To feel anything, after all this time, is a cruel reminder of my own humanity. My soul is ancient. If there is an experience to be had, I have lived it. Yet for me to feel now requires such extremes that it is maddening.
Maddening, like the first time my fingers curl around the Kraken each morning. Maddening, like the hunger for blood, the quiet hatred for both the living and the dead. The living I resent. The dead I envy. Yes, I can still feel, but not in ways that change easily. Years pass like whispers in the dark, and more often than anything, I feel exhausted by the ragged breath of existence.
Bacchus, however… whether it is part of me or I am part of it, I do not know. It simply is. And it wants. It seeks only to extinguish anything that is self-aware.
But Bacchus does understand one thing. A single human emotion, bound to us both. Bacchus, to deal death, I for power. We hunger, we cave to, and we are never sated.
Sweet, sweet gluttony.
After Dorian's night with his friends, unburdening himself of his secrets, he slept better than he could remember. The cork earplugs he had brought were a life saver, as he was pretty sure he could feel the other bed shaking throughout the night. Jack's snoring, like everything the guy did, was Gods damned impressive.
Jack was kind enough to shake Dorian awake. Jack was talking when Dorian opened his eyes, so Dorian put a finger up and began removing the earplugs.
Jack grinned looking goofy. “Were those really necessary?”
Dorian shrugged raising his eyebrow, “not really sure. I didn't hear a thing, though I regret not bringing an extra set for my nose. Morning, by the way.”
The Tanner brothers had left before it got too late. Dorian figured he would crash in Jack's room, knowing that by the end of the day, he would probably end up fighting Danny. The thought made things awkward, but Jack was aware of the situation and was more than happy to accommodate him. Jack also seemed determined to help Dorian prepare, though Dorian suspected his plan involved little more than keeping him distracted.
Since it was a leisure day, they had time to kill, but all Dorian wanted was for the matches to start. The anticipation had been eating at him for days, and now that the moment had finally arrived, his nerves were beginning to get the better of him.
They headed down the stairs to grab some breakfast, a mundane affair with little notoriety. Not that the food wasn't delicious, the cooks always did an outstanding job. Dorian's issue was with his focus, his attention split between his upcoming match, something that may affect him in a very direct way, and the book he now kept stashed in his robes that seemed to contradict every bit of Monastery doctrine.
Dorian nodded to something Benny was saying, and then continued to stare off, caught in a whirlwind of his thoughts. Benny snagged his attention again, which frustrated Dorian to no end. He looked over to his friend who was pointing at something behind him. Following his hand, Dorian turned to see Malik standing by the open doors of the dining hall. Malik smiled broadly, gesturing for Dorian to come over. Dorian stood from his bench, excusing himself from his friends and strode over, slightly surprised at Malik's presence.
It wasn't that Malik being in this dining hall was surprising, Dorian had seen him here before. It was that Malik was actively trying to catch Dorian's attention, that he wanted to have a word with him in public. It might sound silly, but popularity was something Malik had obviously cultivated, and people seeing Dorian with him would likely harm his popularity more than help it. Dorian's surprise quickly dissipated, however, as Malik went into the hall to wait for Dorian.
Before Dorian left the dining hall, he called out to his friends. “Where are you guys gonna be?”
“Playing Elder Wars up in Jack's room,” called Benny looking excited. “We told you that twice already!”
Dorian just waved at them in a shooing motion, “Sorry, I'll catch up in a bit.” He felt bad for not hearing them the first two times, but he couldn't think straight with all the worry he was hanging on to.
Dorian came into the hall, the Giastone around him lighting the hallway brilliantly, the reflective smooth stone making it more glaring than it ought to be. Down the hall, where it wasn't so bright, Malik leaned against the wall.
“That's not shady at all.” Dorian said, putting a fake smile on his face to let Malik know he was teasing. Malik just smiled and gave a lazy shrug.
“Walk with me Dorian, I have a few things to discuss with you before this afternoon's entertainments begin.”
Dorian nodded, following Malik down the hallway. “Sure, anything pressing?”
Malik laughed, “perhaps, my friend. Let’s have that conversation in private. On the way I'd like to say that you're a particularly hard person to get a hold of. I've been looking for you for two days, luckily somebody mentioned that you spent much of your leisure time with the Tanner brothers.”
Dorian knitted his brow at the comment. “And that helped you find me?”
Malik nodded sagely. “Deductive reasoning, if you usually ate with them, you'd have to eat with the youngest at his dining hall.”
“I could make an argument that that's actually abduction, but I doubt that's why you brought it up.” Dorian said, not sure why he was thinking off the cuff like that.
Malik's eyebrows shot up as he tilted his head to Dorian, a toothy grin on his face. “I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm curious to know.” Malik turned as he spoke, and Dorian followed to a staircase. Malik took the stairs two at a time, but not with haste, just at a measured lengthy stride. Dorian copied him quickly, as taking each step was slowing Dorian down enough that he was falling behind. Malik, somehow, kept talking as they ascended the next four flights.
“But save that lesson for another time. I managed, despite not having you around, to get your tunics. Each of them bleached appropriately. What color do you intend to dye them?”
“Haven't decided,” Dorian said between breathes. It was still early, and he was grateful for the chance to stretch his lungs a bit.
“Well, when you've made that decision, I can get a hold of some rather rare dyes.”
“Let me guess, you know a guy?” Dorian asked.
Malik chuckled, “Indeed.” He came to a stop in front of Dorian, and when Dorian caught up, he headed down the hall.
“Which floor are we on? I figured you'd be on the sixteenth like the rest of us.
Malik shook his head, “I'm on the seventeenth, I was too old to be placed with your class but was informed that I came to the monastery malnourished. I've been with the underclassmen for anything physical since I arrived.”
Dorian grunted an acknowledgment to the statement, but didn't comment. He felt empathetic for Malik's trials, but like everyone else he didn't make much of a deal out of anything that happened prior to entering the monastery. Such comments were generally considered taboo, and he didn't want to out his new friend by speaking of such things.
After a few more passages, in a far corner of the hall, Malik opened the door to his chamber. He gestured while holding the door open, “after you. Make yourself at home.”
Dorian thanked him and walked inside, not feeling completely comfortable being in Malik's quarters, but still doing his best to express being grateful. The scale of the room was more than double what he had expected, and more than three times the size of Jack's sizable rooms. There were stacked boxes arranged in one corner, one of which had his name haphazardly scrawled across the front. On top of the box was a small black book.
Seeing that Dorian had spotted it, Malik spoke. “That is for you also.” Malik walked over, picked up the book and tossed it to Dorian.
Puzzled, Dorian looked at Malik, fixing him with a questioning gaze.
“It doesn't have a title, and you don't get to keep it. It's one of the gems I've found throughout my time here, one that has saved my ass a time or two.”
