The cool liquid trickled down Zeirdin’s throat, soothing the fire that mana use left behind. He stood in the middle of the crowd around the ring with his cup as he waited for his next match. The stench of the Tennians was overwhelming while standing in their midst. Zeirdin wanted to plug his nose. The crowd cheered loudly as the match ended. The favored to win had won, and over half the crowd had made a few dynats. A hand grabbed Zeirdin’s shoulder from behind.
“Kid, you’re up now,” A voice barked from behind Zeirdin. He turned to see a large man with a clipboard. Perhaps Zeirdin stared too long because the man pushed his shoulder. Zeirdin did not budge, but the chilled water inside his disposable cup splattered all over his clothes. Zeirdin was irked. Perhaps he was an irritable person, or perhaps his temper was average, but bothersome people tended to come his way.
“Bastard,” Zeirdin swatted the man’s hand off his shoulder and shoved his way through the crowd and towards the ring. The organizers were not lying when they said they wanted the Shredding done as quickly as possible. Qualifying matches tended to be slow and uninteresting due to contestants being cautious. Fight houses in turn didn’t make as much money from the lower viewership, so in an attempt to keep profits from dipping, they packed as many qualifiers in each day as possible. One of the cleaning staff was still mopping the blood off the ring when Zeirdin walked up the steps. Each step he took rattled the chain link fence that enclosed the ring.
A few moments later Zeirdin’s opponent was directed up the steps opposite him. She was pasty, short, and looked to be in her early twenties. Her hair was dirty blond and her eyes were some light shade of gray. She wore short silver and green robes over a dark gray jumpsuit. Oh no… Only one group of people wore those clothes. An unwavering arrogant grin was plastered across her face as she sized Zeirdin up. Gistern royalty. Zeirdin groaned inwardly.
There were three main branches that held the majority of the internal power in Gistern. First was the Democratic Council, then came the Orange Lance, and then the Gistern royal family, or the Gisteras. Each branch constantly fought another to gain the upper hand. Each branch was equally depraved in its own way. The royal family had human trafficking, the council’s corruption was the main reason Gistern became a vassal state, and the Orange Lance was notorious for committing atrocities outside and within Gistern. Ordered by the Numian Empire, the three branches had worked together to orchestrate a genocide of Zeirdin’s people.
Zeirdin began to boil under the surface. His face remained expressionless, but underneath the facade, he was a live volcano.
“Laaaaadies and gentlemen, welcome to the second to last fight of the night!” The announcer boomed over the speakers. It was the same man who got replaced for being drunk earlier that night. Zeirdin was itching to fight.
“Who’s ready to watch this one-sided beat down?” The crowd cheered. Zeirdin raised an eyebrow. “In the orange corner, we have HELANTHA GISTERA! The 12th princess of Gistern! She has persevered through an arduous journey to reach this ring! She’s an accomplished third circle galma user and talented with the gun and blade. Which will we see tonight? Probably the galma because weapons are strictly prohibited in this tournament! She stands at 160cm and has a combat score of 182! She packs quite the punch.” The crowd roared. She was the crowd favorite 90 to 1.
Helantha sneered at Zeirdin, “You can forfeit right now, filthy Toxda,” Her voice oozed with venom and a rare arrogance unique to those who truly believed they were superior to everyone. The world was meant to serve her. Zeirdin responded with a gaze so cold ice crystals might have formed in the air.
“I’m going to break both your ankles. And then I will break both your knees,” Zeirdin said in an icy monotone voice. What he said was no longer a threat, it was the future.
“Oooh! There’s already some spicy pre-match trash talk going on! Let me remind us of all of the rules since this will be a spicy fight. If a contestant is killed, their opponent will be disqualified and receive a permanent ban from the Blood Brawl. If a contestant dies after the match from Injuries sustained in the fight, their opponent will be disqualified and receive a permanent ban from the Blood Brawl. Use of weapons will result in immediate disqualification.” The crowd booed. Zeirdin made a mental note to avoid her femurs. Without proper medical attention, a broken femur could result in death from the strong muscles around the bone contracting. Zeirdin needed the money too much to allow such a thing to happen.
“Finally, in the red corner, we have Zeerdin! A mysterious challenger with promise! He left most of his sign-up sheet blank! It’s too bad his opponent happened to be the 12th princess of Gistern this early on! Better luck next year buddy!” The speakers boomed overhead and the crowd went wild. Zeirdin was not amused. “Each contestant has won their first match. This battle will determine who gets to join the main bracket of BLOOD BRAWL 18! Let the match begin!”
Zeirdin had no experience fighting galma users and didn’t know what to expect. He brought his hands above his chin and just below his eyes, knees bent slightly. He formed a thin mana barrier around his body, just like Zriga had taught him. He probably didn’t have to worry about Kjex, but that was the only reassurance he had. Helantha’s arrogance had to be at least somewhat justified since her combat score was the highest he had encountered so far. He didn’t have to wait long.
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Zeirdin’s sensitive eyes picked up the brief dim flash of Helantha’s gray eyes as she extended her hands outward. She pointed her fingers towards Zeirdin. They curled backward slightly as they overextended. He had to reach her before she finished casting. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with stale putrid air, and shot forward. Each step was infused with as much mana as he could muster. Each footfall caused the metal floor to let out a deafening clang. Muscle fibers groaned in protest as they were pushed beyond what should’ve been possible without mana. The five-meter gap was closed in a fourth of a second.
