Dimak blinked in disbelief. His eyes were no longer filled with anger, but confusion. For a third time, he scrutinized Zalan and his undefended form. Dimak was deeply suspicious, like he was missing something. He jumped from confusion to denial.

“You know him! The man who took our money!” Dimak accused.

“How? You didn’t even mention his name,” Zalan replied.

Dimak’s eyes searched for an answer. He continued to shiver uncomfortably. The adrenaline that was fueling him was unable to find a comfortable escape. He rubbed at his bruised arms as he continued his interrogation.

“Do you know a Finnegan Swift?” Dimak asked, watching Zalan closely for a reaction.

“Nope. To be honest, I don’t know a lot of people,” Zalan said.

Dimak seemed dissatisfied with the reply.

“Is that the guy who took the money and ran?” Zalan asked.

“So you do know him!” Dimak accused again.

“I don’t! I was just asking! Why do you keep saying that?” Zalan asked.

“You are offering me a fortune! And I know you have the coin. I have seen how much money you have thrown to the crowds. Your wealth may be obscene, but one does not become that rich unless they have dark sensibilities. So, what is your aim? What reason could you possibly have to offer me the money?” Dimak snapped.

“I’m trying to help you,” Zalan said sincerely.

“Do not give me that. What is the real reason?”

“Seriously. I’m trying to help. I’ve done some messed up things and now I’m trying to make up for them. You sound like you’re in need of serious help,” Zalan said.

“So this is a means to atone for sins?” Dimak asked, sounding as though that might be reasonable to him.

“I guess when you put it like that, sure. I’m trying to do good to wipe out some bad. I can get you out of your situation without it getting any worse,” Zalan said.

“Worse?” Dimak scoffed.

“Yeah. What if you do this whole revenge thing and end up dead? Flinnigan ambushes you and then your family ends up with no money and no Dimak. I think that’s a lot worse,” Zalan replied firmly.

“His name is Finnegan,” Dimak corrected quietly.

“Sure, whatever. You’re ignoring my point,” Zalan said. “Why would you refuse the money? What do you have to lose?”

“My sovereignty. Because you want to hold this money over me and my family. I understand now. There is no altruism in your veins. You wish to ask us for seditious favors in the future!” Dimak concluded, the mania cavorting in his eyes.

“I won’t do that.”

“Won’t you? Swear upon God, Himself,” Dimak challenged boldly.

Zalan was struck by the ultimatum. One of the few times he could clearly remember his mother holding anything but a smile on her face was when she discussed the nature of taking oaths.

“You don’t swear to God unless you mean it,” she had emphasized.

Zalan felt odd that he was being given the opportunity to do so in this new world. It wasn’t a bad “odd.” It was kind of a nostalgic “odd.” He looked at Dimak seriously. He had to make sure that Dimak knew he meant it.

“I swear upon God that I only want to give you the money to help you. No other motives,” Zalan said clearly.

Dimak dropped his hands entirely. The audience was crying out in confusion and fervor, asking why the final was taking so long to begin. They couldn’t hear anything of the ongoing conversation. The lack of details drove them rabid. They were chanting for fists and powers to fly. Some had even gone to Umdarr’s side to complain, to his annoyance. Umdarr ignored them as he did most people that tried to talk to him during a fight. He paid close attention to the fighters.

“I can not take your money,” Dimak said in a small voice.

“Why not!?”

“It is so much. I may be in need, but I am not a beggar.”

“Seriously? You won’t take the money you need because of your pride? You’re too good to repay your family and friends, is that what this is?”

The words stung Dimak and he hung his head. Zalan waited for him to speak, his own head swishing with wooziness.

“You would really give me forty gold coins?” Dimak asked.

“How about I’ll yield the fight and give you thirty gold? If you add the prize money that means you end up with an even forty, right?”

“More than that. I have all the other prize money from the other battles,” Dimak corrected.

“I really don’t care, keep that too,” Zalan said, losing patience as his head and arms throbbed with torrents of pain. “Just let me give you the money and yield the fight before I pass out.”

Dimak thought for a few seconds. The rage and confusion was gone from his stance. He was looking over Zalan in a new light. He looked like he was in much more control of himself. His shoulder no longer sagged, like he had relieved himself of the weight of his failures. He reluctantly nodded his head.

“Thank God for you, Zalan,” Dimak said. “I will take your money, but you can not yield the fight.”

