Liliana drew her legs up to her chest, arms wrapping around them, as they watched Rathwater step onto the sands. He’d done his best to sneak out when his round was up, hands trembling and face absent of any blood, making him look like a walking corpse.

Liliana hoped his nerves didn’t lose the fight for him. Rathwater was a powerful mage. His greatest weakness was his lack of confidence. She’d originally thought he was simply shy, or disinclined to make friends. It had taken slowly getting to know the boy as a result of the multiple team exercises from Battle Training to learn his quiet composure was the result of insecurity.

“Come on Rathwater, he’s a Reflection tank. He’s weak to your affinities.” Liliana murmured, biting on a short nail as she watched the fight start.

Ebenezer Hicks of class B took out his tower shield immediately, hunkering down in preparation for the attacks. Rathwater took several steps back, eyes flicking across the arena, nervousness so clear he might as well be wearing a sign above his head. Above him, storm clouds gathered, darkening quickly, trembling ominously in unheard thunder as winds whipped around the pair.

Lightning flashed across the heavy bellies of the hovering clouds as they spread, taking over the top of the dome like shield of the arena until the sun was blotted out for the combatants. Rathwater seemed to find some comfort in his opponent’s lack of movement and Liliana thanked the gods that his first fight wasn’t against a melee attacker.

Rathwater’s face set in a mask that hid most of his insecurity as seven bolts of lightning struck Hicks at the same time. The violent flashes of light blinded Liliana for a moment, forcing her to look away, blinking the afterimages away.

Hicks was still standing when Liliana could see again, though his shield was yellow now. His reflective shield hadn’t been able to grab all the attacks then from a seven pronged attack. Said reflective shield was sparking with electricity as Hicks lifted it, pushing it in Rathwater’s direction. A thick, jagged bolt of lightning jumped from his shield, heading right for Rathwater.

A rare smile flitted across Rathwater’s face as he held his hands out, catching the electricity between them. The force of the hit sent him skidding back, body twisting around, but his shield barely flickered to the lightest yellow as the electricity surrounded him, twining and twisting like a living serpent, wrapping around Rathwater.

He turned on his heel to face Hicks once more and thrust his hands out, the lightning racing from him, thicker and even larger than it had been when it was sent at Rathwater. At the same time, five bolts of lightning cut through the heavy clouds, striking down at Hicks.

The attacks hit at the same time, Hicks’ shield only able to absorb some of them, his back and sides left vulnerable to the rest as his shield was washed orange. The battle continued as Rathwater found his feet and confidence, strike after strike of lightning coming from the sky like some divine judgment. Hicks tried to reflect the attacks back, but Rathwater’s [Lightning Manipulation] was more than enough to take all the attacks directed at him and send them right back again and again.

Reflection Tanks were great at holding off straight forward attacks from the front, and returning the power by however many increments their skills allowed. But they had a fatal flaw. Their returned attacks were useless at best against someone or something with high enough Manipulation skills in whatever element was used. And at the worst, they did nothing but give their enemies free ammunition.

It was far easier to manipulate an already existing element than to create it and then manipulate it. As they all got a perfect chance to see as Rathwater took whatever was sent his way and reused the energy to punish Hicks brutally.

Hicks’s shield was chipped down, his one tactic failing him spectacularly. A last ditch effort to rush Rathwater ended with him slipping and falling on a patch of ice Rathwater hastily covered the sands with, bolts of lightning striking Hicks as Rathwater presumably panicked and poured likely too much Mana into taking the tank down before he could touch him.

Rathwater was declared the victor, and Liliana had never seen someone flee the arena quite so quickly before. Hicks had just regained his footing when Rathwater utterly vanished from the illusion. Even the professor was watching with a faintly bemused expression.

“I never want to do that again.” Rathwater said as the door opened, just as Hicks walked off the arena on the illusion. The boy sure could move when he wanted to. Now if only he could move that fast in combat, rather than when running away from it.

“You did so well!” Marianne comforted Rathwater as she stood, placing a small hand on a trembling arm.

“I almost died!” Rathwater muttered, collapsing into his seat, body still shaking. From nerves, adrenaline, or Mana exhaustion, Liliana wasn’t sure.

“You would not have died. You had a shield.” Koth’talan told his maybe friend, voice bland.

“Died. Almost died.” Rathwater insisted, wrapping his arms around himself with a shudder.

