The crowd roared in approval as Arcturus landed, knees bent to absorb the impact with his heightened Vitality and Strength. Standing at the northern wall of the circular arena, he turned to regard his opponent as they turned to regard him.
Arcturus' foe was bedecked in silvery plate armour, with golden chainmail glinting through the gaps. An elegant greatsword with a beautifully rendered sunburst was emblazoned on the tabard over their breastplate, and their features were hidden behind a fully-enclosed winged helmet. A pair of glowing green eye lenses sat where an eyeslit would be on an earth-forged armour of the same type, once again bewildering Arcturus with how weirdly advanced Terra was.
Very likely, those glowing lenses were like an artificial HUD for whatever lucky bastard was in the ostentatious set of armour. The champion was approximately 6’1 based on Arcturus’ deductions, and after factoring in the extra height from the sabatons. In his right fist, the armoured champion held an ornate aetherblade hilt; white metal adorned with gold ornamentation in the shape of angel’s wings at each end of the crossguard. When the blade suddenly ignited, Arcturus blinked against its brilliance as the crowd howled in approval.
Golden flames made up the sword, interspersed with white not unlike his own, though he knew the aetherial source was different.
He had been taught to recognise Solarfire for what it was.
Arcturus unhooked Perdition from his arming belt and held the hilt out and towards the ground, igniting it a moment later. Where the crowd had gone wild for the champion, they were silent for Arcturus, and he knew why. Perdition was not a blade that inspired images of righteousness and glory, it was a weapon that heralded destruction. The way the energies of its blade danced and twined — like a perpetual performance of light and void, hope and despair warring against one another — promised misery for those that drew its ire.
The champion’s blade was a hero’s weapon, a thing of beauty and life.
Arcturus’ aetherblade was a warlord’s icon, and represented only damnation.
So melodramatic...
The champion raised his blazing weapon in a salute before him, and Arcturus mimicked the action; recalling Tylariel’s lessons on Archon etiquette. Approving applause followed from the crowd, and died out when both of the ritually snapped their blades down and out to the side.
Time to show the world who you are, Arcturus.
The champion seemed confused, a few moments later, when Arcturus started to stroll towards him, Perdition vacillating between illuminating and darkening the area around it as the Creation and Destruction energies continued their permanent war for control. His left hand remained in his pocket, as if he were simply out for a stroll as he approached the Highblade champion.
The armoured Knight seemed unsure for a moment, helmet tilting as they looked between the blade and Arcturus, before valour won out over hesitation. Arcturus fought down the urge to smile and activated an ability as the massive warrior charged towards him, thundering across the granite arena with puffs of loose sand to the approving roar of the crowd. He was fast, for an armoured warrior. Very fast.
Arcturus snapped up Perdition to absorb the downswing at the last second when the champion suddenly seemed to hyper-accelerate, smashing into Arcturus’ aetherblade with his own in a flash of golden flames and sparking energy.
“That would be your affinity talent, right?” Arcturus asked as he braced against the other man’s strength. It was stronger than he’d hoped, but oddly weaker than he’d planned for. “[Solarian Swiftness]. You can drastically increase your speed in direct sunlight.”
The champion released a muffled grunt from under the helmet and drew back from the deadlock, gaining distance and assuming a flexible stance, before darting in once more and swinging hard to Arcturus’ left side.
This time Arcturus simply erected a barrier of telekinetic force for 100 mana, and threw out his left hand at the same time. The effect, to the casual observer, was him stopping the blade dead with just a gloved palm.
“Get into your opponent’s head.” Tylariel had told him. “Make them desperate or angry, and then punish them for the mistakes that follow.”
Arcturus cocked an eyebrow at the champion and smiled. “Is that it?”
The growl from his opponent was the signal Arcturus had been waiting for.
When they separated, Arcturus activated a new ability and brought both hands to Perdition in preparation for the next attack. Meanwhile, a timer started in his HUD, counting down from ten.
At five seconds, the champion moved to attack and Arcturus darted out of the way, just barely parrying an accelerated strike that partially numbed his arm from the impact force.
