“ARE YOU READY TO WIIIIITNEEEEEEEEES!!?!??”
The arena thunders with the sound of screaming voices, cheering and stamping and yelling of all kinds. Some of the cultivators who haven’t recovered from their wounds, or realized the tournament is more serious than anyone expected, have up and left, but their numbers are dwarfed by late entries from sects and independents that thought the tournament beneath them, and those numbers in turn are absolutely miniscule compared to the crowds gathered. Above and below the suspended island of the colosseum, the crowds have grown to nearly standing-seats only, with the entire city coming out to see. What was a pastime, a surprise holiday for most, has turned into something like the event of the year.
The announcer, whose name Raika has since discovered is Jin Nara, a famous cultivator known for taking pioneering steps in the modern use of the Dao of Sound and one of only a few Nascent Soul cultivators in Cragend, is more than happy to ignore her presence as he sings out his words from the imperial platform above their own. As a not-so-subtle nod to his presence, there’s a new railing installed about three inches higher around the seating area the Altered Cultivation Division and their soldiers are sitting, which she couldn’t help but chuckle about. Still, she sat down easily enough, and since then, he’s been more than eager to push things forward and indulge in the energy of the crowd, which is borderline rabid after the events of the previous day’s free-for-all.
Which is part of why Raika is overjoyed at who is up next.
“Yesterday, we saw the first amongst equals, the battle-hungry and ever-burning Raika, enter and devastate our arena! What was once a promised week of battles has been cut in nearly half, as so many of the hungriest among us ran blindly into the waiting maw of one of the most unexpected upheavals in the history of Cragend’s illustrious arena!
And yet! We stand today reinvigorated! Is it not in the glory of combat that cultivation can be found? Is it not in challenge that we find ourselves at our best, where we stand before insurmountable walls? And so we see our beloved cultivators, pinnacles and avatars of the best of what we can be, gathered now in even greater numbers than when we began!”
The crowds go wild, with several of the soldiers, merchants and more privileged individuals letting off small bursts of Qi and colorful formations, the powerful runes arrayed around the arena keeping them from causing any harm. Many of the cultivators smile and wave, flex, or make sure to show off their sect colors, even as some of the more serious among them remain laser-focused on what’s before them.
“So now, we offer thanks! To the Emperor above! To the unification that has allowed us all to stand side by side here today! We continue! If, I admit, a bit more traditionally!”
There are some laughs at that, here and there, but the cheering continues unabated, riled up by Jin Nara as sound is magnified and reduced throughout the stands. There are people selling food, people kissing, people throwing out sparklers and noise makers and more. They are thirsty for blood, desperate for entertainment, and hungry for battle.
Raika grins, holding and idly toying with one of only eight more cigarettes, enjoying how well it’s going to plan.
There’s a ringing sound, and a strike of lightning breaks through the sky of the arena, manifesting from a sort of force shield surrounding the entire structure. From beneath it, in a mix of showmanship and sorcery, a platform emerges from beneath the ground, highlighted against the bare white stone of the arena in its deactivated state. There is a figure, standing there, hands up and waving to the crowd.
He has black robes, highlighted with a beautiful, vibrant green and blue on its hem and the writing that decorates it, like there’s a book written on its surface. He stands tall, face bright, his eyes notable and green, his hair long and flowing and a dark blue color. Raika keeps the cigarettes away from her lips, away from its flavor and the numbness it brings, and watches him.
It’s next to impossible to pick out the scent, but she has time as he moves, as he waves and throws a wave of Qi and makes a dazzling show of shadow, flowers and brilliant blue sparks to wow the crowd. The scent carries over, even through the headache-inducing strain of the arena’s Qi and formations, and she sneezes lightly at the scent.
Darkened rooms, cinnamon, lavender, and roses, with a hint of magnesium. Poorly balanced, though. The elements clash, rather than complementing each other, though they still paint a fascinating picture. It’s not easy to tell exactly what that means, but she’s decided that a scent fighting against itself denotes a lack of a properly secured foundation.