Now interested, Dorian began succumbing to a strange need to acquire forbidden knowledge. If the journal he had found was any indication, he was starting to develop a habit. He felt like there was an entirely different truth to the world than the one presented by the Monastery, and even in his private moments he found himself questioning foundational principles that technically bordered blasphemy. This was just another circumstance in which he could learn something he shouldn't, and that made him slightly giddy.
“Why share this with me?” Dorian asked after a long moment.
Malik sighed heavily then said, “I actually have two reasons.”
Dorian waited, and when there was no reply he said, “go on.”
With a plaintive look, followed by a smile, Malik said, “normally that would be it. Most have to pay to get information like that out of me, but I like you, Dorian. Something about your nature. There is no cruelty in you, is there?”
The bold assertion from Malik about his characteristics was rather forthright for someone with Malik's shifty tendencies. Dorian simply assumed the young man was slippery, but not grimy. Perhaps, this was Malik doing what he could to stack the deck.
“The first reason is because I'm betting on you. The second reason is because someone paid me to show you whatever I had shown Danny.”
At the mention of Danny, Dorian's stomach soured. Knowing that this day could change a lot for him was a sobering thought, and all he had to do was beat Danny in the semifinals to do so. It made him nervous, afraid, but also excited. Some part of him hungered to be there again, to bask in the power of his strikes, to feel the heightened senses and intensity of emotion. To gamble at the chance for victory was a rush unlike anything he knew, and he craved to revel in that feeling again.
“Then who is the somebody I should be thanking?” Dorian asked.
Malik shook his head but smiled all the same. “I like you Dorian, but once I take coin my lips are sealed. I have a feeling you'll figure it out after this is all done with. Please, have a seat. I have some other... errands to take care of. You have roughly an hour before I'm back.” Dorian moved to speak, but Malik cut him off before he could get a word out. “I highly recommend you go to the bookmarked page and start reading there. That's what Danny read, and I'm sure he'll be using it to his advantage today. Take the bookmark too, it’s a gift from your patron.” Malik nodded his head and began leaving the room. As he took the door handle, he paused. “I assume anything we say here will be kept in confidence, yes?”
Dorian nodded.
“He is going to use every edge and every advantage today, Dorian. I don't have any details, but I know it like I know a bargain.”
“Should I tell someone about it? I'm sure Brother Michael wouldn't be pleased to find out that Danny is breaking or bending the rules.”
Malik shook his head giving a sad smile. “No, please don't. Most of his information came from me.” He smiled a brilliant white smile. “Let him have his advantages, Dorian. Fight him despite them, and win. For both our purses, and for yourself, get yourself a win. As a bonus, I'll introduce you to your patron.”
Dorian looked down for a moment to think on the statement. When he looked back up, Malik was gone. Dorian opened the book at the bookmark and began to read it.
“In conclusion, a Shade or Gia based restriction field has one flaw, which may or may not be pertinent. One will always cancel the external application, manifestation, or execution of the inverse wherever it touches. However, the containment or restriction field cannot affect the use of internal primal based power. The use of one's abilities, such as fortitude, can be canceled, but it is much harder to do so. Not only would one have to have control of a disproportionate amount of power, but also the subject being restricted could easily breach the control by summoning enough Gia, or Shade, to encase one's body completely. There are several reasons why we should take this into consideration. We are responsible for the safety and education of those vessels that attend the Monastery, as such it would be outright foolhardy to provide the tools required to break such safety measures. Furthermore, as we have seen from our students in the past, if a child has the opportunity and means of breaking the rules, they will. It is for this reason that I recommend an extreme measure towards how we educate the vessels of the future. The final year before ascent should be the only year in which any are allowed to be trained in the use of Gia and Shade. At that stage in their education and physical maturation, their potential no longer runs such grave risk of being stunted.”
Dorian stared long and hard at the text, the details running through his mind. If what this was saying was true, there was more than just one side to each of their primal abilities. Additionally, if you were clever, you could run a thin line of Gia throughout your body, preventing the effect of any restriction to the internal. If Jack could summon Gia like Dorian could, he could reinforce his strength despite being in a place where no one else could. Dorian's abilities didn't have much practical application in that light, and he idly grew bitter that his abilities were what they were. He had seen older initiates Primed in Telekinesis with strange markings at their wrists and elbows, and something clicked in Dorian’s mind. If he were Primed in telekinesis, he could use it in conjunction to his own movement, enhancing every strike. Danny would likely use this to compensate for his overall lean build, thus giving him an edge to every bout. The bastard.
This news was a hard pill for Dorian to swallow. He had wagered on himself again, and despite his odds being worse than they were, it was still money wasted if he lost. Dorian pocketed the bookmark, grabbed the box labeled with his name and headed to Jack's room to get ready. On the way out, Dorian placed the book under Malik's pillow, hoping the shifty young man could read his thoughts. He snickered out loud as he thought, but he can read your thoughts, numb skull.
After making it to Jack's rooms, the other guys were deep into their game of cards. The sizable decks were down to half their opening size, each player positioning themselves for a win. So enveloped were they in their game that they hadn't even noticed Dorian walking through the open door. He put his box of fresh tunics down and peered over. It seemed as though they were in a stalemate of sorts, each of them too conservative to go all out at one another for fear the other might take advantage.
Dorian surveyed the board. “Any chance I can get in on the next round?”
Startled, Benny turned and said, “if you want to lose like these poor saps.”
Ken put an eyebrow up, it was his turn. “Oh really?”
Benny nodded. “I'll have this all wrapped up in a turn or two.” Benny's words were spoken with an air of confidence that he seldom showed outside of their friend group. It made Dorian smile to see the guy come out of his shell a bit, and the same could be said about Ken.
Ken, meanwhile, was moving cards around on his board. Before placing a card down on the table he asked, “are you sure about that?” He played the card and the table groaned. Moving some other cards around on the table he played his second card.
“Damn it, Ken!” Jack finally said. He threw his hand down and the table erupted in conversation over the “what ifs” and the “I was gonna's.”
Dorian moved his box over to the side of the room and settled into his spot. Before he forgot, he opened the note that was left for him. It was a list of sorts, and he read it quickly. There wasn't a message, just a list of rules. He quickly put it away and decided to pay heed to his expectant friends.
Dorian had a few hours to kill before his match and wanted to relax a bit before business grew serious. He was content there, and it helped to keep his head on straight, otherwise he would have been a mess of nerves. Even if he was just wasting time, he felt his time wasn't honestly wasted. The company he kept made it all worth it, and for a little while he forgot about all the woes of social hierarchy, body image, and madmen. For a time, he was a teenager playing games with friends he planned on keeping for life, and a good life it was bound to be.
Dorian had pushed all of his worry to the back of his mind for the next two matches, barely leaving himself an hour to get ready for the big event. He dressed quickly, putting on his bleach white undershirt, shorts, and tunic over the other two. He looped the wooden toggles through their ends leaving the top three undone. He was going to get sweaty, and ruining his brand-new clothes was the last thing he wanted to do. His friends were happy to support him as they all headed down to the gymnasium. They were successful in their support until Ken pointed out that he looked like a holy man in his all-white garb. The revelation made him self-conscious, but he knew it was too late to turn back now. Damning his pride, his doubt, and his worries, he headed into the gymnasium with a quarter of an hour to spare.
