The battle was to take place at the same location where all the clan’s duels had ever taken place, the hollow mountain. The mountain that was once an active volcano but had died out in times immemorial had been rebuilt to suit the needs of the clan, remade into a dueling arena that could host thousands upon thousands. Its walls reshaped into seats, its upper part having its stone shaped into a canopy to shield the audience from the glaring sunlight, leaving the light to shine down on the fighting platform itself.
However, the duel was to happen at dusk, when the harsh glare of the sun had abated and the cool winds blew from all around. Viewing constructs floated around, large Ethra light crystals illuminated the insides of the hollow mountain, and the steady trickle of hundreds that called Jade Peak city home steadily filled the seats in rapt silence. With the news of the heavy sum placed on Tunde by elder Joran, thousands had flocked to the entertainment district to place their bets on their preferred candidate.
What had been scheduled to be a short and precise battle had turned into a pompous show of power and excitement for the clan, the entertainment district raking in millions of lumens, so staggering, that it had to be stopped at some point before the battle, the amount to be paid frightening in itself. The clan had reacted smoothly, throwing open the hollow mountain to those who wanted to come watch, selling seats as well, and soon enough, even those were sold out.
Tunde was in one of the inner rooms within the mountain, seated on the ground, legs folded and a robe neatly folded in front of him. Bare-chested with only the tattoo of a wolf on his left breast, he sat directly in front of Elder Joran who had a bowl of water in front of him. Shadowfang lay next to him, the axe that would slowly become an extension of him cradled at his side, arms outstretched, he watched in silence as elder Joran wrapped black linen cloth around his hands and wrists in silence, pouring water on it as he went.
“The way of the flowing fists” elder Joran said softly.
Tunde stared at him.
“a fitting name for your fighting style, is it not?” he asked.
“Even though I use an axe?” Tunde asked softly.
Elder Joran gave a light chuckle.
“Shadowfang, is just a weapon, one to give you an extra bite, your hands have never failed you, have they?” Joran asked again as Tunde shook his head in silence.
“Way of the flowing fists” Tunde echoed as the elder finished, pouring water all over his wrapped fists.
Tunde clenched his fists immediately, strength rippling through his arms as all the soaked water shot away, leaving the linen as dry as ever. Edler Joran nodded, sitting up and staring at Tunde.
“Fate brought us together Tunde,” he said.
“And fate has led you here, the first significant obstacle towards your goals” he continued.
“Do you know why I refrained from letting you use a blade?” the elder asked.
“Because I was bad at it?” Tunde hesitantly replied.
“That was one of the reasons,” the elder said.
“a blade, is an extension of pure speed and force, a quick answer to every ranker’s rage, and yet, at the end of the day, devoid of the blade, their weakness comes to light” he continued.
“a blade will give you a bite, but what happens when Thalas inevitably relieves you of the blade?” Joran asked.
“I become empty” Tunde replied softly.
“Probably, with your instincts, I suppose you could survive a few more seconds before you end up a broken mess of bones and flesh lying on the ground,” Joran said.
The elder dipped his hands in the bowl of water as he continued, the dim noise of the crowd slowly entering the room.
“The truth is, if you win this duel, you will officially become a true competitor for becoming a power, and it will throw you in the sights of enemies both within and outside the clan,” Joran said.
“I chose to train you with your fists for a point, to show you just how strong you could get when your enemies feel the taste of your power from your body and not some object” he continued.
“And yes, Shadowfang is an axe, one that requires you to put as much force into it as you would wield a war hammer,” the elder said with a smile.
“Never let it be said that artificers don’t know the perfect weapon to make for those who hire them” he finished.
Tunde swallowed softly, unsure of what to say, Joran sighed.
“Look at me, rambling on, perhaps I am getting sentimental in my old age,” he said softly.
“That is your robe, the first of your new house, you wear it along with the hopes and dreams of those who have thrown their expectations on you,” Joran said, pointing to it.
The etched image of a silver and black wolf on its back stared at Tunde, dark eyes inlaid with silver staring at him.
“The dark wolf, it's what they call you now,” Joran said.
“Why?” Tunde asked.
“Partly because I instigated it, but truly, I did tell you, your presence gave off the feeling of a lethal beast” Joran replied.
