Chapter 132

I wasn’t about to make the same mistake Lance had made. I could feel the strength of the suit in a way I had never experienced before. I could appreciate how he had been carried away by it, burning through his reserves. Everything around me felt slower, calmer, as though the increase to my speed had slowed the world itself. The threats seemed distant. If I hadn’t seen Lance fall into the trap of relishing this too much, using up his POWER, I might have done the same.

We stood there, two figures shrouded in the power of the gods. Both our visors blazed with light. But Lance’s power paled compared to mine. I knew it. He knew it. As long as I didn’t squander this opportunity, it was finally over.

Lance heaved for air, bringing his CUT at me again. He screamed, "This isn’t fair! Whatever you’re doing, however you’re doing it, this isn’t earned! This is my right!"

I casually pulsed my CUT and spoke with newfound ferocity. "And the relic you’re carrying, Lance? Is that earning it?"

Lance gasped with unfettered despair as I knocked his attack aside effortlessly. He leapt back, his ribs and shoulders heaving with exhaustion, but he fought on without relent. I saw the light of BEAM swelling along the length of his sword. "What else could I do? What you’re doing... however you’re doing it... you have to be cheating as well," he spat.

I stepped aside with ease as the pillar of glowing kinetic energy surged from his blade. Then I stepped in and punched him with my right hand, gripping the hilt of my sword tightly to add force to the blow. He staggered back. "I am who I am, Lance. I had my own fight to get here, my own struggles. And it’s over now. At long last, it’s over. I can’t dance around here all day waiting for my POWER to deplete. Put your sword down, or I’ll put it down for you."

Uncertainty flickered across his face as he staggered from the blow. For the faintest moment, I thought maybe he would yield. There would be no honor in crushing him now, not when our levels had so suddenly diverged, not when I was so much more powerful. I still couldn’t fully grasp just how powerful I felt.

The crowd was a tornado of madness. Every time I thought they couldn’t reach a new pitch of frenzy, they proved me wrong. The sound was like the voice of a single maddened god. Could they have imagined a show like this? And what could be better than seeing their champion take control in the twilight of the match?

I let my senses absorb the moment. This was a memory I would carry with me for the rest of my life. I wanted to remember every detail. As I stood, waiting for Lance to fight or yield, my SIGHT caught a figure running. One of the arena guards, scrambling in panic from a side door in the stands. His movements were uncoordinated, heavy with the drunkenness of adrenaline. My HEARING sifted through the waves of noise, and I discerned him screaming, "FIEND! FIEND!"

But he was not my concern. I returned my full attention to Lance.

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His jaw clenched, his lips narrowed. No, he wouldn’t yield. And despite all my noble intentions, I was glad for it. He had tormented me long enough. A small, dark part of me wanted him to swing at me. Just one more time.

Lance gathered himself. His visor seemed to blaze brighter than ever. He would have made a good Sword. He might have been arrogant, prejudiced, and cruel, but the man could fight, and his spirit was indomitable. He roared, “I’d rather die than kneel to a shopkeeper’s son! I’ll put you down! YOU! CAN’T! TAKE! THIS! AWAY! FROM! ME!”

He charged. Where he found the reserve of energy, I couldn’t comprehend. He directed a lifetime of training into the attack. His footwork was breathtaking, darting laterally, still finding a way to plant himself and pour every ounce of leverage into the swing. All of his fury, all his desperation, the acid bitterness of failing—even after breaking the rules—fueled him. He had besmirched his own honor by bringing a relic into the arena, and he wouldn’t let it be for nothing.

The CUT that descended was beyond anything I could have defended against before. It was so fast, so blazingly powerful, that even my attributes couldn’t have saved me.

Not before.

But now, my visor blazed brighter, and time seemed to crawl. I stepped outside the arc of his CUT. My own sword flashed with the fire of anger, with the heat of revenge, with the intensity of finally proving myself. I probably hit him harder than I needed to. The explosion of kinetic energy erupted where my sword met his abdomen. He had given everything to his failed attack and had no defense against my blow. He catapulted from the tier, repeating his grisly tumble. As he fell, I gave myself over to AGILITY, becoming airborne, flying through the air in pursuit. Nothing would be left to chance this time.

Lance arrested himself again. His CUT stabbed into the second-to-last tier, saving him. But what was pursuing him was no longer a peer. I can’t imagine how utterly powerless he must have felt as he tried to stagger to his feet again, seeing my form descending on him from above.

I got what I wanted. I saw his mouth gape in horror. He finally understood—the suit was mine. MINE. In the heat of the moment, that expression was almost as great a reward for my efforts as the suit itself. But thinking back now, I take no pleasure in it. He was just a young man like me, pouring everything he had into doing his family proud. He had cheated, yes, and had help. But had I earned my attributes any more than he had his POWER?

My boot connected with his chest. It was a shove kick more than in impact. His suit responded to mine, trying to find purchase in the floor as the force of my kick sent him sliding and staggering. He arrested his backward motion as his heels slipped over the edge of the final tier. His arms spun wildly as he tried to save himself. It was a humiliating final moment. His mouth was a cavern of disbelief.

He tilted away from me. I took no action. I was partly transfixed by this final moment. Partly I was in disbelief that this was it. And part of me was just curious to see if it really could be over. If he really would just totter there for moments before falling. After all the resources he had employed, after being so unbeatable for so long, would his time in the Choosing really end with flailing arms and that sorrowful expression.

And then gravity took him.

It was a hard fall. Not a grievous one—not in a suit—but the sound of his body hitting the ground still resonated within me.

I stood on the edge of the tier, suddenly still.

Lance lay below me in the dust of the arena floor.