Zalan rolled his eyes, sweat falling freely from his face.

“And why not?”

“They will kill you,” Dimak said simply, nodding up to the audience.

Zalan finally looked over to the stands. They were on their feet, leaning over the edge of the arena and shouting. Looking closely, he realized they were no longer filled with excitement. They were irritated beyond measure. Screeching at the arena like hungry animals. The promised final fight just looked like a casual conversation. And they weren’t having it. Zalan swallowed hard. It was very possible that Dimak wasn’t exaggerating. If the audience didn’t see blood in this battle, they were likely to find it themselves.

“So… what do we do?” Zalan asked, a little queasy.

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“Would you still give me the funds even if I lost this fight?” Dimak asked.

“Not if you yield and kill yourself,” Zalan answered immediately.

“No, nothing like that. But there is no escaping it in the final. We… we must fight,” Dimak answered, raising his limp limbs in a pathetic attempt at a battle stance.

Zalan understood now. They would have to fight regardless of deals they made before combat. Reluctantly, Zalan looked down at his charred body and frayed tunic. He looked up and tried to smile. It came out as a grimace. The audience was already cheering for Dimak as it looked like he would finally throw a punch.

“Yeah I’ll pay either way. But do we really have to fight?” Zalan asked, trembling as he raised his own hands.

The audience crescendoed.

“Unless you wish to die at their hands.”

Zalan considered it. At least then he would be done with all the stinging in his limbs. Then he shook his head slightly.

“If it is any consolation, I will not use my Elemental Power against you,” Dimak said.

“Neither will I. Not out of sportsmanship, but because I don’t think I can,” Zalan replied honestly.

“Neither can I,” Dimak admitted.

Dimak limped forward a step. Zalan stumbled forward as well. They nodded to one another, accepting the inevitability of the pain they could cause one another. Simultaneously, they swing their hips toward one another and allowed their arm to fling out like wet noodles and hit their opponent.

The slap fight began.

The audience rallied explosively in approval.

Zalan felt nothing but pain. Every little movement sent hundreds of pain signals through his body, but he continued nonetheless. The final would be won in a show of endurance, where neither fighter had any energy to begin with.

Dimak grunted loudly with every hit, whether it was him striking Zalan or the other way around. Every time Zalan was slapped lightly in the chest, he would step back slightly, then step forward to try and reciprocate. His fingers slid like feathers across Dimak’s abdomen. Dimak and Zalan both let out cries of pain at the light touch. It was painful to do. It was even more painful to watch.

The crowd was greatly pleased by the display, two men at their absolute limits continuing until there was nothing left. Rep was half covering his face, silently begging for it to end while being unable to look away. Slauson leaned all the way forward, curious to see if the one who bested him would be able to win the tournament. Nold was disinterested. It was a chore he had to wait through.

Dimak groaned as he swung and slapped Zalan hard in the shoulder. Zalan teetered to the side, losing his balance. He waved his hands in the air like a toddler learning to walk as he tried to reorient himself to two feet. The audience threw him thousands of different directions to try and keep himself steady. Zalan ended up falling to the floor, landing propped on his side. He half cried and half laughed as he hit the floor.

“Is it over?” he asked Dimak through clenched teeth.

“You are not down on the ground enough to start the countdown,” Dimak replied.

“Softly kick me,” Zalan said desperately. “I’ll fall back and pretend to be knocked out.”

“Very well,” Dimak said gravely.

He stepped forward and swung his leg out into Zalan’s chest. He lightly touched him and Zalan fell all the way onto his back, crying out. The pain was real, he didn’t even need to exaggerate. Dimak, however, lost balance after the fake kick and also fell all the way down onto his back, screaming in agony.

“Are you kidding me? Get up!” Zalan begged him.

Dimak gasped hard, his stomach ballooning as he caught his breath.

“Get up!” Zalan hissed.

“I can not,” Dimak wheezed.

“Oh, come on. I can’t get up either,” Zalan whined in a high pitch.

Umdarr had ascended to the stage, watching the fighters closely to see who would rise first.

“Please just finish this,” Zalan said to Umdarr.

“Do you yield?” Umdarr asked, baffled by the implication.

“Are they gonna hurt me if I do?” Zalan pointed to the stands with his eyes.

Umdarr turned around to look out at the impassioned audience. They were insatiable. Raving creatures, shaking the whole of the stadium.

“I believe so,” Umdarr answered.

