When Det stepped out of the gate, he still had the smile on his face. The gatekeeper had still been a bit of a dick, but he couldn’t stop Det from bringing his gear with him. What gear was that? None of this Wordless equipment. Like he’d told Beauty, he didn’t want his win to be accredited to his gear instead of to him.
No, he had more of what he’d brought with him from Radiant. Holsters on each of his hips with three prepared scrolls in each. A bandoleer across his chest—with three more scrolls slotted in there—then his brushes and ink strapped to the small of his back. Also, since he knew he wasn’t jumping directly into a fight, he already had one scroll in each hand. No reason to limit his options when he was being given ample opportunity to prepare.
Except… he wasn’t exactly prepared for the welcome when his foot touched the arena sand for the first time. Unlike last time he’d been in the arena—for his introductory fight against Tena, when there’d only been two-hundred cadets in attendance—the arena seating was packed this time. There had to be tens-of-thousands of people present, and they went nuts at the competitors stepping out.
The cheers and stomping feet shook the stadium and came on like a deafening wave. That… uh… that wasn’t something anybody had warned Det about.
Not that it matters.
His second step was only delayed by a heartbeat before he continued toward the center of the arena.
Across from him, baby-face didn’t recover as quickly, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open at the roaring audience. His head swiveled like one of the Wordless marionettes from the Stage Fright dungeon on Radiant, wooden and jerky. He hadn’t come in prepared for the sheer number of people that’d be watching.
Det made it all the way to the middle where somebody he didn’t recognize waited, before baby-face seemed to realize he’d frozen. Mainly because his head scanned past where Det stood, waiting for him, and annoyance replaced the awed features. Like he suddenly had something to prove, he stomped across the arena until he got to a spot about forty feet away from Det.
“Surprised you didn’t chicken out,” baby-face said.
“Are you the ref or the judge or something?” Det asked the third man standing there.
“And the announcer,” the man said. “You can call me Projection.”
“I can guess what your magic is,” Det said with a nod. “In that case, if we all agree to it, can we add a new rule to the duel?”
“It can be considered,” Projection said, eyebrow going up in curiosity.
“Oh, trying to change the rules now so you can cheat?” baby-face accused.
Det ignored that.
“Can we make it so that yielding isn’t a lose condition?” Det said, now turning his gaze to baby-face.
“You want yielding taken off the table?” Projection clarified. “That would make the only way to win be by rendering your opponent unable to continue.”
“Exactly,” Det said. “A real fight.”
“Given the protective magics of the arena, it’s possible,” Projection said, turning his head to look at baby-face. “Cadet Aarak, do you agree to this request for a rule change. You are under no obligation to agree, meaning things would stay as they are.”
“You’re the one who’s afraid I’m going to yield,” Det said. “This would make it so I don’t have that choice. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To prove you’re better than some guy from below the mistline?”
“You’re right I’m going to prove I’m better than… what?” The mistline comment clearly caught him off-guard, but he couldn’t question it more than that, with Projection inserting himself again.
“Enough banter between you two,” Projection said. “Aarak, do you approve the rule change or not?”
“I…” baby-face started, looking from Projection to Det and back again. Once more to Det, and baby-face’s scowl returned. “Fine. I agree. You won’t get to yield. You’re all mine.”
“Attention please,” Projection said, more than living up to his name, with his voice silencing the entire crowd in an instance. “Upon agreement between the two combatants, there has been an alteration to the standard rules. Yields will no longer be honored or allowed. The fight will continue until one fighter—or both—is unable to continue.
“Or, until I get bored. Whichever happens first.
Det chuckled at the last addition, while there was a second of stunned silence from the crowd at the sudden change. Until one voice called out.
“Kick his ass, Det!” Calisco shouted. Immediately followed by. “Not that we’re friends.”
“We’re really not,” Det told Projection, though the man didn’t seem to care.
“Now then,” Projection said, living up to his name with his voice spreading to the far corners of the arena, gently shushing the budding conversations from the alteration in rules. “With that change agreed upon and made, it is time to get down to why we are here. A challenge has been issued and accepted. Two fighters stand before you, here to give it their all, and prove their worth.