Helantha’s eyes widened slightly, but Zeirdin was still slightly too late. Her eyes flashed once more, followed by a whoosh of hot air. His ears popped from the change of pressure. Suddenly, his shoulder began to burn with excruciating pain. The smell of charred flesh and fabric permeated the air. His thin mana barrier did nothing against the super-heated air. Zeirdin skidded to a halt. Helantha’s attack bought her just enough time to evade Zeirdin. In a series of nimble steps, she widened the gap back to what it was before. A cruel twisted smile formed across her face. Zeirdin swore under his breath. The attack had been invisible.
Zeirdin cursed his circumstances. He had severely neglected his galma for many months now. It took too much time to learn for it to be useful to him in the jungle and required learning materials. He had no ranged attacks to level the playing field.
Helantha was ruthless. Before Zeirdin could get his bearings she went on the offensive again. She contorted her outstretched hand before squeezing it shut. Immediately, Zeirdin felt his chest tighten and his breathing growing stiff and labored. In response, Zeirdin thickened his mana barrier by supplying it with more mana. The grip around his chest faded completely. Mana countered mana. Helantha frowned as Zeirdin seemed unfazed. Her eyes flashed again as she began to pour more mana into her spell but it was no use. Once again Zeirdin shot forward like a sparrow. He had to get value out of Helantha’s redundant casting. If he could get even one light mana-infused strike in, he could potentially dissipate all the atmospheric mana she had gathered. Zeirdin guessed she didn’t have much experience fighting someone else trained in the Cerulean Arts. She should’ve quit casting the moment she knew it wasn’t having an effect.
“Filth!” Helantha yelled, growing impatient. Clang clang clang clang clang. He closed the gap in a fraction of a second, moving at an inhuman speed. His joints and muscles already ached slightly. Helantha was backed up against the metal fence.
Zeirdin focused on her eyes. He couldn’t dodge spells he couldn’t see, but he could predict where they were going from where she was looking. Her eyes were looking somewhere in the middle of his torso. He had a brief window of time when her eyes flashed and the magic activated to dodge. Zeirdin was almost in range. Her eyes flashed white. Zeirdin jerked to the left reflexively. He was slightly too late. Burning pain bloomed across a small patch on the right side of his torso. It was a small price to pay though. He didn’t hesitate and this time she couldn’t run.
Zeirdin bumped his mana circulation up two notches. In an exaggerated manner, he brought back his right hand to telegraph a cross. This drew her attention to his upper body. First Zeirdin threw a quick jab. Helantha slipped to the side avoiding it right as he threw his telegraphed cross. She parried it, now her attention completely on his fists. Cruel amusement blossomed within Zeirdin at Helantha’s naivety. Most of Zeirdin’s mana was focused on his right leg for a certain reason. He lifted his foot off the ground. Vibrating energy whirled around within him. With hateful agility, he brought his foot down on Helantha’s ankle. Her bones stood no chance against Zeirdin’s lovac. The sickening snapping of bone followed by the bang of metal pierced the air.
Helantha crumpled forward as her wails filled the air. Zeirdin shoved his knee into her stomach as she fell forward, knocking the wind out of her and stifling her cries.
“F-filthy T-tt-toxda,” She wheezed on the ground, her face contorted in pain. Not a shred of her royal dignity remained.
“Forfeit. Now,” Zeirdin commanded. Surrendering to a Toxda would hurt her much more than a few broken bones.
“F-filth-,” Her pathetic wheezing was cut short with another snap. Helantha whimpered but could not fill her lungs with enough air to scream. Zeirdin looked down at her with cold cruel eyes. Indignant tears streamed down her pale face. He kicked her in the ribs one last time before spitting on the ground. They would stop the match any second. Zeirdin turned his back and walked towards the opposite exit of the ring, waiting for the announcer to end the match. His heart pounded in his chest, still full of fury.
Zeirdin was knocked forward by a blast of burning air. Excruciating pain exploded across his back. He clenched his teeth in pain, refusing to let out even a peep. Lying on the ground behind him, with tears streaming down her face was Helantha, her hand outstretched. Zeirdin’s eyes glowed red like the hottest embers of a bonfire. The audience held their breath as Zeirdin slowly and calmly walked back toward Helantha. The air grew frigid as Zeirdin expanded his aura and channeled his wrath. The colors within the ring grew more vibrant. Flecks of blue fell out of the air. The stench of burnt flesh hung around Zeirdin as he knelt beside her. She tried to prop herself upright but it was all in vain. Zeirdin had felt multiple ribs break, it was a wonder she was still conscious.
“Forfeit.”
“D-die, y-you filthy Tox-xxda,” She wheezed and moaned. Her irrational arrogance did not fade despite the beating she received. Believing others were beneath her was a core part of her being. The referees still refused to end the match. Zeirdin lifted her head off the metal-plated floor of the ring by her hair. Helantha weakly clawed at his hand. And then he smashed her face against the floor with a clang. The buzzer rang, marking the end of the match.
“And our winner is ZEERDIM! That was an unexpected turn of events!” The crowd stayed silent minus a few boos.