Announcer: “Joi’en has fallen outside of the arena. The win goes to Jeos. The next match will begin soon.”
The Announcer turns upwards to speak to the one in plate armor while the two contestants begin leaving the arena. As Delta waits for Jeos to arrive while keeping his seat for fear losing his seat if he strayed too far, words echo out once more. Based on the response from the crowd, these words haven’t been spoken at a previous occasion.
Announcer: “I would like to ask everyone to remove all metal objects from the stands. They are distracting to the combatants.”
A short pause is followed by the great minority of iron, steel, and even titanium clad individuals grudgingly raising from their seats and heading down below. Delta follows orders despite not comprehending the fact that bright light harm human eyes. He stops to speak with Jeos, who is sitting cross legged on his bed.
Jeos: “It’s quite aggravating. It happened last year too, and it’s the reason I lost.”
Unknown by Jeos, Delta lacks understanding. How could such a weak source of heat, such as light, cause such harm to humans? He fails to realise that it has anything to do with eyes at all.
Jeos: “You know, in the days of our ancestors, Teyos didn’t exist. It was dark, and lit only by torches and lanterns.”
Delta: “Sounds nice.”
Jeos: “You prefer the dark? I’m the opposite, I prefer the light.”
Delta: “I don’t care for the light, besides the warmth. The darkness is… gentle.”
Jeos: “Your words and actions are uncanny.”
Delta: “For good reason, I suppose.”
Jeos: “On that, I’ve heard from Ytri that you aren’t Human, Teres, or Jarvinian, so what are you?”
Delta: “That’s what I wish to find out.”
Jeos: “Well then, I guess I’ll return your favor, if I may. You’ll help me with my goal, and I’ll help you with yours. But first, I have to know what I’m dealing with.”
Delta: “That would be great, thank you.”
Jeos: “We’ll meet in the Tower of Soul after the tournament to discuss this further.”
Suddenly, a strange man brushes past the crowd of people and heads over towards Delta. A quick glance reveals this to be the man that saved Delta’s seat days ago. What could he want?
???: “Sorry to interrupt, but my name is Hirvanliend.”
Delta: “Um… okay?”
Hirvanliend: “I presume you wonder what I’m doing here, speaking to you. Correct?”
Delta: “Correct…”
Hirvanliend: “I have seen your weapon. It is made of Teyosian metal, right?”
Delta: “That it is. Do you want to see it?”
Hirvanliend: “Not quite. You see, it is one of the brightest days in Altian history.”
Delta: “Which affects Shieyol’s power.”
Hirvanliend: “Indeed, if that is the title of your blade. It is so bright, in fact, that it poses a great danger to those on the other end. It could slice through iron and steel with ease; Don’t even get me started on gambeson.”
Delta: “And what do you want?”
Hirvanliend: “I find death… disturbing. I saw your ability to use Pyromancy, and I’m here to offer an alternative: Swap your weapon to another, and I’ll provide you with an elixir that increases your soul power tenfold to compensate.”
Jeos grabs Delta by the shoulder and guides him a distance away from the man, before speaking quietly so that he doesn’t catch ear.
Jeos: “Now I’ve seen some fish in my few years, but this is a leviathan.”
Delta: “Is it true that someone could die if I hit them too hard?”
Jeos: “Yes, it is. I would switch to my secondary blade, but not consume whatever poison he offers.”
Delta: “If this potion increases my soul power, will I feel what it is like to be a true Pyromancer?”
Jeos: “No, you would actually become a Pyromancer until it wears off.”
Unwise words for someone trying to convince another against it.
Delta: “And would the feeling of control help me grow as one?”
Jeos: “Mabye, but I highly recommend against it.”
Delta turns towards the man, clearing one final skepticism before his decision.
Delta: “If I take this elixir, what would you gain from it?”
Hirvanliend: “Publicity. Mages across the land would buy them in bulk, and I would be wealthier than Lirier.”
It is almost unheard of for a being to use their own greed as an explanation for anything. Delta hesitates, but offers his answer.
Delta: “It will be so. I accept your offer.”
