"What do you mean I'm going to fight Thamuz? That can't be," protested Korro, running a trembling hand through his hair as he stared at Vixkard in disbelief.
"It's an order, and that's final. Besides, it will give you experience for when you face opponents as formidable as Thamuz," Vixkard retorted firmly, crossing his arms over his chest with authority.
"Fine, but I'll only do it to help Thamuz, understood?" Korro reluctantly conceded, his tense shoulders revealing his unease.
With a resigned gesture, Korro led Thamuz toward the combat arena. The air felt heavy with tension as each took their positions at opposite corners, preparing for the clash.
Korro began his preparation ritual: he pounded his chest with an ancient rhythm, his movements precise and deliberate. He crouched to touch his knees and, with supernatural grace, raised one leg to an impossible height before slamming it into the ground with controlled force. He repeated the sequence with the other leg, every movement a dance of contained power.
Thamuz, on the other hand, shrugged off his shirt in one fluid motion, letting it fall to the side. His muscles rippled under his black skin as he methodically stretched his body. The crack of his joints echoed in the expectant silence, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the arena.
Tawnylon returned from the garden and positioned himself beside Vixkard, who remained seated with a blanket over his knees and a steaming cup of tea in his right hand. Despite his blindness, his face was oriented toward the arena as if he could perceive every movement.
"How did you get that scar?" Tawnylon asked, his eyes fixed on the mark that crossed Vixkard's face.
"This?" Vixkard traced the scar with experienced fingers. "An old mhonktan gave it to me a long time ago. Those beasts are especially ferocious when wounded. Even I thought I would die that day, but I survived... though I lost my sight in the process."
"I see. I suppose the mhonktan attacked you, right?" Tawnylon inquired.
A harsh laugh escaped Vixkard's throat as he cracked his time-worn knuckles.
"Of course not. You know me well—you know exactly why I'm still alive," he replied with a fierceness that made his weathered face shine.
In the arena, Korro and Thamuz completed their preparations. Korro assumed a characteristic stance, arms stretched back with palms extended like tense wings, ready to unleash his power. Thamuz, in contrast, crouched into his distinctive low position, hands extended forward like invisible claws seemingly grasping at the very air.
As if sealing a silent pact, both fighters lunged at each other. Thamuz attempted his signature grappling move, but Korro, demonstrating surprising speed, landed a precise palm strike on the left side of his opponent’s face.
Although the impact wasn’t devastating, it was enough to throw Thamuz off balance. Taking advantage of the moment, Korro skillfully slid his foot, hooking it around his rival’s. In a display of technique, he used Thamuz’s own weight against him, channeling all his strength through his shoulder to hurl him to the side.
Thamuz hit the ground with such force that the foundations of Vixkard’s house shook, causing a few drops of tea to spill from his cup.
"From the intensity of the vibration, I deduce that Thamuz has fallen," Vixkard commented calmly, lifting the cup to his lips. "Only he has enough weight to make the structure tremble like that."
Thamuz quickly rose, turning to face Korro, who maintained a serene but determined expression, revealing the seriousness with which he approached the fight. Abandoning his usual low stance, Thamuz raised his hands with palms open.
"Let’s see if you’re just as slippery dodging strikes," Thamuz murmured to himself.
He lunged at Korro, unleashing a storm of open-palm strikes. Dust swirled around their feet as Korro alternated between dodging and counterattacking, though some blows managed to connect, which he absorbed as best as he could.
In a desperate move, Korro surged forward, grabbing Thamuz’s waist. With immense strength, he lifted him and slammed him into the ground, mounting him to rain down a flurry of palm strikes to his face.
"Come on, son! Don’t let him dominate you on the ground!" Tawnylon’s voice boomed from his position, trying to inspire his son.
Thamuz endured the onslaught, shielding himself with his forearms until, in a calculated maneuver, he extended his arms to the sides, feigning surrender. When Korro let his guard down, Thamuz sprung his trap: his hands moved like lightning, striking Korro’s ribs simultaneously.
"Aghh!" Korro’s cry of pain mixed with a splatter of blood and saliva.
He staggered back, clutching his ribs, while Thamuz slowly rose, feeling his bruised and battered face.
"You hit with a lot of power," Thamuz acknowledged, pressing his nose to release the blood obstructing his breathing. "Perhaps a little less than Khabixan—if I recall his name correctly—the one I faced in my second shamonak to death."
"You hit with a lot of power," Thamuz acknowledged, pressing his nose to release the blood obstructing his breathing. "Perhaps a little less than Khabixan—if I recall his name correctly—the one I faced in my second shamonak a muerte."
"That comparison honors me," Korro replied between labored breaths, still recovering from the impact. "But I still have strength to continue."
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
The fight escalated to a new level of intensity as Thamuz, smiling at his rival's ferocity, returned to his characteristic low stance. This time, however, instead of preparing his arms for grappling, he launched into a direct charge, concealing his true intentions.
Korro raised his hands in response, torn between dodging or countering with a more powerful strike, his confidence momentarily clouding his judgment. Just inches from being struck by Thamuz's shoulder, Korro landed a precise palm strike to his opponent's neck, forcing Thamuz to recoil while clutching the impacted area.
Seizing the momentary vulnerability, Korro slid behind Thamuz, grabbed his waist, and, in an explosive movement, arched backward to execute a suplex. The force of the maneuver shook the house so violently that it nearly toppled Vixkard from his chair.
"Another impact of Thamuz hitting the ground," Vixkard commented, readjusting his position. "Your son has a remarkable gift for absorbing blows; his build and weight certainly work in his favor."
"It’s his greatest weakness in combat," Tawnylon replied, shaking his head in disapproval. "He relies too much on his resilience and tenacity. In his last fight, I feared for his life because of that attitude."