“Standing at our northern corner, ready to debut himself to the world, we see here before us the young Sho Hao, a member of the Darkened Lotus sect, our neighbors to the far south! Hailing from Drakest city, known for the beauty of its forests and the art with which its tamed jungle breathes shadow and light into magical auroras, Sho Hao stands at the beginning of the Core Formation stage, possessing a glorious combat record against the shadowbeasts of Darkest, participation in the subjugation of the Burning Scream, and representing his master, the honorable Ji Tan, in today’s first battle!”
The crowd roars, recognizing his feats and, for those who don't, just enjoying the pomp and buildup. Sho Hao gives them another wave, crafting an artful display of black flowers and fluttering blue sparks, again flaring to Raika’s senses that hint of magnesium that feels so out of place.
“And on the other end of the arena comes an unknown! An enigma! A mystery in many ways! Hailing from the Division of Altered Cultivation, the beastkin cultivator Maen, standing at the heights of the Foundation realm! Considering our last upheaval came from the previously nearly unknown Raika the Unbroken, formerly Raika the Bloody, I’d say there’s more than enough room for an upset here, and more room beyond that to see something we may not expect!”
Despite the lack of achievements, Jin Nara’s enthusiasm and presentation, mixed with her performance yesterday, are enough that the crowd is nearly as excited. Many of them are cheering for a member of their Division to get some comeuppance, but the overall energy of the crowd remains high.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Still, Raika sends a look over to Kaena, who shrugs as if to say “best I could do”. They wrote up most of the details for Maen to get in this early, which isn’t to say the sponsors of the event weren’t eager, but admittedly… Maen kind of hasn’t achieved much, as of yet.
There’s more to do here, things to focus on, but still, Raika can’t help but be happy that she gets to enjoy the moment where that stops being the case.
It’s a little silly; she hasn’t let herself become lost in emotion recently, hasn’t ever been a blind optimist, but she has no doubt that Maen will win. Admittedly, the opponent looks way too pretty and smells a bit unbalanced, but… maybe it’s just trust.
Maen emerges on her own pedestal, lightning underscoring her arrival as well, and waves to the crowd, giving bows of her own. She’s a bit of a performer, even if Raika can still notice the stiffness in how she moves, overwhelmed by so much attention. It wasn’t a year ago that she was a minor servant in some podunk sect, and now, she’s the opening act for a day of arena combat in an entirely new city.
She’s faced worse than crowds, though, and Raika gives a wave as Maen’s eyes pan over their part of the seats. The felinid smiles and waves back, ears twitching happily (which gets a few folk who know felinid body language “ooooh”ing in the crowd). Maen blushes bright red before the pedestal begins to lower, putting the fighters on the flat plane of the arena. The smell of electric, runic Qi begins to tickle Raika’s nose, and the floor of the arena begins to shift, flat white stone undulating and remolding itself into sand and water, leaving the fighters on an artificial island as the audience cheers.
“We go now to surrender or knockout! This ain’t no underground dive, this is the arena, so I expect a good clean fight! No necromancy, no unregistered summons, no toxins or items! Everything else is fair game!”
“ARE. YOU. READYYYY?!”
Sho Hao the sect darling raises his fist in the air, feet entering a stance.
Maen mirrors him, fist held high, legs wide apart and stance prepped.
“COMMENCE!”
The starting bell is rung, and Maen moves first.
Maen doesn’t have any specific techniques. She doesn’t have particular mutations. She doesn’t even have a particularly terrifying or special cultivation style.
What she does have is beastkin blood, a Qi signature weirdly balanced between her biology and her soul, and a stomach full of Raika’s blood.
It started with a theory, days and days ago. Jun Vral’s reactions, and then Maen’s, cemented some of the effect that her blood has on those with an enhanced sense of smell. To her, it just smells rich, dense somehow, but to others, and likely to the first beast tide to try and fucking eat her, it smells like more.
Add that to the fact that she moves and manipulated Qi by literally circulating it through her blood vessels like a modified formation, rather than through a Dantian, and certain ideas come up.
Spirit Beasts cultivate by devouring, healing, and absorbing environmental factors. The purer and more powerful the Qi they consume or absorb, the better their bodies naturally use it to fuel whatever they need, turning that raw Qi into pure fuel for their cultivation and traits.
