Iron struck iron, kin of the forge clashing and reverberating. The gray fruit of craftsmen ran against their contemporaries, accumulating damage that would burrow its way into the minds of those who rendered them from the white heat of flame and phlostogins. Two men were engaged in a tight melee. Elegance beset elegance, and the art of swordsmanship found its truest expression in this moment.
How swift they dance! Such vigor, such strength.
It was a mortal waltz, the interlocked wills of two common men who proved to be anything but that in their ability. The shorter of the two spun inward, whipping a long and curved blade with such power and force as to shatter the mind of a lesser wight. The blade stopped in the fore of its target however, and a kick shot forth from the man. A truly dastardly mixup, and his opponent was none-too-cunning as to have predicted it; rather, he merely took the blow. The men launched back from each other, this having been the opening test of each other's style as warriors.
The noise of the arena came rushing back into the ears of Renner, it having been forgotten for the sound of metal upon metal. The combatants slowed their pace, circling in twain with the eyes more consanguineus of beast than man. The aggressor of the first engagement licked his lips, tasting the froth kicked up by their footwork, the dusts of the ground yet to be contained by the rains of autumn. This was Brain Unglaus, a cutthroat fighter. He was a man of the new moon, and his bladesmanship lurked somewhere in the thin curvature of its rim.
His actions so far have been ever so deceptive. Feints and counterplays. Brother names it a dishonorable way of fighting, but I care ever-so-little for his limp-minded evaluations of such things. In no way could he win otherwise, and if his value as a warrior is not in his ability to kill (even if in ever-so-dirty ways), then what?
Renner could not help but root for Brain in her heart, for the outcome was against his favor. He faced a titan of a man, a warrior who drove not body for sake of blade, but blade for sake of body. He had cut, charged, and trampled his way through the rankings, and even when encountering a giant akin to him in stature, completely bested her in application of its abilities. This was Gazef Stronoff, who had gone from jeered nobody to begrudging crowd favorite. Had any of the people surrounding Renner been given the choice, with the hesitant exception of her father, neither man would have made it into the qualifiers.
How dismissive they are of strength when it comes not coincident from their own. I always knew this matter of bloodlines was foolish, but to be this much so? It feels every day I find a new gap between nobility and reality.
Renner was only two months past her eighth birthday, yet she found herself subject to a cynicism that did not usually come till a point far deeper into a human’s lifespan. It received near subservience from her, and she came at all things with the baseline assumption that they would fail even cursory inspection. This was beginning to fade for her, but that would take time, and she had not quite made the conscious acknowledgement of this coming rebuild of her thinking. As much as she was wont to embrace her hatred of all things king and country, she found herself sickened in the manner of one who gorged on overrich food, and let herself slip into a base enjoyment of the combat before her. It was simply exciting.
To the surprise of most in the crowd, Gazef broke the stalemate first. A lunge closed the gap between the two faster than the beat of a robin’s wings and Gazef swung his bastard sword in a low arc. Such force was carried in its edge as to inspire awe from even those predisposed to vex at his victories. Brain was not weak, but toned muscles would not beat bulging ones. Taking the blow would lead to bad places, but dodging too would be a fatal error. Lifting a foot from the ground now would inspire ever faster retaliations.
A grunt slipped from his mouth, and as Unglaus took the blow unmoving, the world seemed to loosen itself a little bit.
Ah, he used a martial art. That must have been “Fortress”, the technique Climb told me about. The one where you channel your Ki to the air around you. Still, how mind-bending to see it used in action.
Renner felt her heart sink. Climb was a matter she had hoped to avoid dwelling on, but this was an impossible task for her. He was present at this final match of the Grand Tournament, although nowhere near Renner. Having her father by her side completely excluded the potential of her to sit next to a commoner. He was off in the stands, and in a double misfortune for Renner, obscured from her point of view by the walls of her box. She had no doubt he was yielding greater dividends from this generational event than she, but she felt none-the-less distant from him.
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I can’t believe he no longer wants me to sleep with Climb. Even with respect to the politics of it, why now? Why does age play such a component in our lives? How pure need I be kept for marriage? Aggravating. If only I could ensconce us in one of the secret places of the world. Lo, what a wonderful existence that would be. Just us paired in a depth together.
