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Vir again Blinked across the stage, and for the first several moves, their bout went much the same as it had before, with Vir attempting to bypass Sikandar’s enormous reach while Cirayus thwarted him.

Cirayus, having led Vir to think he was being pressured, switched from defense to offense so quickly, it left Vir reeling, and he was barely able to get away.

The giant unleashed a vicious barrage of attacks with the enormous sword, forcing Vir to duck, dodge, or otherwise retreat. Deprived of Balancer of Scales, Cirayus was forced to rely on his prodigious strength and skill to be deadly with the weapon.

As time went on, however, Vir began to read the flow of the giant’s attacks. It was nothing so simple as memorizing the timing, for that changed with every strike. With Balancer of Scales, the weight of Cirayus’ weapon changed between attacks, and so too did the timing. Though the giant was unable to use the ability here, those timing shifts were an ingrained part of his training.

It was a testament to Cirayus’ skill that he not only wrangled such a vast array of timings, but did so with relative ease. Each weight profile required subtly different technique and stances, which he must have mastered over centuries. Stances and techniques he could employ even without the ability.

It wasn’t quite the same as if Cirayus had deployed Balancer of Scales, but the effect was enough to throw off Vir’s pace, leaving his strikes mistimed and awkward, and his defense open and vulnerable.

Even so, Vir was nothing if not a quick learner, to say nothing of Shan. Each time Cirayus varied his technique, Vir and Shan were taken by surprise. The second time they saw it, they expected it, and by the third, they had both learned to adapt.

At long last, Vir found the window of opportunity he’d been looking for.

Each attack committed Sikandar to the strike. Once swung, the mighty blade could not so easily be used to defend. It wasn’t only a matter of switching the sword’s directions—which Cirayus had some trouble with without his Ultimate bloodline art to assist—he’d also have to reposition his body to be able to block as well. That was even harder.

Once again, Vir unleashed his Artifact Chakram to roaring applause and cheers, but Vir saw their excitement for the farce it was. Nobody in the stands rightly thought he’d defeat Cirayus today; they just wanted to see the Ravager in action—to see him flex his might against a worthy foe.

The truth was that, like Shan, the Chakram was not a weapon Cirayus could take lightly. And though fully aware of its limitations outside the Ashen Realm—it was not quite the wheel of sure death it had been—it was more than enough to bite through Giant’s Hide and the Gargan Lionheart and injure him. And while Cirayus had almost never had the occasion to use the Gargan Braveheart, the art only stopped one from feeling pain. It did nothing to lessen the damage.

Though Cirayus could easily defend himself, it was one thing to defend one’s body, and another entirely to defend a weapon as well.

Sorry, Cirayus. It’s the only way.

Vir winced as Artifact steel met Seric steel. A horrible, grating sound filled the stadium, but only for an instant.

Few things could survive contact with Imperium technology, and even the legendary Sikandar proved no match. The blade was sliced cleanly into two as the chakram tore through the metal and lodged itself into the stage.

The din that had assaulted Vir’s ears the entire fight finally hushed, leaving behind a deathly silence that pressed down with equal and opposite weight.

Cirayus was, predictably, stunned, but Vir wasn’t nearly done. Even halved, Sikandar was longer than most swords—still very much serviceable. The cutting of the sword, however, was merely a distraction. It was the moment of confusion that followed that Vir had been aiming for. Perhaps the one and only time he could catch his godfather off-guard.

Blink activated, closing the distance in an instant and allowing Vir’s katar to finally reach the demon’s neck.

Shan, no longer hampered by the blade’s length, also moved in.

Acting purely on instinct, Cirayus jerked away, this time physically grabbing Vir with his hand, and kicking Shan away.

Unfortunately, that was just about the worst move he could have made. Against his monstrous physical might, augmented by not one, but two bloodline arts, most of his foes would be crushed. Vir, however, not only withstood it, he used the opportunity to unleash his secret weapon.

Prana of the Ash.

The energy surged into Cirayus’ body, and the giant froze, pain and indecision paralyzing him.

Vir had taken a gamble, and it had paid off.

Cirayus clearly hadn’t expected Vir to use an offensive Ash Prana attack. To do so in a stadium filled with Iksana was ill-advised at best.

