Safiri set his jaw as he crossed into the glowing ring, solidified determination emanating from each of his steps. Violating the threshold was a clear point of no return, but he hadn’t traveled across the Underlayer, leaving their main army behind, to back down from a challenge of his own making at the last second.
His bare chest was already slicked with sweat from the exertion of his trip, but his breathing was steady and his focus at its peak. He hopped on his toes, dancing back and forth in the dirt. He extended each arm as if further warming up, letting his fists snap in the air as his exhalations hissed. Each punch sounded like a whip cracking in the air: an undeniable threat.
The tape around his knuckles flashed in the illumination of the underground, teasing at the potential velocity of his punches, though a tease was all it was. He would never reveal the full extent of his strength before the bout actually started. He was already in a mental competition with his opponent, but the man’s facial expression was unchanged. He seemed completely neutral to the situation.
Safiri wasn’t the most massive fighter, but there was no doubt that he was among the most powerful in all of Africa, and therefore the world. There was a reason he had been the first sent to individually represent their side. He had the respect of his peers and the ability to send a firm statement to outsiders.
He only wore light athletic shorts, showing off the striations of his muscles beneath his unblemished skin. Thanks to the effect of mana, weight classes were meaningless, but by his judgment, between himself and his opponent, they were pretty even, at least physically.
Safiri was six feet tall, and a feather below 200 pounds, putting him firmly into the cruiserweight category before the assimilation. He was a statuesque example of human physique, sculpted from training before and after mana had activated on Earth.
His opponent was a close enough match, even if he was, at a glance, at least one weight class below, probably two, and built more like a swimmer than a strongman. That didn’t mean Safiri could take him lightly, especially after he repeatedly demonstrated his strength against the monsters. What the man lacked in physical foundation, he made up for with excessive levels.
However, Safiri was also among the highest levels in the world, so the gap wasn’t as extreme as it could have been if he was anyone else. Several hundred stats wouldn’t be a critical difference when it came to an expert fighter like Safiri.
The man that had defeated the alien invaders before he arrived watched him with curiosity, tilting his head to the side, subtly amused rather than threatened. It was an inappropriate response to meeting someone like Safiri as an opponent.
The man’s position within the control point had been a declaration that it was his, but Safiri boldly violated that claim, garnering his interest. The outsider may not have understood the shaky balance that had prevented open conflict between shards on the surface in Africa, but a formal challenge was clear enough. He would obviously have to accept it or otherwise admit his cowardice.
The preliminary cooperative relationships between the different groups around the continent were largely based around simple give and take. In this case, during the Underlayer Event, the order in which they intended to liberate their settlements was predicated upon contributions to the army that would participate in the event itself. However, an outsider had butted in, and had already given some who withheld their solidarity a free ride. That was seen as unacceptable by those groups who willingly sacrificed their strongest for the good of others.
While Safiri and most of the other actual warriors didn’t see themselves as any type of sacrifice, and had no particular interest in what they saw as the petty politics of the old world playing out once again, they still couldn’t just step aside and sit on the sidelines. It was not only their responsibility that was being taken, but also their pride that was being challenged. The leaders who remained on the surface would obviously demand an explanation, and the less that went wrong the better, if for nothing else other than to avoid unnecessary headaches that would come from misunderstandings. Maintaining a loose unity between what seemed like a thousand different groups was naturally complicated and everyone involved was aware.
Beyond the man’s nonchalant expression, Safiri felt waves of power emanating from his aura. This man was the most terrifying opponent he’d ever stepped up to, and he had only recently participated in the continent’s first Siege Boss subjugation. Not that he would ever let himself be intimidated, but this man’s presence was far more oppressive than the Prime Construct that had its eyes set on Akagera.
Behind Safiri, his supporters chanted his name in low voices, ominously introducing him like a formidable prizefighter as they had in hundreds of duels before. Their excitement rose in intensity as Safiri crossed the threshold into the arena, becoming a blend of cheers and roars. Safiri’s expression remained one of silent concentration, not shying away from the curious gaze of his opponent.
