The feliome witch was growing nervous. She had no idea what she would do against the metal man across from her. The cat woman had made it all the way to the end of the match, being one of the last two fighters remaining. All she had to do was eliminate one more combatant, and she would see herself in the center ring with the other 3 finalists. She had been ready. She had seen herself with them as she made her way through the fodder. And now, in the last moments, it was all crumbling before her.
She had to do it. It was all she had left. Without her charred, wooden staff, the woman did not have much magic at her disposal, but she did have one last spell. One saving throw of a chance, a last-ditch effort meant for a situation precisely like this one. In the event she was left without her magic item, she would play this card.
“Charcoal Armor!” chanted the cat woman, throwing her hands to her sides.
As she spoke, Azim watched the woman become covered head to toe in a wooden suit of armor, darkened by a burnt, charcoal finish. The feliome’s face was completely shielded, though her general shape and figure were more or less the same. The armor appeared to be somewhat thin, suggesting that there was not actually that much magic poured into it to reinforce its durability. Additionally, the woman’s tail was still exposed.
She awkwardly took a fighting stance, though, from her poor posture, it was clear she was not adept at fighting in this manner. Azim noticed several weak points and openings in her guard but refrained from saying anything.
Hesitantly, the feliome rushed forward, reeling back her left hand as she ran. She was not a close combat fighter by any means. In fact, she could not remember the last time she had even used this spell, as it was usually unnecessary to her. She could feel the confidence leaving her body as she rushed forward, knowing that this switch-up in fighting tactics was wildly out of her element. Nevertheless, the furry woman was not going to go down without a fight. If she had to take on the silver stranger without her staff, she would.
The disarmed witch thrust her left arm forward, her wooden-covered hand balled up into a fist. However, Azim was nowhere close to being outmatched and caught her left hand with his right. The counter required little to no effort from the android. Then, the feliome heard something she did not expect: “I apologize.”
The blows came at her like firing pistons. One to the stomach and one across the face. Wooden fragments of armor splintered off from where the impacts had landed. Half of the feliome’s face was now exposed once again. She did not even have time to keel over from the gut punch because the second one knocked her back upright. Her exposed right eye looked up at the metal man in front of her. His steely gaze was still just as intense. So why had he apologized? He was terrifying. She could not comprehend why, but the figure before her was more intimidating than anyone she had ever met. She did not know how to handle herself.
Instinctively, she threw her other arm forward, an attack even more desperate than the first. Of course, Azim caught that one, too. The robot now held both of the furry witch’s fists in his silver hands, leaving her helpless. She struggled, trying to pull them away, but was unsuccessful. “Thank you for the exciting battle,” she then heard the stranger say.
Still holding both of the feliome’s hands, Azim pulled her closer to him and lunged his head forward, smashing his steel cranium into what remained of her armor, shattering the charcoal into thousands of pieces and the witch inside into sparkling dust. Picking his head back up, the robot saw the open arena in front of him and took in the fact that he was the only one left standing in it. He noticed his newly acquired sword thrown to the ground far on the other side. There was a pause. A silence. And then an eruption of applause. The entire stadium cheered, absolutely floored by the robot’s victory. Not knowing what to do, Azim simply walked over to where he had thrown the half-giant’s sword and picked it back up.
The bellowing voice that loomed over the crowd spoke of Azim’s victory, celebrating the champion of the northwestern arena. Not only that, but with the last of the four initial matches complete, the announcer declared that it was time for the final match. The battle of the victors.
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As preparations were being made for the final match, none of the final four contestants waited together. Instead, they each waited in the room they had stayed in for their corner’s arena. They spoke with the staff members in charge of that corner, who prepped them for the match and kept them from knowing anything about the other fighters. Azim was lucky enough that he had learned of Leone’s victory, but the other two were a complete mystery.
While the robot was prepared for the final match, the gnome that had proctored his arena’s magic test came up to speak with him. He mentioned to Azim, a bit concerned, how the elimination charm that had been mass-applied to everyone had not seemed to apply to him. He informed this to the robot as if he did not already know, though, of course, he did. Azim was, instead, curious if the gnome was going to find out the truth about him. After all, if the charm had not worked, it was because it had not attached to his soul. And there was only one reason for that, right?
“Well, actually, first off… congratulations to ya’,” he spoke in a raspy, twangy voice. “Winnin’ even the first of this free-for-all contest is quite the achievement, so… in case no one has said it to ya’, you done a good job.”
Pivoting to his original worry, the gnome continued, “That bein’ said, it’s quite a big deal if you don’t got the charm on ya’. I understand it’s a wide-range, mass-effect spell, I suppose it’s possible it could just miss some people. Course, I’ve never seen it, but hey… miracles happen. Anyway, I can’t be takin’ any chances with you, kid. If that charm ain’t gonna’ latch on ya’, then we’re gonna’ need something else. After all, we can’t have you dying out there for real. So… here’s the deal. I’m gonna’ be watching you ma’self. ‘Kay? If I think that, at any moment, one of the others is gonna’ deal you a fatal blow, I’ll pull you out. So if I have to shield you, that’s the same as you bein’ disqualified. I know, I know, it’s not fair, because that means it’s up to my judgment. You might think you can handle something, and I might disagree, and that might lead to me pullin’ ya when ya' don't want me to. So I’m sorry in advance if that happens, kid. I really am. But, I saw you out there. I seen how much you can handle, so I promise to be lenient with ya’, give ya' as much faith in ya' as I can give ya’. But, at the end of the day, if I think I need to pull ya’, I will. We understood?”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
In response to the gnome’s confession, Azim simply replied, “I understand, sir. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“Hey, no, don’t apologize. I’m sorry I can’t be as precise as the charm can be. I’ll do my best not to screw your shot, kid.”
