The grand ballroom, once a place of forced elegance and hypocrisy, erupted into a chaotic battlefield the moment Moya gave the signal. Loyalists who had been hiding among the guests cast off their disguises, drawing concealed blades and shouting, "For the Sun-Steel! For the Fallen King!"
But the air in the room changed instantly when Doka stood up from his seat beside the throne. A wave of bone-chilling cold swept through the hall. It wasn't the cold of winter; it was the aura of a man who had long ago discarded his humanity. Compared to Tholac, the previous tournament champion, Doka felt like a god of death. His presence was suffocating, a dark mountain of Atara that made even the bravest rebels freeze in their tracks.
Before anyone could blink, Doka moved. He didn't run; he vanished and reappeared in a blur of black smoke. In a single, fluid motion, ten rebel soldiers were decapitated before they could even scream. He stood among the falling bodies, his raven hair messy and his scarred face twisted into a look of bored contempt.
"You ants actually thought you could challenge me?" Doka's voice was a low, raspy growl.
Luke, unable to contain the surge of adrenaline and protective instinct, let out a roar. His transformation into a High Human was instantaneous. His hair turned as white as starlight, and his skin took on a pale, porcelain glow. He focused all his wind energy into his blade, the air around him swirling into a violent vortex.
"Wind Blade: Hurricane Strike!" Luke roared, launching himself at Doka like a silver lightning bolt.
Doka didn't flinch. He drew a heavy, black-metaled katana, parrying Luke's strike with a single hand. "Little boy, are you playing house? This pathetic breeze won't even scratch my armor."
Doka's blade suddenly crackled with violet electricity. "I am a master of Circulation, just like you. But I've spent twenty years perfecting the art of destruction."
With a brutal swing, Doka unleashed a wave of lightning-infused energy. The shockwave shattered the marble floor and tore through the stone walls, sending debris flying in every direction. Luke was launched backward, crashing through a stained-glass window and out into the open night air.
Being a High Human, Luke used his wind affinity to stabilize himself mid-air. He hovered above the palace gardens, his breathing heavy but his eyes burning with resolve. He focused his Atara into his legs and the tip of his sword, shaping the wind into a piercing needle.
"Air Lance: Sonic Piercer!"
He dived from the sky, moving at a speed that broke the sound barrier. To the onlookers, he was nothing but a streak of white light heading straight for Doka's throat. Doka's eyes narrowed. "Slow. Too slow."
Doka channeled his Special Rank Lightning Magic. The sky outside, which had been clear moments ago, suddenly filled with blackened storm clouds. Thunder shook the very foundations of the palace. As Luke reached him, Doka swung his sword upward. A massive bolt of lightning descended from the heavens, striking Doka's blade and amplifying his swing a thousandfold.
The collision was cataclysmic. The entire upper floor of the Moka Palace was torn asunder, the roof dissolving into splinters and ash. Luke was caught in the center of the electrical discharge. He fell from the air, his transformation fading as he hit the ground, unconscious and smoking from the burns.
While Doka was distracted by the duel with Luke, Moya and I seized the opportunity. We slipped through the shadows, reaching the throne where Prince Auther sat in a drug-induced stupor.
Moya pulled out the Rainbow Balira flower, crushing its petals into a vial of water. "Forgive me, Your Highness," Moya whispered, forcing the liquid down Auther's throat. Within seconds, the glassy film over the Prince's eyes began to shatter. A low groan escaped his lips as the 'Hector' toxin was purged from his system.
As I watched Auther wake up, I looked at Doka standing amidst the ruins of the ballroom. He looked like a demon, but in his eyes, I saw a flick of something else—a deep, ancient pain.
The Echo of 30 Years Past: The Boy of Moka
Thirty years ago, long before the 'Black Tiger' became a nightmare, the Mario Kingdom was under the rule of King Selena M. Zylet, Alaric's older brother. Zylet was a tyrant who cared only for his own glory. Under his reign, the capital of Moka was a city of ghosts and starving laborers.
In the slums of Moka lived a ten-year-old boy named Doka and his father, Doya. They lived in a shack made of rotting wood, their only solace being each other. Doka's mother had died years prior, unable to afford the simplest medicine for a common fever.
Doya was a day laborer, spending 30 hours a day hauling heavy crates of Vanti fruit at the market. One evening, Doya collapsed from exhaustion while loading a merchant's cart. The merchant, a fat man draped in silks, looked down at the trembling man with disgust.
"You're slow today, Doya," the merchant sneered. "I'm docking 20 Riya from your pay. Here is 80. Take it or leave it."
"Please, master!" Doya begged, his forehead touching the dusty ground. "My son hasn't eaten in two days. 100 Riya is the bare minimum for bread and taxes. Please!"
"Not my problem," the merchant replied, turning his back.
Doya returned home that night with a single loaf of bread and a few bruised fruits. Doka's eyes lit up as he saw the food. "Is this for me, Father?"
"It's all for you, my son," Doya said, his voice cracking. He watched his son eat with a hollow stomach, his mind filled with dread. Tomorrow was the first of the month—Tax Day. King Zylet had decreed that every household must pay 1000 Riya, regardless of income.
The next morning, the Royal Tax Collectors arrived, led by Zylet himself on a white stallion. They moved through the slums like a plague. When they reached Doya's shack, the man had nothing to give but his life.
"No tax? Then you are a thief of the crown," Zylet said coldly from his horse. With a casual wave of his hand, he signaled his guards. Doka watched from the shadows as his father was run through with a spear, his body tossed aside like trash.
In that moment, something inside Doka snapped. He didn't cry. He didn't scream. He looked at the King and the high-ranking nobles, realizing that in this world, Power was the only Truth. He realized that the 'law' was just a weapon used by the strong to crush the weak.
He spent the next fifteen years living as a thief, a murderer, and eventually a mercenary. At the age of 25, his ruthless efficiency and terrifying lightning affinity caught the eye of the Black Tiger King. He climbed the ranks not for gold, but to ensure that he would never be the man on the ground again. He would be the one holding the spear.
The Present: The Fallen Palace
Doka stood over the fallen Luke, his breathing steady. He turned his gaze toward us, seeing the awakened Prince Auther.
"So, you gave him the flower," Doka said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You think a 'sane' King will change anything? This kingdom was built on the blood of the poor. I'm just continuing the tradition."
I stepped forward, my Steel Gauntlets humming with Earth and Wind Atara. "You're not a revolutionary, Doka. You're just a victim who became exactly like the monster who killed your father."
Doka's eyes flashed with a momentary spark of fury before settling into a cold, murderous glare. "Talk is cheap, Slayer. Let's see if your ideals can survive my lightning."
Luke began to stir on the ground, his hand reaching for his sword. Rim and Mason took their positions behind me. The final battle for the heart of Mario was no longer about a throne—it was a clash between the cycle of hatred and the hope for a new dawn.