To his surprise, their entire class showed up, and more besides. The grandstand was close to full for their little tournament, which told Dorian one of two things. Either everybody had been looking forward to this as much as Dorian had, or there simply wasn't much to do during leisure hours and this was their best option for entertainment. Dorian supposed it didn't matter, because they were there regardless of their reasoning. Chump or champ, today most of his peers would see him fight. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his doubt wiggled and a thought emerged. They came here to see the chump, that’s you. You’re the chump.
Brother Michael approached him then and gestured to Jack. “Why don't you have Jack help you warm up, we're going to get started soon. Your match will be the second bout today, so you've got some time to warm up. Head over to the side of the seats, we’re waiting on a few more. I've fixed that damaged staff up for you, as best as I could anyways. It's over there.” He pointed to the area he had mentioned, and Dorian nodded. Jack followed, and they found a spot towards the edge so they could keep an eye on the dueling ring. Before heading there, Dorian retrieved his lucky staff, and like last time he was overwhelmed with a sense of rightness.
Dorian took a moment to examine it. He swore it hummed or vibrated at his touch. The grooves that had been dirty and stained, filled with dirt and the Gods knew what else, had been cleaned out. The wood had been lacquered, and polished. It was a work of art.
“So, think you’ll take Atticus outright? You’ve got at least half a foot on him,” Jack said as he leaned on Dorian’s back, helping him deepen his hurdler’s stretch.
“I don’t know. He’s a lot faster than me,” Dorian replied, his tone tinged with concern.
“Hey, don’t do that,” Jack said, his voice sharp with seriousness.
“Do what?” Dorian asked, glancing over his shoulder.
“Build up your opponent. Justify their strengths. You’re already setting yourself up to lose.”
Dorian turned fully to face him, his expression shifting to one of aggressive honesty. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means,” Jack shot back, his tone firm. “I’ve seen you do this a hundred times. You talk yourself into thinking you’re at a disadvantage, and then you justify it by underperforming. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and I’m sick of watching you do it.”
Dorian stared at his friend for a moment, taking in the uncharacteristic seriousness. Normally, hearing Jack use a few three-syllable words meant he was either trying to prove he wasn’t as much of a brute as people assumed, or he was dead serious. Dorian figured this time it was the latter.
“Where was this talk an hour ago?” Dorian asked, his tone rueful as he thought back to their last card game.
Jack smirked. “You were my opponent an hour ago.”
Dorian let out a chuckle, joining Jack in the shared laugh.
“Really, Dorian,” Jack said, his tone softening but staying sincere. “Go out there and give it everything. Stop holding yourself back. You talk yourself down too much. Be bold, and you’ll win. I know you will.” Jack stood, crossing his arms as a confident grin spread across his face. “Besides, if the second-strongest in class wins, what will everyone think of the strongest guy who never competed?”
“Alright, alright,” Dorian said, shaking his head but smiling. “You’re right. No excuses. I won’t just try, I’ll come back a winner.” He nodded to himself, attempting to project the confidence Jack clearly believed in, even though uncertainty still simmered beneath the surface.
Dorian stood and began making a few standing stretches when he spotted Danny swagger in, entourage in tow. Among them were several in the class that had already lost, and one that hadn't.
“When did Atticus start hanging out with Danny?” Dorian asked Jack.
Jack shook his head, looking grim. “I don't know.”
From the center of the room, and despite most the gymnasium talking among themselves, Dorian could hear, quite clearly, as Brother Michael boomed, “It looks as though all of our contestants are here.” The crowd quieted quickly and the Brother continued. “I'd say I was surprised at the turnout but let's be honest. This is the best damn sport in the Valley.” A few chuckles and whoops went up at that but shushed down shortly after. “Our lineup will be posted to the adjacent wall momentarily. Since this is the conclusion of the morning class tournament, not everybody will be competing today. The other classes have all finished their tournaments and are already beginning training this upcoming week. Today will decide who joins them.”
As Brother Michael spoke, Dorian spotted a few who entered with Danny pointing over at himself. They said something and a few others glanced over, laughing. Dorian's face went beat red, and he shook slightly as he held their gaze. They sat, all but Danny and Atticus. They began warming up together right in front of the crowd.
“Our first match of the night will be between Kintra Bale and Danny Prios.”
The surname of his ill begotten roomy was a bit of a surprise to Dorian. He thought Danny was a Smith, Dorian had overheard him mention that he received a stipend from the Smiths, it would only make sense that he was one of them. Prios usually meant that they were born at the Monastery, but Dorian knew he came there when he was six or seven. It left him a bit confused, but he quickly concluded he was paying attention to the wrong thing. It wasn’t the time for it, he could puzzle it out after he had won. What he needed to do was pay attention to how Danny fought, as Dorian was busy with his own fights last time. This was his one chance to gain any kind of knowledge about Danny's skills or technique.
Finishing their warmups, Danny met Kintra in the center of the ring. Brother Michael began giving his heavily rehearsed speech about sportsmanship, which generally ran about a minute. After he had finished, the glazed eyes of the crowd grew intense. He asked each competitor if they were ready, raised a hand and dropped it with a flourish.
Kintra wasted no time as she unleashed a flurry of attacks at Danny. Danny, for his part, seemed to have mastered the art of jerky movements. Every time a blow nearly struck, he seemed to jolt over, blocking blow after blow. His stance was what one would expect, unpracticed, but despite this he had yet to be hit. His movements almost made him look drunk, reminding Dorian of a fighting style he had read about once.
Their battle staves locked for a moment, and to Dorian's surprise, Danny was able to outmatch Kintra in absolute strength. He shoved with a grunt to create distance, then Danny pulled back and thrust out hard. It connected, and when it did, Kintra doubled over as the staff had stuck her at her center. She wheezed for a moment then buckled. Brother Michael gestured for a pause, then asked Kintra a few quiet questions. She nodded a few times and stood, the crowd clapped before the Brother asked them to take their places. “Three points to Prios, line up!” He barked, but Danny was already there. He shot a vicious grin at Dorian, but Dorian didn't wither away, instead he glared with all the intensity he could muster. He knew Danny was using his telekinetic abilities to cheat, there just wasn't any way to prove it.
Brother Michael dropped his hand again to commence the fight and like before Kintra was back on the offensive. Her breathing was a bit ragged, but it seemed as though she had found a higher level of intensity. She lashed out, swinging with grace balanced with brutality. The clacks as the staves met were loud and the sound echoed through the gymnasium.
Everything seemed normal for a time, the bout closely matched. Kintra landed a swipe, then a glancing blow to even the score. As her glancing strike hit Danny, instead of blocking it he arched out with a wide swing, lowering his grip on the staff enough to add extra power to it. The sound it made as it connected with Kintra's skull was loud enough to hush the crowd. A piece of Danny's staff had broken off, and Kintra dropped to the ground like a sack of grain. There wasn't any blood, but Brother Michael called for medics immediately.