Jeos frowns in disapproval as the man pulls an elixir filled to the brim with a deep blue liquid from his satchel and hands it to Delta. He fakes a smile before sneaking off and spying on the two from inside the crowd of impatient combatants.
Jeos: “You aren’t actually planning on drinking that, are you?”
Delta: “I am.”
Jeos: “Based on my studies, equivalent exchange must happen. The power must come from somewhere. When I took the Sensory Elixer, I lost my sense of smell completely. If you take that, I don’t know what it might eat away.”
Suddenly, the familiar voice echoes across the arena. There must be an amazing set of lungs on this man.
Announcer: “We apologize for the interruption. The tournament will begin once more. Our combatants are Delta and Zae’ell of… Torin Farms.”
Jeos: “A farmer?”
Delta: “I suppose so.”
Jeos: “I don’t think you need that elixer. You know, it’s never too late to reconsider.”
Delta: “They’ve gotten this far, Jeos. They must be powerful.”
Jeos: “I know! Still…”
Delta grabs his jiare and begins heading out to the arena grounds with both a confident smirk and a shiver down his spine. Slowly beginning to feel the delightful rush of soul power, he finishes the last glugs without much thought. As he brushes past the crowd of warriors who watch from the shade of the tunnel, both of his feelings grow more intense. As he plants his feet into the hot sand in the stance of a hero, the Announcer speaks.
Announcer: “Our combatants have arrived. The next battle shall begin now.”
Zae'ell appears to be a taller woman with dark, purplish hair underneath a burlap hood. She dawns deflective plating over a dull robe, with her hands oddly unarmored. As the two begin inching near, Delta feels the flame bellowing within him, one exceedingly greater than what he has ever felt. From above, Zerek awes at the power Delta's he senses within Delta. How has he gotten so powerful in such a short time? Zerek can’t theorize, for his attention is on the combatants. Most other mages are in disbelief at Delta's soul, and hold the belief that they must have made a mistake in sensing his power either before or now. Suddenly, both contestants raise arms before the elements of fire and lightning collide in a show of visual chaos. Delta changes his stance and focuses his power. Propelled by flame, Delta flies through the cloud of dust, smoke, and sand, punching Zae'ell in their chest armor at full speed. She is knocked down and loses touch with the air inside her lungs as Delta’s path curves towards the sky. At a giant's height above the arena, Delta summons a massive sphere of flame that can be seen floating above the horizon at miles away like a second sun. Using all of his might, he projects the flame down toward the ground. Zae'ell finally recovers her stand, shooting the most powerful bolt of energy that she can muster to counter attack. The elements collide, causing the ball of destruction to explode in a curtain of power over the arena. The crowd cheering in amazement almost overpowers the immense sound of the bursting flame, while chunks of flame plumet both inside and outside the arena. The lightning passed through the orb, now hitting Delta in the arm and knocking him off balance. He begins to speed towards the ground, summoning a plume of flame below him that brings his fall to a gentle stop. Zae’ell begins casting arch upon arch of electricity, offering Delta no option but to block the serene chaos with a shield of soulfire. She inches closer and closer to Delta, attempting to strike him at the few spaces his shield is unable to fully cover. Sensing the soul force of his opponent, Delta adjusts his field of cinder accordingly to deflect the bolts of electricity before they even appear. Sensing a future hiccup in the onslaught that is still yet to come, Delta prepares for a counter. He intensifies the flame of his shield before colliding it with the floor, creating a massive gush of fire that spreads across every inch of the arena ground. Zae’ell fails to find a method of defending against the attack, and braces identically to the combatants watching from the tunnel entrance. With the scorching wave having passed, Zae’ell collapses to the sands. Having failed to stand up due burns on her legs, the Announcer calls the match while still dumbfounded.
Announcer: “Zae’ell is unable to continue to duel. The win goes to Delta. The next match will begin soon.”
