The Tournament - Final Round

One would think that Manyu's shameless disregard for the city's safety would leave him disgraced in the eyes of her citizens, but not so. Rather, his absolute demonstration of power had left those blood-crazed fools salivating for more. As if convinced from the very beginning that they were never in any danger, the arena was shortly thereafter struggling to contain the crowds bursting from its inadequate rows, filled with spectators desperate to witness the tournament's final bout.

Shilahi was not especially wounded in the battle. The constitution she had cultivated as one of the Three Heroes far outclassed a mere lightning-infused spear. The girl was, much to her dismay, roused with the help of some smelling salts not long after her body was retrieved from the smouldering arena floor. With the primary bracket over and done with, and its champion--predictably one of the world's most esteemed raid leaders, claimed his prize feeling just a tad overshadowed by the events of the secondary bracket.

Barion., who had spent the better part of that night hovering aimlessly around the castle and occasionally discussing the ramifications of Witilla's appearance with Larion, felt a lump form in his throat as the moment of his own battle rapidly approached. The fortress' ancient walls were only barely familiar to him, bestowing a long-forgotten nostalgia for simpler and less introspective times.

The guardsmen barely took notice of him as he graced the castle doors and meandered over the curving stone bridge leading towards Gria's noble district. The streets were surprisingly alive at that time of night--thanks in no small part to the tournament's popularity, though the roads were just as empty as they had been since the countryside was evacuated. Merchants had become a dying breed, with both their families and the state desperately seeking their fortunes. Indeed, many of them had been forced to leave their commodities behind as they fled to the capital.

If he looked up toward the endless abyss of the night sky, Barion would surely sense it--the invisible presence of Black Luna, overlooking the planet like some kind of God. Its whispers had been rare of late. Subdued, as if expecting something from him. Despite his strength, its otherworldly nature left him feeling miniscule. Thoughts raced in his mind as to just how advanced Black Luna's creators must have been. Was it truly possible that some faraway star housed a civilisation not unlike his own? If so, then just how many disconnected cultures were scattered across the universe?

"Enjoying a moonlit stroll, are we?"

The unmistakable voice caught his attention immediately. Dorma was resting with her arms on the side of the bridge. The tone in her voice told Barion that she was expecting to see him.

"You're up already?" He asked, "I heard Manyu gave you a difficult time."

"A few broken bones. Nothing my own magic couldn't fix." She disregarded, "I suppose you wouldn't be surprised if I told you he's made his way to the final hands down?"

"I'd be more surprised if he hadn't."

"Well, he seems rather excited about it." She mused, "He acts the stoic, but your duel 500 years ago left its mark on him. He hungers once more for the rush you once provided him."

"This really isn't what we should be focusing on."

"It's all for His Majesty's approval at the end of the day." Dorma explained, "But it's not all bad. Gria hasn't known peace like this for over a month. And seeing you in action will no doubt spur the Anti-Demon Leagues to reach greater heights."

"I'm not certain that's true."

"Barion…"

As he joined her overlooking the city, a conflicted expression found its way onto his face.

"There's nothing inspiring about the way I fight. I'm no better than the Demons we oppose." He began, "You and Shilahi are always so elegant--masters of sorcery and martial combat. But my way--Senpo, was never intended to be anything like that. It was created with raw efficiency in mind, laying waste to gracefulness in a dogged pursuit of strength beyond anything else."

"I'm sure the audience will love it. No matter how bestial you appear."

"That's not what I mean…" He replied, "How legitimate is strength if it comes from a place of hatred? Relinquishing my humanity just to gain an upper hand--how is that-"

"Oh, for the love of the Goddess, Barion!"

Her hands wrenched his reluctant face so that the two of their gazes were forced to meet. A fearsome light flickered in Dorma's eyes as she continued.

"-I know that person isn't the real you!" She began, "When you fought with Manyu last, there was no trace of that horrible beast--only a man who had stepped beyond his limits to defeat a foe none of us could ever dream of opposing! You say there is no gracefulness to the way that you fight, but that's a lie! I've seen it for myself… how beautiful your style can be when you're truly pushed to your limit."

"You'll say anything to get me into that arena."