And yet, Vir had the very same Sight the Ghaels possessed. Albeit less powerful, he knew the Iksana's range and limitations better than most.

And he knew that it’d be an incredibly lucky Iksana who saw the momentary prana surge.

Cirayus, for his part, was not just Vir’s opponent, but also his ally. Reacting visibly to the extreme pain of having foreign prana forced into his body would have tipped off the stadium that something was wrong.

He could not—would not—do that, and so this was a weakness Vir could exploit.

“You’re quite something, lad,” Cirayus boomed. “I’ll give you that. Which is why I must apologize for this.”

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Cirayus dropped Sikandar, and grabbed all four of Vir’s limbs with his four hands, pinning him in midair.

Vir’s eyes went wide. He poured more prana into the giant, desperate to get away, but despite the obvious pain, Cirayus’ arms held firm.

More than firm. Applying pressure on Vir’s tendons, Cirayus forced him to drop his katar and chakram, leaving him defenseless.

Then, cocking an arm, he readied for a punch. A punch that Vir knew he would not be able to take.

No!

Through Haste, the punch crept closer, accelerating slowly. Vir’s mind raced. What could he do in this situation? What attacks did he have?

He was pinned, and prana was his only attack.

Then, when the fist was less than a pace from his face, Vir’s eyes caught movement, in the form of a black blur.

Black… and Red.

A column of Ashen prana-fire slammed into Cirayus’ face, forcing him to recoil. To his credit, he held onto Vir’s limbs, but another surge of prana from Vir, and a vicious Prana Claw from Shan forced the giant to let go.

Chest swelling with pride for his four-legged friend, Vir fell to the ground, grabbed his katar and Chakram in one move, and surged up at Cirayus…

Just in time to see Cirayus’ fist plunge deep into Shan’s belly.

Vir watched in horror as the wolf’s limp form sailed high through the air and crashed outside of the stage.

Shan did not get up.

Cirayus crouched and held the broken Sikandar high in the air. “Behold!” he shouted. “A worthy foe!”

The crowd, which had gone silent in rapt anticipation, once again burst into cheers and hoots.

Vir barely heard them. He stared at Shan, and despite Prana Vision showing him his friend was alright, he couldn’t accept the facts. In one move, Shan had been knocked out of the fight.

“My companion for yours,” Cirayus said, nodding to Sikandar. “But do not worry. Shan is unharmed. I would never hurt—”

Vir flew at Cirayus in the middle of his speech, but to his surprise, Cirayus charged at him as well—faster than Vir had ever seen before. Despite his armor and size, the giant moved nearly as quickly as Vir with Haste, and for a moment, Vir wondered if the ability had malfunctioned; it was a rare foe who didn’t move in slow motion while the Talent was active.

For the first time in this fight, Cirayus had joined Vir in a different realm where the world seemed frozen in time, and where only they could move.

With Sikandar’s range crippled, Cirayus relied increasingly on his chakras, displaying his sublime mastery over the intricate arts with every slash.

Whenever Vir got to within striking range—a feat more readily accomplished now versus before—Cirayus pummeled him with chakras he could not resist.

It was almost unheard of for anyone in demonic history to wield their chakras with such finesse. Not even Vir’s ancestors had gotten this close, and many even considered the feat an impossibility. But four hundred years of diligent practice proved that even the impossible could not only be made possible, but honed to such a degree that it fully made up for a broken sword.

Fending off even regular Life Chakra attacks took some willpower and concentration, but when augmented by the Crown Chakra, Vir found himself sacrificing his physical defense to focus on blocking the spiritual one.

It was he who took the first cut, swiftly followed by a second, third, fourth, and fifth, and there seemed to be no end in sight.

Forget touching Cirayus—Vir was pressured relentlessly, pushed further and further to the edge of the ring, and there was nothing he could do about it. Despite Prana Current, despite Haste burning through his body’s prana reserves at an alarming rate, Vir was barely able to stay in the fight.

A single lapse of concentration, a single mistake, and the duel would be over. Vir’s fate, and the fate of the Garga, bordered on a razor’s edge.

