I sat down next to Cerion, lowering my body tiredly, exhausted after that last match. I closed my eyes and breathed out, relieving some of the pent-up stress that the last match had left me with.

Cerion didn’t feel like leaving me to my thoughts, though.

“What the hell was that, Art?” he whispered.

I huffed, affronted. “I just got mad, is all. She knows me from somewhere and mentioned my parents’ bakery in one of her taunts. I was already wound up from her more childish comments, and that one pushed me over the edge.”

Cerion sighed and shook his head.

“That didn’t look like ‘just got mad’ to me, though. You were acting like a madman, letting her attack you like that without defending yourself…” he chastised.

Seeing his point, I stayed silent. I had to admit that on some level, I had given her the edge when I gave in to my affinity fueled simmering rage. At the same time, I had learned a lot from this experiment in mental backseating. For one, the dark affinity really did turn you into a story-like villain. For another, there were certain aspects of my skills that I had been missing out on, or worse, subconsciously ignoring, for a while now. All of these issues needed to be addressed sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, meditation would have to wait, since the next matches would all be important ones I couldn’t afford to miss.

The next match would decide who I would face in the semi-finals, though it was all but assured that Gaius the monk would overpower his nameless opponent in minutes, if not seconds. As Gaius left the stands to prepare for his match, I heard Karon talk to him with a strange tone.

“Good luck with your match, Gaius. I wonder if your record can even be beaten at this point… Are you still hoping to win a match in fewer than 12 seconds?” Karon asked politely, almost kindly. From the glint in his eyes, I could tell he was up to something.

Gaius, instead of ignoring him, gave him a polite response. “I’m not sure, mercenary Karon. Though my previous record might sound impressive, I believe some of the other categories might beat it.” he said hu,bly, though the competitive pride was apparent on his face. With that said, the monk left the stands and headed to his waiting area.

Still confused, but having sensed that something was up, I decided to ask the politically savvy Cerion for clarification. Karon’s sudden change in attitude just didn’t make any sense. He didn’t strike me as the type to strike up a conversation with a stranger for no reason.

“Why do you think Karon did that? It seems out of character for him…”

Hearing my question, Cerion hummed non committedly.

“To break his own record, Gaius would have to pull out all of the stops. Karon’s calculating enough to rouse that monk’s competitive spirit, on the off-chance he faces him in the finals.”

I snorted.

“Karon, in the finals? Maybe next time… He doesn’t stand a chance. Surely he knows that?”

Cerion shrugged.

“Maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared. Don’t look a gift-horse in the mouth.” my friend replied.

A few minutes later, the match began. Gaius was facing some kind of halberd-wielding rogue. Funnily, the rogue himself seemed to understand what intentions Gaius had, because I could make out the slight tremble of his arms as he held his vicious-looking weapon. After a few seconds, the announcer called for the battle to begin in earnest. Gaius shot into action and dug both of his fists into the ground, before taking on a wide stance and lifting his hands back out with his knees. Meanwhile, the rogue had sprinted forward and used his halberd as a counterweight to jump into the air. Just as he was about to reach the monk, Gaius pulled his hands out of the ground. No, that was wrong. His hands were still stuck in the earth. Instead, Gaius had pulled half the arena floor up into the air, throwing the advancing rogue into the sky with its shear force. Then, he used the massive chunk of hardened dirt like a club, and smashed it into the airborne rogue as he flailed back down to the ground. The announcer didn’t waste any time and called for the match to end.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“... the match took a total of 10 seconds to finish. That might be the fastest match in the last hundred years! Give it up for Gaius, everyone!”

Hearing that, Gaius roared triumphantly, his humility as a monk all but forgotten. After a moment, he regained his composure. At least he was self aware enough to be embarrassed, afterward.

He returned to our setting arrangement with a gleeful smile, filling up the large booth with his impressive size. The giant didn’t mention his record, but seemed extra cheerful, for obvious reasons.

When Karon made a joke about him breaking his record again in the next match, the baleful glare I sent them shut them both up.