The gnome, as well as the other few staff in his corner, checked Azim out to make sure he was okay and good to go for the final match. They gave him a rundown of the final round, explaining that it would, for the most part, be the same as the earlier rounds. The gnome gave Azim a look to remind him of the one exception that applied to him. They also explained that, unlike the first round, in the second round, the four combatants would have their baseline magic levels checked onstage.
While unlikely, it was possible that a fighter could earn just enough experience from their time in one of the corner arenas to level up their baseline, potentially resulting in them getting disqualified mid-contest if they were already sitting at a barely-qualifying level 20. If this were to happen, the Brick House wanted the occurrence to be part of the entertainment, providing a fun surprise twist to the tournament if the number of contestants suddenly diminished before the match even started. While it had only happened a few times, the crowd always went wild for it. Soon, it was time for Azim to make his way to the center ring. The final battle was almost here.
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Azim stood along one side of the ring, each combatant lining one of the four edges. There was a large curtain already draped up when each fighter entered the ring so that they could not see their competition prematurely. The crowds behind each contestant were even bigger than the matches before. While the observers of the fights split off to watch different arenas, some only wanting to watch ones where they knew someone or some just coming in late, the current crowd made the previous four matches look outright irrelevant.
As the ceremony began, the large, magenta curtains transformed and stretched into long tunnels that each led to the middle of the ring. As each contestant walked through their tunnel, they were unable to see much ahead of them, the end of the curtains being intentionally blocked off. When each of the four reached the center of the arena, their curtains lifted, revealing the other 3 combatants to one another.
The four fighters stood stiff, holding their reactions or emotions inside, being careful not to disrupt the flow of the ceremony. Some fighters recognized one another, but the match had not yet started, so no one was allowed to speak or move. Still, the air was notably tense.
The first person Azim noticed was not Leone, but the batten from earlier. Leone was on the robot’s right, but the batten stood on his left, glaring at both him and his friend. Azim had obviously not fought him in his own match, but the fact that both he and Leone were here meant they had not encountered each other either. The batten had been lucky enough not to run into either of them, and now he was facing them in the finals. Azim tilted his head slightly to his right at Leone, who gave him a subtle nod and smirk of acknowledgment, gentle enough that no one else noticed it. Finally, there was the combatant across from Azim.
Standing in between Leone and the batten, a bit further away, was a mysterious figure covered in baggy robes. They were thick and elegant, clearly obtained through money, but not so fancy that the individual stood out. The robes were paired with a matching hood that obscured most of the individual’s face, though Azim was sure he could see the indent of a mask under it, hinting that even if the hood was taken off, the individual did not want to reveal their identity. The figure was short, shorter than the other three, though the loose-fitting nature of the clothes did not seem to suggest that they were simply too big for the wearer. The choice seemed intentional; stylistic.
Despite Azim, Leone, and the batten all glancing at one another, the batten doing his best not to glare too hard and ruin the initiation of the match, the fourth individual continued to keep their head down, not revealing anything about their face. Not only did they not care to look at anyone yet, they also very clearly cared about making sure no one looked at them.
To move forward with the initiation, a nør elf proctor in a lavender tuxedo materialized in the air between the four contestants, stretching out his arms in a grand display. “Ha ha!” cheered the nør elf, flamboyantly. “Welcome, one and all, to the final match of the Semi-Yearly Newcomer Free-For-All! Oh, what fun it’s been! As I’m sure you all know, all contestants, even the losers, must wait one free-for-all before signing up again, meaning that making it this far is quite a treat! Especially considering that once you do make it this far, you must wait 3! That’s a two-year wait instead of just one, oh what fun! Yes, yes, those who have made it this far have truly earned the right to be here, and have proven they are not the type to just sit around waiting for another chance! These are the people who are here to make headlines!”
The ginormous crowd surrounding the center ring roared as the nør elf spoke. “If you don’t know, I’m Jorelai Teyfata, your wonderful announcer, though then again, who are you to come here not knowing who I am? Am I right? Ha ha! I’m just kidding, folks, I’m just kidding… but seriously! It’s an exciting afternoon, that’s for sure. And I have the special privilege of conducting the baseline magic level exam for this afternoon’s finalists! How wonderful!”
As the announcer spoke, floating steadily in the air, a trail of blue sparkles glittered below him. With a snap of his fingers, four long tables with brown sheets of paper on them manifested behind each of the combatants, a small pearl-colored gem resting delicately on top of each one. “Now, if the four finalists would please turn around so that they face away from the center and toward their respective tables!” shouted the nør elf from the air. “You four have shown that you have what it takes to survive an onslaught of other rookies, marking yourselves as victors. But the excitement is not over yet. If you really want to be a winner, you must first survive against the others standing here beside you. If you would all be so kind as to pick up your magems, it is time to demonstrate to the crowd… the baseline magic level of a winner!