“You were never this scared in the dungeons.” Emyr pointed out and Rathwater whipped his head up, eyes wide and staring at Emyr as if he was stupid.

“I had all of you there! Anything that wanted to kill me had to get through you maniacs before it touched me.” Rathwater waved his hands wildly in the air, and Liliana felt a sappy smile stretch across her face.

“Aww, you trusted us to keep you safe!” Liliana knew they were friends!

“I trusted your ridiculous need to win and sense of pride. Frankly, I’m not even certain most of you are actually mortal with some of the things I’ve seen.” Rathwater was still waving his hands about. Liliana had never seen him so animated before.

“You! You almost had your arm severed and just jumped right back into a fight!” Rathwater pointed at Liliana, and she beamed with pride. Rathwater rolled his eyes as if he couldn’t believe her audacity.

“You ran right into the middle of a fight without a care to drag Anya, who has on multiple occasions used the dead corpses of monsters as weapons, to drag her back and heal her!” Rathwater pointed at Marianne next, who perked up.

“You have, several times, run into the middle of fights with literally countless monsters and came back out with hardly a scratch!” Alistair was the next to get a compliment, and he looked rather pleased, nodding along.

“I was next to you for every dungeon, and I’ve seen you cackle so much you choked when you called down spells powerful enough to actually cave in an entire tunnel!” Rathwater turned to Emyr, who hummed, straightening and smirking.

“You encourage them! I don’t think I’ve actually ever seen you scared, or even slightly ruffled no matter what odds we had!” Rathwater looked at Basil, who shrugged with a half smile as he leaned back.

“You,” Rathwater turned to Koth’talan, who had ceased lavishing attention on his sword to watch with very faint amusement sparkling in his eyes.

“I don’t even have words actually for you. Just. You.” Rathwater slumped in his seat, chest heaving.

“You’re all insane. But I never once feared for my safety when I had you all watching out for me.” Rathwater finished, voice soft now compared to the near shout it had been at before. Liliana hadn’t realized his voice was capable of reaching that volume. It was a day of new revelations.

“I’ve never heard him speak so much before.”

“And it was all compliments, too!”

“I didn’t know he had so many nice things to say about us.”

“We appreciated you being on our teams too, Rathwater.” Liliana cut in between her friends, looking at Rathwater, who sighed, as if they had all somehow misunderstood his words. It was quite clear to Liliana what he had said. He greatly respected them and trusted them to keep him safe.

“You’re terrifying too,” Koth’talan told his desk mate, who huffed a snort and shook his head.

“As sickening as this disgustingly sappy moment is, it’s time for the princess and me to fight. Say your goodbyes. She won’t be returning.” Zir’elon, ever with the worst timing known to man or god, spoke up.

“So eager for your defeat, Kastrioti?” Marianne turned to glare at the taller dæmon. Despite the fact that the prince had over a foot on the diminutive princess, somehow Marianne gave the impression she was looking down her nose at him.

“Defeat? Dear delicate princess, unlike your previous opponents, I will not be so easily best by your trickery and luck.” Zir’elon snorted. A thick hand grabbed onto Liliana, holding her with an iron grip and keeping her firmly seated.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Beat his ass Mari.” Liliana growled out. Her friend turned and gave Liliana a vicious smile.

“Gladly.” Marianne promised before she turned with a flourish and walked right past Zir’elon.

She slammed the door right in the prince’s face, laughter filling the room at Zir’elon’s disgruntled expression. He’d nearly lost his nose when Marianne had shut the door with enough force to shake it. He opened the door and shut it with more force than Marianne had used, but the slam echoed with embarrassment and defeat.

Liliana’s neck ached with how fast she turned her head to look at the illusion, waiting to see her friend. Her heart beat in her chest, a frantic rhythm that had her biting on her lip once again, tasting the sharp copper tang of blood as the cycle began anew.

She knew Marianne was unlikely to win. She had won her past battles despite her being a healer. But Marianne was not a fighter, never had been. Zir’elon, as much as Liliana despised him, was. He’d been practicing with a sword since before he could speak. Marianne knew enough to keep herself safe, but she was never meant to fight alone. And what she did know was not enough against someone as trained as Zir’elon was.

Liliana could only hope luck was on Marianne’s side. It was the only way she’d win, because Liliana knew Zir’elon outclassed Marianne in a fight.