Mental drift seemed to align blood and commonality as the concepts of the day, and Renner flitted back to the crowd. This too was split upon matters of blood, the arena split between properly furnished wooden boxes and bleachers of a far more shanty constitution. These were not planned at the outset of preparation to be built, but were rather a begrudging concession of the nobility to their populace. The kingdom was not party to the entertainments of the Empire, and thus any such colosseum would need to be a new construction. Thus was the arena that held the Grand Tournament made, on both a budget and a miser's eye.
It's odd to me how delusional my contemporaries become. The nobles whined and bucked at commoners even being allowed to enter the tournament, and did so doubly when they began to take victories. Why would they expect that the finest warrior in the nation would be high blooded? There are nine-million low bloods in this nation, it would be a fluke of grand magnitude for him not to be counted among that number.
Gazef did not sit on his advance, and continued to seize ground from Brain. Two more swings of lesser power arced at Unglaus, parrying both blows. The engagement grew swift, and with haste unbound, Brain darted in. Gazef had overextended himself in that moment, leaving a channel through which Unglaus could cut as would a raging river. Blade met flesh of Gazef’s left arm, and unbound its surface.
That was such a quick attack Gazef wasn’t able to defend with his Ki - or whatever he possesses. Gods, how exciting this match has become.
Unglaus and Stronoff passed each other with great speed, Unglaus on the followthrough of his attack. Gazef’s elbow shot backward, striking Brain in the small of his back and knocking him from his balance.
He did that with his wounded arm! I dare not imagine how much that hurt.
Gazef and Brain spun quickly to face each other again, Gazef resuming his relentless assault on Brain. Three more ki-aided strikes came down upon Brain, who’s defense could no longer be characterized as amazing, but heroic. Gazef’s blade shimmered with the energy of his body, the space between their collisions taking on extreme conditions. Brain did in twain, and his body escalated itself, his skin flushing as he forced his blood vessels to open through the dividends of his bodily control. The air ran thick with the ephemeral, motes of metal dust shed from blades glowing radiant with the raw forces of the world.
This fight grows long! I did not think this plausible, this is the third distinct flurry of kinesis.
The character of the scene changed suddenly, Brain’s body seeming to twist instantly. Before Renner’s mind could process it, Gazef was suddenly flung back from his offensive, and a bang rang out from the arena below. It picked up the spent dust of the ground, and for a scant moment a shockwave could be seen propagating from Unglaus’s body. The crowd exploded in noises of confusion and awe.
So that was his “Flash”? Climb gushed to me endlessly about it, but it was truly everything he said. To think it so literally embodied the phrase “lightening fast,” even down to the thunder a twip later.
Unglaus screamed, but the events that had transpired made all those who heard it hear a roar in its place. Brain through constitution of body alone was nearly guaranteed to lose this fight, Gazef bearing a physical endurance that so entirely outstripped him. A second sudden contortion, a second radius of warped air, a second rush of noise. Unglaus struck at the same point twice, breaking Gazef’s sword in two. Blood whipped from the nostrils of Brain, the strain put on his body so great that his insides would have seemed to shred. Lacerations and contusions from the unbearably rapid technique dotted his body. He looked to be in pain greater than anyone in the crowd sans amputees and mothers could imagine. He closed the gap between himself and Gazef one last time, shooting a swift yet conventional strike.
It’s to be a victory for Unglauss!
As the blade plummeted towards Gazef’s breast, he yelled with a matching force to his opponent. His broken blade slashed forward to meet Brain’s. It looked as if they would miss, but a new luminance came over its edge, and the fouled blade seemed to grow to its original length, its steel replaced with what appeared as solid light. More fantastically, as they grew closer, the blade began to duplicate itself along three separate parallel axes, weaving what should have been one strike into four. The collision between Unglaus’ curved blade and Stronoff’s ethereal mirror came, and Brain’s sword yielded. His body failed too, and the force of the blow took him off his feet and sent him unceremoniously end-over-end, collapsing to the ground face first with no strength left in his body to break his fall.
Ah, what a disappointing reversal.