Lightning ripped through Slauson and sent him flying limp across the arena. The stadium echoed deafeningly loud with the crack of thunder. But the immense blast of energy didn’t stop there. After hurtling through Slauson’s system, it jolted through the puddles left in the arena by Trentor’s fight. The electricity zipped through the water and shot through Zalan as well, sending a vast amount of pain through his pinned body. He screamed in agony. He tried to redirect the lightning, but failed. His body was pinned down and frozen, leaving him too unmoving to send any lightning away. He had to bear the titanic destruction of his own vengeance.
The crowd stared in amazement, the blinding nature of the miraculous blast having dissipated as quickly as it came.
“What was that?” one of them called.
“Slauson was struck in the head!”
“The lightning hit is head! He must be disqualified!” another challenge.
They continued looking for a judgment. Umdarr rubbed his eyes uncomfortably, blinking away the impressions left in his eyes from the crash of lightning. He peered uncertainly, not knowing how to judge the situation. The entire battle was so unclear.
One moment Zalan was frozen in place, unable to even speak. The next, he somehow summoned lightning from the sky. It was hard to call whether he could aim the attack at all. Even if he couldn’t aim, Zalan would still be disqualified for attacking Slauson’s head. If only Umdarr could tell. Fighters at Level 10 and below rarely, if ever, got so intense and brutal before.
He looked up to the stands, Madam Hikma’s attention stuck to the scene. Boosting himself in a blast of air, Umdarr landed next to her gracefully, keeping his eyes on the arena the entire time.
“Was it a fair hit?”
The truth of the matter was clear to Madam Hikma. Her keen eyes rarely missed such details
“Slauson raised his hands to defend himself the moment before the lightning landed. His arms were struck, not his head. Had Slauson not raised his hands in time, the lightning would have certainly hit his head, both killing him and disqualifying Zalan. The fight should continue.” she nodded sagely.
The fight was allowed to continue. But it looked as though neither adjudicator to the fight was pleased by the state of the match. Too savage for their usual standards. Neither fighter looked to be in any state to continue a fight of any capacity. Umdarr jumped back down to keep a close eye on the battlefield.
Slauson’s body spasmed on the floor for a few seconds before stopping. He lay motionless. He was breathing faintly, but unconscious. Zalan was fully awake, but in immense pain, not having enough energy to overcome the remaining ice that covered him. Without Slauson maintaining the ice on Zalan’s body, it thawed away. Even then, Zalan would have a hard time standing up after the battle he went through. He shivered, his body overwhelmed.
Even more severe than the damage on Zalan’s flesh was the throbbing in his mind. It was immensely taxing to summon lightning from the sky. He wasn’t sure what he did that brought the lightning about and doubted he could replicate the attack. It came purely from blind desperation and rage. The simple act of summoning it hurt his head, like calling upon a headache. On top of that, being hit by the aftermath of the lightning running through the water was as painful as being crushed under an Elemental Dragon.
But the most prevalent message repeating itself in his head was his new outlook on anger. It was such a clear thought. Enough so that it took over his every faculty to think through.
Anger was not a tool. It was a dangerous emotion. There was nothing he had done in a state of anger that he didn’t later regret in this journey. Nold’s encouragement to use anger as a legitimate aspect of combat was wrong. His pent-up rage brought him to deal so much damage to himself. Physically and emotionally.
He saw how Slauson had fought against him after he tried to drive him mad with rage. Slauson was certainly angry, but he still kept his emotions in check. By keeping the anger at bay, he kept the upper-hand in battle. Zalan could barely keep up. He was the far more enraged of the two fighters, backing every blow with as much ferocity as he could. But he was so weak in comparison. Against someone who was literally crying. The idea was clear in Zalan’s mind now. The strongest men were those that could control their anger. Keep it from doing things they would regret. And Zalan regretted so much.
As these thoughts flowed through his mind like a quaint river, he began to self-assess what he was really the most angry about. He felt that it came down to his lack of control. Not just his inability to escape this world, but his lack of ability to improve his life. He was no longer angry at Madam Hikma, Slauson, or the realm at large. He was most angry at himself. There were so many things he should have done with his mom before he ended up in this new world. He should have gone to see her smile just one more time. Heard her say some words of encouragement. Offer her anything that she could possibly ask for. Anything that could keep him going. Instead, he holed himself away in his apartment and had to live through the consequences in a totally bizarre realm.
But this world brought about some solutions to his feelings of powerlessness. The Elemental Powers were incredible, having given him the ability to fight in unbelievable ways and bring someone back from the brink of death. This world also gave him the ability to make new friends. It really wasn’t such a bad place to escape from. He could be grateful about some of the circumstances he was given as he was lost in this world. He had a really hard time with making good friends in the real world, and Rep was such a trustworthy friend.
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Zalan blinked, his thoughts breaking way into reality as he thought about Rep. How was Rep? Was he okay in the medical tent? He had been frozen by Slauson. His body might be shutting down. He may have needed assistance. Zalan needed to check on him. He moved around, fighting hard against a strange cold sensation holding him down. He bore the stinging and screams of his limbs as he struggled to sit upright.
The audience cheered loudly around Zalan. He strained his neck to look at them in astonishment. He was so lost in his head that he had forgotten that he was in the middle of the fight. The lightning had rattled him so badly, that he didn’t remember where he was before they began applauding his efforts to stand. Umdarr was on the stage with them, watching the two fighters closely.
