Step, step, step. The young warrior’s steps echoed as he advanced down the enormous hall of the World Castle, the walls lined with gold that shimmered off the colossal gold sword he clutched in his right hand. His sword dragged on the ground, etching it and leaving a trail, the constant gritty sound overriding the echoes before they could ring. The warrior looked down at his trail and smiled. I’ll patch it up when I’m king, he thought.

The King of All. It’s the title bestowed upon an individual who rules as the leader of the United World, who is usually the strongest person on the planet. You had to be; every five years the top warriors dueled in the courtyard for a chance to duel the King for the throne. The loser of the duel is killed, and the winner rules the world. Such stakes deter comfortable and powerful warriors from trying their hand. But some warriors with everything to lose understand these risks and are willing to do anything to grasp that power. A selfish yet noble sacrifice.

An absurdly tall crimson door with short erratic spikes poking out the front was the only thing separating the young warrior from the King who had been defending his title for twenty-five years. The warrior’s confident yet anxious eyes fixated and quivered towards the door. He wondered about the last warriors–the ones with wives, children, estates, and how they must have begged to be spared by the King in their final moments. If I succeed, he thought, I’ll have to be the merciless one. So I’ll show unwavering confidence.

He approached the door, stared at it for a moment, and heaved a great sigh. He lifted the point of his sword from the trail and aimed at the middle of the door. With one mighty push, the door flew off its hinges, flying towards the throne which stood at the end of the room and falling short just in the middle.

The King, King Ren, sat at the throne at a distance, and as the dust from the door’s removal settled, he met eyes with the young man in front of him.

“Oh, man. It’s you, Jonah?”

Jonah stared at the King and cracked a slight smile.

“You want the throne?”

“Yeah. I feel capable enough to take it..”

“Everyone does. And I don’t mean that in a cocky manner. You may as well be the most capable warrior I’ve had to face so far.”

Jonah moved forward towards Ren. He looked up at Ren as he moved, attempting to detect fear in him. If he had any uneasy feelings about their battle, Ren was hiding it well. But maybe he wasn’t. Maybe Ren knew he would survive another day. Maybe Jonah had painted himself into a corner.

Almost instinctively, the words of his late father rang through his head: “You are the most capable warrior I’ve ever seen, and I’m not just saying that because you’re my son. I’ve met so many, I’ve met the King, none of them compare, son. You are sure to be the one with all the power in the world. This sword, your power..it’s just a small part of everything you are and who you will become.”

A smirk grew on Jonah’s face, his newfound confidence surged with each step. In the throne room he lifted his sword up to not damage the gold plated floors. Better keep my new living space tidy, he thought, cracking the first confident smirk since entering the castle.

Ren started to speak.

“Brisk Warrior Jonah…I love those little titles they bestow upon warriors like you. They haven’t been as kind to me. You know, my legacy and all. But I can’t let you take this throne. I need more time to prove myself.”

“You sound desperate. You’ve had twenty-five years,” Jonah said.

“The world’s been unfair to me. Even as King. I can’t say the same for you. Proficient father, ushering you into his line of work. It all came naturally, didn’t it? I’ve sacrificed everything to be in this position, and I’m looking to keep it.”

Jonah’s smirk disappeared at the mention of his father.

“Then maybe you do need more time. It’s a shame that you won’t have any.”

Jonah diverted his eyes away from Ren, keeping watch of his sword, turning it in his hand to mirror the major attacks he’ll start out with in his duel.

“Either way, I think very highly of you. I’ve been keeping tabs. I think you’re one of the greatest warriors this world has ever seen, and that’s why it’s going to be really tough to put an end your journey here.” Ren said.

Jonah’s resentment of the King’s words brought his confidence down, his sword drooping lower with each step. Was he really confident that he could? Did it matter?

No, he thought. I’m worthy. That’s why I’m here. His fathers words laid in his mind once more. “You have two gifts–mind and body. I lack the latter. Look at what you have now. You have the power to change the world. When the time is right, you’ll know. Be the man I know you can be, Jonah..”

