Chapter 1966

Chapter 1966

To be frank, Alana didn’t work up much of a sweat during her match Azriel. Yet still, she felt somewhat awkward as she moved out of the fighters’ portion of the stadium and went to the stands. People surged around her waving papers for her to sign and she wished that there was a competitors only viewing area.

Just when she had resigned herself to signing a few autographs, a wave of Nether settled heavily around her seat. The air crackled and buckled underneath the overwhelming pressure that descend from the Nether storm Randidly maintained. The people around her rapidly went white and then fled. A few couldn’t move, but luckily the effect had been designed with an outwardly swirling current, eventually carrying them away.

Alana offered Randidly a thumbs up, who rolled his eyes at her. Next to him, Tatiana shook her head ruefully, perhaps worrying about the public relationships aspect of his casual use of power to brush people away. Still, better for the Ghosthound to do it than Alana herself. And normally, Alana wouldn’t insist on sitting right here. But the next match was Wivanya.

The next match would determine who Alana would fight. The heat in her chest continued to build, the fight against Azriel had only fanned the flames. Waiting was agony. At least by watching, she would be briefly distracted.

What Alana hadn’t expected was for a still bloodied and disheveled Azriel stalked through the Ghosthound’s Nether pressure and plopped herself down next to Alana. A furred lion man came after her, clearly more uncomfortable in the pressure than either of the two women. Azriel gestured to him, almost as a way to break the silence. “You have not met my fiance. However, you shouldn’t have too much interaction in the future, so there is no need for further introduction. This is him.”

Alana rolled her eyes. If nothing else, she had to respect how direct this woman was. “I won’t be invited to the wedding?”

That seemed to genuinely throw Azriel. The lion-headed, and thus far unnamed, fiance took this opportunity to lean forward and elbow Azriel gently in the side. “See? I told you that you were mistaken that you had no one to invite to the wedding. Time is short, but let’s reexamine the guest list-”

Azriel wielded her elbow like an emphatic period, putting an end to the sentence. Then she turned back to Alana as though nothing had happened. “We do not have time to play around like this. There is something I wish to tell you. Specifically about challenging the Ghosthound.”

“Is there any rush? We need to get through all of today’s matches before we determine the group to challenge him. And I’m quite curious about your wedding.” Alana scratched her chin. “So tell me, is it going to be a large ceremony? Do you have your dress picked out yet? Does your hair just blend into a veil? You know, are you even inviting Randidly? I believe he’d definitely want to be there.”

The fiance held up a triumphant finger. “That’s exactly-”

He blocked this elbow from Azriel, but still pouted and fell silent. Azriel pushed her hair back behind her ears, causing her large eyes to appear even more intense than usual. “There is indeed time, but I want your answer now. I am hoping I can tutor you in the art of the Ghosthound’s image. As a member of the Pantheon, I have a bit more access to his abilities and habits. And I’ve noticed a distinct deficit in his... arrangement. Not that I think there is much chance of overcoming him, but I believe if you address this weakness directly, you will stand a slightly larger chance of inflicting damage.”

“Knowing you, you’ve done calculations. How much larger of a chance?” Alana asked curiously. The crowd’s excitement began to build around them: the two fighters were about to come out and take the stage.

“From about a single percent to 3.4%,” Azriel announced. “That is, that you force him to go all out. As far as I can tell, there is no way for eight people from the Alpha Cosmos to defeat Randidly Ghosthound. Even the entire Vulpis Squad would be defeated by him in a direct confrontation.

Alana didn’t bother to prevent her face from warping into a shark’s grin. That was honestly better than she had expected. The heat rose up her throat, dancing across her tongue.

Before the conversation could proceed further, Kimpap walked calmly out onto the stage. She offered small waves to the crowd, even as they surged and screamed for her attention. If Illdan from Tellus had captured the adoration of younger women with his model-esque looks, Kimpap’s cool demeanor and confidence had swayed the older generation to her side. All sexes seemed intoxicated by the sense of controlled capability that she exuded.