“You all know the rules. Two men enter, they beat the hell out of each other for our entertainment, then one walks out with their head held high. In this sanctioned—but non-ranked—duel, there will be no surrender, and hopefully no quarter given.
“As the first true duel of the year, and from our brand-new class of cadets, I’m sure you’re all excited to see what our fresh faces are capable of. For those of you who caught replays of the first-day mock-fights, I’ve been told to expect something very different today. It should be quite the show! So, without further ado, cadets, to your marks!”
With the proclamation, Projection pointed to the same softly glowing, red circles in the sand Det remembered from his first time in the arena. The distance between them would start the duel with about fifty feet between fighters. A long distance to cover with sand-spikes shooting at him, but not nearly far enough to save baby-face from Det reaching him.
One scroll clutched in each of his hands, Det’s thumbs flicked open the wax seals, though he didn’t unfurl either of them. There would still be plenty of time for that after he got to his circle. Ten seconds, if the rules he was told about were true.
Finding his spot in the center of the circle, Det turned back around to face baby-face, who’d also found his mark. As soon as their eyes locked, the other cadet couldn’t resist the opportunity to mock Det.
“Your little kittens aren’t going to save you here,” baby-face said, his voice somehow carrying perfectly to Det’s ears. By the oooh of the audience, it had carried much further as well. Projection’s magic, no doubt.
“I didn’t bring any kittens with me,” Det said with an apologetic shrug. “I didn’t want to use anything too strong for you to deal with. Giving you a chance, and all.”
“Har har,” baby-face said, impressively not letting the dig get to him. “So, what’s it going to be, then? What horrible magic have you prepared for me? Puppies? Bunnies?” The mocking tone carried impressively well over Projection’s magic.
“How did you guess?” Det said, letting the scroll in his right hand roll open so baby-face could see what was painted on it. To see the rabbit that was painted on the foot-square scroll. Since he’d shown him the first, Det also unrolled the second scroll, though, this one he had it turned the opposite way, so only Det and those seated on his side of the arena could see the image. His shield, of course. And, with both scrolls open—and his fingers strategically placed on the ink—Det began channeling his energy into the renditions. He couldn’t finish summoning them before the match started, but Beauty had been very specific he could start the process.
At seeing the actual bunny painted on the canvas, baby-face didn’t have an immediate retort. Something Projection took advantage of.
“The time for talk is over,” Projection said. “Ten seconds until the start of the match. Cadets, a reminder, there shall be no final activation of your magics until after the circles surrounding you are extinguished. There may not be any yielding, but disqualification is still on the table.”
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Good to know, Det thought, but pushed all unneeded musings from his mind. The roaring audience faded from his mind—this wasn’t the first time he’d competed in front of a crowd—while his gaze narrowed in on baby-face. The circle around him, the red changing colors to orange and then yellow in time with the seconds ticking by like a countdown was the only external stimulus he allowed. The scrolls in his hands were ninety-nine percent charged. All that was left was giving them the final push to summon the renditions.
Yellow darkened toward green, and Det shifted his right foot back, taking the stance he’d need when his shield appeared. Going with the bunny instead of a sword from the start was a calculated risk, meaning he’d need to weather an early offensive from baby-face. That was fine. He was prepared.
Bright green surrounded both Det and baby-face, the far man lifting both hands in front of him, while energy radiated around his body. Just like when Calisco prepared to launch her magic, he had it built up, practically ready to burst. Baby-face was going to come on strong right out of the gate.
Won’t change the outcome…
Det’s thought finished at the same time the circle vanished, and his magic came out a heartbeat faster than baby-face’s. From the scroll in his left hand, the same kind of shield he’d used in practice formed around his arm. From his right, the adorable bunny leapt down to the ground, it’s small nose twitching as it turned to its creator for orders.
“Hurt him as much as you can,” Det said. “Watch out for the sand.”
As if to prove his point, the arena floor in a fifteen-foot circle around baby-face seemed to pulse and crawl, before a dozen, foot-long spikes of sand rose horizontally into the air. In the next instant, they were all hurtling straight at Det.
He hardly moved, simply raising his shield and altering his stance slightly, while the rabbit practically vanished. One, two, three spikes hit the shield, the power of the impact rocking Det’s arm and pushing him an inch back in the sand. More powerful than he expected, but not outside his calculations. Spikes four-through seven outright missed at the range, some by inches, while eight through twelve weren’t even close. Either baby-face had expected him to try to dodge—and the spikes were to anticipate his movements—or he was just a bad shot.