Sure, piss off the Sun God wannabe. Great idea, jackass.
Arcturus ignored his subconscious and glanced at the timer again. Three seconds.
When the champion came surging back in, Arcturus grinned and tapped fully into his agility to meet him head-on, surging forwards and conjuring two large telekinetic lances with his mind as he raced along the dusty arena floor towards the champion.
The armoured knight’s pounding footsteps brought them together, and the crowd exploded with roars of approval when Arcturus’ Bulwark of the Reclaimer manifested across his body in a flash of black and white lightning. A grin painted his face as he felt the familiar, steady thrum of bloodlust beginning in his body — and felt his Strength and Vitality increase noticeably, increasing the force of his blow as Perdition met the champion’s solarfire blade.
The lances came in hard, and the champion’s armour rang like a bell.
They split as fast as they had connected after the lances impacted, and stepped into a rapid flurry of strikes and counter-strikes. Where Arcturus went high, the champion went low and vice versa. Arcturus was taller even out of his armour than the champion was within his, and with his own plate in place that difference was only more pronounced. For every stroke there was a counter-stroke, and Arcturus had to fight to not lose himself in the oddly meditative way their aetherblades danced against one another.
The champion struck low, so Arcturus parried and performed a riposte, forcing the champion back.
Arcturus struck high, so the champion stepped into his guard and forced him to defend. It was a vicious cycle, one that neither of them could break as they traded blow after blow, ever-escalating the momentum and tempo of the exchange. Back and forth they went in the middle of the arena, aetherblades shifting from overhead blows to rapid, scything slashes and powerful thrusts that forced responses.
Their dexterity was tested time and time again as each of them dodged, weaved, or just-barely parried an attack that might have landed a telling blow. Arcturus would be forced to bend backwards under a sweeping neck-strike, or launch himself over an unexpected attack at his lower body — while the champion was forced to dodge probing strikes at his enclosed helmet and the vulnerable chainmail-covered joints of his segmented plate armour.
Where Arcturus’ bulwark was one, flowing piece of steel with artistically patterned joints; the champion’s plate was a more simplistic design by comparison: Utilizing chainmail to allow for flexibility in their combat style, while covering all the vital and applicable areas in argent steel.
The crowd continued to scream their approval as Arcturus and the champion dueled, and the loose dust around them was blown this way and that by the aether-enhanced force of their blows. Eventually, however, the stalemate had to end.
It was Arcturus that ‘blinked’ first.
His concentration lapsed just slightly as he moved to strike at his opponent, and the champion seized the moment. A silver sabaton smashed into Arcturus’ chest and threw him backwards, and the champion pointed his aetherblade at him as he rolled over the stone floor, unleashing a wave of solarfire that blasted Arcturus off his back and threw him further across the arena.
Arcturus didn’t need the alerts on his HUD to tell him he’d sustained damage; he could feel it in the blisters on his face and the cracked, painful texture of his lips. He could feel it in his dehydrated skin, and the way his mouth was both numb and hurting all at once. His bulwark had defended his body from any major damage, but he could feel bruises and little fractures across his body. Solarfire didn’t just burn, it had kinetic force all its own. It felt like getting hit by a battering ram. A flicker of rage ignited in him when he looked up towards the silver-armoured champion, and saw his solarfire blade pointed presumptuously at Arcturus.
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The other man thought the match was over.
That’s a mistake.
Arcturus snarled in agreement with his smug subconscious and shoved himself to his feet despite the protests of his battered body, his right hand still tight around Perdition. White flames erupted around his burned face as his [Lightfire] surged to life, delivering healing warmth to his head and circulating life-giving heat through his mana channels as he advanced towards the champion. The crowd, which had been cheering, faltered in surprise as Arcturus stood up — and then started to murmur in shock as he advanced on the champion.
Rage pounded in Arcturus’ skull as he thought about how stupid of a mistake he’d made in getting distracted by the swordplay, and then at the presumptuousness of his opponent. That old, buried hatred for his own weakness reared its head. It wasn’t a matter of regressing; he had accepted his place in Terra. He had moved past, for the most part, all the initial tragedy that had befallen him. He wasn’t about to break down and weep in the arena, not like he once might have. No, this wasn’t a matter of being upset in that way. This was about his bloodline, his place as Tylariel Rubastra’s apprentice, and his identity as an Archon.
