Two days later, Vayra stood behind one of the arena’s gates, preparing to step inside and face her first opponent.
She had tidied up her new robes and tucked her pistol into her cumberbund, and her scarf still hung tight around her neck, ready for her to draw starlight out of. Adair perched on her shoulder, his tiny claws digging into the neck-line of her robe. She didn’t know who the first opponent would be yet, but she was ready.
She paced back and forth across the floor of a vestibule—the same one she stood in before the opening ceremony—waiting for the gates to open and deposit her onto the arena’s main floor.
The cheers of the crowd roared through the door. Light seeped through the cracks between the doors, especially bright—one of Altrous’ projections still remained above the arena, providing the spectators a better view of what had just happened.
There had just been a fight. Techniques had clashed and, in the two rounds, one God-heir had reigned victorious.
It was a best of three, unless her opponent died—at which point she automatically won. The fights weren’t supposed to be to the death, but no one would stop a fight if a contestant refused to surrender. If the contestant did surrender, the match would reset until one contestant had surrendered twice.
Then the gates swung open.
Vayra stepped out into the light of the arena. Sunlight shone down directly from above, from the system’s star beyond the cracks of the Shattered Moon’s crust, and from one of Altrous’ projections.
This time, it displayed an image of her and another man, a hologram suspended hundreds of feet above their heads.
Just like during the opening ceremony, people packed into the stands of the arena, watching and cheering, but now, a barrier of water rose from a moat around the fighting arena’s edge, protecting the observers from stray techniques.
An enormous man walked out the opposite gate and met Vayra in the center of the arena. He had long brown hair and a bicorne hat, and he wore a black cloak. His bare chest was covered in glowing silver tattoos and scars.
His weapon was a ship’s anchor. He heaved it up onto his shoulder like a giant club, then raised it above his head and presented the rusty implement to the crowd. They cheered.
“Phasoné, remember this guy?” Vayra whispered.
‘We’ve never met.’
“Recall his name in any of the prep we did?” she asked.
‘It’s on the tip of my tongue,’ Phasoné said. ‘He’s a moon-Path user. Something about the Crescent Dealers.’
“Doesn’t strike me as a…child of the Moon Goddess,” Vayra muttered. She stepped into the center of the arena, following the footsteps of the previous contestants. There had already been four or five fights today, and spatters of blood covered the ground. There was an entire rainbow’s worth of different colours of blood from different races and distant relatives of the Gods.
Though all of the original Pantheon, the first cultivators who had advanced beyond Mascant and pioneered the ways of the Stream, were humans, they had been replaced and swapped throughout the years, and their children and grandchildren had bred, spreading their magic throughout the galaxy.
‘When he strikes you, you’ll feel it,’ Phasoné commented.
“Not what I meant,” Vayra whispered. She walked to the center of the arena and stopped a few paces away from the moon-Path heir, who towered a couple heads above her.
He swung his anchor around and placed the tip down on the ground. A trail of silver sparks traced it through the air, but he didn’t even appear to be using a Bracing technique to heft it. His body—probably enhanced—was doing all the work.
Aside from the external moat and shielding wall, the arena had been modified to provide both of them a source of their element, so they could both properly use Reach techniques and would be on as even footing as possible.
A rift in space floated to the right. It was too thin to slip through, but it provided a view into the distant stars, a window off into the cosmos, just like Phasoné’s dress. Vayra could draw on the starlight.
To the left was a different rift, but it provided a view of three moons in a night sky—one silver, one green-tinted, and one orange-tinted.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
But, being on a moon themselves, this God-heir’s authority was probably stronger than anyone else could’ve imagined. He was probably feeling stronger than ever.
They thought this was the best opponent to beat her. And it probably would’ve been an unfair fight, but she had her own unfair advantages. She cycled Arcara, preparing for the inevitable clash.
Take him out in two rounds. Simple. Easy.
Karmion didn’t have a projection of himself, but he did project his voice across the arena. “Danaes Quill, no sponsor. He uses the Path of the Crescent Dealer.”
The moon-Path heir, Danaes, bowed to the audience, but in the general direction of Karmion’s tower.
“And Vayra of Tavelle,” Karmion said. “Sponsor: King Tallerion of Velaydia. She uses the Path of the Godscourge.” He spat the last word with great contempt, then cut off his vocal amplification.