Considering he’d never had the chance to do target practice in the classroom, it was probably the latter.
Not that Det had been completely idle while he’d been taking the hits. As soon as the bunny’s scroll burst apart into floating embers, Det had reached to the holster on his right hip to get his next tool. This one was, of course, his sword, and the instant the first salvo of spikes passed, he snapped it out to his side.
Energy poured into it, the ink shimmering along the blade as the weapon prepared to be birthed into the world. That still left Det with fifty feet he’d have to close to get within melee range of baby-face. Something baby-face recognized as well, more spikes of sand rising from the same fifteen-foot circle around him.
That was either his range, or he wanted Det to think it was. Either way, it left baby-face focusing on all the wrong things. Namely, not on the black blur of motion that covered the fifty feet like an inky missile.
One second, the bunny-rendition was in front of Det, the next it was gone. On the third, it was in the air, head lowered and ears back. The WHAP of the impact from the bunny headbutting baby-face in the stomach at what looked like a million miles an hour echoed through the entire arena. Even without Projection’s assistance, there wasn’t a single person who didn’t hear it.
Nor was there a single person who didn’t see baby-face rocket backward, his body wrapped around the bunny-projectile lodged into his gut. The sheer velocity of the attack sent the pair back a dozen feet before baby-face crashed back down to the ground, his body sliding in the sand. He stopped another four feet after that, his head shaking like he was trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.
When he spotting the bunny sitting on his chest, he mouthed ‘What the…?’ before the rabbit spun on the spot and then gave a brutal, backward double-kick, straight into the man’s face. The force of the blow sent the pair in opposite directions, the rabbit landing nearly ten feet away, while baby-face only skidded an additional foot.
Despite the rabbit-foot-shaped indentations on the cheek—and what looked like a broken nose—power erupted off the ReSouled. For fifteen feet around him, the floor practically vibrated, while sand at his back lifted him at the shoulders to take him directly from lying down to standing up.
“Enough!” he roared, the sand shuddering, before dozens of spears lanced upward. Unlike the ones he’d thrown at Det, these came like they were spiked traps hidden within the floor, the whole barrage of them surrounding baby-face like a briar. The wide area-of-effect of the attack was clearly intended to skewer the bunny from the get-go, but baby-face hadn’t properly accounted for its size or speed.
Like the rabbit it was based on, the rendition possessed an absurd level of agility—bolstered by one of Det’s kernels—and speed to match. It turned on a dime, accelerated from zero to holy-shit-that’s-fast in a heartbeat, and could stop just as suddenly. Spike after spike burst from the ground trying to impale the rabbit, and each one failed. The rendition could’ve run circles around baby-face and called it a day.
Except, Det had told it to hurt him, and after six seconds of baby-face trying to play stab-a-bunny, the rabbit counterattacked. This blistering, flying headbutt came with another echoing sound, this one the familiar CRACK of breaking bone as the rabbit slammed into Aarak’s upper arm.
A ripple of winces went through the arena. Part of it at the shock and pain of the thick bone in baby-face’s arm shattering. The other part, though, was the sudden realization of all in involved—audience, referee, and baby-face alike—that the ReSouled was outright getting owned by a bunny. One he’d openly mocked.
Things didn’t get any better for him as he threw up his good arm, a wave of spiked sand exploding around him. One that didn’t catch the bunny, and instead gave it another plane to leap from. This led to the bunny jumping up, spinning in midair, and kicking both feet into the side of baby-face’s head. The blow sent the cadet stumbling, while the bunny was launched in the opposite direction.
Blood leaked down the side of Aarak’s head from where the rabbit had caught him, and the audience winced again. This time, though, it wasn’t because of what had happened to the cadet. No, this time it was in anticipation of what was about to happen.
Because, in all the chaos of trying to deal with the bunny, baby-face had forgotten about one very important thing. The inky-rabbit rendition wasn’t his actual opponent.
Det was.
And he came in hard.