Danny stood in the ring but didn't look like the cocky asshole Dorian knew him to be. Instead, Danny looked upset about something. After a moment he knelt down holding his stomach. The medics were in the ring, one shaking his head and pointed to something off to the side of the ring. One of them headed over to the spot and retrieved a stretcher that was promptly laid out. They gingerly moved the hurt Vessel on to the stretcher and headed out. As they did so, Brother Michael called an end to the match.
“This is a risk every person takes in the ring. This is not a forgiving sport, and those not cautious enough can get hurt. I'd like to remind all of those competing today that this can get dangerous, so watch yourselves. I'd like to add that deliberately harming somebody is means for immediate exile.” Brother Michael looked over to Danny, giving a blank stare. He mumbled something to the Brother, and left the ring to wait with his friends for the next match.
Dorian was already shaking with anticipation of his match. It was nerve wracking but also exhilarating in the extreme. He didn't feel ready in his head, but his body was wound tight like a spring coil ready to release its bound energy. Dorian was as ready as he was going to be.
He saw Brother Michael's mouth moving but nothing registered. A slap on the back from Jack, and he made his way to the ring, staff in hand. Before entering, Atticus had dropped his tunic at the edge of the ring, his eyes never leaving Dorian's. Not sure what compelled him to mimic the other Vessel, Dorian removed his tunic while matching Atticus's glare. His new undershirt revealed more of the scars that ran down from his shoulder and across his chest, and he secretly hoped it made him look dangerous despite his round shape.
Dorian had always had a fear of being judged for his shape, removing his tunic in public was akin to living a nightmare for him, but it also felt liberating for the same reasons. Atticus was stripping down to intimidate Dorian, and it worked to an extent. Dorian could admit that he was scared, that he was intimidated, that he felt nauseous for fear of humiliation. Despite his doubts he headed for the middle of the ring where his opponent stood waiting. Quenching his fears in the fires of the moment, Dorian raised his staff to the ready position, hands shaking, heart thumping so loud he couldn't hear the crowd. The Brother's hand came up and held there for what felt like an eternity. The moment had come, the time for fretting had ended, now it was time to be what he was meant to be, no matter what it meant.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Brother Michael's hand dropped, and everything blurred with exception to Atticus. He had no thoughts for the crowd, his friends, or his educators. There was only himself and the one standing in his way. He struck out, and the match began in earnest.
Clack, clack, the staves sounded as they met. Dorian took the initiative and lashed out, but Atticus had a defense worthy of praise. Thrusts were dodged, strikes were parried, and no matter what Dorian did, he couldn't seem to get past the young man's guard. Atticus had squatted down, limiting the area Dorian could attack, meanwhile making it easier to defend against Dorian's onslaught of blows.
Frustrated, Dorian pointedly stood from his stance and scowled at Atticus. Atticus tilted his head up and said, “pretty fast for a fat kid, too bad you're too stupid to do anything with it!”
The insult had broken Dorian's trance for a moment, just long enough to hear the crowd laughing. Brother Michael said, “First warni-” but Dorian cut in. “Stupid is the one that walks into the ring with me!”
With a snarl, Dorian released a series of low thrusts at his opponent’s feet, forcing Atticus to drop back until he was at the edge of the circle. Dorian's grip was slightly one sided, and he used the short end to swipe out at Atticus's side. Expecting the block, Dorian rebounded from it, using the momentum of the blocked strike to assist in his pivot. As Dorian twisted, he used the long end of the staff to strike at Atticus's center, scoring himself a hit and pushing Atticus out of the ring.
“Three points to Hook, additional three points for Weaver turtling before a ring-out. Hook six, Weaver zero. Vessels, to the center!” Brother Michael barked.
Atticus, to the bemusement of the crowd, had fallen flat on his back. As a gesture of good sportsmanship, Dorian stalled and offered a hand to Atticus. Atticus looked at his hand and spit at Dorian's feet. Dorian glared and looked at Brother Micheal just in time to see the man's expression sour. If there was one thing Brother Michael didn't care for, it was poor conduct of his Vessels, particularly during a competition. The Brother was inhaling to shout something as Dorian turned his head back to his opponent. He did so just in time to see Atticus's staff sweep through the air with a whoosh before connecting with Dorian's outstretched hand.
Pain lanced through his arm and down his fingertips, he wanted to scream but it hurt too much to put any focus elsewhere. He dropped to his knees, clutching his arm and fingers. He heard Atticus say, “not so smart now, are you, you fat fuck?” He spat the words at Dorian and laughed.
“Weaver!” Came Brother Michael's voice. “You worthless wretch! That's an immediate disqualification!” Dorian would have laughed, but he was too busy gasping for air. He heard scuffling behind him, and despite the tears swelling in his eyes, Dorian could see Brother Michael picking up Atticus by his shirt. A sister, one of the healers, moved to intercede but Brother Michael was having none of it. “In all my years I have never seen such a despicable display.” He growled.
“Brother Michael, I was told to-”
“Told to what? Be the kind of bastard that spends the rest of his short life in The Rock?!”
“No, please, Brother, I didn't-”
“Save your excuses, you disgrace this sport, these people, and the Gods. You disgust me.” The Brother shaped stone around Atticus, and the young man looked frantic.
Looking into the crowd he said, “you son of-.”
That was the last anyone heard before Atticus was sucked under by the writhing stone. It had been a long time since Dorian had been reminded of the swift and brutal judgement from the Monastery. Dorian had never seen a Shaper do anything like that before, for a moment Dorian even forgot his hand. Brother Michael stood in concentration for a long while, then spoke. “Atticus will be retrieved from the Rock in three days. Perhaps his punishment will teach him, and the rest of you, the value of conducting yourself with the standards we set here at the Monastery. Master Weaver forfeits by default, Master Hook, you're off to the semifinals.”
Dorian didn't hear what happened after that, he was dragged to the side and inspected by several healers before Brother Michael came over. During their inspection, Dorian wouldn't let them see his arm, for he feared what he would see. When the Brother came over he put a hand on Dorian's shoulder and said, “it's alright son, let them have a see.”
Timidly, Dorian stopped hiding his arm but looked away, still afraid of what he would witness. The expression on Brother Michael's face was one of disgust. After a long moment, to his horror, Dorian looked at his arm.
It bent at an odd angle, the forearm looking, for the world, like it was made of rubber. Two of his fingers were bent in directions they shouldn't be able to. Dorian had to swallow his gorge lest he lose his breakfast. The faint hissing noise from the observing crowd didn't help either.
“Unfortunately, Dorian, according to the rules you only have two options. In the philosophy of this sport, the idea is that this synthesizes a duel, you are not allowed any healing by a Vessel. We can set the bones, and give you a quick splint, but nothing beyond that. Your other option is to concede. I'm sorry, I wish there was another way.” Though his tone was somber, Brother Michael's face was outraged.
