approaching regret downturned Niles' eyes. A look slowly overtaken by an air of necessity. The vine flew high. Then lashed down at me.
Hand of Decay wouldn't free me from so much bramble. There weren't wide enough shadows under the haphazard briars to dive inside with Shadow Form. And worst of all…
I couldn't move a bone.