Marianne stepped onto the sands first, a fast but regal pace to her steps. Zir’elon came in seconds after her, strutting once more like he owned the sands and everything in his sight. When the two faced each other, Marianne nodded her head at Zir’elon, her face carefully arranged in her ‘princess’ mask.

She could insult Zir’elon all she liked when she was around her friends, but before the audience made up of the entire Academy, she had to remember her position as heir to their queendom. She was the face of their queendom right now, not simply Mari. She could not let the future heads of noble houses who watched know her detestation for Zir’elon, or let them think relations between Cista and the Alfein Empire were strained, or worse, antagonistic.

When the fight was called to start, however, Marianne could let that mask drop a bit. No one would expect her to pull her punches here, no matter her position. All was fair in love and war, and no one expected diplomacy on the sands once weapons were drawn.

Bloody armor coated Marianne as she immediately activated her trump card, grisly arms bursting from her sides, deadly sharp ruby colored weapons held in their hands. Marianne gripped her own staff turned wicked scythe in both hands as she met Koth’talan’s sword strike.

There would be no stepping back and firing water and blood spells at Koth’talan from a distance. His Speed would not allow Marianne to take a step back. Marianne knew that and didn’t make the mistake of trying to run and give herself space. It would only leave her open, and Marianne might be hotheaded, but she was far from dumb.

Whereas in Marianne’s last fight, when her opponent had been taken off guard by the additional limbs and weapons, Zir’elon seemed to expect it. His Speed was high enough that his flaming sword was a blur of hungry fire as he struck and blocked attacks coming from five different weapons. His body twisted and turned, avoiding strikes and attacks.

Marianne hardly managed to knick his shield despite her weapon advantage. Black spots hung on Zir’elon’s shield where Marianne managed to hit him in glancing blows, but his shield barely dipped to yellow.

As the fight continued, in contrast, Marianne took damage, her Speed too low to allow her to dodge. Two minutes in, a blood constructed arm was lost, spinning away from the pair as they traded blows and strikes, dancing across the sands. Marianne’s shield was firmly orange by the time three minutes hit, and at four minutes she lost another arm in a hasty block, Zir’elon’s sword slicing through it as if it was butter.

“Why isn’t she making more arms?” Alistair demanded, his knee bouncing from his nerves as he leaned forward.

“Look at her face. She hadn’t entirely recovered from her blood loss earlier. She doesn’t have any more blood to use.” Liliana said softly, hands clenched so tightly together she could feel bones creaking.

As the fight progressed Marianne went from being on somewhat equal footing, her extra arms giving her enough advantage to make them even, to on the back foot. She was making less offensive strikes, turning her focus to defense as she tried to counter and block the barrage of hits from Zir’elon, who had not let up his assault.

Marianne had her entire focus on just keeping Zir’elon from finishing the fight. She didn’t have time to use any of her offensive spells to give her a moment to breathe. Zir’elon didn’t let her get the chance to strategize, forcing her to react only as he kept up his punishing pace.

Another arm was sliced off and Marianne was firmly stuck retreating, scrambling to just keep up with Zir’elon’s strikes with only two weapons left.

There would be no Hail Mary maneuver. No last second ultimate skill to use. All of Marianne’s quintessential skills were for healing, and none would work on the healer herself.

Liliana felt like she was watching a car crash in slow motion as Marianne lost her last blood arm. She held out for another thirty seconds before Zir’elon’s sword got past her guard and struck true and hard at her chest, breaking her blood armor.

Marianne had lost.

“No.” The word came out in an exhale of air, as if Liliana had been punched.

Zir’elon stood above the princess, who was kneeling, hanging onto her staff, panting heavily and swaying slightly. He had a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he extended a hand. Liliana couldn’t hear what he said, or even read his lips to tell, but based on the venomous glare Marianne sent him, it had been something condescending.

Marianne regained her feet, forcing herself to stand straight and tall as she turned her back on the prince and marched off the sands with her head held high.

The room was silent as the group fully registered that Marianne had lost.

They all knew eventually they’d be knocked out, one by one. Only a single person could win the tournament after all. But they had all somehow repressed that fact. It had hurt when Anya was knocked out so quickly, but at least it was to one of them. Not to Zir’elon.