Dorian didn't even think before he said, “I will not concede.” His eyes watered as he held Brother Michael's glare. It wasn't intelligence that spoke for Dorian then, it was his brashness and his pride. He didn't know for sure, as in, he had no proof, but he knew down to the Gia in his soul that what Atticus did was on behalf of Danny. Dorian knew it, and he simply wouldn't give Danny the satisfaction. He had second thoughts as the popping noises started, and even more when he had to look away. He mentally swore as he prepared himself for what was to come. Blackened damn, shit stone salad, Kressor's broken sphincter. He scanned the crowd, looking for his friends, anything to focus on as they set his bones to right.
The pain was agonizing, and despite his best attempts, the only person he spotted in the crowd was Danny. “You hear that-” he was cut off as the healers began to straighten his fingers. “I will not concede!” Dorian bellowed at Danny, but everyone else in the gymnasium seemed to take it as an announcement. To his surprise, the crowd cheered, and suddenly the pressure of his mending wasn't so painful.
After getting patched up and spending a few minutes just trying to catch his breath, Dorian finally spotted his friends. They were huddled together a few rows up, with plenty of empty space around them. As he moved through the crowd, he could feel the weight of countless eyes on him, but he kept his focus locked on his friends, pushing forward until he reached his seat.
“Damn, Dorian, I didn't know you were so skilled.” Commented Benny, a look of awe on his face.
Dorian waved the comment away, “apparently not skilled enough to keep myself from getting hurt.”
“Bah, that's goat scat my friend. We all saw it, what a spiteful move. He knew he was outmatched, taking you out in the process was... dishonorable.” Said Jack as he wore a grim expression.
“How bad is it? I couldn't make it out from here.” Voiced Ken as he twiddled his thumbs.
Putting on a half-smile, Dorian said, “It hurts, but I think it was more shocking than anything.”
Benny and Jack nodded at that, but Ken sat looking pensive. Dorian took a seat next to Ken and watched the next bout making idle conversation as they did. The match wasn't a bad one, but he wondered if the contestant's maneuvers were more fluid in their heads, which led him to thinking the same thing about himself. Despite what I see myself doing in my head, what if I'm just as jerky in my movements? What if I'm just the fat kid that's been lucky thus far?
He shook his head, trying to clear it of such thoughts. He was fretting, and the pulsing pain that came from his right arm was slowly stealing more of his concentration. No matter what he was focusing on, the painful pulses coming from his bandaged splints became a serious hindrance to his thoughts. He kept trying to focus elsewhere, but no matter what it was it couldn't hold his attention long before his mind would return to the throbbing sensation. He held his arm prone, but the pain was slowly eating away at his patience.
A tap on his shoulder caught him off guard. With a start, he turned to see Malik smiling broadly. “A word, Dorian?” Dorian nodded and got up, telling his friends he'd be back before his bout. He followed Malik over to the other side of the grandstand, noting a surprising absence of people surrounding the people Malik was heading towards. He wondered why there wasn't anyone surrounding the group. Perhaps they all had that spicy dish last night, and the rest of the crowd couldn't stand it? He would have chuckled to himself, but these were all people that held social sway. These were the people knew people. People that could find things like restricted tomes, offhand materials, or placing bets, buying intoxicants or even study crystals. The last of those were only rumored to exist, but if anyone in the Monastery could get a hold of such a thing they would be here.
“Have a seat, Dorian. I'd like to introduce you to a few friends of mine.” Malik gestured for him to have a seat next to a robed figure. He sat, noting that the robe was entirely too big. The loose folds and baggy appearance left Dorian a bit curious, but he let it go. He had to hold his right arm out straight, he could bend it but the shift in position had caused the pain to spike every time he did so. Malik sat to his left, pointing to several people and introducing them. Dorian greeted them in kind, doing his best to smile and put on the pleasantries. When he moved to introduce himself to the one, he sat next too, and Malik spoke.
“That one doesn't speak, don't worry though. Reliable like the sun rising.” He twitched a shoulder, implying something, but Dorian had no clue what. Gesturing to an older Vessel, Malik continued his introductions.
“This is Giovanni, but he prefers Vinny. He's the primary reason I've brought you over.” Malik said, nodding his head to Vinny.
Vinny put his hand out for Dorian to shake, a smile on his face. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Dorian.”
He was caught off guard as Dorian put his left out. “Sorry, the right hand is having a bit of a time today.” Vinny laughed and switched hands. They shook, and Vinny got straight to business.
“Seeing as there are some peculiarities afoot, I'd like to talk to you about your wager.” His thick eyebrows rose as he spoke, which was hard to notice past his hawk-like nose and smooth voice.
“And what exactly would you like to talk about?” Dorian asked, somewhat confused.
“Well, since your injury, the odds have greatly been pushed in Danny's favor. There will only be one more match after the semi-finals.”
Dorian was unsure about the comment, and it must have shown on his face because Vinny immediately continued to explain. “The top three spots are those who will enter the Grand Tournament, whomever wins their match in the semifinals is guaranteed a spot, the losers from the semifinals will be the final bout of the day as only the top three will move on.”
Realization dawned on Dorian then, and he nodded at Vinny. “That makes sense, considering the risk to injury.”
Vinny nodded in turn, “speaking of injuries, that's also why you're here. Your odds have shifted enough that, well, we'd like to offer you the chance to withdraw.”
Dorian mouthed the word “withdraw” as his brow lowered. “What are the odds then?”
Vinny scowled, his chin jutting forward. “Between the injury, and how well Danny performed in the first round...” Dorian rolled his hand, wanting the man to spit it out already. “Fifteen to one against you.”
Dorian's eyes went wide as he did some mental math. He had won his first bout, doubling the stick of Vega tokens he had put down initially. If he backed out, he'd have enough coin to avoid working again until his Final Judgment, money wasn't required at the Monastery but it made things significantly easier. If he wanted rare books, clothes, Kressor's own, he could pay somebody to write his final essay for him with that kind of coin.
Dorian asked, “could I have just a second to discuss something with Malik?”
Vinny nodded and backed away, so Dorian began speaking with Malik in hushed tones. “What could I do with that kind of coin?”
Malik, initially looking unhappy, brightened considerably. “What would you like?”
“I don't know.” Dorian whispered, putting his hand out in an open-handed gesture. “What I'm asking is would having that much coin do me any good? I've made enough now that, if I parcel it out correctly, I likely wouldn't have to do anything but prepare for Ascension. Would having that much benefit me?”
Malik gave him a knowing look and nodded slowly. “Oh yes, there are things that I could find you that would provide an undeniable benefit, things that are valued in hundreds of Vega.”
“Okay,” Dorian said quickly. “Fifteen to one you said, Vinny?”
Vinny nodded once, and Dorian replied, “I'll keep my wager. If I lose, I lose. If I win though,” a smile broadened across Malik's face, and Dorian mirrored it as he looked to Vinny.