And Maen, while not a spirit beast, has actively pursued cultivation of her bestial blood and instincts alongside her soul’s progression. So, when she asked for a taste… Raika was more than happy to oblige.
In fairness, Maen got a taste of more of Raika’s fluids than just blood that night, but the blood is the important part here.
There is an instant where Maen’s eyes flash red, where she touches the sand in front of her and then vanishes, and Sho Hao swings at empty air. A wave of black thorns and brilliant blue sparks blooms from him and washes over half the island, but Maen is behind him, kicking up a wave of sand as she moves. He spins around, attacks again- and she’s behind him again. The best way to track her even for Raika is the displaced sand, moving like there’s a lag behind her.
Hao Sho wises up quick, sending out a wave of smokey shadow turned to violent flora in a circle around himself, but even Raika can tell he can’t keep up that output forever. Even so, it doesn’t matter; Maen lands on him, backflips off, and lands after the wave has passed, dodging a thrust like it’s in slow motion.
Changing tact, Hao Sho condenses his power instead, emitting as much Qi as he has so far again and wrapping it tightly around himself, a sort of cloak, and as Maen attacks, the shadows react. Every time she approaches, even though it’s clear Hao Sho can’t quite keep up, his technique reacts instinctively, shooting out a dozen meter-long thorns that Maen only barely evades.
One of them cuts her, and Raika almost shifts in her seat before the mask forces her to still.
Maen looks down at the cut, seeming to think, and then…
Raika feels something shift.
Not in her. Not in the arena. In Maen.
She feels her blood, freely given, freely tasted, saturated in as much Qi as she felt was safe, and in that moment it’s like its… still hers. She feels a disconnected piece, taken willingly, placed in the body of another. Her mask can’t stop her from shifting this time, sitting upright, eyes locked onto Maen and the battle. Jun Vral says something off to her right, asks something, but she isn’t listening.
I Am Me, I Am Mine rears its head, reacting, pulled at by a new chain. Part of her is claimed. That part was given, and so the chain to it is from the Truth, not wrapped around it, and it is thin, weak, even in metaphor- but it’s there. Part of what was hers is made someone else's, though she can still feel that her Truth might be able to pull it back, maybe. Some part of what she is is touched upon, outside her body.
And Maen’s arm erupts.
A single, long blade made of bone, perhaps seven or eight feet long, emerges from her arm. It drips, dark yellow with the scent of yuzu and herbs that hits Raika like a slap to the face even hundreds of feet away. There are gasps from the crowd, and Kaena and Taran both make sounds, noises of concern, but the mask is too busy holding Raika in place to let her hear or mimic them. Maen hisses, the sound loud enough to echo in the arena, and for a moment, all is silent.
And then she moves, again faster than the eye of all but a Nascent Soul cultivator or specialized Core Formation realm could follow, and there is a long, thin cut against the flowing shadow of Hao Sho’s defensive technique. It was never a winning strategy, turning the battle to one of attrition, but Maen, in a desire to end things or some instinct brought about by communion of flesh, decided to end things quicker.
The cut begins to bleed yellow, veins of it spiraling through the dark like the spreading roots of a plant, and the technique begins to crumble.
Before he can set up another, Maen’s arm is at his throat, her face pressed close to his. Her evolved blade rests on his throat, dripping the scent of yuzu and hidden things that grow, and her clawed left hand rests on his stomach, just over his waist, sharp ends pointed inwards.
Jin Nara announces her victory barely a second later as Hao Sho surrenders and falls to the dirt.
The blade retracts, the scent fading from the air, the pull on Raika’s Truth and flesh both fading with it, and Maen falls back on her ass, panting heavily and staring at her now-regenerated arm. She turns to look back up at the stands, up at Raika.
Raika gives her mask’s best version of a reassuring smile. Beneath it, she’s still proud, still smiling- but now there’s more opportunity. More potential. So the smile is hungrier, and less kind, and belongs in deep with the scent of tangerines and the feeling of her blood, burning, screaming, and hungry for Change, crawling out into someone she loves.