A trumpet blared, signalling the beginning of the first fight.
Vayra immediately jumped back and let Danaes unleash a barrage of opening swings. As they stepped back, Vayra whispered, “Phas, remember what his Path provides him?”
‘It has a focus on strength and Bracing techniques,’ Phasoné said. ‘He’s similar to Larra in that way. We should beat him in a similar way—speed and agility, strike where he isn’t protecting himself.’
Noted.
Then Danaes activated a Bracing technique. Silver light formed cages around his arms, and his swipes rippled through the air with double the strength. One hit, and he’d erase her from existence. Moonlight gathered on the crescent tip of his anchor-club, swirling patterns of green, orange, and silver. Whenever the anchor struck the ground, it sent out shockwaves through the sand, and Vayra almost stumbled.
She activated her own, the Astral Shroud, and Moulded her scythe. In a blink, she darted between his legs, sliding through the sand on her elbows. She flashed to the other side of Danaes, then hooked his Braced arm with her scythe. The Bracing technique clashed with the Moulded Arcara and the heat of her technique, but she distracted him and pulled him off balance. She struck him in the spine with a Starlight Palm and sent him skidding across the arena.
The battle proceeded similarly for a few minutes. She flashed around him, zipping to different points and slashing where his anchor wasn’t. He conjured a new technique, forming three circling orbs of different coloured moonlight around himself. He used them to blast cannonball-wide beams of moonlight and Arcara at her.
One struck her in the chest, and she just barely Warded herself in time to prevent it, but unlike starlight, moonlight burned cold. Even beneath the Warding, it left an icy shiver through her body.
The ranged attacks would prove more difficult. They shot out fast, and she barely had time to react to them before they collided, even when she was using the Astral Shroud. Another blasted past her mechanical arm, sending shivers through her Arcara.
They weren’t all that accurate, either, but they didn’t need to be to cause damage, as long as they corralled her or did some damage.
Time to try out her new strategy, then.
She reached up and ran her hand down Adair’s back, absorbing slices of his will and some of his attributes. They flooded into her, empowering her reaction speed and timing and giving her the agility to do something about it. The next time a beam of green moonlight blasted past, racing near the tip of her nose, she ducked and slipped out of the way before it even got close.
Danaes was just too slow, and he couldn’t land a hit. The moment he dropped his Bracing techniques to put more power into his ranged attacks, she darted close and held her scythe up to his neck, forcing him to surrender.
Between rounds, they had thirty minutes to prepare for the next fight. Vayra walked to the edge of the arena, just in front of her gate, and on the drawbridge over the moat at the arena’s edge. A few Order of Balance disciples stood there, as well as King Tallerion’s aide and Nathariel.
“Play it cool,” Nathariel said. “Play it safe. You have this one in the bag, as long as he doesn’t have any more tricks up his sleeve.”
Vayra nodded, then dipped her hands in a vat of Stream water to replenish her mana. She drew the energy out and poured it into her body, refilling her stores.
When the half-hour intermission was over, a trumpet blasted. Her mana had refilled, and she was ready to keep fighting.
The second round went the same as the first. Quick dodges, quick swipes, and drawing on Adair’s abilities to guide her around the arena and avoid Danaes’ attacks. She pummelled him with Starlight Palms and used a blast of concentrated energy out her pistol to knock his Warded anchor-club aside, then pressed the tip of her scythe up against his heart.
He growled and shouted something incomprehensible, then Warded his chest and threw out a punch. Vayra bent backward, like she was limboing under a low bridge, then slashed Danaes’ calf—where he wasn’t shielding. When he fell to his knees, she jumped up onto his shoulders and wrapped the haft of her scythe around his throat.
“You’ve lost,” she whispered. “Surrender, and you’ll live.”
Danaes deactivated all his techniques and lowered his arms. “I surrender.”
First fight down. Eight more to go.
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Glade watched the fight from the shelter of the Velaydian tower. Vayra dealt with her opponent quickly and mercifully, and he had to admit…her putting out so many techniques at once was impressive.
He remembered training on the forecastle of the Champion of Tavelle, helping her learn Warding. He remembered the early fights in the Limassenor arena, when she was just learning to use a scythe.
She’d come so far since then.
They might, might, just stand a chance.