The crowd cheers with the might of a dragon while Delta rejoices in accomplishment. If the continent ever had a loudest moment, it would be right here and now. Delta feels no guilt using such an alchemical method of overcoming his opponent, for his true desire was not to win, but to experience a brief moment as a true pyromancer. As the seconds of unadulterated roars reaches its midpoint, Delta begins to feel his soulforce fade as he becomes nauseous and unbalanced. With the cheering nearing its end, the combatants offer no resistance as Delta hobbles his way back inside the arena and to resting area. The path that they had cleared for him remains open -- despite the next match beginning -- as they watch him collapse on his bed. Delta attempts to rest, but laying down only makes his nausea worse. Shuffling his way through the center of the crowd, Jeos emerges and rushes over to Delta.
Jeos: “I warned you against it, now look what’s happened.”
Delta: “Save it, Jeos, I got what I wanted.”
Jeos: “Nearly killing yourself?”
Delta: “Experiencing true pyromancy.”
Suddenly, a voice from across the room takes their attention.
Zerek: “Amazing! How did you a-”
Upon realising that all was far from well, Zerek silences himself. The sounds of his surprise are tainted with worry.
Zerek: “What did you do?”
Delta seems more irritated at his condition than pitiful for himself.
Delta: “I drank a potion. Now it’s disagreeing with me.”
Zerek moves in with a blank stare and brows held low -- a near squint. A few seconds of focus are followed by an expression of a dreaded surprise.
Zerek: “That potion must have been a crude trigger to lifeburn. Your lifeforce has fallen drastically, and your soulforce has strained.”
Jeos is taken even further by such words than Delta is.
Jeos: “You’re kidding!”
Zerek: “Unfortunately, no. You can’t fight in this condition.”
Delta: “No, Zerek. I need to fight.”
Zerek plants his voice as one plants their feet in the ground.
Zerek: “You need to rest, or you’ll die out in the arena from the slightest blow.”
Delta: “I’m going to fight whether or not that might happen.”
Zerek: “And for what reason?”
Delta: “To learn more of myself. The more I battle, the more I learn. You have to trust me, more than anyone.”
Zerek lets off a sigh similar to those given off by the driver of a crashed carriage.
Zerek: “Fine, only because of your... predicament. Where did you get the potion?”
Delta: “From some businessman hoping that it would help him advertise it.”
Zerek: “Whoever made it is both a genius and an idiot. You, however, made a stupid decision.”
Delta: “Can we focus on fixing the problem?”
Zerek sighs while squeezing his forehead and thinking of a solution, until Jeos offers his from the sidelines of the conversation.
Jeos: “What if… he used mindburn to cancel it out?”
Zerek: “Well that would be swell, if he knows how. Do you, Delta?”
Delta’s silence causes both Zerek and Jeos to go back to thinking, before it abruptly ends.
Delta: “I… no?”
Jeos: “If you knew, you’d know. Trust me, you don't.”
Delta: “Then what am I to do?”
Jeos: “Go home now, and fight next year.”
Zerek: “I agree with Joes.”
Delta: “Battling is something I simply must do. Besides, I have this...”
Delta reaches into the pouch inside his cloak and underneath his extra armor layers. The other two are prepared to be be unimpressed, until the feather is revealed. They both stop speaking, or even thinking about words, while viewing the beautiful quill. As Delta begins to slide it back into its place, all the others can think is: damn.
Zerek: “Alright, you must rest until then. You’ll need every ounce of strength you have to win, I guarantee it. The chances are that it’s one of us that you’ll be fighting.”
The echoing voice speaks once more, signaling an event of significance.
Announcer: “We have reached the final lengths of the tournament. In anticipation for the semi-finals, I will now list off the four remaining participants: Zerek of the clan of Ravenkar, Tirrin Leas of the Galvian Empire, Delta, and Jeos of The Alliance.”
All in the arena hold their breaths in anticipation for the next announcement to come, the trio more so than anyone.
Announcer: “Our battle will be between Jeos of The Alliance and Delta.”
While Delta mirrors Zerek with sighs, Jeos leans down and touches his hand to his helmet. He raises up with a frown underneath his mask.
Jeos: “I had hoped to battle you in the finals, and in your best condition.”
