Karmion tssked and shook his head, but anything more from so high up would be too unprofessional. People were watching, and they’d see, even if he was floating high above them on a cloud of mist.
That didn’t make it easy to hide his disappointment. Larra had just gone down in a single round, despite all the resources and help he’d given her. It made him look weak, and it made the Mediator look strong.
And with the way she turned and walked away, still moving rather awkwardly and not even addressing the crowd, she didn’t even know it. Everyone knew what she was by now, even if they wouldn’t say it aloud.
She took three or four steps away from Larra’s corpse, then stopped and turned back. Bending over, she snatched up the tooth pendant. It snapped off its chain with ease, revealing a set of triggering runes on the back. The artifact, at its core, was a specially shaped runestone, perfect for conducting and purifying energy.
He shut his eyes. Let her have it. It wasn’t doing Larra any good anymore. Whether it was his family’s property or not didn’t matter. She’d won the fight, and if he descended to stop her, he’d look even worse.
From every mortal came a tendril of support, a pillar of belief and worship. They snaked up through the natural energy fields of the planet, the weak spiritual energies that emanated from it (that were nothing compared to the Stream and its mana). From all across the galaxy, people’s belief and prayer and devotion rang out through the fabric of the galaxy.
It resonated in his body. It fuelled his spirit, and it lit his soul with empowering fire. He was a symbol of the ocean’s strength.
As an Emissary, part of Karmion’s power came from people’s perception of him, from their worship and prayer. It didn’t matter how powerful the person was, so long as they worshiped him. Mortals, God-heirs, it made no difference.
The closer the mortals were to him, the better. The more in a tight concentration, this close to him? It was the perfect fuel for his abilities.
But even now, the invisible columns building an unshakeable foundation of Emissary spirit-fire, were cracking and wavering. Even if the entire galaxy wasn’t crumbling, the mortals closest to him were losing faith.
When he destroyed the Mediator, they’d understand. They’d return to worship him, and his power would swell once more.
He just had to hope the Mediator never learned to draw on the support of mortals and their perceptions, either.
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Glade’s next fight took place at noon. He had checked the tournament progress bulletins a few times, and when the arena staff had finally updated them, he took note of his new opponent.
Ameena.
He didn’t know enough about her to be concerned, and that was the worst part. But she’d made it this far in the tournament, so she had to be stronger than he thought.
With an empty swallow, he realized she probably thought the exact same thing about him.
He stepped out the waiting room’s door and out into the center of the arena.
“From what I’ve seen, she likes to go fast and be slippery,” Vayra said from inside the waiting room. “You’ll do fine! You’ve sparred with me enough!”
But Vayra also didn’t have an ability to un-heal people.
Glade walked to the center of the arena and drew his sword right away, then pulled the swordwyrm from his corespace. He’d made progress on his bond with it, but he wasn’t a Grand Admiral yet. But he hadn’t gotten a chance to practice truly taking on its attributes yet.
At least, not up until now.
Ameena walked up in the opposite direction, then wedged her staff upright in the sand and leaned on it. “Fancy seeing you here. Kinda thought you’d get eliminated a lot sooner than I would.”
“Funny.” Glade chuckled. “I thought the same thing about you.”
“That’s not very nice.” She crossed her arms across her stomach and gave an exaggerated pout.
“You started it.” Glade spun his sword around, then pointed it at her. The swordwyrm chittered. “I must advance to the next round, and you will not stand in my way.”
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“I was kinda hoping for the same thing. I wanted that godhood too.”
Glade narrowed his eyes. This was about more than just attaining godhood. “I am certain you will still receive plenty of treasures if you get eliminated now.”
“Aye, indeed, but…” She glanced up at Karmion’s tower, then tapped her fingers on her bicep. “Say, you lose, I take you to go get drinks. I lose, you take me to get drinks.”
Glade rolled his eyes. “If it makes you happy.”
“Well, I don’t hate you, that’s for sure.”
“I—”
The trumpet sounded, echoing across the arena and signalling the start of her fight. Ameena ripped her staff out of the ground and whirled toward Glade, unleashing a high, sideways swipe. “I’ll take that as an agreement, sir!”
Glade raised his sword and deflected the swipe over his head. Normally, he wouldn’t have tried to touch a heavy staff strike like that, but with his reforged body, he could deflect it.
But she was still strong. She was an Admiral, and she had a regular reforged body—as best he could tell. Nothing seemed special about her accumulated power, except for her healing and unhealing abilities.