"I say what I mean because I know it to be the truth." She frowned, "And frankly, I'm sick and tired of seeing you rejecting yourself like this. The Barion I know would never fall into such a slump. Just how do you expect to help others in a state like this?"

"The more we learn of Demonkind, the less likely it seems that we'll ever overcome this cycle." Barion replied, "Manyu is right. We're just pawns in a greater game beyond our understanding. Our fight was for nothing--just a perpetuation of some celestial agenda."

"That we now know our true enemy's identity is a miracle in and of itself." Dorma declared, "Black Luna will fall, and we will be the ones to orchestrate its destruction. We need but believe in ourselves--and you most of all. What sort of Heroes would we be if the impossible was out of our grasp?"

"I'm starting to tire of all this heroism." He complained.

"I know." She sympathised, "We've earned our rest, the two of us. We need only cross this final hurdle."

"A final hurdle…" Barion muttered, "I suppose so."

"What you need most is very close." She promised, "I'm certain that Manyu will provide it to you--the very thing you've forgotten after all these lonely centuries. And know that, no matter what you decide to do, I will always be at your side. If you seek my approval, then only look my way."

"Hm…" He paused, "Thank you, Dorma."

"You've been thanking me an awful lot lately, haven't you?" She smiled, "I'll be demanding compensation for all of this free advice once you've sobered up a little."

He could see the arena from where they stood. There, he thought, awaited a most important decision, and the only man who could force an answer out of him. The thought left him feeling anxious, but somehow, Dorma's words had comforted him.

…

..

.

The time had come. Through exhausting battles, the strongest competitor in the world, an unheard-of fellow named Manyu, had been granted the right to face a most worthy adversary--The Hero of Legend himself. The adoring crowd had long since thrown aside their questions as to whether the Hero was going to make an appearance, but as the clock ticked onward, rumours spread around the city that the King planned to make good on his promise.

Barion idled at the wrought-iron portcullis separating him from a tide of expectant observers, wondering to himself about the last time he ever fought anything besides a monster or Demon. There was that one occasion when he threw Din as she tried to rob him, but his 500-year merchant masquerade hadn't been interrupted by even a single highwayman. In that regard, he was probably the luckiest merchant to ever live.

But he hadn't settled down one bit. An urge to fight remained in his heart, stoked by his long journey across the Henklomeon Steppe, destroying hordes of Demons and scores of Crucibles before Pale and Fusala scooped him from the barren plains and delivered him back to civilisation.

Truthfully, he despised Senpo. If there was one thing he could change about himself, it would be his arrogant disregard for swordsmanship in favour of lashing out at the world with his bare fists. He didn't fit the role of a Hero in the slightest. A Hero fought graciously, with faith in his heart. Without the Sword of Light, he no longer had an excuse--the strength he had cultivated during his crusade against Manyu was that of a wild animal's.

But there had been some truth to Dorma's words. Against Manyu, something changed all those years ago. The fire of a true challenge awakened a slumbering aspect of his being, and for the duration of the battle, his smile wasn't bestial in the slightest. In fact, it was almost childlike--an innocent expression filled with joy.

If he could find that strength again…

As the two combatants entered the arena, the crowd fell silent as Barion wandered slowly across the barren, sandy pit. Was this man the Hero of Legend, their eyes seemed to ask. They were expecting someone who appeared a tad more distinctive from the outside, and yet, there was a certain pride which built among them, now knowing that the Hero was evidently a humble sort of person.

Manyu seemed elated. The smile he wore didn't suit him in the slightest, but it was obvious that he cared little for anything else. The tournament may as well have been a farce--a mere appetiser on his way to the main course.

Hero and Demon King, meeting on the battlefield once more. The tension in the air was almost physical between them, concentrated to the point that even those in the crowd completely uninvolved in the martial world could tell that there was more to the upcoming fight that met the eye.

When the two of them met in the centre, no words were exchanged. Not to imply that neither of them had anything to say to the other--on the contrary, during their last battle, their clash of ideals became almost tiresome after a while.

"...Well, what's there to say that hasn't been repeated a hundred times already?" Manyu wondered, "Let's get straight into it."

"...Yeah." Barion muttered, "We already know… what the other is thinking."