Within the Assembly of Settlements, which officially represented roughly half of the contacted settlements in Africa, Safiri was among the top rankers as well as a founding member. His strength provided the base for their overall organization at the start and he had maintained his position at or near the top since the initiation of their alliance. If steel sharpened steel, then he was a carefully honed sword.
Rather than a leader within the coalition, he was a weapon. None of the warriors were leaders as the Assembly drew a clear line of separation between roles. Instead, he was merely one of many figures that inspired other residents to give their all in the name of survival.
He didn’t realize how similar he and his companion fighters were to the man standing in the center of the arena, barely suppressed excitement glinting from his eyes as he watched Safiri get into position, but the commonalities were there.
Safiri was a powerhouse that had been rushed across their holdings in order to prevent the outsider from continuing on his warpath. The man who claimed to be the mythical Coop from Ghost Reef certainly exemplified the mystique of a champion of champions, but so far, he had only proven his ability to sneak past their warriors and defeat the same invaders that Safiri and the others were capable of handling themselves.
On the one hand, that seemed to imply he wasn’t interested in outright conflict with them, but on the other, it left the true extent of his authority unrecognized. Safiri would unravel the mystery behind his ability and see if his reputation was properly earned.
The politics of Africa had grown further complicated with the additional influence of outside factions. Ultimately, they rejected the alien factions, seizing their independence and encouraging others to do the same while forming the Assembly. They didn’t need even more difficulties added to the mix by would-be colonizers. Safiri put his foot down, leveling a stare at the man.
“Stop your interference, outsider.” He demanded, glare hardening as he spoke.
The man slowly smiled, unable to continue suppressing his excitement toward Safiri’s challenge. “Nah.” The man flippantly rejected the command. “You snooze, you lose.” He added with a casual shrug, like they were children at a playground, apparently not taking Safiri seriously at all.
The man’s aura was completely different when compared to his seemingly playful attitude, causing Safiri to scowl beneath his furrowing brows while judging the distance between them to be perfect for his attacks. He wondered just how effective that ghostly shield would really be when he opened up with his assault. It was clearly full of mana, given how much it emanated into the breeze. The short sword his opponent held in the other hand would be useless, lacking the range to contend with Safiri booming fists.
“We owe you nothing. We can handle ourselves.” Safiri added, rather patiently, as the gathered crowd encouraged him to get the show started. They taunted and jeered at the outsider.
The man just kept a friendly smile on his face, completely unthreatened despite Safiri doing his best to give him the chance to back down before things turned ugly. A crowd of hostile warriors were barely appearing on his radar.
“Sounds good.” The man gave a nod of approval at Safiri’s declaration. “How about you handle capturing the points this time? I’ll give you guys a break for this event, but make sure you keep getting stronger.” He advised, causing the crowd to glance at each other like they were wondering who the hell he thought he was. They were already warriors. They didn’t need to be told to be strong.
“Just go back to wherever you came from.” Safiri continued offering chances, far more than were appropriate, given his task, but something about the man’s demeanor made him subconsciously hesitate.
“I already said I came from Ghost Reef.” He pointed at Safiri with his sword. “Don’t forget it when you do need help.” The man reiterated, continuously reminding them that they would find protection in the legendary settlement, as if they were lambs that needed a shepherd.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“That day will never come.” Safiri declared, confident that he and his compatriots were strong enough to stand on their own. If they weren’t, then no one was.
“We’ll see.” The man refused to agree. He shook his head as if he thought some people needed to learn for themselves.
“Anyway, you came here on a mission, right?” The man bobbed his head toward Safiri, raising his eyebrows questioningly. “So? We gonna fight or what? Quit stalling, bro.” The man stated, spreading his arms like he was waiting for Safiri to take the first shot.
Safiri clicked his tongue before he put his fists up, answering with his actions, scowling at the man’s flippancy toward someone as decorated as he was. Some people really did need to learn for themselves, but today it would be this outsider. Levels had inflated his ego beyond the limit and Safiri would bring him back to reality with his fists.