“You are what you are, and I want you to embrace that in the duel, Thalas is not a foe to go easy on you, and neither should you,” Joran said.
“You think I’d go easy on him?” Tunde asked.
“No, but once Thalas realizes just how far you’ve come, I contend he’ll pull out everything he has, and so should you, contrary to what people believe, you have more to lose than him Tunde” Joran finished.
Tunde stared at the robes, bowing in front of the elder.
“You had no reason to help me, to take me in” he started.
“And yet you did, you trained me in the way of the cultivator and ranker, you gave me strength and brought me this far, my debt to you cannot be paid,” he said.
“You can,” Joran said as Tunde looked up.
“Show them all what it means to be the disciple of the blind tiger, break Thalas Verdan,” Joran said.
He gripped Tunde’s arms, blindfolded eyes staring into his.
“Show them what it means to rouse the wrath of the black wolf” he finished.
**********************************
Within the room artistically furnished for the powers of the clan, Alaric and his sister sat with the two great elders of the clan, Moros and Celia. The third chair remained empty, a space left for Joran, Alaric’s gaze going down to the stage itself where the battle would take place, contemplation in his eyes.
“shouldn’t you be with your student, Moros?” Alaric asked as his sister glanced at him.
The siblings had not seen eye to eye since the day Alaric had interfered with Thalas, keeping to each other and only brought together due to the nature of the duel.
“Thalas has his father there for him, I have taught him all that he would need a long time ago” Moros responded.
“he’s not some whelp in need of constant reassurance” he added.
Celia glanced at him curiously, no words spoken as she turned to Alaric, her father. The lord stapled his fingers together, resting his head on his intertwined hands as he leaned forward, closing his eyes.
“We risk so much for so little,” he said.
“Easy for you to say, Rhyn’s not having some outsider contest for his position,” Lirien said airily.
“Frankly, I simply want to see my bloodline at work, to know if the line of Rowan hasn’t waned” she added.
Alaric gave no response, simply sighing before reclining on his chair, tapping one finger against the stone armrest.
“Perhaps, you simply want to breed rankers who care nothing for ties and bonds but simply war,” he said a few seconds later.
“Sword and spear, it was how we were raised, or have you forgotten?’ Lirien asked.
“Sword, spear, and shield” Alaric responded.
“We do not talk about him” Lirien growled softly as her hair began to rise.
The stone door of the room opened and Joran entered calmly, a smile on his face as he bowed.
“I apologize for keeping you all waiting,” he said.
“No such thing, a teacher needs time with his student,” Celia said.
Joran noted the awkwardness in the room, ignoring Moros as he sat next to Celia, the lightning adept watching him guardedly.
“You honestly don’t expect him to defeat Thalas, do you?” he asked.
“That remains to be seen” Joran replied.
“Admirable, Tunde that is,” Celia said.
Joran inclined his head at the praise.
“But risky, he runs ruining everything that he has worked thus far for should he lose” she warned.
“It won’t be the end of the world; loss is a part of life” he added.
“The black wolf, I hear that’s what they call him now?” Lirien asked.
“Indeed, but as to whether it is due to his skin color or his nature, that remains to be seen,” Joran said.
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“And you had nothing to do with it?” Alaric asked.
Joran simply smiled, the lord shaking his head.
“The future fist of Verdan against the dark wolf,” Lirien said, eyes alight.
************************
Thalas sat in a room within the hollow mountain, maids in white robes cleaning and oiling his body as his eyes were shut, breath calmly flowing through his body. Jashed Verdan stood in a corner, two servants at his side, each with one of the weapons the disciple was known for. His gauntlet, the dark green weapon made of pure refined jade Ethra and Ethereon as well as his large club now spiked with Ethereon as well in the hands of both servants.
He opened his eyes, stretching his hands out as his robe was worn for him, the dark green robe with the image of a green mountain etched into it. Getting to his feet, he took the gauntlets from the servant who bowed and stepped backward, putting them on and testing them with a tightening of his fists before collecting the mace and strapping it to his back.
“Show no mercy,” Jashed said as Thalas bowed to his father.
“He would see none from me” Thalas replied.
“Break him piece by piece, nothing can stand in your way to the top, much less one wastelander” his father continued.