Jonah finally reached Ren. Separated only by ten feet, their eyes locked. Jonah’s neck stretched upwards, feigning a new temperament that was no longer filled with forced confidence or provoked resentment.

It was passion, deeply instilled in him by his father’s words.

“Let’s go.” Jonah said.

Ren nodded and proceeded down the steps of the throne, turning to the left as he was arm's reach from Jonah, avoiding eye contact. Ren kept his confident demeanor but lost his smile, his mind running through what caused these random spikes of confidence in Jonah.

He motioned for Jonah to follow him towards the battle room that was specifically reserved for the throne duel. Jonah slugged behind him, keeping his sword steady. They reached the room in just a few moments–a shiny metal door, offset to the rest of the room. The glossy handle resembled a pirate’s wheel, and Ren turned it left until it would spin on its own, the door slowly allowing in air and glimpses of the fully metal room.

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“Don’t worry, it’s been cleaned since the last time,” Ren said.

Cold, bleak, and cryptic, they stepped inside and the reality of the room crept up on them. Two people enter and only one leaves.

“Stay here.” Ren said. He took himself to the complete other side of the room which Jonah now identified as a colossal metal box and turned. Eye contact resumed and this time both had no reason to feign confidence. The soon-to-commence battle and desolate room cooled their demeanors and made them stone-cold.

“Alright. On three,” Ren said.

Jonah wasn’t ready. He thought there’d be a little more back-and-forth to lift up the spirits.

“Two.” Ren said.

Jonah’s heart dropped down to the floor, and he couldn’t seem to find it. He felt trapped in this room that would seal his fate, unsure if this was the right place for him to be in, his deep passion slipping. He was unsure what to think of his supposed destiny. A destiny that he found no one else could relate to despite searching endlessly.

“One.” Ren said.

“Wait,” Jonah said.

Ren lifted his head.

“Why did you become King?” Jonah asked.

Ren looked confused.

“Are you stalling?” he asked.

“No. I’m just curious.”

Ren tried to pin down Jonah with his eyes, but Jonah didn’t falter one bit.

“Well,” Ren said, easing up a bit, “I always had it in me. I excelled as a student, as a warrior, as a warlord. I finally had the strength in me to take the throne. I just needed the will.”

“But why did you want to take the throne?”

“Power, I guess. It’s simple. It’s what every man wants. I could sit as an accomplished warrior, or I could etch my name in history, change the world, become a great man that would live forever. Isn’t that what you’re trying to accomplish?”

Jonah stared at the man. His father’s voice rang once more, the last time he would hear it before becoming King:

“Nobody is born with a destiny. The path must be set, and then you must walk on it yourself. You have the strength, now you must find the will to guide you upon your path. I never had it in me. One day, you will, and us Tazanis will rule until the end of time.”

Jonah clutched his sword and a fire sprung in his eyes.

“No,” he responded.“I’m here for a much worse reason...”

Ren tensed up again, resumed his look of confusion, and took a battle stance before starting his countdown once more.

“Three! Two! One!”

The warriors sprung towards each other like magnets looking to stick. But there was no impact. Jonah diverted his path to the left right before reaching Ren. He flung himself towards the wall and stopped himself with his feet. He hung sideways on the wall, his left hand propping him up, his right clutching his dangling sword, watching Ren in the corner of the room who had not yet summoned his power strain.

When was he gonna do it? Jonah asked himself. Was he gonna do it? Was he just gonna block whatever I did?

Ren peered over at Jonah as Ren clamped his hands together.

“You made a mistake,” Ren muttered. “I was giving you a chance.”

Fragments of red energy formed around his hands, the energy dancing and boiling as his fists slightly shook. His eyes remained locked on Jonah’s.

Everyone in the world knows about his power, Jonah thought. But they’ve never fought against it, let alone seen it up close.

A flash blinded Jonah for a split second as the energy from Ren’s hands burst into the air in fragments around the room. They bounced like thousands of tiny bullets, each one capable of putting more of a dent in a man than a bullet ever could.