"You’re referring to his fight with Bhaxmunt, if I’m not mistaken? I've heard about that match since arriving in the city," Vixkard inquired with interest.
"Exactly. He was one of the last practitioners of nilux. Do you remember that martial art?"
"How could I forget," Vixkard nodded. "I’ve tested my limits against several masters of that discipline."
In the arena, the clash continued relentlessly. After executing the suplex, Korro leaped into the air, aiming a downward kick at Thamuz’s face. However, Thamuz, demonstrating extraordinary reflexes, caught Korro’s foot at the last moment and slammed him into the ground. He quickly got up, attempting to replicate his opponent’s strategy with a stomp aimed at Korro’s face.
By mere millimeters, Korro avoided the impact by turning his head. In a fluid motion, he wrapped his legs around Thamuz’s, applying a hold that toppled the massive fighter with the pressure exerted.
"Is that technique even allowed?" Tawnylon asked, bewildered.
"It's not common in fights, but it's a submission technique specifically designed to bring down larger opponents," Vixkard explained. "It will be interesting to see how Thamuz escapes such an effective hold."
The pressure from Korro’s grip was brutal, like the jaws of a wild beast crushing Thamuz’s muscles.
"This is my only option to immobilize this giant," Korro muttered through gritted teeth. "One more strike from his palms, and he’ll break my bones. Please, surrender."
But Thamuz, far from yielding, began dragging himself across the arena toward the center of the combat zone. With superhuman effort, he gradually rose until he balanced on a single leg.
"Surrender, or I’ll break your leg!" Korro bellowed, frustration tinting his voice.
Thamuz responded to Korro’s ultimatum with a beastly roar. In a display of sheer brute force, he lifted the leg trapped in Korro’s hold and slammed it into the ground with the same ritualistic intensity Korro had demonstrated at the start of the match.
A dense cloud of dust rose, swallowing both fighters. Tawnylon squinted, trying to pierce through the curtain of dirt, while Vixkard felt the vibrations of heavy footsteps approaching.
From within the cloud of dust emerged the silhouette of Thamuz, carrying a battered Korro whose chest bore a massive bruise, evidence of the devastating impact he had endured.
"Judging by the weight of the footsteps, I deduce Thamuz has won," Vixkard remarked, rising from his rocking chair. "I don’t hear Korro’s steps."
"That’s right; Thamuz is carrying him," Tawnylon confirmed as he moved toward the fighters.
Vixkard’s lips curled into a satisfied smile, and he hurried to the kitchen. He returned with a large container of bandamena water, its characteristic bluish glow faintly illuminating the room, along with an empty cup.
Korro lay on the ground, struggling to catch his breath as he raised an open palm toward Thamuz.
"I never imagined you had such power," Korro gasped between fits of coughing. "At least I gave you a fight."
Thamuz firmly clasped Korro’s hand, a respectful smile forming on his face. "Don’t worry. if we train together, you’ll reach my level. You have my word."
Vixkard handed the container and cup to Tawnylon, who poured the glowing liquid before returning the vessel. He knelt beside Korro, gently supporting his head to help him drink.
"Here, this will speed up your recovery," Tawnylon murmured soothingly.
At the first sip, Korro's eyes widened. He clutched Tawnylon's hand, eager for more of the healing liquid, until he emptied the cup completely.
Tawnylon gently placed Korro's head on the ground. After a few minutes, Korro began to gradually sit up as his wounds and the bruise faded away as if they had never existed.
Vixkard returned to his rocking chair, his unease evident in the frantic movement while he held a considerable-length staff in his right hand.
“Come closer, young Thamuz,” he commanded in a serious tone of voice. “We need to analyze your performance in the fight.”
Thamuz obeyed and approached Vixkard slowly, placing his arms behind his back as a sign of respect. Without warning, a sharp pain shot through his knees as Vixkard’s staff struck them with precision, forcing him to kneel with a muffled cry.
“First,” Vixkard began sternly, “I noticed every time you fell and took Korro’s blows. He is neither fast nor particularly strong, so it’s baffling that you allowed so many hits. Were you holding back, or is that really how you fight?”
Thamuz remained silent, seeking his father’s gaze, who simply shrugged and raised his eyebrows, as if Vixkard’s harshness was an everyday occurrence.
“That’s just my style,” Thamuz finally replied. “I take the hits to analyze how to counter them. Is there something wrong with that?”
“It’s extremely dangerous,” Vixkard declared. “There are opponents who aim to kill or end the fight with a single blow. Will you let yourself be destroyed just to understand their technique?”
“My body can withstand it,” Thamuz protested, his eyes burning with determination. “I’ve defeated two opponents with murderous intentions. My method works.”
Vixkard perceived the unshakable conviction in Thamuz’s voice. He exhaled deeply as he adjusted his grip on the staff.
“If your destiny is to end up paralyzed after every fight, I can’t stop you,” he conceded. “But I can turn that resilience into something greater, more enduring than a mountain.”
Tawnylon approached his son, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“It seems you’re gradually discovering your own path in combat,” he observed, directing his gaze toward Vixkard. “I trust you’ll be able to impart all your knowledge to him.”
“I hope so, though your son promises to be a challenging student,” Vixkard replied, rising from his rocking chair. “That’s enough for today; the fight was exhausting.”
Like a shadow dissolving into the breeze, Vixkard retreated into his house and disappeared. Tawnylon followed shortly after.
“I need to rest,” Tawnylon murmured, rubbing his eyes. “You should join me, Thamuz.”
Thamuz nodded and followed his father, bidding farewell to Korro, who took a different path.
In the room, father and son settled into their respective beds, adopting peculiar but comfortable postures in the cramped space. They closed their eyes, letting sleep envelop them as they anticipated the days of improvement awaiting Thamuz under Vixkard’s tutelage.