The stadium was filled with screams and shouts, voices so high and so many that they blended into one. Dolon and Stacy stood within the crowds that surrounded the fighting stage, the stands were as packed as could be, with not much elbow room. Getting in was easy, Stacey waited for the doors to close after admittance and then phased through a wall into the arena, opening a side door for Dolon to sneak in and find a place to watch from. The hard part was being able to see a thing from the stands, heads and hands were all around them, blocking their view. Perhaps the ruckus would die down when the actual fights began. For now, staged combat from some acting troop was taking place in the ring.

'Who are you rooting for?' Asked Dolon.

'I think Li Tsun will go far.' Replied Stacey, struggling to look past the heads in front. 'You?'

'I'm a big fan of Wolf and Li Tsun. Something about people who fight unarmed that gets me giddy.' Dolon was swaying side to side, trying to get a good view of the play fight on the floating stage. 'I did hear some folks talking about Sherry though, I'd like her to do well.'

'Sherry?'

Yeah, Big Sherry. She's from the Shooting Range. I've seen her shoot and she's great on the quick draw, I think she might surprise a lot of people.'

'Big Sherry, eh?' Stacey looked as if he was in thought.

'Yeah?'

'I'll be back soon.' Stacey pushed through the crowd and disappeared out of sight behind the mass of bodies.

Dolon never even had the chance to question where he was going, he just left. The Sniper stood friendless amongst the spectators until a deep groan came from them all. The crowd settled down and everyone took their seats, backsides thumping in unison against wooden steps. In the ring were a number of Soldiers in bright colours with wooden weapons, one being dragged from the stage unconscious. Whatever had transpired had killed the crowd's buzz for the most part, some still laughed and cheered. Dolon had missed it all.

Dolon could see the ring, now that everyone was sat and their heads were out of the way. He caught sight of Stacey down at the ring side seats, exchanging money with a less than reputable looking man. Making a bet? I should have done that. He was quickly drawn out of the thought when to his right he heard his name called.

'Dolon!' A tall red headed woman called, attractive as attractive could be, with a smile so sweet that Dolon felt warm in his chest. She was dressed in a black dress with silver runes sown into it, and was seated next to a strong looking woman, a Soldier in leather and fur armour with a tricorn hat.

Dolon waved back. 'Kit! Kartwright!'

'Fancy seeing you here.' Kartwright, the Soldier, called.

'And you too!' Dolon was all smiles. 'Is it just you two?'

'At the tourney, yeah.' Kartwright answered.

'The others are out and about in the city somewhere.' Kit, the redhead, added.

The other Winged Men are here? I hope Niall doesn't run into them. 'Maybe we can catch up later then.' Dolon suggested.

'Sure.' Responded Kit.

'Later then!' Dolon called out, but whatever reply came from Kit and Kartwright was washed out by the cheer of the crowd. A man dressed in a clean white doublet and black trousers walked across a plank bridge from the stands on to the empty floating ring. He raised his hands to silence the crowd, but it took a minute before the noise subsided.

'Friends!' The man called out. 'Today we see the return of the world's greatest, the world's most famous, the world's finest fighting tournament!' The crowd erupted in cheer again, but the man allowed it to go on until it naturally died away. 'We are happy to be staging this event at the Floating City of Churash, whose government have so graciously acted as sponsor for the event. Give them a cheer!' The crowd cheered, though not as loudly as they had previously. Those who appeared to be of Hurdland origin were silent or jeering. The host continued. 'You've seen the brackets, you know the fighters. Let's not dilly-dally any longer. It's time for what you came for!' The crowd cheered in unison again, the man shouted over them, proving his voice to be quite loud. He introduced the fighters by name, the brackets they would sit in, and the times for their matches. The crowd cheered or hissed at the names they found favourable or otherwise.

Then came a five minute break before the first match. A drumming band played from the stage while the crowd waited impatiently for the true start of the events.

When the announcer appeared once again, it was with two of the day's combatants walking to the ring from opposite sides. 'First into the ring, on home ground, certainly not new to the tournament, but with a new name: Winslow The Lightning Fisher!'

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The local crowd cheered and whistled and shouted, they were out of their seats clapping and pumping their fists into the air as a soldier in a leather helmet and brown leather armour stepped on to the duelling platform. On his hip was a rather plain longsword.

The host called for quiet. Stacey finally returned and took his seat next to Dolon, who smiled at his team-mate and pointed across to the Winged Men who sat several metres away. Stacey scowled. The white clothed announcer shouted out again. 'Opposing The Lightning Fisher, is a new face to the tournament, a Monk from Spirit Island, an unknown, but a strong looking chap for sure! No special names here folks, just refer to this man as simply... Cadaoir!'

The crowd clapped and some cheered, but there was no real love for the unknown. Dolon watched as an athletic looking man stepped into the ring. He was robed in grey, reminiscent of a Judo or Karate uniform, with a grey sash around his waist. A flop of white hair covered his head. Dolon, keen eyed as always, noticed his weather worn feet, bare and dirty. This man looked well travelled.

