The Tournament - Round 7

The Elven Queen's face lit up with a smile as a familiar silhouette appeared at the hall's entrance.

"Lady Dorma!" She greeted, beckoning the sorceress over to the table, "It pleases me greatly to see you well!"

"I'm not sure I would use that term--but I am alive, yes." Dorma replied tiredly, "However, I've never been quite so exhausted in all my days. It will be a miracle if I can keep myself awake to see the climax of this troublesome tournament."

"Lady Fusala dropped in earlier to explain Miss Witilla's circumstances." Larion paused, "If I must be honest… her descriptions of a grand, metallic habitat hovering above our world are as exquisite as they are unbelievable."

"Yes, and they coincide with the findings of Barion and Manyu, which leads me to believe she may be telling the truth." Dorma reported, "It's seeming more and more likely by the hour that this 'caretaker'--the existence known as Black Luna, is responsible for perpetuating the cycle of Demon Ages."

"What interests me further is how large a part Black Luna has played in the development of our history." The Queen wondered, "Demons have existed for far longer than we can possibly understand. Each time they appear, the world undergoes an upheaval. Entire nations fall, races and cultures are eradicated from history… why, it may even be possible that our ancient predecessors were more technologically advanced than us."

"Not only that, but Black Luna itself is a manmade construct. Think of a golem, but one of such unimaginable size and power that it could occupy the throne of a God." Dorma crossed her arms, "More than anything else, I worry about our chances of ever overcoming such a foe. To say nothing of its celestial locale, how does one even begin to dismantle a construct the size of a moon?"

"I do not know." It wasn't the answer either of them wanted to hear, but there was no use denying it. Larion clutched a fist to her chest as she continued, "-The ancient Aelvens worshipped Black Luna. Perhaps they understood its true nature, and just as you say, revered its power as that of a God's? From Avl II's feverish writings on the subject, to the 'Barion' who murdered him for even muttering the name aloud… there is still so much we do not understand."

"At first, I thought this tournament was a selfish pursuit--a convenient show to replenish some of His Majesty's lost support after the Demon attack. But Shilahi does deserve some recognition for bringing Witilla out into the open. Without her, there would be no way to make any sense of this."

"If the girl truly is Lilith, then I am grateful for her shift in allegiance. We know now that neither Demons nor Heavenly Kings are beasts of this world, but artificial atrocities designed to cause suffering. She does not deserve the fate expected of her." Larion proclaimed, "Where is she, if I may ask?"

"Awaiting the next round of the tournament. Manyu informed me she was rather stricken with Shilahi's strength, and so desires to see her battle with the man in question."

"You should retire for the night yourself, Lady Dorma." The Queen insisted, "There is much to consider. A night's rest will do you good."

"I appreciate the concern, Your Majesty, but there's something I still need to see for myself tonight."

"Do you mean… Barion's match?"

"It's going to be quite the spectacle." She confirmed, "I want to be there… to see for myself just what kind of man he really is."

"I-Is that so…"

"I do hope you'll be getting an early night's rest as well, Your Majesty." Dorma bowed lightly, "Your efforts in deciphering the Aelven archives are admirable, but do remember the importance of your own health."

"I will try to keep that in mind." Larion smiled warmly.

…

..

.

At the stroke of midnight, the tournament's semifinal was underway. Spectators from the common rabble and the estates of nobles had ballooned the arena to its maximum capacity. Even some of the Elven diplomats had received permission to make use of Aelf'ahlnohma's Gate to witness the event for themselves.

Manyu. When the day began, that name was known to but a handful of tired souls, but the former Demon King had ended up more popular than he would have liked with the crowd. His shameless use of Dark Magic and strength which rivalled even the Three Heroes had the newsprints of Gria questioning his mysterious origins. Of course, if they knew the truth of the matter, he would be chased out of the city with torches and pitchforks, but as it stood, the people adored him.

Shilahi, on the other hand, needed no introduction. Her infamy had only grown as information lurched from Fleecia to the mainland as to her survival of the Demon Age 500 years prior. Not only was she revered in her homeland as the strongest Onda to ever live, but her mere existence inspired hope in the hearts of those who had lost faith in Gria's ability to keep the people of Tor safe. After all, there was no greater protector than one of the Three Heroes herself.

Despite that reputation, Shilahi seemed none too pleased on that occasion. She stared at Manyu with a look of distrust and intolerance as the two met in the arena's centre.

"I've heard tell that you trust Witilla all of a sudden." He mused, "Is there anything you'd like me to say so that I could claim such a privilege for myself?"

"You surrendered any right to have your opinion respected when you took up the mantle of Demon King." Shilahi challenged, "Witilla fights with a heart burdened by guilt. She is a slave of destiny--of fate, just as we are. Only, she has summoned the courage to rebel against the masters that would control her. You made no such decision."

"I have no regrets. Barion is the only man in this world with the strength to deliver us from this cyclical farce, and I was the one who led him by the hand to this moment." Manyu replied.

"Barion was shaped by the trials that awaited him. Not by your presence."

"Don't be ridiculous." He countered, "His entire purpose is to fight. Whether Demons or monsters or Blackguards, it makes no difference--he adores the killing. War is a part of who he is, stifled and suffocated by those who would hold him back from his desires. People like Dorma. People like you."

"You're wrong." She refused, "The two of us aren't responsible for that suppression. It is the 'Hero' who holds him back."

"...What are you on about?"

"He already knows. It doesn't matter if you don't." She answered, "When you defeat me, prepare carefully for that moment--the moment when the 'Hero of Legend' disappears for good."

"Admitting defeat before the battle even begins, are you?"