I returned my attention to the ring several minutes later, as Cerion and Arcellus entered the ring. This was the match I was personally most nervous about. I could survive almost any wound, but Cerion couldn’t. He hadn’t been able to deal with Arcellus in the doubles tournament, which meant that his chances weren’t particularly good this time around, either. The betting odds reflected this, because they leaned 3 to 1 in Arcellus’ favor. That was an exaggerated number, I thought, but I had a hard time refuting their assessment entirely.

Cold sweat ran down my back as the announcer gave the signal to start. Both fighters shot into action and started the match by comparing their swordsmanship. Cerion had practiced the art of the sword since he was a child. He had grown up with his fathers instruction and expectations, which combined with his talent meant that he was far above average. Unfortunately, Arcellus moved like he breathed, lived the sword. The broad smile on his face signified that this was all he ever wanted, to compare his skills with another near his own level.

Bit by bit, Arcellus got the upper hand. Cerion struggled to keep up with his increasingly complicated and elegant swordsmanship. Arcellus held back less and less with each passing second, revealing the true depths of his skill and stats. In the end, Cerion had to admit defeat and backed up, preparing to use skills. Arcellus’ lust for battle seemed to revive the more Cerion fought back, his calm giving way to the insanity he had shown in our doubles match.

Just a few minutes later, both fighters were flinging their skills across the arena, one attempting to drown and cut, the other trying to burn and tear his opponent to pieces.

Steam filled the arena with each clash, forcing the organizers to use magic to make everything visible to the spectators, though the steam still obstructed the competitors’ vision.

The fight got more and more intense as Cerion escalated, using bigger and better skills every few seconds. By the time he was tearing the arena apart with his cyclone skill, Arcellus was throwing concentrated suns at him. The magic barrier around the arena buckled under the constant shift in temperature. If anything, the slugfest was appealing to the crowds. They were chanting their favorite fighter’s name with each used skill.

Arcellus’ skills were powerful, but Cerion’s defensive waves were tough to surpass. This, combined with Arcellus unwillingness to dodge any incoming attacks, led to a standstill.

The announcer, too, was getting a little excited, commenting on every change in tactic. Eventually, though, this was all bound to come to a head.

Sure enough, a few minutes of fighting later, the battle petered out and the mist cleared. Both fighters were staring each other down and snarling. Even Arcellus had gotten riled up, presumably by the ineffectiveness of his own skills.

They were getting ready to end the fight, I could tell. Slowly, the sun started to brighten on one side, while clouds formed on the other. The localized weather effect appeared in tandem with the flames that Arcellus emitted from all of his orifices and the tide that had formed around Cerion, lifting him into the air.

Though the barrier prevented the immense heat from leaking to the stands, the shimmering in the arena’s air was enough to make me remember the feeling of my burning skin when I had last been exposed to the domain.

I flinched, expecting Cerion to pass out like he did last time. Instead, he held on somehow. The water around him refused to evaporate and covered him like a cloak. More and more of it flooded into the arena, refusing to turn into steam and gathering around my friend. I watched in awe as the water responded to his will and formed a giant eastern drake made out of water.

The imposing creature roared in the face of Arcellus sun-blessed form, as if refusing to die.

I cackled gleefully. The bastard had hidden this skill from me in case we came face to face!

Arcellus roared and formed a giant sun with both hands in reply, before starting to compress it. Cerion’s drake formed a ball of water in its jaws to match it.

Then, they pointed their creation at each other. The orbs turned into streams of their respective element, giant beams of power that rushed to meet each other in the middle.

The two skills met, and the resulting explosion caused the barrier to shimmer with color as it was supplied with more mana by its creators. The blast had scared most spectators into covering their eyes, but I continued to stare as water met fire and the two forces threatened to destroy each other. When both skills finally fizzled out, I couldn’t yet see how it had ended.

Everyone held their breath, waiting for the verdict.

As the dust finally settled, the victor became clear. Arcellus stood on one side of the arena, heaving from the extension and with a bloody laceration running along on his chest. I stared wide-eyed, as, on the other side of the arena, Cerion’s smoking, unconscious body dropped to the floor.

After a long moment of silence, the announcer was the first to recover.

“... It- it seems that Peter Arcellus has won the match! Arcellus is going to the semi-finals!”