The man that claimed to be Coop had an expression that said ‘finally, something interesting is happening.’ He flicked his sword into the dirt, embedding its blade into the surface, and let his round shield drop on his other side. Then his armor dissipated into thin wisps of black and gray mana, leaving him as exposed as Safiri.
“Sure. We can box.” He agreed, like a fool. “That might be closer to fair, I guess.”
Safiri thought his opponent must have been an idiot to abandon his equipment just because his opponent was a bare knuckle boxer. It wasn’t like Safiri didn’t have a class and skills that played into his style of combat. It wasn’t honor that led to his arrangement, it was efficiency.
He jabbed the air twice, like he was shadowboxing, from 20 yards away, but little did his opponent know, the battle had already begun. For someone unfamiliar with Safiri’s fists, it would seem like he was showboating, but that wasn’t the case at all.
The crowd, on the other hand, saw it coming from a mile away, matching their shouts of ‘Boom!!” with his final motion, like the kickoff of a rugby match.
When he launched a straight right, directly toward his opponent, the air snapped, and an explosion erupted at the center of his target’s newly unarmored chest, as if space itself tore.
The crowd laughed and cheered as the smoke billowed and dirt splashed, all following the momentum of Safiri’s punch, obstructing the view of his opponent. A direct hit after Safiri’s opponents were caught by surprise had been the end of more than a few bouts, and normally he would have held back to avoid it being fatal.
He felt no compunction this time, agitated as he was by the outsider’s confidence. If he had earned such self-assurance to stand before someone in the top 30 of the non-event individual leaderboards, he needed to be able withstand a surprise attack of that caliber.
Safiri relaxed his stance, letting his guard drop while peering into the smoke as it drifted in the breeze for a few more seconds. No sounds came from the smoke cloud. A smile began climbing onto his face as he prepared to raise his arms in victory and accept the adulation of his supporters. When the silhouette of the man reappeared, his position hadn’t changed whatsoever, and Safiri’s expression froze.
“Neat.” The man observed once his head exited the clouds of dusty debris, his own excited smile expanding on his face while a subtly crazed look appeared in his eyes. “Show me more!” He demanded.
Safiri put his fists back up, feeling his fear rise as his adrenaline surged, confirming that the man hadn’t been posturing. Coop was for real. He had put enough power into his opening strike to evaporate a person that had been bluffing, but the Champion of Ghost Reef was completely unscathed. Safiri now knew for sure that this fight wouldn’t be easy.
To his surprise, Coop continued to act like they would have a traditional boxing match, putting his arms up as he rotated to the side, circling Safiri as if the 20 yard gap was a normal distance for a bout. He should have realized that this was a duel with skills after all, but Safiri knew better than to miss a chance, so he started another series of attacks.
Jab, jab, boom! Coop shifted his body and an explosion erupted directly behind him, leaving a deep indentation in the dirt.
“...He dodged?” Safiri whispered, in shock as the crowd murmured, the atmosphere quickly changing in a way that wasn’t in his favor.
Even he believed his attacks were instantaneous kinetic blasts, appearing wherever he aimed them. How could anyone be fast enough to dodge something that was instant?
Safiri changed tactics, neglecting his guiding jabs in favor of regaining the element of surprise. Maybe Coop’s shift had been lucky timing. A straight left snapped through the air, but Coop switched directions, letting the invisible force strike behind him yet again. Could he already have a read on Safiri’s ability? After a single example?
Safiri tried a bombardment, ignoring precision in favor of a flurry of power. Rights and lefts chained one after the other, as he growled with effort, but Coop was bobbing and weaving like a man up against the ropes while fighting ghosts. A full 20 yards separated the contestants, but his eyes never left Safiri’s. Somehow, every explosion appeared in the dirt behind his back. Craters left splashes of dirt scattered up and down the control point. The cheering crowd had grown silent, at least as confused as Safiri by the turn of events.
Sweat poured down Safiri’s forehead and his face was twisted by the effort of continuously generating massive spikes of energy through mana. Despite the sounds of explosions and crashing dirt, he swore he could hear his opponent’s giddy laughter mixed into the Underlayer.