Part of him despised Cirayus for fighting this hard. The giant knew what was at stake. Did he truly have to go all-out like this? Would the crowd care if he backed off, even a little? What drove him to act this way?

The answer came instantly, and Vir felt ashamed for harboring those thoughts of ill-will.

Everything Cirayus had ever done had been to help Vir. To push him and help him grow, in the Ash, and here, to force Vir to show the world just how formidable a warrior he truly was. To show the world how deserving he was of the Bairan Ultimate Bloodline Art.

Even this was for Vir’s sake.

And so all Vir could feel was shame. That, despite his godfather giving him such consideration, he could not live up to expectations. That despite pushing past his limits, he could not win.

Vir fought desperately, warding off slash after slash, blow after blow, and Chakra attacks that rained upon him in an unending torrent, making him nauseous, delirious, and nearly crippled. It was only on account of Prana Current, the Artifact Chakram, and Vir’s relentless determination that kept him in the fight. The art accelerated his blood flow, and when combined with his pranites, proved useful in warding off some of the Chakra-induced hallucinations.

It was, however, not nearly enough.

Haste wavered and began to fail as the prana ran low within Vir’s body, and the infrequent nicks on his skin came faster, the cuts deeper. Blood ran down his arms, legs, and face in streams. One eye was fused shut from an augmented blow.

Despite Haste failing, however, the world seemed to slow for a moment. It was not the result of any ability or Chakra, but rather of Vir’s own mind. The end was near. In the next several seconds, he would either be knocked out of the ring, suffer a fight-ending blow, or he would be knocked unconscious.

Thousands of ideas ran through his head—kicks, strikes, Chakra attacks… All futile. All ended in failure. Some might delay that end by a few seconds, but what did it matter?

Vir’s eyes rose to the stands. It was the outcome the crowd expected. The defeat they couldn’t wait to see. Losing would make them happy, wouldn’t it?

And then, amid the throng of bodies, Vir’s eyes locked on one.

That ought to have been impossible. With as far away as she was, with so many people, singling out an individual couldn’t have happened without a telescope.

Ashani, however, appeared to Vir as though she were just a dozen paces away. He could make out every detail of her demonic armor. Her long black hair and her red eyes.

And she was saying something. Vir couldn’t hear the words, but he could read lips.

She was saying… “What are you waiting for?”

Vir didn’t understand. “Waiting for what?” he thought, his mind suddenly hazy, distracted by the impossibility of having a conversation with Ashani in the split-second before his loss to Cirayus. It was as if the world no longer existed—that only he and Ashani were here.

At the same time, he felt his own body, seemingly moving at its normal pace. It truly made no sense.

“You know what you have to do,” Ashani mouthed.

What I have to… Understanding dawned. But I can’t! That is the one thing I cannot do.

“Are you not ready?”

I’m not… Am I?

He’d yet to obtain even a single Ultimate Bloodline Art. His demons—a paltry two hundred, training within the Ash—couldn’t possibly hold Samar Patag, even if they did somehow manage to take it.

“What of the Ash?” Ashani mouthed.

She was right. He didn’t need to storm Samar Patag immediately. The Ash was his. Only he had the keys to that realm. Only he could enter and exit as he pleased. No one else. It didn’t matter if the entire realm banded against him. One year at Mahādi was barely a few weeks outside, and he could strike from wherever he wished.

He had Cirayus, he had Thaman, and now… Now he had Ashani.

Wasn’t he ready? If not for outright rebellion, then at the very least, for the next step?

I am.

The answer came so easily. As though he had known it this entire time and was simply stalling. Nestled deep within his layers of false identity. Afraid to cross that point of no return.

If, however, crossing that line was what it took to shift the fate of this realm, then Vir decided there and then that he would take that step.

Right here. Right now.

Shan was gone. Vir had expended every last trick he had.

It was time to win this.

Vir saw Sikandar’s broken edge swing for his chest, promising certain defeat. In that instant, he saw the world more clearly than he ever had. He saw what must be done.

Prana Current surged beyond its safe limit, and the temporary tattoo that hid his prana from prying eyes burned away.

Vir, in full view of forty thousand souls, sank into the shadows.