Jonah knew he shouldn’t be hit by these fragments. If just anyone had this power, it would tickle, maybe sting. But this attack being sent out by the so-called strongest man in the world mean certain death for most people.

But definitely not Jonah.

Even if the fragments did scathe him, the amount of damage it would do to Jonah would be negligible. That was thanks to the innate damage resistance he had with his power strain, where one can train damage output and damage resistance to combine with creative attacks or counter-attacks. And besides, Jonah didn’t have to worry about being hit. The instant he saw the burst of light, he sprung off the wall, almost like he was being pulled back into the point he had fled from just a few seconds earlier. The fragments of light bouncing off his sword, moving hundreds of times a second to stop and deflect each little fragment that came close to him. It appeared as if he could observe each second for an hour, making any sort of movement he desired. It almost seemed as if to him, the fragments were moving in slow motion.

He moved rapidly towards Ren, making micro-adjustments to his torso, legs, head, and shoulders to narrowly escape being pierced by the fragments of aura. And in about a second, he was right back to where he was when he dodged Ren, only this time closer and elevated more in the air, looking down upon him as their eyes locked in just a few feets distance.

He prepared for a swing of his sword.

No, he thought. I’ll be hit, or worse, he’ll bring the fragments together and send a strike down upon me quicker than I can bring my sword down upon him.

The tip of Jonah’s massive, golden sword, with a titanium handle and faint etchings on the blade itself that seemed to fade with each pierce, pointed up towards the ceiling. He tilted the blade forward, the tip now aligning with Ren’s head.

“Beacon!” Jonah shouted.

A tiny ray of light traveled from the point of his sword. It looked as if someone had pointed a laser on Ren’s head. With his sword now fixed in place, some of the fragments hit Jonah as he couldn’t block them. They dug only slightly into his armor, stopping at only an inch within. The other fragments that were meant for his head he dodged evenly, almost instinctually as he fixated all his focus and power into his attack.

And then, in just a few thousandths of a second, the tiny ray of light expanded into a head-sized beam that solidified, replacing Ren’s head as the beam dissipated.

And the King fell, headless.

Jonah fell to the ground, landing feet-first as his eyes remained locked on Ren, but Ren had no head or eyes for him to stare into anymore. He stood there for a few moments, unable to think before a flurry of emotions came over him. He tried to identify what to feel, but shock overtook him.

That’s it? was his first thought. Then, it was, how?

Then, it was no longer emotions, but rather his father’s words that he recalled in what should have been the most triumphant moment of his life.

“Your sword is not just a weapon, Jonah. It’s a part of you. Every slice, every thought regarding it, every kill…it all reflects on you. It’s up to you to refrain from dwelling on every little thing your sword touches and keep a clear mind. You’re a warrior in strength. Now you must think and act like one.”

“I did it…” he muttered as he observed Ren’s lifeless body. The old King laid on his back, his head missing, blood starting to pool around his corpse.

And the new King began to cry.

Why am I crying? he asked himself. But he knew why. He had been feeling immense pressure on him due to his power. And now, as King, more pressure would surmount. But to Jonah, it was less about how he may succumb to that pressure–he knew he could overcome it–but how that pressure may shape him as a person, and how he would handle it.

And the newly crowned King Jonah turned away from Ren Doznis and began his first steps out of the death room and into the golden throne room which seemed to have been waiting for him all this time.

He disconnected his silver-plated armor from each joint and it fell to the floor behind him as he moved towards the throne. His eyes fixated on it, his tears being left in a trail similar to what his sword made of the floor in the hall.

This time however, his sword did not operate like his tears. He slugged it over his shoulder, his right hand gripping the handle, his left caressing it like his child.

On his body were no wounds. Not a scratch, cut, or bruise. And Jonah didn’t have to look in a mirror to know this. All he had to do was remember his sword and power and what it–no–he is capable of.

And it was on his mind in every fleeting second as he sat upon the throne, ready to establish his rule.