Chapter 1964

Chapter 1964

Her body had shaped the stone beneath her into a more comfortable arrangement, but her heart ached as she lay there. In a very concrete way, Azriel hated the tournament island. No matter where she was, if she ever looked up, that dead spot hovered above her. Once she had seen it, it was impossible not to have that disfigurement become the resting place of her gaze.

Yet even with its continued presence, no one, least of all Randidly Ghosthound, seemed to want to acknowledge it. Which was why Azriel took up the mantle.

For the first time in her life, she found herself conflicted. She pushed herself up out of the cracked ground of the training area; the squabbling Tatiana and Alana had long since left the area and left her in peace. Azriel looked down at her bloody knuckles. She wrenched her knee to pop the joint back into place and simply breathed for a bit. She kept her eyes closed, so she didn’t have to look up at the sky. After her body had taken a few minutes to heal, she shakily got to her feet.

She found the shattered remnants of her spear scattered across the far side of the sparring area. The pieces glittered in the buzzing lights of the arena. She pulled another cheaply made weapon from her interspatial ring and gripped it, grounding herself in the physical sensation of her hand tightening around the weapon.

“It was not supposed to be like this,” Azriel muttered to herself. Some of the crimson light in her eyes dimmed. “At this rate, all of my suffering will have been for nothing. That emptiness will remain there...”

Her spine straightened at that comment. It was an unacceptable outcome. She was Azriel Blanche, and she would accomplish her goal, no matter the cost. She settled into a combat stance and began to slowly move through training forms. For now she ignored her doubts, instead focusing on the concrete.

Yet even if her body was busy, her mind drifted back.

Azriel acknowledged that her upbringing on Tellus was unusual. In retrospect, she had been created to be the perfect receptacle for the abilities of another. Her natural talent and inclination to adjust to counter an opponent meant that it was very easy to use superior combat techniques to guide her growth in predictable directions. She had been exemplary at adapting and growing. Her pride had been planted in that garden and beautifully flowered for her entire life.

And now-

“Now they are so far beyond me.” Azriel paused in her forms and looked at her hands. Her joints ached and her muscles felt like they had been mixed with hardening concrete. Blood still stained her knuckles and huddled underneath her nails. She paused and limped to the wash facilities, to clean up a bit.

Several years ago, she had chosen a Path to power that didn’t involve violence. Her spear had been hung up on the wall. She then immersed herself in the life of a betrothed to the heir of the Armgrast Empire. The transition had been marginally fraught; It continually irked her that so many saw in her not herself, but a reflection of the man she would marry. However, Azriel was confident that she could change that outlook soon.

She was both right and wrong. Some cutting political and social moves had made the entirety of the Armgrast Empire and the entire world tread casually around her. Some no longer dared meet her gaze. Yet Azriel couldn’t help but notice that it was the framing that changed; they never looked at her directly. She never stood on her own legs. She simply became the gorgeous, ruthless new arm of Armgrast.

An enemy to be feared, part of a vicious family.

She couldn’t deny that part of the reason she had followed this impulse to turn her attention to Randidly was the impending arrival of her marriage date. Somehow, the problems emerging in his image seemed easier to grapple with than her own.

But using more than one is premised on the fact I would lose. Azriel’s eyes blazed crimson. And from now on, I will not lose. I cannot fail.

Her nerves hummed with tension as she walked out the thin tunnel and onto the arena. She stood with her head raised, even in the face of the thick smog of shouts and cheers the crowd rolled against her.

But Azriel was completely taken by surprise by the surge in the air she felt as Alana Donal appeared. The woman walked calmly but appeared to drag all the noise and exultation of the crowd around her. Her armored form seemed to warp the spread of sound, creating dangerous ridges in existence that had every noise slushing down to surround her. And as she arrived-

The air hummed with pressure. Azriel’s pupils dilated. Even after her time in the Dungeon, she felt that fear surge back, with double its previous force.

What if she wasn’t enough?

Azriel turned away from the approaching form of Alana Donal and scanned the crowd to distract herself. When, coincidentally, her gaze landed on a furred visage sitting in the stand and staring straight at her, she briefly froze. Then she frowned at him.

The Prince of the Armgrast Empire raised an eyebrow at the display. Very quickly, Azriel flashed several hand signs toward him. This is my business. There is no need for you to be here.

The prince looked at her with none of his usual pride. Instead, he was just a man covered in fur, with the head of a lion. Yet that man smirked at her words, not even bothering to send back any hand signs.

Azriel’s hands blurred. I don’t need you to support me-

Finally, the prince raised his hands. You’ve never needed me, this I know. But I also know that even if you don’t need me, I will be here. Because I want to be a part of your life. I want to be your family.

Azriel felt relief and frustration swirling each other in her chest. But she had to push those to the side as Alana finally arrived opposite her. Azriel’s fierce pride compelled her to pivot around and glare fiercely at Alana. In front of her betrothed, she refused to back down.

Alana tilted her head to the side. Her words were filled with genuine curiosity. “Are your preparations going to be enough?”

“They will have to be,” Azriel responded. Alana chuckled coldly and raised her spear. Azriel produced one of the thin needles she had generated and spun it in the air. The deadly tips glittered in the air.

The Ghosthound watched them both, his gaze heavy. “Let the round of sixteen... begin.”