Delta struggles to stand on his own. Jeos offers him his hand, but he refuses to take his help for reasons that aren’t clear to either of them. However, they stand side by side on their way to the arena grounds. To what Eternal have they displeased to deserve this treatment? Jeos thoughtfully takes the far side, and Delta is left only with the opposite.
Announcer: “Our combatants have arrived. The first match of the semi-finals shall begin now.”
Both of their feet remain firmly planted; neither of them move an inch. The crowd draws dead silent. Why would such a powerful pyromancer refuse to fight when they are so close to victory? The perceptive few realise that there is something wrong with the bearer of chitin.
Jeos: “You can’t fight in your condition.”
Delta: “I must.”
The viewers whisper to eachother noise of disbelief, not with their voices, but with their silent stares.
Jeos: “Why?”
Delta: “It’s part of my goal.”
Jeos: “I follow the tenets of honor, Delta. I won’t fight you in this state!”
Delta: “Either we fight how we are now, or I come over there and start it myself.”
Jeos remains silent. Attempting to trigger Delta’s instinct for survival, Jeos launches a plume of flame that stops only inches in front of him. Perhaps it might have worked, if not for Delta’s immunity to its powerful glow. Delta begins pacing towards his unfortunately chosen opponent. Just before Delta reaches attack range, Jeos makes tournament history.
Jeos: “I forfeit the match.”
Perhaps the one both most and least shocked by this is Delta, who stops in his tracks. In his disbelief, he becomes half-blind to Jeos having already begun to make his way inside. The Announcer sounds as if he still hadn’t the slightest clue of what happened.
Announcer: “Jeos has forfeited the match. The win goes to Delta. Now calling Zerek and Tirrin to the arena.”
Lacking the ability to collect his thoughts into words, Delta simply follows Jeos back into the sleeping quarters. As Jeos passes one of the combatants, they whisper to him.
???: “Amedael would be proud of you, kid.”
The two make their way to their opposite beds, where they sit. As his disbelief fades back into the reality, Delta’s feelings of nausea and frailty return. Minutes pass before either of them speak.
Delta: “Why?”
Jeos: “Ever since I could remember, my father taught me to uphold the tenets of honor.”
Both halt speech for some time, before Delta asks the only question he can think to.
Delta: “Which tenet? Was the one that made you decide?”
Jeos: “Not attempt feat against those with shortcomings leading amidst guaranteeing failure. That’s the most direct translation of the one written by Amedael.”
Delta: “I should have forfeit.”
Jeos: “No, I should have fought you. By not, I broke another tenet.”
Delta: “Which one?”
Jeos: “Not dishonor oath, les’ revered dishonor bearer, lest honor be lost.”
Delta: “It sounds like you didn’t have a choice.”
Jeos: “The tenets are build upon an ideology that all warriors would follow them.”
Delta: “Then I’ll start, I owe you that much.”
Such a response ought to lighten up the mood.
Jeos: “Good to hear. We’ll talk about it after the tournament.”
Announcer: “Tirrin Leas is unable to continue. The win goes to Zerek. The finals between our previous champion, Zerek, and the newcomer Delta will take place at dusk.”
The combatants begin flushing themselves from the tunnel entrance and to anywhere they desire to go. After the bulk of the crowd has passed, Zerek travels to speak with the two. Non-vocal communication through natural body language tells Zerek that neither of the two were too upset with the other at this point.
Zerek: “Jeos, that was an honorable thing you did there.”
Jeos: “I try.”
Zerek: “Phyres would be proud of you.”
If Jeos had not been wearing a helmet, he would have been concealing his massive grin with his hand.
Zerek: “And Delta, if you would have forfeit, I would have chosen you to be my final opponent in the duel of honor. I suppose the results will be the same either way, we will fight.”
Delta: “And I hope you hold nothing back.”
Zerek: “In your condition… we’ll see at dusk.”
A familiar voice calls out to one of the three.
Dirvar: “Zerek.”
Zerek: “Dirvar? Haha, you should be ashamed of yourself for calling me by name!”