Nodding, Thalas turned to the entrance, and moved, making his way past the bowing servants, he stood within the passageway that led to the stage itself. Steeling his heart, he turned his gaze to the thousands in the stands, the banners that waved in the air, both with the crests of house Verdan and the Jashed branch. He saw Rhyn, Sorin, and all the others who watched in silence, disciple-ranked eyes picking them out in the crowd and he turned his gaze away.
He was only here for one reason, to cement his position in his clan once and for all, to assure Rhyn that he would always be that danger close to catching up with him, and if he had to beat his way through a wastelander to do that, then he would. A man in golden robes that glittered appeared from beneath the stage on a metal platform that kept rising, a device attached to his head like a circlet and a bright white pearly smile on his face.
“Welcome everyone to this most anticipated duel!” he started as roars answered him.
“I am your most loyal and humble servant and steward of the entertainment zone, Baron Cyril!, and it is my pleasure to introduce your duelists for tonight” he continued.
“But before that, cultivators, rankers, and guests of jade peak, rise and bow to the presence of the lords and great elders of clan Verdan!” he said as he bowed.
The entire multitudes stood and bowed in silence maintaining that posture as Cyril spoke even as he bowed.
“Venerable lords and adepts, your permission may I continue?” he asked softly.
A flash of aura came from their box high up in the first circle of the stands as Cyril stood straight.
“Gratitude!” he called out as the crowds clapped and sat back.
“Now, for our first ranker,” he started again, pointing his hands towards the direction Thalas stood in.
That was his cue, Thalas began marching forward.
“He needs no introduction, the one who is known as the future fist of clan Verdan, the Scion from the line of the jade gauntlet himself, Jashed Verdan, the one who holds the position of the second strongest disciple in all of Jade peak and student of the great elder Moros” Cyril rushed as he paused.
“One and all, pay your respects to Thalas Verdan!” he completed.
The roar from the crowd shook the mountain, the chants of his name filling the air, Thalas pausing as he stood on the left side of the steward, eyes on the other tunnel.
“And on this side, the latest rising star within Jade Peak City, the unknown cultivator who came from the depths of the wastelands and rose to prominence under the guiding hand of the venerable elder Joran” he started.
Thalas watched as a figure made his way out of the darkened tunnels and felt his pulse race, staring at the ranker he had broken within a rift that felt impossibly stronger.
“The liberator of the mining zone, the one who rose from initiate to disciple in the space of a month, the head disciple of house Dark Fist and known as the dark wolf, once again, pay your respects to Tunde Dark Fist!” Cyril said.
The roars weren’t as loud but they were there, and then black banners began to unfurl with the image of a silver wolf all around the mountain, Thalas watching in surprise as Tunde’s name was chanted. The two faced each other in silence, Thalas searching for any signs of the broken ranker he had stared down on within that old rift but found none, only an endless black depth that stared at him with no visible emotion.
“This is an honor duel, there will be no killing, maiming is allowed within the borders of healable damages, and if your opponent surrenders, you stay your wrath!” Cyril announced.
The platform the steward stood on began to rise higher and higher.
“Then, in the name of the great patriarch of this clan, and of the empire, BEGIN!”
*********************
Tunde imbued his body the moment the battle began, his fist whipping forward with a crack as he clashed with Thalas, both rankers pushed back a step. Thalas whipped his other hand around in an arc, his gauntlet imbued with his jade Ethra, strengthening it more as he brought it down in a thunderous blow. Tunde met it, wrapped fists imbued with his Ethra stopping the gauntlet with such force that it left Thalas surprised for a second, the ranker twisting through the air, his mace appearing in his hand.
Tunde shot backward, Ethra sight flaring to life as he followed the flow of Ethra coming from Thalas, watching as the ranker gathered Ethra as easily as he was breathing. The mace was a soulbound weapon as well, Tunde unleashing Shadowfang, both weapons clashing, releasing a boom much to the cheering of the crowds.
“you’ve improved,” Thalas said.
Tunde gave no response, gripping Shadowfang tighter as he settled into a stance, eyes cold and devoid of emotions.
*****************************
Rhyn sat forward, eyes keen as he watched the opening part of the fight, Elyria and Sorin at his side.