It was a matter of pride.
Arcturus swept up Perdition as the other man hurtled towards him and dug in his heels, feeling the stone crack slightly beneath his feet as he met the hyper-accelerated charge with Telekinetically assisted implacability; layering a kinetic brace across his body and the back of his aetherblade to hold it immutable against the champion’s [Solarian Speed].
Next Arcturus kicked out with his right foot, shoving back the champion and following through with an arcing upwards slash that forced him to react with a hasty, off-balance guarding strike. Eating the momentum reversal of his opponent’s downwards blow, Arcturus stepped forwards and pivoted right, lifting Perdition to smash the pommel of the blade into his shorter foe’s enclosed helmet.
The champion grunted behind their armour, again in that oddly muffled way, and Arcturus pressed his attack: pulling his blade forwards to slash at the other man’s breastplate with a reinforcement of telekinetic might.
The champion attempted to parry the blow, but the extra layer of telekinetic strength took them unprepared, and the solarfire aetherblade was knocked wide as Arcturus scored a deep blow against his foe’s breastplate; rending away the silvery finish and leaving a deep gouge in the reinforced front-armour.
The champion responded with an eruption of golden-white flames, and Arcturus responded with a bubble of telekinesis around himself, weathering the heat of the flames with gritted teeth and bleeding mana into the inefficient shield to stop the main body of damage from the magic.
A glance at his HUD showed his mana at 1,432 (70) / 2,307. The reserved amount was negligible since his level-ups, and what had once been a balancing act with his aetherblade had become an afterthought. As two more seconds passed with the solarfire ravaging him, Arcturus saw his mana drop to 1,412 and suppressed a growl of annoyance.
The moment that the attack abated, Arcturus took no chances: A telekinetic bubble of force was discharged within ten metres of him in every direction, draining 100 mana in the process. The payoff, however, was worth it. The champion’s leaping body was flung backwards when the force-bubble hit them, sending them crashing into the stone floor of the arena.
Arcturus spared no thoughts for ‘fair play’ and launched himself forwards to capitalize on the fallen warrior’s disorientation, before his instincts screamed at him and he came to a halt with Perdition rising to guard. No sooner had he done so than the champion vanished in a burst of golden-white flames and a crackle of lightning, reappearing with his blade slashing decisively for Arcturus’ head.
Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t get Perdition up in time — but Luck was on his side, and instead of being decapitated or brutally maimed, the searing heat of his enemy’s aetherblade hooked and tore off his helmet instead; leaving a burning cut on Arcturus’ face as he was pushed backwards by the force of the blow, and the kick that followed. It wasn’t the first, second, or even fifth time he’d had his helmet essentially ripped off his face — but it didn’t mean it hurt any less when it happened.
A snarl tore from his throat as pain screamed into existence on the side of his face, mixing scalded and cut flesh with stinging pain as dirt and dust infected the wound almost immediately from the arena. His left eye was blurred, and he saw the world through a film of red that told him blood had seeped into his vision. Based on the damage to his sight, he’d also likely received light damage to his optic nerve — or at least impact shock to his eye socket. Arcturus glanced back at the advancing champion, who seemed intent on finishing the fight, and threw his left hand arm out in a vicious cutting motion to buy time.
An arc of telekinetic force slammed into the champion, though he managed to block much of it on his aetherblade. Nonetheless, having invested an entire 75 points into the assault; Arcturus managed to stagger the champion backwards with the sheer concentrated force of the discharge. It was mad to think what he could do, now, when compared to the level he’d been a little over a month earlier. It was even more insane to imagine what he’d be able to do at higher levels, let alone higher ranks.
The champion hadn’t wasted time, however, and was already advancing towards Arcturus. If he was going to end the contest, it had to be done sooner rather than later. Arcturus spat out some blood and scowled at the advancing Knight, red eyes narrowing in consideration. Tylariel would call it reckless and unnecessary, and Adam would say he was being emotional, but there was something about the conduct of the other Archon — something about their actions and combat style that screamed of arrogance. It was insufferable.