Dirvar: “Oh, shut up! I’m not your apprentice anymore. You, however, don’t know when to die, do you?”
Zerek: “I’m afraid not!”
Delta: “You trained Dirvar?”
Zerek: “Indeed. I tought him everything I knew about how to use weapons, but then he said it wasn’t for him and ran off to learn blacksmithing.”
Dirvar: “And then I joined Glavi’s war party, which Zerek also ended up joining.”
Zerek: “Quite ironic. It’s good to see you again, but the Keepers need me for some… thing. We’ll catch up later.”
Zerek wanders off in a timely manner that would be suspicious to anyone who didn’t know him.
Dirvar: “My boy, you did it! You’ve made it to the final match.”
Delta: “I wouldn’t have if Jeos hadn’t forfeited.”
Jeos: “You still would have been chosen by both me and Zerek, so don’t sell yourself short.”
Delta: “I guess.”
Dirvar: “But you appear ill...”
Delta: “I just hope I will be healthy enough to battle Zerek. Even if I lose, I will still get closer to finding more information.”
Dirvar:”Optimism is best when it is also realism. Is it?”
Delta: “Yes.”
Dirvar: “Good. But, alas, I must go tend to something of need.”
Delta: “Don’t let me stop you.”
Dirvar rushes away in the direction of the arena exit. With people finally having finished talking to him, Delta props up his pillow against the stone pillar to rest comfortably without the nausea of lying down. He simply sits there in boredom for what seems like hours. Jeos acts to not interrupt his rest, staying quiet despite Delta longing for entertainment. Just after he begins to rest his eyes, Delta’s boredom is cast away with words.
Announcer: “We are now ready for the final official battle of the Tournament of Amedael. I ask our final participants, Zerek and Delta, to please meet in the arena grounds.”
Delta raises from his bed and removes the chainmail part of his armor for the reason of to quick on his feet, something that would be required for fighting such an opponent as Zerek. Then, he begins a healthy walk towards the final battle. Beit either from the hype or rest, his feelings of nausea and disgust have fallen to acceptable levels. Still, he remains at less than ideal shape. Upon reaching the arena grounds, he notices that the stands are more crowded than ever before. The scones at the center have grown greatly in intensity, each surpassing a small bonfire. The crowd goes dead silent, and the only noise that can be heard is that of the crackling flames. By scanning the crowd, Delta finds Jeos, Dirvar, and even Alris watching from the stands.
Announcer: “Welcome to the final battle. Zerek, the many decade champion, will be battling the powerful newcomer Delta. The battle for the rank of champion will begin now!”
Delta stares at his opponent, who displays the expression that Delta had first seen him wear, one of hidden titanic joy. The two begin walking near, stopping at about fiveheight apart.
Zerek: “I can see you’ve gotten better.”
Delta: “Indeed I have.”
Zerek: “So, let us battle.”
Zerek begins to move his staff into position, before Delta stops him.
Delta: “Wait, I have one request!”
Zerek: “And what might that be?”
Delta: “I request that you don’t throw me out of the arena.”
Zerek: “Why?”
Delta: “I want to battle you toe-to-toe, with no holding back. It will help me grow.”
Zerek pauses. He thinks to himself: “Would he die? Should I even risk directly striking him? No, it’s important for me to trust his judgement.”
Zerek: “It shall be so. Let us begin.”