She was capability personified to a lot of the people of Expira. To Alana, she just looked like a smug version of Mrs. Hamilton.

Currently, Kimpap had risen to become the second favorite to win the tournament, behind only Alana. And Alana’s odds were much, much, much smaller, but the only reason that those amounts didn’t converge was that the two would fight in the next round against each other. One would inevitably knock out the other.

*****

The matches began to accelerate through the day, a rising tide of excitement that carried them all forward.

Randidly leaned back in his chair. “Let the next match... begin!”

Paolo and Mrs. Hamilton faced off against one another, leaving Randidly wondering which of the two would emerge victorious. For these matches, he tried not to look with his Grim Intuition, wanting to be surprised by the outcome. He shifted in his chair to a comfortable position and put his chin in his hand.

Mrs. Hamilton mobilized shadows and complex wires to hem in Paolo’s movements. Rapid attacks ripped open his skin and left him constantly wounded. Her image was one of sinister control and manipulation. However, opposite her was Paolo. Here, on a stage, with his image of a champion in front of the approving crowd, few could match him in terms of raw resonance.

Each drop of blood spilled only added to the oppressive significance of their confrontation.

Being here strengthened him. Each cheer brought him additional capability, which let him rip through an impediment and earn himself an even louder cheer. He methodically advanced, stoically enduring blows that Mrs. Hamilton reflected back at him and closing the distance between the two fighters.

It was actually in this final portion of the fight that Randidly wondered if he had been a mistake. The last-minute of the fight seemed almost choreographed, with the two exchanging flurries of blows at a close distance.

Mrs. Hamilton’s hands bit like snakes and scattered like flower petals in the wind when Paolo tried to counter-attack. She retreated with small steps, injecting venomous shadows into Paolo’s arms with each successful strike. Paolo’s speed finally began to slow. However, even if his speed went down, his physical Strength only increased. His steps became heavy and ponderous, but he never ceased advancing.

Mrs. Hamilton performed a complex combination of Skill and image to aim for a decisive strike, but he endured that too. After swaying briefly, he began to advance once more. Her abilities couldn’t overcome his intolerance of loss. Eventually, he pushed her to the edge of the arena; touching the ground wasn’t a disqualification in the actual tournament like it had been in the preliminaries, but the jump from arena to the ground would be a few seconds too long suspended in the air.

Mrs. Hamilton bowed her head and surrendered. The crowd cheered, but Randidly could sense they were disappointed they didn’t see some climactic finish. Meanwhile, Paolo laughed raucously and threw his swollen and clumsy arms around Mrs. Hamilton’s shoulders. With his sharp senses, Randidly could hear Paolo telling Mrs. Hamilton how worried he was about losing the match.

A kind liar, Randidly shook his head ruefully. A strong warrior, too.

Next came DiOrtho Vant and Charlotte Wick. Honestly, Randidly felt bad; not for these two, but for all the people who suffered silently in their corner of the bracket. Because of Raymund Ballast’s pride, it was always arranged that the two members of the Vulpis Squad would fight in this round. Only one would make it into the quarter-finals. And everyone else who had the bad luck to be there would be inevitably squeezed out.

To Randidly’s surprise, one did have a decisive advantage over the other, but it wasn’t who he expected: Charlotte Wick’s image still vaguely resembled Frankenstein in the way her original and the influence of Helen were stitched together, but her emotional affect was nearly perfect.

It might even be better than Randidly’s. When her images flared, they sung with the fabric of the world. The colors they manifested made the world seem cold and blade. The hopelessness of death and the endless, nearly ignorant optimism of life swirled together in a peculiar harmony.

DiOrtho Vant had higher Skills. His physical capabilities were higher. Even as a raw fighter, he was much more proficient.

However, that day, Charlotte Wick wanted it more.

She tore him down and raised her head at the sky in a victorious howl. When Randidly announced her victory, she held that pose for several seconds. Tears coursed down her face; Randidly wished he could tell her how proud Helen would have been.