“Quite a win it would be, indeed.” Malik's expression was predatory as he said it, glaring over at Vinny. Perhaps there is a history there that I don't understand, Dorian thought as he watched the two. Vinny moved away after telling Dorian that he was, “looking forward to the show, doubly for the outcome.”
“What was that all about?” Dorian whispered to Malik.
“It's a very large wager you've placed relative to the odds. Even at fifteen to one odds, nobody feels safe putting that kind of money on the line. I'm sure he's shaking in his boots right now.” A sly grin was on his face before he said, “especially since I've wagered on your victory myself.”
Dorian was surprised that Malik was keeping his bet, considering Dorian's state. If Dorian had any guess, Malik was putting his ass on the line for him. Dorian decided that he would find a way to repay him, even if Malik was simply doing this for his own self gain.
“Don't worry, Dorian, I'm no fool. Just show the same skill you showed against Ingrid, and you'll walk away wealthy, as will I. If not, I have other prospects, and from the way you've made it sound you would be content with what you already have. So if you think about it, neither of us have serious consequences if you fail.”
Just the concept of failure was something that Dorian didn't want to consider, he'd get jittery and wound tight, something he couldn't afford to do at this juncture. He needed to present a confident front or his mind would shatter under the strain of all the pressure. His future, Ascendance, was on the line. He wasn't materialistic, and the money would be nice, but taking the Grand Tournament meant a guarantee over something he was sure he'd fail at. As much as he respected the cooks, the custodians, and the farmers, it didn't mean he wanted to be one.
“I hope I can show the same skill as I had against Ingrid, but I doubt I'd enjoy it half as much.”
“Hmm? What do you mean by that?” Malik asked.
Dorian, being slightly paranoid, looked around, realizing how distracted everyone was. Dorian could say whatever he wanted right there, and nobody but Malik's trusted company would even be able to listen in. It was a clever way to have a conversation, and Dorian took note briefly before attempting to answer the question.
“Well, I don't know. There was something there that I didn't expect, it was like...” Dorian searched for the words but couldn't find them. When he stammered Malik looked at him inquisitively. “It's hard to explain, at first she was all anger and so was I. There were words we shared before the match that had both of us hot blooded.”
Malik nodded him to go on, so he did. “Then, I don't know. In the match, there was ferocity there that... I'm blabbering. I should probably go before my match starts.”
Dorian moved to get up, but Malik put a hand on his shoulder and said, “no, I really want to know. Speak plainly man, be the confident Dorian I saw a few days past, don't digress into something you aren't anymore, don't cling to that.”
Noting the serious look on Malik's face, Dorian spoke before he could stop himself. “She’s a ferocious person. Anyone who spends even a moment with her can see that. During the bout, I felt something more, a sense of how our attitudes intertwined, like the perfect harmony in a piece of music. Even with the undercurrent of competition, there was something breathtaking in it, something raw and instinctive. It felt like a dance I’d never been taught but somehow knew by heart.”
To Dorian’s surprise, Malik lit up, a gleam in his eyes that made Dorian slightly uneasy. “How well do you know Ingrid?” Malik asked, his tone laced with curiosity.
Dorian shrugged. “I’ve known of her, but I always assumed she was… petty.”
He rubbed the back of his head, considering his own words before offering a small smile. “Thinking back, maybe I was being presumptuous, but not without reason.”
Malik raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Like what?”
“Oh, you know—the times I was humiliated in front of her, or because of her,” Dorian said with a chuckle. “But I think I’m starting to see things differently. Underneath all the cliques and posturing, the person we are in private is often very different from the one we show to the world. In the match, I felt like I was meeting her for the first time. And she was… remarkable.”
As he spoke, his gaze had drifted toward the ongoing bout, but as he finished, he turned back to find Malik grinning—obnoxiously so. Heat crept into Dorian’s face. He had just prattled on like an idiot. For a brief moment, he felt the sting of embarrassment.
“Perhaps,” Malik said, chuckling, “you should tell her that.”
Dorian scoffed. “And make a fool of myself? Come on, Malik, you’re talking to Dorian the dingleberry. A compliment from me isn’t exactly high praise for Ingrid the incredible.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Why did I just say that? A suspicion settled in his gut, and he narrowed his eyes at Malik. That was the second time now. Something was going on.
Malik laughed, and for a brief moment, Dorian thought he heard a soft chuckle from behind him. Before he could turn to check, Malik spoke up.
“Have you ever considered that you might have been a poet in your last life?” He asked through his laughter.
Dorian scowled, but Malik pressed on. “Worry not, there’s no social standing that passion can’t supersede. Besides, you’ve been the topic of conversation since this started.”
That got Dorian’s attention. “Oh? And what exactly are they saying?”
Malik smirked. “Not much time before your match starts. You sure you want to sit here until then?”
Dorian looked around and spotted his friends across the grandstand. He was tempted, curious really, but he wanted to spend his time with his friends before he went out. He looked to Malik and shook his head slightly.
Malik nodded and smiled, “I'll have to tell you later, I'm having a little get together this evening. You remember how to get to my room?” Dorian nodded, and Malik continued. “Head over just before lights out, we can either celebrate our winnings or mourn our losses. Preferably, the former, and you still have to meet your patron. Everyone here will be there.” He nodded once, and Dorian responded in turn before he took his leave. Dorian pondered on his statements as he left. Growing a tad suspicious, he wondered at Malik. How strong of a telepath is he?
Dorian looked back for just a moment, and a surge of confidence stole over himself. Very strong, indeed.
Despite how he felt about the conversation he had with Malik, he thought the distraction was a relief. His arm still throbbed, but it wasn't the burden it was before, more of an irritation. Then again, he hadn’t moved it in some time now. Despite this, it seemed his friends had picked up all the worry he had let go of. They all looked at him, stress written across their faces.
“What is it?” Dorian asked, feeling bad for having lost track of time.
“You're up soon.” Benny said.
“How’s the arm?” Ken asked, looking pale.
“It hurts,” replied Dorian, “but I'll live. Who wants to help me warm up? I need to get my blood pumping before I square off with Danny.”
Benny moved to get up, but Jack beat him to it. “I've got this, you two are lacking the mass to help our circular friend properly.” Jack said, his tone jovial and aristocratic.
“I take great offense to that,” Benny commented, adding the same aristocratic edge to his voice.
“He's not wrong.” Ken said looking up to Dorian, sounding sincere. “Get your win, Dorian, but remember, the Gods judge us by our temptations and if we yield to them.”
“What kind of scat was that?” Benny asked his brother.
Jack chimed in, “wisdom from the Path, Benny. You could read every once in a while.”
Benny looked offended, but Jack spoke over him before he had a chance. “And not about card games, or ways to cause quiet mischief.”
Benny looked chagrined at the comment, but he shrugged it off. “Dorian, give him what he deserves. If you lose, I'll never forgive you. Broken hand or not.” He pointed at Dorian, and he smiled in turn.