He couldn’t let her touch him.
“I do not hate you either,” Glade said, backing away with his sword raised. “But I need to win.”
“I want to win,” Ameena countered. She jabbed a few times with the tip of her staff, and Glade leaned away from each. As she deflected a swipe from the swordwyrm, she asked, “What about you? Is it just duty for you?”
Glade whirled his sword, spinning it behind his back to build speed, then striked. She blocked it with the center of her staff. Glade had almost expected to cut through. He concentrated a line of Arcara down the blade, forming a perfect wedge at its cutting edge. Not to mention the innate speed he swung with.
But it wasn’t enough.
A pulse of vibrant green Arcara pressed against his sword at the impact point, holding it back. He slid to the side, pulling free and giving his swordwyrm an opening. “If I do not win, we will lose a valuable tool to fight the Gods with.”
“And? Do you want to be a tool?”
Glade rolled his eyes. “You knew what I meant.”
“And you knew what I meant, gutter-brain.” She rammed her staff into the ground like she was a pole-vaulter, then unleashed a set of airborne kicks with Braced legs. Glade blocked each of them with the flat of his sword. “You won’t cut through my Brace so easily. Don’t worry about hurting me!”
Glade ducked under her last kick and rammed her in the gut with his elbow, sending her tumbling back across the arena. She kept her grip on her staff, and it flew back with her. As she skidded and bounced across the sand, she flicked her arm out at him, launching orange leaves off her wrist. They ripped free from the vines, and, imbued with her Arcara, turned into daggers. He swatted them out of the air. “All I have ever done is serve.”
“You’re sounding more and more like Varion every day,” Ameena said, rolling back to her feet and whirling her staff around into a fighting position. “But you’re self aware about it. I don’t think you truly believe that anymore.”
“You know Varion?”
“That’s what you’re concerned about?”
Glade crossed the distance between them with a few leaps, then delivered two sword swipes. She blocked them both. “If you know something, it’d be helpful!”
“Fine, I met him at the Continental Inn, when I was just flitting around, looking for you guys,” Ameena said. “He was all like ‘oh, serve the family, must be strong for the family, must protect the family, must win for the family.’ No individuality, just service.”
Glade scowled as he ducked under a staff swipe, then used a Reach technique to slash at her legs, manipulating his chain of metal filings and razorblades. The swordwyrm attacked from behind, driving her toward him, and though she spun her staff quickly, blocking and kicking and jabbing, she couldn’t hold them off forever.
When Glade found his moment, he took it, slipping between her guard and pressing his sword up against her throat. “Sorry, but I’m taking this round.”
“Indeed you are,” she raised her hands and held her staff out to the side. “See you in the next one.”
Glade walked back to the edge of the arena, to the walkway over the moat where Vayra and King Tallerion’s aide stood.
“What was that about?” Vayra asked. “You were supposed to practice your bond with the swordwyrm, like we talked about.”
“I got…distracted.”
Vayra smirked. “Yeah, Ameena is kinda pretty. Don’t let that be the reason she ends up in the final rounds instead of you.”
“It is not that.” He dipped his hands in the pail of Stream water, refilling his mana. He hadn’t used much, but his weak spirit with its innate disadvantages made his storage less than most people—even Vayra. Not to mention, with the speed they’d advanced? They’d not had a chance to expand their mana wells enough. He’d probably used about half his overall mana storage.
“Vayra,” Glade said. “God-heirs’ advancement is not always limited by the resources they have available to them. It was said many times in the Order of Balance Temple that someone’s advancement was determined by their sheer, raw ambition. Those who reached the highest ranks, the Admirals and Grand Admirals, and the Gods, they had to want it the most. I know you fit the bill, but I do not know if I do.”
“Glade.” Vayra scrunched up her eyebrows and leaned closer. “You know more than I do, but…I’m pretty sure you have that.” She flicked his strand of coloured hair. “You have more individuality than anyone else I’ve met in the Order, and you seem more willing to go the lengths that they couldn’t. You’re the only Admiral the Order has produced.”
“And I crippled my spirit to do it. I fear if I stop moving, my channels will crumble and collapse.”
“You’ll make it to the Emissary Realm, and that won’t matter,” she said. “Get back out there. You can do it. Don’t think about Ameena or what you can and cannot do. Just think about using the swordwyrm’s abilities. I know you want it. You had just as rough of an upbringing as some of the gods, if not more. I know you have that…anger at the universe, that striving push.”
He dipped his head. “Thank you.”