Both Barion and Manyu's bodies were sent careening towards the arena walls, eliciting gasps of terror from the audience as the rotunda's very foundations were shaken to their core. The trumpets bellowed--but the gesture was wasted, for the battle had already begun. What exactly happened? A clash of fists? Even the champion of the primary bracket, who had bought a ticket just to see what all the fuss was about, couldn't perceive what had just happened.

When the two men sauntered out from the clouds of dust they had created, neither of them had been injured, though the impacts of their bodies against the walls had dislodged entire bricks from the arena's foundation. Their attacks, which would have easily killed any previous contender, were simply haphazard blows designed to gauge one-another's strength. It was the first time Barion had raised a hand against another human in over 500 years.

His fists clenched. Unimaginable power flowed through his body, with every spare thought dedicated to hatred multiplying his fighting potential. The Demon King, the cycle of Black Luna, the myriad horrors and atrocities he witnessed all those years ago--nothing but fuel for a rage that demanded one-sided justice. Something escaped from his mouth as he tore forward; not quite a roar or a yell, just some mindless, guttural sound. It wasn't the sort of cry a Hero should have been making, but such thoughts had already escaped him. What mattered now was the fight.

Manyu was no slouch either. Even without Senpo, it had been his destiny from the day of his birth to oppose the Hero, and so his strength had advanced limitlessly to match Barion's. Like that, their blows were evenly-matched, the world-ending power of their hands cancelling each other out and sparing the arena from being levelled by a glancing blow. Whether power or speed or technique, the two of them commanded each in spades. It wasn't a battle between humans, or even creatures of that world. It was something alien--difficult to understand at a glance and subconsciously disgusting, as if dismantling the very notion of a duel.

Oh, but Barion was happy. He didn't need to hold back anymore. His selfish desire for violence was being satisfied by the only man who could ever match up to him, and Manyu, too, was filled with unbridled ecstasy as the two of them shoved humanity from their minds completely, focused entirely on greedily supping from one-another's endless wells of strength.

"What…" From the audience, a disbelieving voice muttered those words carefully, "That can't really be… possible, can it?"

"-And I thought I was ready to lay eyes upon it once again." From Pale's side, Shilahi sighed while crossing her arms, "But, as I always expected, there's simply no making sense of a fight like this. Honestly--the fact that such power is even attainable… it's rather frightening, isn't it?"

"I just never expected to see this kind of spectacle from Barion, of all people…" Pale could barely hear herself over the monstrous sounds cascading from the arena, "I took up Senpo to become strong, but… is what I'm seeing here really strength?"

"Barion once told me that Senpo isn't only about anger." The Hermit replied, "It's about letting go of one's inhibitions--relinquishing your humanity completely, and descending to the realm of beasts, where raw strength is the last word in any argument. Without gracefulness or romance, any fight becomes one of survival. It's no wonder he's self-conscious about it. Look around you."

Pale allowed her gaze to separate from the fight, descending upon the rows of citizens gawking with open jaws at the unbelievable battle unfolding beneath them. The barrier flickered with wicked light as rushes of air buffeted against its surface, pushing the shield's capabilities to its limit only from the duel's aura. What few expressions she could make out clearly were those of terror and disbelief. They spoke clearly--is this monster truly the Hero of Legend?

As Barion and Manyu separated once more, a laboured breath escaped from the former's mouth. Manyu was not only elated--he was laughing. A self-satisfied sound, uncontrolled and indulgent.

"How my heart sings!" He exclaimed, "I was a fool to believe that anything could replace this happiness! For centuries, my body has longed for a worthy opponent, and now the two of us needn't hold back any longer! So cry! Scream! Let your true self be known to the world! Let us dance to Black Luna's tune, and satisfy ourselves completely and utterly!"

"Be quiet!"

Barion's fist carried with it the weight of the world, sinking into Manyu's jaw with a sickening crunch. But even so, the man was knocked back barely a matter of feet, carving a trail into the soil where his legs refused to yield, and returning the favour, pummelled Barion's midsection with a kick that could split the very skies.

"This has always been our way! You adore this feeling just as much as I do--the violence, the killing! We were created solely to entertain one-another's lust, moulded to shape this world to our whims. We are gate, lock and key! Flower, sun, and rain! Yours--the kingdom of men, and mine--one of glass and ash and darkness!"