“Okay Benny, but just for you.” Dorian left to warm up when he heard Benny say to his little brother, “see? He's got this. Don't look so worried.”
Jack and Dorian started their regular stretching routing, but did so at speed. Dorian had been out for a while, but he wasn't so cold that he had to start from scratch. Jack assisted him in checking his mobility. As Dorian grabbed his staff with his bad arm, he felt the vibration again, but through his bones. He asked Jack to take it for a second, and he didn’t notice a thing. Dorian took it up again and felt a warmth radiate out of his broken hand and arm. His splinted fingers unwieldy, Dorian had wrapped each of his fingers together, index to middle, pinky to ring. Now the fingers felt fine. Dorian found he could cup his staff between his thumb and index finger with little pain, though it was relatively stiff. He couldn't twist his wrist much, it made his forearm feel like it was on fire. He decided that his best bet was to reinforce his wrist, so Jack ran over to get some linewood paste from the healers. When he got back, he helped apply it, and it solidified quickly enough.
They began testing by having Jack swing a staff downward at himself at varying strengths to gauge how much force he could handle. The strongest swings hurt like hell, but blocking them wasn't completely debilitating. Considering how strong Jack was, he figured it would come pretty close to how hard Danny's telekinetically enhanced blows would be. Jack wondered out loud why Dorian thought Danny could hit half so hard, and Dorian quietly explained what he had read.
“That doesn't make sense, I can’t access my extra strength right now. I've tried.”
“I can show you later, you have to be able to, you know.” Dorian flushed his eyesight with Gia for a brief moment.
Jack squinted his eyes for a moment, then they shot open. “Shh!” Dorian said before Jack started going on a tirade. “I can explain everything later, but keep it down. I can't point out that he's cheating, it's not my secret to tell.”
“I don't give a Gwendos given fuck stick, he's cheating!” Jack looked like he was about to storm right out and confront Danny, but Dorian held his friend back.
“Jack, I know, but the only way anyone can prove it is with the source that only I know of. Otherwise, everyone will just think you're trying to help me, which is exactly what you're doing. Jack, I'm not going to win this by default. Besides, it's not about winning for me at this point.” He stared his friend in the eye, and to his own surprise they were eye level. Meeting gazes, Jack seemed to understand. He expressed this with a grunt.
Dorian had taken to jogging in place, a behavior he'd seen others use to keep their blood pumping. It was working well enough, meanwhile Jack spoke tactics with him.
“He won’t shell up like Atticus, he'll come after you, likely on your weak side. Can you switch your stance to keep your right hand back?” Dorian nodded and began testing the stance. It was odd, like he knew exactly where to place his feet to feel comfortable. He tested a few experimental strikes, and though they weren't as comfortable as they were with his dominant hand, he felt he could manage.
Finally, after what felt like an age, he heard Brother Michael shout, “Prios, Hook, to the center!”
Dorian started heading over when Jack called out, “if you lose to that Gwendian pup, I'll never let you live it down! You hear me, Dorian?! Not in this life or the next!” Dorian grinned at the reference to the last time Jack and Danny had an honest confrontation, and it helped Dorian keep a clear head as Danny came up in stride with him.
“I've been wondering if the piggy is ready for the slaughter. Maybe after I've had my way with you, I'll make up with Ingrid. I heard that piggy has a crush,” Danny gestured at all of Dorian, ending his statement the way one would talk to an infant.
“Would you just shut up already?” Dorian said as a statement more than a question. A few other Vessels had heard him and laughed at the comment. Danny's face went a little red, and Dorian felt just a bit less stressed because of it.
Dorian's nerves began rushing upward from his gut as he entered the ring. As he walked towards the center they surged, and by the time he was in the ready stance it felt like a wave would take him right off his feet. The accumulation of so much stress, this entire last year of living with Danny, getting bullied and beaten, put down upon, and overall being treated like shit, had finally come to a head. His nerves, normally something that kept him down, came to the fore and they found purpose. Instead of fighting his nerves, like he normally would, he opened their metaphorical floodgates and found a sudden surge of rage. Those same nerves that had kept him from moving gave him new life the moment Brother Michael's hand dropped.
Dorian surged with the wrath of his own helplessness, putting every bit of his might into each step. He thrust forward, trying to take an early lead. He came on faster than Danny had expected, and Dorian thought it was a sure thing, until Danny's staff jerked out of nowhere to parry the attack. Dorian struck out again, this time aiming low, but in a not so fluid movement, Danny swung down with one arm planting his staff to block. Then Danny was on him.
Dorian moved, doing all he could to avoid Danny's onslaught. He blocked one attack that came high, then a parry to counter a thrust. Danny came high again, his varying speeds throwing Dorian off. Dorian moved to block it, but unsure of how safe that was he also leaned back, just in case his block didn't hold. As Dorian had his hips forward and back arched, faster than he could follow, Danny thrust forward with his staff, letting go of one hand to gain additional distance.
Dorian gasped, Danny had hit him hard. “A whole lot there to keep safe, huh tubby?” Danny muttered under his breath. Not only was the blow completely unexpected, but it came at the worst moment as Dorian was completely off guard. Dorian was sucking in his first lungful of air as Danny came back around to thrust out another one-handed strike. Unwilling to give Danny the satisfaction, Dorian moved. He spun through the strike, not even attempting a block, staff held in his left hand and cupped under his armpit. As Dorian twisted, he placed the elbow of his broken arm against the stave, giving the swing a surprising amount of additional power. The strike bashed Danny across the side of his head.
That gave Dorian some distance as Danny retreated to get his bearings. Dorian knew he should press his advantage, but the need to take a moment to catch his own breath was more pressing.
“Prios, three, Hook, two.” Brother Michael called.
Down, but not out, Dorian thought.
He barely had time to reset before Danny was on him, swinging wide. Forced onto the defensive, Dorian backpedaled. Danny rode the momentum, pivoting—just like Dorian had against Atticus. But Dorian was wise to his own tricks. Before Danny could plant his feet, Dorian shot his staff between his legs.
Danny turned, not expecting the obstruction, and tripped ass over elbows. He barely registered the fall before Dorian was on him.
Anticipating an attack, Danny blindly threw up his staff—and, to Dorian’s misfortune, blocked at just the right angle. Instead of rebounding, Dorian hooked his thumb and index finger around the staff and used his full weight to press down. He wasn’t going to score points for it, but if he could exhaust Danny, catching up would be much easier.
They locked staves for a moment before Brother Michael’s voice cut through.
“Vessels, to the center! This isn’t a wrestling match. On your feet, Prios! Hook, get off of him!”
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Dorian grinned sheepishly as he pushed to his feet, taking his position while Danny dusted himself off.
“Get that smirk off your face, fat ass,” Danny snapped, glaring.
Dorian’s grin widened, laced with condescension.
Brother Michael’s hand dropped. Danny let out a battle cry—except to Dorian, it sounded like a yappy little Gwendian lapdog. He barked a laugh and sidestepped the wild swing that followed.
