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“Now that’s a move!” Samik roared into his mic. “What sort of movement do you think that is, Nakin?”
Nakin, similarly on the edge of his seat in the commentator’s booth, replied with a quivering voice.
“It’s… like nothing I’ve ever seen, Samik. It… It reminds me of the Iksana’s Dance of the Shadow Demon. Has young Vaak managed to replicate something similar?”
“If so, it would be the invention of the century. Perhaps even the millennium! What a fight! What a show! And now, Vaak presses the offensive, unleashing a barrage of deadly blows against the Ravager! And the Ravager takes a hit! Is it just me, Samik, or do young Vaak’s strikes seem to pack more of a punch now?”
“Certainly looks that way, Nakin. For the first time in this fight, the Ravager’s getting pushed back. Oh! Vaak disappeared again.”
“There he is, launching a devastating surprise blow from the Ravager’s own shadow! I must say, Vaak truly has replicated the traits of the Iksana art with this.”
“And not just that, Nakin, but look at those strikes! The Ravager’s armor is falling apart. Notice how he's avoiding the blows now?”
“Indeed. On the verge of defeat, Vaak has truly pulled off a monumental comeback. The two finalists are now at the center of the stage, with the Ravager being pushed back. OH! What a near miss from Vaak’s chakram!” Nakin roared as Cirayus’ upper arm was sliced open.
“Cut through like butter! The Ravager won’t be able to rely on his Bairan toughness against an Artifact of the Gods!”
“Quite right. That is one nasty weapon. And Vaak seems well versed in exploiting the disk. He’s got the Ravager on the—”
“Sorry to cut you off, Nakin, but there seems to be a commotion in the Iksana camp.”
“Indeed, they’re growing restless, Samik. I wonder what—Hey! What are you—!? You can’t be in here! This is a private booth!”
The commentators cut out, and for a long moment, there was only silence.
The other clans looked around in confusion as the Iksana panicked for seemingly no reason.
Then Samik’s voice filled the stadium once more, and upon hearing his words, the whole stadium was sent into an uproar.
“Apologies, everyone, but… But we’ve just received new information. It seems that… Well, folks,” Samik paused, breathless, and more than a bit confused. “I don’t quite know how to put this. But we’ve been informed by our Iksana friends that Vaak is somehow using Ash Prana…”
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While Vir’s eyes were on Cirayus, his ears were tuned to the crowd. The noise, so blaringly loud at first, had actually grown once he used Dance of the Shadow Demon. Vir suspected the Iksana were the only clan who had stopped cheering, but well, they were a quiet bunch to begin with, and the confusion they must surely have felt was easily overshadowed by the uptick in fervor from everyone else.
It won’t last, Vir knew. His window for victory had just shortened considerably. If he couldn’t nail this bout before the stadium got over its confusion, he was done for.
Vir emerged from Cirayus’ shadow. His Prana Bladed katar penetrated the giant’s plate metal armor as though it didn’t exist, and sunk deep into the gap between his opponent’s ribs.
In any other situation, the Ravager would have reacted, jumping into the air. Vir had been fully prepared to sink back into the shadows should he do such a thing.
Instead, he simply stood there and took the blow. It was the first proper wound he’d sustained this entire match. Nor was it superficial. Cirayus might not be out of the fight just yet, but he would feel this injury for the rest of the bout. It might very well have been the first time in Vir’s history with the Ravager that he’d truly taken him by surprise.
“Lad?”
Cirayus strained under the onslaught of blows that followed, fighting desperately to fend off Vir’s Prana Blades and Blades Launches. Now unfettered, Vir’s offensive power had multiplied, and Cirayus had precious few ways of countering them. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
“Fully,” Vir said, and to his surprise, although he probably ought to have expected it, he saw hunger fill Cirayus’ eyes. Hunger and awe.
“Well then. I suppose I ought to give the crowd one last show!”
Cirayus swung Sikandar’s stump with unbelievable speed, but against the might of Ash prana, all that served was to hasten its destruction.
Vir raised his katar, enveloped it with Prana Blade, and watched as the once-mighty sword was cut in two again.
Despite the loss, Cirayus’ grin only brightened.
Seeing this, a sudden sense of euphoria flooded Vir, drowning out all other thoughts. Was this how his father, Maion Garga, must have felt when he stood upon this very stage years ago? Was this how he felt when he fought Cirayus—his best friend?
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Even if for only the briefest of moments, Vir felt a connection to Maion—a sort of bond, however tenuous it may have been. Maion was famous, yes, but in the way celebrities were. As a person, Vir knew far too little about the man, and until now, he’d assumed his father was an incurable battle junkie.
But here, performing on this vast stage in front of a sea of demons, Vir felt he understood what his father enjoyed about all of this.
For he felt the same.
Driving forth, Vir scored another hit, this time against Cirayus’ thigh.
With a grunt of pain, the giant fell to a knee, but he wasn’t done yet.
What was left of Sikandar came flying at Vir, who avoided it by sinking into the shadows once again.
With one leg out of commission, jumping to dodge was now impossible, allowing Vir to strike to his heart’s content.
Which he did not do.
Were this any other opponent, he’d happily have inflicted wound after wound, grinding them down. But this was Cirayus—his godfather. His loving family.
And once this bout was done and over, Vir would need all the muscle he could get. Crippling the demon who’d soon safeguard him seemed like a terrible idea.
Even still, surrender was not in Cirayus’ vocabulary, and Vir suspected such thoughts were the furthest thing from his mind right now.
No, Vir would have to earn this win the hard way. Luckily, the rules provided another way of achieving that.