It’s almost like fighting yourself!
The champion raised their blade with judgemental intent as they closed the last few metres, and Arcturus pointed his left hand at them defiantly.
“I’m not that easy to get rid of.” Arcturus snarled, and then tapped into the full measure of his [Telekinesis].
One of the benefits of his levelling the skill as he had was what Tylariel had called ‘spatial warping’. It was a visual representation of the force he was exerting over space around him as he used his telekinesis, and was caused by how disproportionately powerful he was with the ability compared to other Archons of the same class. Arcturus’ abilities with the skill, in truth, should have been impossible: But his lack of an element meant he’d focused almost exclusively on his telekinesis, and as a result, it had grown beyond all reasonable expectation.
Thus when he activated it to its full force, and expended a full 400 Mana to slam his enemy down to their knees against the stone as he formed his pointing left hand into a fist; the spatial warping was in full effect. The crowd had fallen deathly silent at the spectacle, and he could feel the tension as they watched. The ground itself sundered under the downwards force he was exerting. He was burning ten mana every three seconds to sustain the equivalent of a metric tonne of telekinetic force pressing down against his opponent.
The green eye-lenses met his eyes, and Arcturus let his condemnation show through.
He heard the silvery steel of the armour crack moments later, and saw deformation of the metal as the telekinetic attack overpowered whatever enchantments were present within the plate. Arcturus stalked towards the champion with Perdition in his right hand, and as he reached his ‘red line’ of 700 mana, Arcturus brought his left hand forwards and backhanded it into the champion’s chest. 300 more mana vanished in an instant, and Arcturus diverted the downwards force into a single blow that blasted his opponent clean off the ground and smashed him into the distant arena wall.
The impact was like a sonorous bell, and when the champion crashed into the arena floor, the crowd was silent.
Arcturus didn’t stand there resting on his laurels, forcing his slowly-healing body to move as he walked across the battered floor of the arena. Only his footsteps echoed within the walled combat area, and he didn’t need to look for clarification to know that the match was still considered ‘on-going’. When he was halfway to the champion, he saw his opponent stir — and at twenty metres away, he saw him drag himself to his knees. The solarfire aetherblade had been dropped, and Arcturus picked it up as he walked.
When he came to a stop in front of the healing Knight, he lifted Perdition as lightfire continued to lick at his mending face, red eyes narrowed at his opponent. “Yield. You fought well, but it’s over. The only way this continues is with me doing something I’ll probably regret.” He felt some of the rage leech out of him. “Hell, something I’ll regret more than what I’m already going to regret. You made me tap into a rage I forgot I had, and for that…”
Arcturus sighed and tossed the aetherblade to the champion, who caught it.
The silver-armoured knight stared at the winged sword-hilt for a few moments, before placing it on the ground. Without a word he reached up and gripped his helmet, deactivating some sort of seal and twisting it slightly to pull it from the rest of her armour.
Her armour.
Arcturus’ eyes widened in stunned surprise at the face that greeted him beneath the helmet, battered and bruised with both eyes trailing red fluid from burst blood vessels. She was, despite her injuries, beautiful. A short nose with neither too much nor too little curvature; a pair of full, pink lips and skin that had seen plenty of sun. Her hair was an eclectic mix of chestnut, blonde, and near-white platinum; creating a new definition for ‘dirty blonde’.
Her cheekbones were sharp, and when she smiled at him ferociously, he could see dimples clearly present.
“Hear me, people of Luxanium!” Her voice was projected despite its raspiness, and Arcturus couldn’t help but admire her spirit. “I, Elethea Solaria Highblade, do hereby declare myself incapable of continuing combat, and name this man before me the victor in totality of this tournament…”
Arcturus relaxed at her words.
“...and confirm my betrothal to him, effective immediately!”
The crowd exploded with noise, and somewhere in there, Arcturus could have sworn he heard Andy laughing his arse off.