Vath sat on the sidelines, waiting for his turn. Kaser had drawn a forty-two, so unless another student got his name with a low number, it would be a while for him. He was looking forward to at least one of his fights, hoping to learn something and see where he stood. The boy from the testing building had obviously held a grudge though, and win or lose, that didn’t seem like it would be a fun time. In the meantime, though, he resolved to enjoy himself and expand his horizons of what was possible. And ancestors, were there more than enough examples to do that.
Just in the four pairs currently fighting, he saw someone using illusions to copy themself, a boy slashing at the air with his hands sending out blades of air from his fingertips, a girl who’d covered herself in what looked like bark and was lashing out with vines like whips, and someone completely obscured by shadow dodging attacks sent their way. And those were the four that looked to be losing their matches, though none of them were decisive yet. He’d seen so many affinities he couldn’t keep track. Many elemental variations, light, darkness, even something that looked a lot like blood. There seemed to be no end. And even amongst those who had the same affinity, no one person used it the same way.
Older cultivators began to trickle in, all sitting high in the bleachers. Apparently, while it wasn’t open for the public, more advanced disciples liked to watch such classes. It was entertainment, and occasionally they’d find someone they were interested in mentoring.
Surprisingly early, Vath was called upon for a match. The system was simple but effective. Two circles were set for each class, and the judges for them would use a technique at the end of each fight to put up a number. When your number was up, you would present the judge with the paper you had pulled, and the glowing numerals in the air would change to the name, calling them to the circle. His number hung above a judge, so both brothers hurried over, chatting with each other about what he might face. Kaser wished him good luck minutes later as he stepped into the circle, and sat back to watch.
Across from Vath was a boy younger than even Kaser, but Vath wouldn’t be fooled. He’d faced younger disciples in his class. He might outweigh or outreach them, but if they reached a sect at their age, they were universally more skilled than he was, even with the strides he’d made. And that was just with martial skill, with techniques added, who knew what this boy could do. He wasn’t visibly doing at the moment, but there were more than a few ways to do things invisible to the naked eye. Vath didn’t have anything fancy or complicated to fall back on, his only technique just enhanced his strikes so far; so he would have to initiate quickly and hope that was enough. If he let him set up, he might pull off something Vath had no counter for, so he had to end it before that could happen. He breathed in deep, and his focus narrowed. Outside distractions fell away; the crowd couldn’t be heard, his vision shrunk to the circle.
The judge called for them to bow, which both did, counted down quickly, and yelled for them to begin. Vath exploded forward, his hand wreathing in flickering red, desperate to get at least one good hit in to start them off. The boy wasn’t there anymore. The moment he registered that his opponent was no longer there, a blur from the edge of his peripheral vision hit him right in the jaw. The surprise alone threw him off his gait and he stumbled to the side, whirling back to face where he’d been struck from. Unsurprisingly there was no one there, and a second later he felt a kick to the back of his left knee, forcing it to crash to the ground. As he landed, he twisted, lashing out with his other leg in a sweep behind him that spun him around until he used the momentum to stand again. He hit nothing, and the boy was missing again. He’d been struck now with no chance to retaliate, and the biggest surprise was… that it hadn’t hurt. The boy was fast; he’d considered that it might be some form of invisibility, but he had gotten behind him from a distance faster than he could turn. That took speed. And yet, it felt like the boy had put no cultivation at all into his strength attribute. The physical force still pushed his body when backed by that much momentum, but not hard enough to hurt for more than a single moment. Unless his opponent had more tricks, he was confident he wouldn’t go down anytime soon. The problem was that he had no way to dish out injuries to the fleet-footed cultivator either if he couldn’t catch the boy.
Vath spent the next several minutes being struck and missing his return hits while furiously thinking of how to change things up, before the boy was suddenly standing a distance in front of him, and breathing heavily. “You’re tough, huh? Why won’t you go down?” he questioned Vath.
Vath cocked an eyebrow and answered, “You’re so quick I can’t believe we’re the same stage, but, with no offense meant, you need to cultivate or exercise more strength. I barely felt those blows, and if you could hit as hard as I do, I might have gone down on that first hit to my jaw.”
The boy frowned in annoyance, and then sighed. “My teacher said the same thing. Thought I knew better. Guess he was right. What do we do now? I can’t seem to faze you at all, and you’ve not even come close to hitting me. This could go on for hours with no winner.”
Vath looked to the judge, who shrugged. “This isn’t a tournament with ranking and prizes on the line. It’s part of the class. Looks like you both learned something you need to work on, so if you want to just call it here, you can.” he said.
Vath just held out his hand to the boy, who appeared in front of him a moment later to shake. “Thanks.” he said cheerfully, which Vath returned. He hadn’t gotten a win, but he had found something to work on, which was better. He’d need to find an antidote to people who outclassed him, not just in speed, but in any one category at the expense of others. He was balanced, but that meant most would be faster, stronger, or more durable. He’d have to find counters to those that didn’t just involve hoping he could outlast them.
Kaser slapped him on the back as he left the circle. “You could make a living as a living punching bag, brother.” he said, laughing when Vath rolled his eyes. They settled in to watch more, but Vath hadn’t even picked which match to watch when his brother nudged him and nodded towards the other side of the arena. Vath’s name was hanging in the air, already. He sighed and grumbled quietly before climbing to his feet and starting the journey over, Kaser by his side again as always. “Do you really think he’s still upset from Wald telling him off?” he inquired.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“You didn’t see his face,” Vath replied, “He was mad. He must’ve felt humiliated in front of his lackeys. He wants to prove himself by showing he’s better than me.” The problem was, in terms of pure skill, he very well might be. Most disciples had had years of training they’d never had a chance for. That was something he was working hard to address, but a month and change wasn’t a lot of time to fix things. The last fight he’d been completely unable to do anything, and he’d only avoided a loss because of a critical weakness in his opponent’s capabilities. And that boy didn’t have a grudge against him. This might be much worse.