"Humility is the first step towards enlightenment, after all." She replied, "-But I wouldn't go deluding yourself into believing it will be a hollow victory."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

There was nothing more to be said, although Shilahi's parting sentiment did leave Manyu wondering about what she could have possibly meant.

The trumpets sounded not long after, when the two of them had returned to the arena's opposing hemispheres. Unlike the slow, methodical approach of Witilla, Manyu didn't think twice about approaching Shilahi with everything he had, launching into a full sprint towards her with the intention of ending the match in an instant.

Shilahi's speartip collided with his fist and wept as its unyielding thrust found itself contested by nothing but flesh, struggling to even pare Manyu's knuckle. The Goddess of Darkness' blessing had granted him more than a simple mastery over Dark Magic--his body, like Barion's, had been transformed into one sculpted for battle. Only the disintegrating touch of magic could harm him with ease. It was a testament to Shilahi's own strength--and that of her spear, that the weapon was not deflected or shattered by one mere clash with the former Demon King.

Extending his fingers, Manyu swatted the spear to his side, striking with another fist in the same instant, allowing Shilahi only seconds to duck beneath the blow, sending a shockwave of air careening into the arena walls. Tactfully, the Hermit responded with a rising thrust, intent on punishing Manyu's reckless attack with a decisive impalement.

However, her spear found nothing but thin air. Despite his queer stance, Manyu backstepped the attack and returned to a fighting stance almost immediately. His fingers flickered with a black light--the telltale sign of Dark Magic. Naturally, Shilahi knew better than to await the assault of a spellcaster, and so charged forward to prevent his cast, raising her spear to block Manyu's leg as it flew upwards to halt her advance, sending tremors through her arms.

Manyu clenched his fist yet again. The Great Hermit suddenly felt a pulling in her gut, as if some invisible force was attempting to tear her organs asunder. Certain of his imminent victory, Manyu found himself reacting just a moment too late as Shilahi took her spear in one hand, jogging forward a couple of steps before tossing her weapon at him.

The spear found its mark--impaling itself within Manyu's stomach as torrents of blood escaped from the wound, sullying his concentration and saving Shilahi from a gruesome fate. Only, she had taken the risk of parting with her weapon, knowing full-well the blow wouldn't be nearly enough to put Manyu down for good.

The man in question grunted as he took the spear for himself, spasming as surges of electricity flowed through his muscles. It had been quite some time since Manyu had last been wounded to such a degree. He was no stranger to Shilahi's strength, but the woman had grown even more powerful in the five centuries that had passed since their last battle.

He leapt--higher than any man should have been able to, leaving clouds of swirling dust in his wake while ascending towards the upper boundary of the battlefield. Summoning the power of Dark Magic once more, he haphazardly covered the speartip with one hand, a storm of magical particles and sparks lighting up the night sky as he did so. Clenching his teeth, he channelled the power of lightning from his body to the weapon, feeling his insides sear as the blue rust drank deeply from his offering of magic.

Shilahi felt naked without that spear. Seeing it being put to use by the one man she detested the most made her blood boil. As the domed ceiling of the arena crackled with electricity, she prepared to defend herself against whatever Manyu had in store. Cries of fear and awe erupted from the crowd as flashes of blinding white engulfed the scene, with some even standing from their seats and running off to the exits.

By the time Manyu was finished infusing the spear with magical particles, it had become a glowing rod of arcing light, with lashes of wicked lightning reaching out towards the arena's boundaries. The amount of magic flowing through it was unbelievable--and with that power came a resounding instability. Its status as a weapon touched by the essence of Leviathan elevated its natural affinity for magical absorption, multiplying Manyu's enhancement several times over.

When he lurched back, preparing to toss the spear, Shilahi couldn't help but hesitate. He couldn't possibly intend to release an attack of such magnitude with the expectation that the barrier would hold. It wasn't even right to call it an attack. It was more of a declaration--proof that no opponent bar the Hero of Legend himself could hope to stand against a Demon King.

When the spear fell towards her, Shilahi made her decision quickly. All thoughts of prevailing in the tournament evacuated her mind as a desire surfaced to simply ensure that Manyu didn't level the entire city in his hubris. With reflexes that teetered on the edge of Godliness, her hands came together to grasp the weapon's length--its speartip barely an inch from her face as a sound like thunder bellowing echoed throughout Gria.

But even so, the spear continued, as if animated by some otherworldly force. Shilahi was exerting all of her strength just to keep the weapon in place, knowing full-well that if it was allowed to disperse its magical power, more than her own life would be at stake. Lightning scarred her flesh and stray sparks fell upon her skin like needles. The pain was overwhelming, but her grip remained unyielding.

Just as the last of her strength was exhausted, she moved--it wasn't a particularly graceful or thought-out movement, just throwing her arms to the side as if trying to fend off a wild dog, but the instinct to resist may very well have saved her from oblivion as the spear's trajectory was suddenly redirected, flying like an arrow towards the night sky, piercing the arena's barrier altogether and disappearing into the endless celestial abyss. The most perceptive of the audience, who could only notice that a hole had been punched into the barrier, allowed their gazes to follow skyward.

For seconds, there was nothing but silence. But then, just as their attention began to wane, it happened.

What could be called an explosion of magic--a swirling vortex of elemental energies--expanded silently in the distance, as if a star had been blown apart. Those who were enamoured with the sight watched as the explosion filled the night sky with blinding light, recoiling in terror as a static shockwave accompanied by a thunderous chorus swept over their bodies only moments later.

Shilahi was almost too exhausted to acknowledge the event, but one thing registered within her addled mind--that her spear had more than likely been destroyed. Anything remaining of the weapon would be no more than a mangled, burning heap of metal found in a ditch outside the city walls. But she cared little for it--Gria had been spared from a terrible catastrophe.

That was her final thought, before she fell to the arena floor, unconscious.