“All right, fine,” Zalan said between clenched teeth. “I’ll do it. I’ll get up. I can do it.”

Zalan pushed against the ground with all his might, sweat pooling on the ground below him. It was the hardest push up he’d ever attempted. He began screaming with effort. A fuzzy feeling began creeping up his arms. He was losing sensation in them. He let out his breath and fell back down.

“Can’t do it,” Zalan said in a strained voice.

“I will rise!” Dimak said, determined.

Straining himself, Dimak flexed every muscle in his body. The effort was almost palpable. He cried out and moved an entire inch off the ground. Then fell back down.

The audience roared in disappointment, wanting more of the show.

“I’ll help you up,” Zalan said, truly desperate.

“What?” Dimak asked.

“Prop yourself up on me and I’ll push you up until you can stand,” Zalan said.

“You will assist me? That may be the same as yielding,” Dimak warned.

“But it’s not! It’ll be interesting! Something the audience has never seen before!” Zalan said desperately. “It’ll be super cool and memorable. They’ll love it.”

“Are you certain?”

“No, man. I hurt so much. I just want it to stop. I’m not certain of anything right now. I think this is a better shot than yielding. As long as it’s allowed.”

Zalan and Dimak looked to Umdarr who was standing above them with an interested gaze. Umdarr was trying to understand what he had missed in the conversation that happened before he joined the stage. He thought for a moment.

“There is nothing against the rules regarding helping your opponent, but I cannot tell you how the audience would react to such a display,” Umdarr shrugged.

“Good enough for me. Let’s go for it,” Zalan said.

“Allow me to push you to your feet. You deserve to win the tournament after your kindness,” Dimak said.

“I really don’t think it matters,” Zalan said wearily.

“Then you should have no objections.”

“Dimak, seriously, just take the win.”

“I do not think I could maintain my balance. I will fall after your efforts to help me stand.”

“Fine, whatever, let’s just finish this. Please,” Zalan groaned.

Zalan and Dimak began squirming toward one another, writhing like worms until Dimak’s feet touched Zalan’s body. The spectators watched intently. Dimak rolled enough to have his limbs aimed toward Zalan’s spine. He leveraged his foot under Zalan’s back and began raising his foot as Zalan picked himself up, giving him enough energy to finally rise more than a foot off the ground.

The audience was exploding in approval, the sportsmanship never before seen in a final battle of the Elemental Rage Tournament. Zalan whimpered as he reached a kneeling position. After a few seconds of complaining about wounds and repositioning, Zalan put all of his energy into springing upright. Zalan was finally standing. He breathed heavily.

The audience exploded. Umdarr began counting down.

Zalan stood too fast and was touched with lightheadedness. The black spots in Zalan’s eyes returned with a vengeance. They were covering his entire vision. He couldn’t see anything. He stumbled backward a few steps, vertigo taking over. The audience gasped loudly. Zalan stopped moving. He sighed with relief that he didn’t fall back down. He just needed to stay standing for a few more seconds and it would all be over. A second later, the disorientation returned. He gasped, trying to take in more air and remain standing. Then he lost balance once more and fell backward. He screamed in exasperation as he began falling.

But he didn’t hit the arena.

He kept falling.

Zalan’s annoyance turned to horror. He was falling off the stage. He waved his arms blindly, trying to cushion his fall. Ruthlessly, he collided with the floor outside the arena. Zalan screamed in overwhelming pain.

Umdarr looked over the edge, holding back his amusement at the final result of the fight. Even when the fighters resignedly worked together, nothing went to plan.

“The winner… of the Level 10 and Under Elemental Rage Tournament… is Dimak!” Umdarr boomed loudly.

The audience were on their feet, in absolute awe of the last second change of events. They chanted for Dimak, filling the arena with cheers and chants for the new winner. Zalan moaned in pain. His shoulder was broken. He watched with anxiety as people rushed the arena, hoping that no one would touch him after the fight. But even with that slight fear, he was relieved it was all over. He could finally go back to Oriton and rest. He closed his eyes, grateful for all the energy expenditure to finally be over. He smiled idly.

“Allow me to take you to collect Madam Hikma. When she has made her way to the arena, we will distribute your prize,” Umdarr said.

“Not without Zalan!” Dimak said proudly. “He deserves to be there as much as I do.”

“No, please. Don’t do this to me,” Zalan begged weakly, far too quiet to be heard over the loud approval from the audience.