“Oh my,” Sorin said, the third-ranked disciple in the clan.
“indeed” Rhyn muttered.
His eyes flicked to the sealed room where the elders sat with the lords and then back at Tunde, stapling his fingers together, this was proving to be an interesting match.
*********************************
Tunde strapped Shadowfang back on the leather harness on his back, moving on the offensive as he matched blows with Thalas, the disciple releasing a sphere of aura that shimmered with jade crystals that began to form into sharp crystal icicles that shot for him. His aura was out, the black sphere contesting with that of Thalas as he snatched icicles out of the air, pushing closer to the ranker. He suddenly felt heavy, Thalas visibly struggling with an affinity he hadn’t understood much less acquired as he bent it through his jade path to slow Tunde down.
Whatever means he had employed to somehow wield the affinity of pressure, Tunde felt it slow him down just a bit, seeing Thalas take advantage of it as his aura suffused his body, adding weight to the force of Thalas’s blows. Suddenly Tunde was on the defensive, Ethra sight straining to catch up with the attacks of the Verdan, his body reacting with near precise agility and accuracy.
Whatever punches managed to get through him crashed into his already monstrous body, minimum damage passing through due to the pressure affinity he had somehow tapped into. Thalas evidently grew more and more frustrated, yet, it didn’t show in his movements, merely his eyes that showed displeasure, perhaps it was why he didn’t anticipate Tunde’s next move.
Resonance came from nowhere, crashing into the side of Thalas as it lifted the shocked ranker a few meters in the air, eyes wide as he was blasted backward, steam on Tunde’s fist. The entire mountain went silent, and then an energized roar answered.
************************
Joran chuckled, whistling as Moros couldn’t believe his eyes, the lords all watching with rapt attention. It shouldn’t have been possible, Thalas had overwhelmed him, close to breaking the frustrating guard of Joran’s apprentice, and yet, the kid had taken the slight advantage offered to him. He turned his gaze to Joran who was staring right back at him with a wide smile on his face and Moros felt his affinity rage within him.
****************
Thalas adjusted himself, staring at the spot on his reinforced robe that had been seamlessly scorched away in a flash before turning back to Tunde. He clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and unleashed the full might of his aura, the power wrapping around him as he shot forward in the blink of an eye, the full might of his punch coming down on Tunde whose eyes widened, reacting as well. Crystal breaker clashed with whatever technique Tunde used, both rippling the space between their attacks as Thalas flipped through the air, gathering Ethra into a projection technique, large fists that came down on the stage like a boulder.
He had failed to realize just how strong Tunde had grown, the wastelander had surpassed his expectations, matching him both in speed and strength. He felt his heart begin to thump wildly, excitement brewing in his eyes, yes, Thalas Verdan would enjoy breaking him.
***************************
Tunde watched the projection technique form as he released resonance after resonance, shattering the crystals that fell on him even as he tracked Thalas’s movements, watching the ranker attempt to strike at him from his perceived blindspot, his weapon in hand. Shadowfang crashed against the mace with all the force in Tunde’s body, the edge of the axe biting into the mace as Tunde brought his other hand down in a pile-driving punch that crashed on Thalas’s gauntlet, a crack coming from it.
A kick to Tunde’s midsection had him shooting backward, deposed of Shadowfang that was still lodged in the head of the mace, green Ethra leaking from the weapon. Tunde rolled through the air, righting himself as he crouched and slid to a stop, sweat coating his body. Instincts screamed at him to roll to the side, dodging Thalas’s stage-shattering punch with mere inches, eyes wide. He was up, Ethra sight struggling to catch up with the blows of the Scion of Verdan, his reinforced body crashing against the superior weapon gauntlets of Thalas.
Grabbing one fist, Tunde twisted, twisting the hand along despite Thalas’s visible effort at restraining him. The mace flew into Thalas’s hand as the ranker swung it point blank at Tunde, resonance covered his entire hand in looping bands of Ethra as Tunde’s blow met the head of the hammer, a loud explosion coming from the contact. It blew dust in the air, and when it cleared, Tunde cradled one arm, bone jotting out from his elbow, and Thalas gripping a shattered mace.
*************************
“He shattered a soulbound weapon,” Lirien said almost in a whisper, eyes alight.