The crowd roared. Whether they were laughing for the same reason or not didn’t matter. Danny’s face flushed deep red, and Dorian’s laughter only grew.
Danny seethed, his knuckles white around his staff. Dorian readied himself, but his eyes caught on Brother Michael—who had a hand clamped over his mouth, shoulders shaking.
Oh fuck me, even the Brother is laughing.
Danny exploded, moving with a burst of speed and still trying to get in Dorian’s head.
“Fuck you, tubby! I won’t lose today, but even if I do, you’ll still be shit! You’ll always be the fat, lazy loser! You’re fucking pathetic!”
The sneer in his voice barely registered beneath the low growl rising in Dorian’s throat.
Dorian didn't know that he had left his stance, he hadn't realized that Brother Michael was shouting something, and he didn't even register that he had dropped his staff. He calmly walked up to Danny, catching the swipe at his side with both of his hands and wrenching the staff away from Danny's grip. Disarmed, Danny tripped backwards looking alarmed. Dorian held his gaze for a long moment, then tossed the staff at the ground before Danny's feet. The cold stare Dorian gave Danny was the culmination of every single withering glare Dorian had received in his memory. Perhaps, even a touch of the insanity that affected the Grand Elder was present. Whatever it was, the whole world went silent, and for a long moment Dorian stood tall over his opponent.
Quiet, like a somber winter morning, Dorian turned his back on his opponent and walked away. Just like that, Dorian's point had been made. He picked up his staff and took his guard. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a proud look from Brother Michael and the crowd seemed to hold their breath for the next moment.
Danny brushed himself off and picked up his staff. He came to the center of the ring and took his stance. As Brother Michael's hand dropped, Danny snarled and leaped forward. Dorian had been thinking the same thing, and their staves locked together.
Generally speaking, you didn't engage in this kind of action unless you thought you had the upper hand in raw strength. Dorian was growling as they met and quickly began pushing Danny back. To Dorian's surprise, Danny started to push back. First in staggered jerks, for split seconds at a time he had the strength of any Brute, but then it started to stabilize. Dorian kept his feet anchored, but still Danny was coming down with vengeance. Absently, Dorian saw utter confusion on the faces of everyone watching.
That's when something that Jack said had echoed through his mind. “I've got this, you two are lacking the mass to help our circular friend properly.” He knew what to do, despite the pain in his hand and arm, despite the heat of the moment and all the eyes of the gymnasium on him, despite his own doubts about himself, he had an answer.
Dorian wrenched his staff to rest against his opponent's at a vertical angle. Lowering his mass, Dorian squatted down, levering his staff down with him. As expected, Danny flew forward, Dorian standing as most of Danny's lackluster weight rested against him, vaulted Danny several yards across the ring and out of bounds.
Dorian watched Danny fly then turned his head and took position. All this even before hearing Brother Michael shout. “To the center Prios! Next time Hunt gets five points, I'd recommend you stay in the ring!”
Dorian just held his stance and kept his face forward. He even heard a bit of laughter from the grandstand for it. Danny, now outraged, came back to the center and lined up, muttering something insulting as he walked by. Brother Michael, for his part, was staring at Danny through slanted eyes.
“Begin!” Came the booming voice, and Danny reacted like a hurricane. Faster than Dorian could handle, he lashed out, three, then four times. Dorian caught most of them, but he had to read the tells from Danny's body to block, so fast were the strikes. Between the pain throbbing in his arm at every block, and the way Danny's telekinesis removed most of the tells from his body, Dorian didn't stand a chance. Danny had landed another solid thrust and two strikes. Dorian wasn't thinking clearly, so he waited in his guard position for the Brother to announce total scores.
“Prios, seven, Hook, two.”
Wait, that doesn't make sense! Can the man do simple math? Dorian thought to himself but didn't voice it. His arm was protesting more and more, so Dorian took a chance to glance at it. The stint had shattered, and some time through the exchange the linewood casing had fallen away. Dorian couldn't stay on the defensive, he had to move. Now!
Danny backed away, looking confused. His head twitched twice in the time it took for Dorian to take two leaping strides forward and vault himself into the air. Coiling his torso, he shifted his grip and thrust his staff forward once, twice, before slamming it down with everything he had. Without hesitation, he swept low as he jumped, forcing Danny to stumble back.
Dorian reached the apex of his jump just as he brought his staff down. Danny was still recovering from his fumbled dodge. Time stretched thin, and for the briefest moment, an absurd thought surfaced.
Wow! I'm really bad at jumping. I should probably work on that.
It was gone in an instant. Every ounce of power, weight, and momentum was behind this strike. He was all in. But just as his staff came crashing down, Danny’s own jerked violently into place, bracing to block.
Dorian was already committed. He drove down with every bit of force he had.
The moment of impact triggered a chain reaction that unfolded too fast for him to stop.
The first thing to go was his arm. He had gambled everything, using his dominant side, and he felt it give under the force. Then came Danny’s wrists. His hands crumpled inward, levering against his upper arms. Something must have registered in Danny’s mind at that moment because he stopped resisting entirely. Dorian’s strike plowed through, forcing him downward.
Danny’s body went limp before he even hit the floor. One of his arms, caught at an unnatural angle, gave out completely.
Dorian barely managed to pull back, stumbling away as dread settled in his gut. The sound of Danny hitting the cork mats would haunt him for the rest of his life. The deep knocks, the pops, the sickening crunch of bones collapsing under stress echoed across the gymnasium.
Nobody moved.
Danny moaned, the sound thick with pain. Dorian knew. He had broken nearly every bone in the boy’s body. Even as he dropped to his knees, clutching his arm, he kept his head. The pain radiated like wildfire, his limb warped in a way it shouldn’t be, but he didn’t falter. He knew the rules. He raised his staff high.
The cost had been great. It would be a waste to back down now.
Agony ripped through him, tearing from his forearm down to his fingertips. He clung to consciousness, anchoring himself to a single thought. A note, neatly folded and tucked into his pocket. He had read it this morning, scrawled in elegant yet flashy penmanship:
A near-complete listing of all legal reasons for disqualification according to the rulebook of the last recorded grand tournament.
One line burst forth in his mind, and he felt the persuasive touch of something. Whoever it was, they were pressing the thought of that one line, like a red hot poker, his mind could only think of that one line of text.
24M-IC
Under the scenario of a mutual injury, one that immediately disqualifies both contestants, the winner of the contest will be declared as such: The first contestant able and in possession of their staff.
Dorian clenched his jaw. The pain was unbearable, but he lifted his staff higher.
“I do not concede!”
His voice was hoarse, strained, but he shouted it again. His mind chided him, giving him the image of himself, arm clutched close to his body, his fat torso exposed, his one good arm up. I look like an idiot. He smirked through the pain, surprised that he didn’t care. His body trembled, shaking from exhaustion, from agony, but he kept his staff raised. He would not yield.
The shaking came in waves.
And then the waves dragged him under.