Surging out of the shadows, Vir Blinked at Cirayus, continuing to pressure him with attack after attack.
Lacking a weapon to defend himself, Cirayus was forced to use his hands, fists, and Chakras to impede Vir. Despite his abysmal situation, though, the giant grinned with glee.
Vir doubted his godfather had had this much fun in decades. He seemed to be having the time of his life.
Unfortunately for him, the bouts until now had already depleted much of the prana in the air and ground, and just as Vir was running on the fumes of Ash prana within his own body, Cirayus struggled to use his arts as well, and was forced to deploy them tactically to stave off his impending doom.
Bit by bit, Vir pushed the giant toward the other side of the stage, until less than a pace remained.
It was a good thing, too, because after Samik’s announcement, the entire stadium had flown into uproarious chaos. Yells, shouts of panic, and even a few cheers could be heard. Those, however, were in the minority.
As each minute passed, the stadium became increasingly galvanized, and Vir was not naïve enough to hope that they were on his side.
Cirayus, in one final, desperate move, activated the Gargan Lionheart at full power, combining it with Giant’s Grace to duck under Vir’s next attack and deliver a devastating punch to his abdomen.
It was an all-or-nothing move that risked it all. It nearly worked, too.
Despite having expected something like this, the sheer speed behind Cirayus’ blow made it impossible to avoid, and he moved with a grace that made Vir wonder if all those wounds he’d inflicted had been nothing but an illusion.
Blocking the blow meant risking breaking his bones, especially with Lionheart active. It also risked the possibility of being flung across the stage.
Vir couldn’t afford that. Not now, when his time had all but run out.
And so, he did something that ought to have been impossible.
He gripped Cirayus’ forearm, pivoted, and crouched.
The giant’s momentum carried him forward, and instead of hitting Vir, he was thrown straight over his shoulders.
The demon tumbled over the edge of the stage, and came to rest several paces outside.
Vir raised his katar to the sky and looked up at the stage.
The commentators… Well, the commentators were far too busy panicking to notice that he’d won. He’d have to gain their attention somehow.
Vir grinned. Luckily, he knew of a quaint party trick that would allow him to do just that.
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“Calm!” Samik said, straining to be heard over the absolute chaos that was now breaking out in the stadium. When everyone understood the ramifications of Vaak’s identity, panic had run rampant. And panic had a way of growing and growing in a mob until all reason was lost.
“Everyone, please, do not panic! Please remain in your seats!”
Nakin, Samik’s partner, squirmed in his chair, foot bouncing against the ground nervously.
“We urge you to remain calm. Raja Thaman himself is here. All the Clan Rajas are assembled. No harm will befall—”
“The realm is doomed!” Nakin roared into his voice amplifier. “The Akh Nara has returned! Run for your lives—!?”
Samik, acting fast, clubbed his co-commentator over the neck, knocking him unconscious.
“Ignore that!” Samik shouted into his amplifier after desperately returning to his seat. “There is no reason to panic! I assure you!”
Unfortunately, the damage had already been done. The crowd, already panicking and rushing for the exits, now burst like a dam, with demons trampling each other and arts flying through the air.
How many would die in this chaos? How many would be injured?
Samik sat back in his chair, eyes unfocused. No amount of consolation or pleading could put that water back now. He’d failed as a commentator, and he’d failed his people.
“Never in history…” Samik muttered, clutching his hair. This day would go down as an unmitigated disaster. A black mark upon Bairan history. And his name would forever be remembered as the commentator who failed to keep the crowd in check.
“Mind if I use that device?” someone said from beside him.
“This is a private area, but well… be my guest.” Defeatedly, Samik gestured an arm to the seat beside him, barely even registering the newcomer. The damage had already been done. It mattered little what anyone said now.
Perhaps it is time I take my leave.
“Thanks,” the demon said, grabbing the prana amplifier Nakin had used. “Let’s see… Testing. Testing.”
“They can hear you,” Samik said, puzzled at the demon’s behavior. Did he not know how to use these devices? While not exactly widespread, they weren’t rare, either. Most demons would have come across them.
Samik rose to leave his seat and gave the newcomer a look.
A gray demon. Curious…
He was so small—he looked like a child standing in front of the seat made for Bairans.
“Thanks,” the stranger said. “Oh, er. You may wish to stick around. I think the safest place will be beside me. At least for the time being.”
Strange… Samik frowned. Where have I seen him before? He looks as though he’s been through a terrible battle. Did he get caught in the mayhem as well?
Had Samik been in a clearer state of mind, he would have recognized the demon before him immediately. As it was, however, it wasn’t until the demon uttered his next words that his blood ran cold.
“Greetings, everyone. You know me as Vaak, the competitor. Allow me to reintroduce myself. My real name… Is Sarvaak. Son of Maion and Shari Garga, and rightful heir to the clan. Some of you, however, might know me by a different name. Some of you… call me the Akh Nara.”
Black flames erupted all around the Akh Nara, wreathing him in an armor of fire.
Samik stumbled, falling on his ass. The Akh Nara’s visage was now being projected across the entire stadium. Forty thousand demons stood transfixed at his otherworldly image.
“Yes, I am alive. Yes, the Chitran failed to kill me when they murdered my family and destroyed my country. And yes, I have returned to reclaim what is rightfully mine. Now, let me tell you how you all need to behave so that no one gets hurt. Return to your seats. We have much to discuss.”
The crowd that had just moments before been in total panic stilled and hushed.
Samik knew exactly what was going through their minds, for the very same thought consumed his.
Gods have mercy… We are doomed.