They had known, eventually one of them would be sitting in this room alone, maybe with one other with them. But as long as they didn’t talk about it, they didn’t have to confront it. They hadn’t taken the individual rooms that had been offered to them after the wins of the second bout of fights, now that there were few enough contestants to have them.

It hadn’t been discussed, but none of them wanted to sit in a room alone while they waited for their next fight to come. Watching alone as yet another friend fell.

Why Zir’elon remained was anyone’s guess. Diana had at least slipped out at some point to go to her own preparation room and wait. Rather than face down a group of people who did not appreciate her presence, even if Liliana herself had forgiven the girl.

“As I thought. You all act like you’re so powerful and strong, but alone, you’re each weak. Nothing. Perhaps you should learn what those in my country learn from birth. The weak should not draw the attention of the powerful, lest they be crushed under their boots.” Zir’elon, predictably, had something to say as soon as he entered the room. Because why would he go to an individual room when he could instigate fights?

Liliana would think the prince was some kind of masochist if she didn’t know any better.

“Maybe that’s a lesson you need to learn. Or have you forgotten that you haven’t won a single fight against me yet, Kastrioti?” Liliana spat out, voice full of venom and vitriol.

“Perhaps I’ve been waiting to show you your place in front of a proper audience. Little half blood rose.” Zir’elon taunted, eyebrow raised.

“Why are you even here? Don’t you have a room you could stay in?” Emyr asked next, one of Alistair’s hands across his chest holding the mage in place. For whatever good it would do. If Emyr really wanted to attack, he wouldn’t need to move.

“Perhaps I enjoy watching all of you stuck in your delusions of grandeur. Your faces filled with shock and despair are such beautiful, karmic justice.” Zir’elon shrugged with a careless air, eyes flaring bright with cruelty.

“Fools who do not have the sense to recognize the danger they are in should keep their mouths shut.” Koth’talan bit out, hand tight on his sword as he glared at his brother.

On the illusion the next fight was starting, but not a person in that room was paying it any heed. The tension in the air was thick, a taut thing holding on by the smallest hair thin thread. Fists were tight at sides, or gripped onto weapons as the group stood in a standstill facing off against Zir’elon.

The only thing keeping them in their place was the faint threat of punishment if they attacked, or for those who cared no more of the Academy’s rules, Alistair’s firm, unrelenting hold on them.

“Roses have thorns, and more than often have poison on their petals. Perhaps you should learn some caution, your highness.” Basil spoke up, twirling a rose in his hands. It was an unusual one, white petals tipped with blood red.

Bloodbane. Liliana noted absently. Poisonous, it was a slow death, infecting someone’s very blood and turning it into more poison, slowly killing anyone fool enough to let themselves be pricked by the thorns. However, it was most commonly used in blood replenishing and antidote potions. A plant that truly sat on the line of life and death, its thorns taking life, its petals giving it.

“Perhaps dogs should learn not to bark without their master’s command.” Zir’elon didn’t even look at Basil, as if the other boy didn’t register as a threat at all. Instead, Zir’elon locked his eyes on Koth’talan.

“Your fight is almost up again, brother. I shall enjoy watching your defeat, and the pain it causes in the misfits and ruffians you call comrades.” Zir’elon smiled, a sharp, cruel, ugly thing before he returned to his seat, crossing his legs and leaning back like a king on his throne.

“Can I kill him?” Liliana hissed at Alistair, body shaking with anger she wasn’t inclined to banish at the moment.

“I’ll help you hide the body.” Emyr clenched his fists, shoulders tight with coiled muscles.

“No. No killing while we’re students.” Alistair admonished, but his words came out strained from a clenched jaw.

“So afterwards? Got it.” Liliana nodded, leaning back, arms folded, nails biting into the cloth over her biceps.

It was too hard to focus on what remained of the latest fight as dark thoughts and anger roiled violently in Liliana’s mind; she spent the time calming the turbulent storms of her own emotions, reaching a state of mostly calm only when Miranda Renaud of class D was announced the victor over Rycharde Wardeby of class C.

Koth’talan stood and left the room with a quiet wave of good lucks on his tail, no one in much of a mood for loud or boisterous comments after recent events.

They all turned to the illusion, paying far more attention as yet another of their friends stepped on the sands. And every last one of them held a quiet prayer that Koth’talan would be returning. If only to make Zir’elon choke on his own words.