He leapt--a ferocious jump that sent him tumbling towards the infinite void. Straight through the barrier Manyu crept, rising until he became invisible against the night sky. As the hexagonal shield dissipated like a popped bubble, Manyu was left staring towards the abyss, towards Manyu--towards Black Luna. Even his unbelievable reactions couldn't perceive the Demon King's descent, nor could his otherworldly durability resist the leg which came crashing down from the Heavens, kicking up a storm of sandy dust as the very city itself shook.

The crowd remained silent in anticipation--those who hadn't evacuated the premises, at the very least. Who would still be standing when the dust cleared? The answer, as any of their comrades could have guessed, was both of them.

A gargantuan crater occupied the space where Manyu had dropped, and within its confines stood the two men, still standing, staring towards one-another with frenzied gazes. The arena's safety next had been eradicated completely by the attack. There was no longer any guarantee that the battle's spectators were safe.

"Hah…" Manyu panted, "What do you think? Have I grown any stronger?"

"Be quiet…" Barion demanded.

"Even now, you deny yourself." He taunted, "Do you believe that clinging to your sanity will salvage your dignity? Everyone in this city now knows who you truly are. There's no use in hiding it--so come at me!"

It was the truth.

Somehow, in all of his years, that thought had never occurred to Barion. He adored battle--the pain, the exhaustion. So why did he resist it so? He could end Manyu's life in an instant, all he had to do was let loose completely. But that kind of strength wouldn't satisfy him. For how many more battles existed beyond the former Demon King? How much more could he exploit his own anger, giving in to a torrent of hatred?

But it was the truth. Why couldn't he stop admitting it?

Of course, he already knew the answer. Because 'Barion' was the easiest type of man to be--a self-assured, confident fellow with no reason to put his neck on the line. A man who had become too comfortable with himself, who cowered away from adversity, fearing that a challenge too great would dismantle him completely.

Black Luna awaited him, in that endless abyss--a trial greater than he could possibly comprehend. He felt apprehensive, unable to accept the task laid before him. That was why he was afraid to give it his all--in fear of failing those who he cared about the most. But who was it that convinced him otherwise? From who did such legendary assurance surface--one so utterly confident in his abilities as to be offended that he was incapable of recognising his own strength.

His gaze shifted. Away from Manyu. Away from the arena. From the sky. From Black Luna. For once, his hearing was clear, unperturbed by the piercing tones transmitting into his head from some sterile machine hell in the outer Heavens. Somehow, he found her immediately. Dorma was there, as she had been from the very beginning, watching him, only without the terrified, disappointed expression dominating the face of every other observer.

She was smiling. A warm smile. She returned his feverish, animalistic gaze with her own brand of fearlessness. Then, as the world seemed to slow down, her lips moved. She was unintelligible above the roars of the crowd, but somehow, Barion could hear her perfectly.

"Barion." Her smile widened, "Embrace yourself."

Manyu seemed perturbed. He was vitriolic that even the slightest modicum of Barion's attention had been diverted from their battle, and watched with frustrated eyes as the man raised a hand in front of his face.

He adored fighting. Truly, with all of his heart, there was no greater truth--Barion loved to fight. But another desire existed deep within him. A desire to seek greater challenges--to not only honour the mantle of the 'Hero', but to surpass it. To strive for a tomorrow so much brighter than the future he once envisioned as to seem completely impossible.

Embrace yourself. Those words repeated in his head.

Embrace yourself.

E M B R A C E

Y O U R S E L F

His anger disappeared.

"Wh-" Manyu could sense the change in his demeanour immediately, "What are you doing…?"

Barion sighed. Truthfully, he felt a little idiotic.

"I understand now." His voice was clear, "I've been… such a fool."

"Giving up!? That's your answer!?" Manyu yelled, "You'll never move forward with such a pathetic philosophy! Come at me with everything you have!"

"Hoh…" From the now-exposed crowd, Pale heard Shilahi chuckle from beside her.

"W-What's happening?" She asked, somewhat concerned.

"It's finally time. I knew it." Shilahi grinned.

"Can't you be a little clearer?"

"Watch closely, Pale." She instructed, "It's finally here."

"...What is?"

The worry evaporated from Shilahi's head as she leaned back in her seat.

"...The day when the 'Hero' disappears for good."