“One of the fighters needs to stand. The countdown to determine the winner will commence when one of the two is on his feet,” Umdarr declared.
Those in the audience were roaring the same chant for Zalan, urging him to rise:
“Stand! Stand! Stand! Stand!”
Zalan looked around in a daze, feeling the ice melt off of him and reconnecting the dots of exactly where he was. Somehow, the battle wasn’t over yet. Umdarr’s words made that clear. Slauson lay on the other side of the arena, his chest rising and falling. He was etched in black, his body charred after the lighting ran its course through his system. Zalan trembled as he tried to push himself upright. He kept buckling in pain, threatening to fall back onto the arena floor. The audience pleaded with him not to fall back down. They had witnessed a monumental explosion. Zalan brought lighting from the sky, something never seen before in the history of the tournament. He had earned the victory. He needed to only stand to accept it.
Slauson gradually roused on the other end of the arena, the noise too loud for him to sleep through. He blinked blearily, in the same confused state as Zalan when he first rose. The audience became deafening, opposing fans of the fighters screaming at one another as each fighter struggled to regain their senses.
Zalan pulled himself up to his knees to the rejoicement of his fans. From that simple move, he needed to catch his breath. Slauson picked up his head, making eye contact with Zalan. His eyes went wide, realizing where he was. He placed his hands on the floor to push himself up, then recoiled with a sharp yell. He looked at his arms and stared. They were charred black from the lightning. He touched one and flinched violently, assessing how bad the damage was.
Zalan had managed to put one foot beneath him. Slauson rolled over and squirmed in place. Zalan put all the strength he could into the one foot under him and flung up to a standing position. His vision swam with lightheaded darkness. He stood for a fraction of a second, then buckled and fell to a kneel.
Slauson started to build ice below his body, creating a kind of throne to stand up in. It was slow going, the platform being made inches at a time instead of an instantaneous creation he could manage at full strength.
With the audience blocking out all other noises from his ears, Zalan managed to stand on one foot. Umdarr began counting to ten. Slauson urgently tried to increase the production of ice.
Zalan instinctually lifted his shaking hand towards Slauson, but didn’t shoot anything out. No. Slauson didn’t deserve that. The way Zalan broke the news about Saluson’s father was unjust. Adding any more pain to him after he experienced every ounce of Zalan’s hate and anger wasn’t fair.
Slauson created the beginnings of the ice throne, but his body slid off of it. Slauson screamed out in agony as his damaged skin made contact with the arena. He was sitting up awkwardly, his back against the remaining ice structure. Umdarr watched him closely. He didn’t yield, but he clearly wasn’t going to try standing anymore.
“This Semifinal goes to Zalan!” Umdarr proclaimed.
The instant that Umdarr closed the fight, Zalan fell into a kneel, breathing laboriously. Zalan was hardly focused enough to accept the win. He was concentrated on Slauson whose ice was already melting and causing him to slouch back into the floor. Neither of them could stand on their own two feet. How would Zalan even be able to compete in the finals in this state?
“Quite the spectacle of a fight,” Umdarr admitted as he placed Zalan’s prize money in hand. A single gold coin.
“Cheating,” Zalan croaked, his throat sore. It felt like it had been dragged through with sandpaper.
“You were cheating?” Umdarr asked abrasively.
“Slauson.”
“You still insist Slauson was cheating? Even after beating him?” Umdarr asked, mildly disappointed.
“Attacking before the fight started,” Zalan tried to explain.
“We would have seen attacks if they occurred before fights began,” Umdarr replied.
Zalan began coughing. He was trying to say something more, but his voice was in bad shape. Umdarr shook his head to himself, not able to understand why Zalan would be insisting on this narrative even after winning. But Umdarr had heard the things Zalan said to Slauson. The way he tore into Slauson’s psyche and celebrated his father’s fate. He imagined that Zalan might have a few pieces of empathy missing in his mind to be so brutal about someone’s death.
“Go on and get off the stage,” Umdarr directed.
“Can’t,” Zalan managed to whisper, pointing to his feet.
“Right,” Umdarr said, looking at the sad state of Zalan’s body. There were more bruises than clean skin. His face was a mangled mess of scars. The rest of his body was marked with the wounds of the lighting brought from the sky. “Do you intend to continue fighting?”
Zalan blinked his eyes like he’d seen Rep do. He was tired of talking and hoping it would translate into a nod. Umdarr nodded, understanding immediately.
He snapped his fingers above his head and pointed to Zalan. From the sidelines, the two carriers came rushing up the stairs. Kashir and Brashir winced when they saw Zalan close up.
“To the healing tent?” Kashir asked Umdarr, his eyes not wanting to linger on Zalan too long.
“Do not take him to the tents. He only needs assistance out of the arena. He will be fighting in the next round,” Umdarr explained.
The two men looked down at Zalan. The charred, black etches on his face. The cuts running up and down his body. Thin, fleshy burns on his arms and legs.
“Are you sure?” Brashir asked Umdarr, slightly appalled.
“I’m sure,” Zalan whispered certainly.
The two men looked at one another, shrugged, then picked up Zalan. Zalan wanted to cry out, but held it in, trying to look better than he felt. He was trying to assure himself he could make it in the finals. Kashir and Brashir grimaced sympathetically as they headed down the stairs with Zalan in their arms.
Zalan needed to win the tournament. He was all set to go back to the original plan. This world was not meant for him. He would talk to Madam Hikma and figure a way out of this place. The sooner he spoke to her, the sooner his time in this world would be over.