“by the hegemons” Celia whispered horrified.
“And paid for it with one arm, this battle is as good as over, declare it,” Moros said.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Joran said, wagging one finger back and forth.
“he’ll die at this point,” Celia said.
“Whatever did they say about a cornered wolf?” Joran asked.
“It bares its fangs” Alaric responded.
Lirien laughed in excitement.
***************************
Agony lanced through Tunde’s arm as he lost blood, tearing a strip of his robe even as he pained him to do so and wrapping the arm, Thalas pointed his broken weapon at Tunde.
“This was a gift from Elder Moros, you’ll pay for that,” he said.
Tunde grabbed Shadowfang, took a stance, and kept quiet even as his sight swam with pain, watching as Thalas gathered Ethra in the air, his aura coating his body despite the obvious imbuement he already had.
“you’ve improved, but it ends here and now,” Thalas said.
Tunde cycled as hard as he could, gripping Shadowfang tighter as Ethra sight went to work, calming his heart, hearing the thunderous roar and words from baron Cyril. And yet, he let his body grow accustomed to the vibrations of Ethra in the air, in the obvious pooling of Ethra in the ground around him. Finally, he matched the gaze of Thalas and let his aura bubble to life around him, his hand healing slowly, the bone poking back inside with a loud crack as the crowd gasped, Thalas’s eyes going wide.
The ranker of clan Verdan attacked from all angles, Tunde feeling the vibrations first before seeing the attack with his Ethra sight. He moved before he realized he did, navigating the attacks that appeared around him. Sidestepping the various jade crystals that shot through the ground, Shadowfang crashed through the crystallized fists that came at him rolling away from the crystal icicles and closing in on Thalas who went on guard, pooling Ethra and aura into his gauntlets and sending thunderous blows at Tunde.
He shouted, feeding Shadowfang his rage as aura pooled around the weapon, its wolf head glowing, releasing the stolen Ethra it had acquired from Thalas’s mace into its biting edge. Both crashed against the other, Thalas pitting his every strength into the blow, Tunde released Shadowfang much to Thalas’s surprise. Tunde released his barely healed arm and let his Ethra flow through it, resonance wrapping it as it glowed brighter in that fraction of a second.
Thalas reacted, his cracked gauntlet dislodging Shadowfang and coming to block Tunde’s blow, it was futile. The attack landed like a blow from an adept, shattering the gauntlets, crushing Thalas’s arms, and blasting the ranker backward, rolling on the ground in a heap. Tunde staggered, eyes swimming as he watched Thalas get up, his aura now out of control, rage in his eyes, his aura warping like a violent flame, his broken arm slowly covered with crystals with sharp points on his knuckles.
Tunde watched the ranker gather everything that he had, his violent aura, his Ethra, and now imbued arms. He wasn’t thinking straight, and Tunde was weakened, that much was obvious, instead, Tunde gathered his aura into one hand, letting it accumulate there even as he watched the very air tinge green with the Ethra of the Verdan. This was the final blow, he could feel it, the last act to decide their battle, and he was calm, he wondered why.
He forced his mind to hone on Thalas, watched his every move, watched how Ethra sight flared when Thalas attacked in a blink, seemingly teleporting right in his front. Tunde already moved, the hand shooting out, his condensed aura flashing as he attacked and then froze. Tunde coughed out blood on the shattered platform, feeling his ribs and chest cavity shatter, staring into the eyes of Thalas Verdan. Thalas groaned, puking blood and turning his gaze to the hand that had pierced his stomach, a finger-like hole at the back that pierced the walls in the distance. Both rankers said nothing, merely watching each other as Tunde forced what remained of his Ethra to his legs, willing them not to fail him.
Thalas seemed to attempt to talk when his eyes rolled up his head, slumping to the ground in silence, the entire mountain silent. Tunde felt his body go slack, his arms slumping, fatigue rolling through him.
“Cultivators, rankers, and guests,” Cyril’s voice said almost in a whisper as he descended.
“The champion and new number two disciple of the clan” he continued, as if not believing his words.
“Tunde dark fist” he finished.
A thunderous roar erupted from the stands, Tunde finally allowing himself to pass out, crashing next to Thalas in a heap.