Then, in the middle of avoiding an attack with a duck that put him into a crouch similar to a sprinter's starting position, Coop kicked off the dirt and lunged across the 20 yards with almost the same speed as one of the kinetic blasts.
Safiri wondered if it had really been just two steps before they were suddenly an arm’s length from each other. He firmly established his guard, protecting himself on instinct, expertly trained, but Coop cleanly bypassed his defense, using his left hand to hook around to the side of Safiri’s head.
The perfect clap as the open palm connected below his ear was so loud it caused the members of the crowd to lurch in surprise. Safiri had no idea what hit him, but all of a sudden he was staring at the ceiling of a cavern as stars danced through his vision. It felt like he had been struck twice, but the second time was when he landed in the dirt after flipping almost completely upside down.
A moment later, Coop loomed over him, checking his status before nodding once and looking around at the crowd. They couldn’t help but react with dramatic ‘ooh’s’ and gasps of shock as the duel ended with surprising abruptness.
“Who’s next?” The outsider wondered, sounding faintly amused, but they all grew quiet, avoiding eye contact with the dangerous man. None of them were a match for Safiri, let alone someone that had slapped him down with such aplomb.
When no one responded and the silence of the suppressing dirt returned he looked down at Safiri, a spear and armor forming from gathering mists, as if summoned from the mana that surrounded them all. Safiri expected execution, but he refused to look away, unafraid of even death.
“Go ahead and capture these points for me.” He instructed. “Let’s play again some time soon.” The Champion added with a nod, before throwing his weapon away and disappearing in a burst of vapor.
—
Paul Kagame laughed uproariously upon hearing the news.
“A single slap? Safiri?” He exclaimed between howls of derisive guffaws. “Hah! There’s no way! I wish I could have seen it!”
Learning that one of his primary rivals had been caught by surprise gave him immense satisfaction, but also piqued his curiosity.
Five seconds into Paul’s bout with the outsider and he was cursing under his breath at his uncontained curiosity. The outsider Champion, Coop of Ghost Reef, was not a joke. Paul had thought Safiri’s defeat must have been a fluke caused by overconfidence, and believed he had an opportunity to firmly establish himself as the superior fighter. He was so, so wrong.
He scowled at his unarmored opponent, dancing back and forth in the dirt within another control point, several settlements away from where Safiri had confronted him. Paul was being picked apart. It was he who had been overconfident.
Unlike Safiri, Paul was not a boxer. He was more like a tank, causing the earth to quake as he entered arenas, pushing 500 pounds of solid muscle and metal. Supreme armored plates expanded from his fists to his neck, marking a sharp steel contrast to his dark natural skin. The Assembly had many types of warriors. He was but one who used enhancing skills to give himself an advantage over his opponents.
He desperately shook his left arm as it hung limply at his side, doing his best to wake it up, but the metal plates just rattled lifelessly. A single slap to his metal-coated shoulder had caused him to completely lose feeling in the entire limb. He looked up at the outsider with confusion. Was it some kind of pressure point that had crippled his fighting ability? Was this man a martial artist? Or was he actually holding back that much to avoid accidentally killing them?
The man responded to his questioning gaze. “Show me some more.” He demanded, bobbing left and right, growing impatient with Paul’s inability to challenge him properly.
Paul roared, enraged that he could be treated so casually, raising his good arm into the air. He sank to the ground, smashing the earth with his heavy metal fist as he activated his deadliest skill, an ability that was banned in formal bouts. A shockwave of pure physical energy shot forward, manifesting a charging rhinoceros that would pulverize anything it touched.
Coop accepted the challenge, deciding in the split second before dodging to confront the energy directly. He burst through the manifestation as if it was made of unsupported drywall, sending dirt and stone scattering with the splash of visible energy as it broke against him. With a single step, he was suddenly upon Paul.
The clap that Paul Kegame’s supporters witnessed left them all wincing. They hissed in sympathetic pain as another prizefighter collapsed, this one shaking the ground when he fell.
When none of them agreed to step into the arena, they were left to capture the points and wonder about the Champion of Ghost Reef’s skills on their own.