Across with the horizonal-shield-hook Tena’s double had nearly taken Det’s head off with—except baby-face didn’t see it in time to dodge—Det landed a brutal blow. Another CRACK bellowed out across the arena, this time from Aarak’s jaw parting ways from itself. Blood spewed out in a wide arc as the cadet took a step to the side from the impact, only to come up short when Det’s second attack struck. This one, his inky sword through the man’s gut and out his back.
Blood ran down the blade flickering with each movement, while a pained gasp leaked out of baby-face’s lungs. His body’s own weight pressed down on the hilt of Det’s sword—and his arm—but it wasn’t nearly enough to shift ReSouled strength. Not that Det was finished there.
One hand holding Aarak upright with the sword through his stomach, Det lifted and then brought down the edge of his shield on Aarak’s back. He didn’t have the angle to hit the other man’s neck or head, but he still felt more bones fracturing beneath his strength.
As much as the ReSouled had undergone the week of torture and tempering, it wasn’t enough to make the man’s bones strong enough to resist the blow. A second and third followed, breaking at least two of Aarak’s ribs, before a pulse of panicked magical energy washed out from the man.
Having spent enough time around Calisco to know what that meant, Det quick-stepped back, his sword coming out of baby-face with a wet schlurk that trailed a thick fountain of blood behind it into the sand on the arena floor. Sand that immediately lanced out in a dozen different directions to skewer Det.
To try and skewer Det. He’d seen it before against the bunny, and his shield angled enough to turn aside the dangerous spikes on that side. He stepped around three more, cut low to remove the last four in his way, then stepped in and kicked.
Aimed low, the blow smashed into the side of baby-face’s knee, toppling him down to hit the ground hard with the same knee and one hand. That left him in the perfect place for Det to take a step in and bring his left arm across in a sweeping backhand. One that flattened Aarak’s face on the front of the shield. More blood shot in every direction as baby-face’s nose basically exploded, and the man was lifted into the air by Det’s supernatural strength.
Where he was—unfortunately, for him—lined up for a flying bunny-missile to crunch into him hard from the side. Folding around the inky ball of prejudice, Aarak’s body violently changed direction by ninety degrees, then crashed down the floor. This time, he didn’t skid, but instead rolled over and over, his broken arm flapping like the useless appendage it was in the fight.
After the fourth roll, the sand all around him once against shivered, showing he clearly wasn’t done with the fight yet. Knowing what had to be coming, both the bunny and Det pulled back. Except, Aarak didn’t pull the same spear trick twice.
This time, the sand converged on the man as he pulled himself to hands and knees. Blood pouring from his gut and his face, baby-face vanished within a sphere of thick sand that seemed to harden to stone.
The bunny didn’t waste any time testing the appearance versus the reality, leaping in to spin midair again and repeat its impressive aerial kick. The sandy sphere didn’t even budge from the blow. Baby-face really had taken his sand control to the next level to harden it that much.
Just to test it himself, Det stepped in and gave a quick one-two slash-combo with his sword. His blade was significantly more effective than the bunny’s kick had been, tearing out gouges of the sphere, only for more sand to flow seamlessly into place to repair it.
It looks like stone, and has a similar hardness, but it’s still individual grains of sand.
Magic pulsed from within the sphere, and Det leapt back. A heartbeat later, the sphere exploded with dozens of sandy spears that stretched a dozen feet in every direction. Det’s shield protected him from those coming at him, and he even jumped up to let their momentum push him safely out of range.
When he landed, he vaguely heard Projection’s commentary on the fight, asking what Det was going to do now, but like everything else from this fight, he basically ignored it. Just like he’d mentioned the night before, he had a plan if Aarak turtled up.
One eye to make sure baby-face wasn’t trying anything else, and Det backed up until he was twenty-five feet away. Just in case the man had been hiding his true range. There—and while the bunny continued to harass the sphere—Det reached down to his holster with his shield hand. Since the shield was purposely braced to his arm, it left his hand free for exactly this moment.
A flick of his thumb and a snap of his wrist unfurled a scroll almost twenty feet long. Magic flowed from his fingers into it, along with a kernel of his power, and after two seconds, he slammed it into the ground in front of him.
“Let’s see how you do with this,” Det said, the final sparks of power bringing the new rendition to life. A massive, black tsunami rose from the scroll to tear across the ground toward the sand sphere.