No matter. He’d do what he could, and deal with the rest later. If he lost, he’d learn more of what to fix, and come kick the petty bully’s face in later. He walked into the circle, and faced his sneering adversary. “You shouldn’t be here, dog. I can’t believe they let such trash in. This place has gone soft.” he all but spat.
Vath just stared incredulously. Insults didn’t surprise him; he’d be more shocked if there had been none. What did surprise him was the ones he used. Was the arrogant brat really mocking him for being the same kind of Beastkin that founded the sect he stood in? Before insulting the sect itself? Did he have a death wish?
The boy mistook his expression, and continued haughtily, “What? Are you truly so surprised that someone would dare call you what you are to your face? Your sponsor may be talented, but that does not mean you are.”
“No,” Vath shook his head as he replied, “I don’t care what you call me at all. I just can’t believe you’d show such contempt for the Founders of the Shining Void. You’re braver than I gave you credit for.”
“What?” the boy sounded genuinely confused for a split second; before he realized what he had said right as his gaze found the glare on the face of the several members of the crowd… and the judge. “No, no. The sect should never have let someone like you in, but I have nothing but respect for the line of the Founders. It’s your line I question, mutt. No one even knows who your parents were, and you lived in the wilds? There must be some standards.” His face had started a bit pale, but by the end of his attempt to rally, his sneer was back. Judging by the expressions of those who could hear him, his clarification hadn’t helped him at all.
“Are you ready?” the judge ground out. When they both nodded their agreement, he began the countdown, not even bothering to have them bow. It was apparent the respect it implied would be a lie anyway.
Vath decided he would try a different tack this time. With no idea what his foe was capable of, he’d try to rely on what saw him through the last match. His durability. He’d wait to let him make the first move, and then react once he knew what he was doing. This turned out to be a mistake, though an unforeseeable one. Quite literally so. When the start was called, the youth dashed forward, and just before he entered arm length, threw out a hand and called forth a dazzling flash of light, one that Vath had stupidly stared straight into. Vath took an instinctive step back with one leg and crouched slightly, trying to keep his balance while suddenly blind. Before he could do anything else, he felt a palm slam into his torso, and then there was another flash. He couldn’t see this one much, but he was pretty sure he sensed more light through the blurs he was looking at. What he definitely sensed was the agonizing heat that came with the hypothetical light. His torso burned, and he collapsed to his knees. His eyes were swimming, but vision was coming back a little every second. The pain from the burn was intense, but he could tell it wasn’t more than a flesh wound. It stung like nothing else, but it wouldn’t put him down by itself, and with healer’s attention it probably wouldn’t even scar. Still, as an opening move it was more than effective. Non-permanent damage that hurt still hurt, and he could barely see. He was a nearly motionless target for follow-up attacks. Which is why he couldn’t believe his ears when the pompous prick started monologuing.
“This is what I mean. Beastkin? Sure, but he has no backing, no training. Seconds with a real cultivator and he’s done. Standards shouldn’t be lowered to let someone like him in.” he all but hissed. He sounded like he couldn’t decide whether to be smug in his victory, or angry that he’d had to fight Vath in the first place.
Vath looked up, his vision finally clear, to find the idiot had the gall to turn his back on him. He hadn’t thrown Vath out of the circle, Vath hadn’t tapped, and the judge hadn’t called the match. Was this spoiled boy so stupid that he had forgotten these facts, or was he arrogant enough to believe that one strike would put Vath completely out of commission? Both? It didn’t matter. His enemy had given him a wide opening, and he was going to use it. He burned with the need to show all watching that lack of skill was not the same thing as lack of strength. To swallow this haughty child’s pride like an unhealthy snack.
His essence thrummed within him, as if it agreed, and he surged upward. He pivoted on his right leg, leaned back on his side, and planted his left foot solidly in the lower spine in front of him. He lowered his leg and stalked forward, throwing a quick and powerful punch. His adversary stumbled while crying out in pain and surprise, barely managing to keep his balance; he gathered himself quickly though, and spun around, only to see a fist crashing around toward his face. His head instinctually jerked to the side, which only managed to make the hit land directly on his ear.
Vath was already snapping his leg sideways, crunching into a knee less than a second after he’d hit the ear on the opposite side. Between the two blows, his temporary rival was disoriented, in pain, and more than a little off balance. In fact, he was leaning backwards, teetering on the brink of falling backwards. Vath helped him out by bringing his other fist into contact with the boy’s nose, laying him out flat. Quickly, but so smoothly it looked like he was taking his time, he climbed on top, and began raining fists downwards. There was a defense, but it was feeble. It was enough to keep most of the blows hitting arms instead of the face again, but Vath was fine with that. He didn’t want to kill, or even make things difficult for the healers, but he was more than comfortable with making this jerk feel more pain.
It felt like ages, but was likely less than a minute before the judge called for a stop; it was longer than was strictly proper, but the idiot had insulted the sect to the judge’s face. More than once. What did he expect? Regardless, Vath stopped the instant the judge called, his fist freezing right before another impact. He got up and wordlessly walked out of the circle, quiet whispers following him, to sit next to his brother.
He had been wrong earlier. He had learned from the first fight, but the second? Well, that actually had been a bit fun.