'Give it up for your first two fighters!' The host raised his hands, the crowd answered with their shouts and claps. 'Contenders. Step forward.' The Soldier and the Monk met at the centre of the ring where the announcer stood. 'The rules are as follows. To win you must either force your opponent out of the ring, cause your opponent to yield, gain a total knock out, or you must kill your opponent outright. You forfeit the match automatically if you cause damage to the stadium, or if you injure any of the onlookers. And most of all, if you hurt your fabulous announcer!' The crowd laughed. 'We don't scold at displays of power, gentlemen, but please do be careful. Do you understand?' The men nodded, then the host gestured for them to take a side of the ring each. 'Then, gentlemen.' He said as he crossed the bridge into the stands. 'Fight!'

The crowd exploded in excitement. The ring bobbed up and down on the salt water, wood knocked against wood and rope and cordage creaked. Dolon found himself holding his breathe.

The Monk stood motionless, his hands by his sides. The Soldier, Fisher, placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, his legs bent, ready to move. The sword was loosed, feet pounded the wooden ring and the sky-blue blade was brought down on the Monk. Fisher's aim was good, his speed surprisingly high, but his opponent revealed himself to be faster. With a quick roll past Fisher, the Monk was out of the way and the sword found no target. Fisher turned and slashed one after another, but the Monk evaded with subtle sidesteps.

The crowd was enthralled. Dolon sat forward on the step and squinted, he focused on the sword. The colour of the blade was something he had never seen before, a blue so vibrant that the sea water paled in comparison. From what he could tell, it must have been of a very high quality. The light played across the blade edge, a perfect hair thin line, denoting the sharpness. One cut of that blade could bleed the Monk out completely.

The slashes continued, but the Monk seemed to be able to defend himself with no problems at all. When will he attack back? Perhaps the Monk was waiting for the right moment. Fighting against an armed man would surely be a hard thing to do, it was surprising that the Monk had not fallen to the Soldier already. He had never seen such a good display of skill in this manner, but he had heard of the power of the Monks. He had heard about their feats of speed and strength, of their ability to conjure up a powerful energy that could rival even the fire of a Flame Pitcher. This would be a revealing fight, Dolon hoped to see that power.

Fisher dashed away from Cadaoir, his efforts in vain. He gave himself a breather. The arena was washed in applause and cheer, the crowd pleased with the display. 'That's a nice sword.' Dolon heard Stacey say, nearly washed out by the noise. Dolon watched Fisher catch his breath, then he saw the man's mouth move under the leather helmet. What was that?

Pointing the blade of the blue sword at Cadaoir, Fisher laughed, though it could not be heard over the crowd. The Monk remained motionless. Then it happened, Dolon could feel it. The air was electric, there was a buzz in his ears and a fuzz washed over his bare skin. The sword crackled and sputtered with light, the audience was silenced. What the hell is this? Electric fingers crept up the blade and began to reach out to the ring and the air, the sword became a conduit for electrical power and with a deafening crack it unleashed forks of lightning at the Monk. What the hell is this? A blinding flash dazed Dolon and his hearing was only of bells. What was that? He had never seen a weapon display such magical power. When his senses returned, he rubbed his eyes and ears, as did the other spectators.

Stacey seemed OK. 'Did you see that?' He was shaking Dolon's shoulder. 'Dolon, did you see that?'

'Yeah...'

'What would Niall say if we brought him that thing?' Stacey's surprise was quickly outweighed by his foresight.

What would Tanda say? 'I don't know.'

Dolon focused in on the ring. The Monk was stood as still as ever. The ground around his feet was scorched black, but he was untouched. Fisher was incredulous, his mouth dropped. He must have expected some other outcome. His opponent did not look pleased.

The Monk darted forward, having given no sign that he was going to move at all. Fisher tried to react, he brought his sword arm back to attack, but the Monk gripped part of the hilt and halted the motion. Fisher dropped to his knees holding his throat where an elbow strike had taken him. The sword fell loose, then Cadaoir claimed it.

The crowd was quiet. Fisher was deadly still. The announcer stood in the stands, waiting for something, but Fisher did not move. He crossed the small bridge to the platform. 'Well... There you have it folks.' He was as shaken as the audience, the unbelievable display of magic shocking him. 'Our... Your winner, Cadaoir.'

Cadaoir walked away from his fallen opponent, past the announcer and over the bridge out of the ring. As he crossed, Dolon noticed the Monk hand the sword over to another. It was an eye-patched man wearing Amaratsu red.

'I'll see you later on.' Stacey said, as his form turned to smoke and fell through the steps. Dolon had no time to react to his exit, Stacey was gone within a second. He turned to Kit and Kartwright, who were talking in a whisper. Kartwright pointed down to the opposite side of the arena. Dolon looked too. The man in red was hurrying out of the stadium as quickly as he could, blue sword in hand.

That man does not know the danger he is in.