Zerek raises his quarterstaff into a defensive position, followed by his opponent preparing his jiare. As they travel to their fates, each step pushes apart the sand on the ground. No grain of mineral dare stand in their way, for even they know about the war that is about to begin. At oneheight, Delta prepares a slash to not be forgotten by him nor Zerek. With all of the might in every single muscle, Delta cleaves down with the axehead. Zerek braces with his staff out wide, causing the blow land with his staff just underneath the axehead. Having been pushed back at the knees by the mightiest blow ever aimed at him, Zerek struggles to recover his stance. With his opponent occupied, Delta releases his left hand from the jiare and latches onto the left part part of Zerek’s weapon, before sliding his weapon rightwards along the staff. Once again using all of his strength, he lays into his left arm and heaves down on his axe, forcing Zerek sideways. Anyone even slightly less dextrous than the champion would have never landed on their feet. Zerek leans his staff slightly backwards in preparation for the attacks to come, blocking or deflecting all of them with the most elegant of motions. Seeing an opening for attack, he strikes Delta in his shoulder and back near the end of their sweep. Delta is knocked onto the sandy floor, but swiftly rises from the stance of weakness with a swipe upwards with a paw of raging calm. Zerek jumps backwards in defense, but Delta has prepared for such. He chucks the flame within his hand downwards at Zerek, a direct strike! Zerek raises his hand in defense, and… what? The fire appears to have bounced off of him or… something! Only someone from the side could see that it had apparently been deflected without even touching its target. The flame returns back to its creator, shattering upon his face and smothering his eyes. Zerek rushes in and jabs at Delta’s gut with power that would surely mean impalement if the champion had been using a spear. Delta curls his torso inward in pain, only to be struck in the same shoulder as before with the might of a sweeping quarterstaff. Delta shouts in pain, holding himself off the ground with the elbow of his only remaining usable shoulder. Zerek travels around Delta, ready to strike if he raised. In a position of near defeat, Delta begins to feel the flame build inside himself. This fire is built by fear, for sure, but not the fear of losing. This is the fear that he had not battled enough, and that this whole ordeal was for nothing and that he would be no closer to his goal. Motivated by the power -- and vise versa -- Delta pushes upwards with his right arm and legs. Zerek strikes in response, not hitting Delta, but knocking away his weapon far outside the boundaries. Realising his opponent is without a means of defense, Zerek follows up to finish him off. Needles of static shoot through Delta’s arm as he catches the staff in his palm. A blade of soulfire erupts from Delta’s forearm and beyond, powered by all of the soul and will to succeed that he can muster. Zerek’s staff nearly ignites on its head, creating a crescent char in its wake before he pulls it to safety. Having used the momentum from the pull to pursue Zerek, Delta slashes wide and transitions into a stab with his summoned blade. Both attacks land, igniting Zerek’s attire in the shape of a t and burning him underneath. Zerek scurries backwards, patting out the flames on his chest before they cause further harm while Delta pursues with slash apon slash apon slash. Near the edge of the boundaries, Zerek stops. Whatever attacks Delta throws his way he must deal with now; backing away is no longer an option. Just before the sweep lands upon Zerek, he disappears into thin air. Where is he? How did he disappear? These questions are only answered by the incredible hearing of Delta, for Zerek was sprinting along the sand behind him with a light step. Delta rotates and chucks the flame at Zerek. Unfortunately for Delta, no amount of flame would stop the momentum of the jumping strike Zerek has initiated. The blade collides parallel to Zerek’s chest as the end of his staff crashes upon Delta’s last shoulder. He is knocked to his knees, and fails to raise either of his arms. Zerek performs the final blow, smacking the underside of Delta’s chin with the end of his charred staff. Delta lands on his back with his head only inches from the edge of the arena. Zerek points his staff just before Delta’s chest before the Announcer calls one of the greatest matches in arena history.
Announcer: “Delta is unable to continue. Zerek has once again won the Tournament of Amedael!”
Perhaps it is not surprising at all that the continent had two loudest moments in a single day, given the circumstances. Through the shaking of the arena caused by the massive orchestra of cheers, Zerek offers his hand to Delta before realising that it would be more fitting to lift him from his cloak instead of the flesh that attaches to his shoulder. With only a short second of serious pain, Delta is back on his feet. As his adrenaline fades, pain takes its place once again. Zerek helps carry Delta closer to the exit, before breaking away and heading towards the Announcer. Delta watches from the arena as the Announcer does what he does best, announce.
Announcer: “Zerek, the multi-decade champion, has once again defeated every opponent to come his way. Knowing this, I can now declare Zerek of the clan of Ravenkar the champion of the 73rd annual Tournament of Amedael!”
The crowd cheers for time uncountable while Zerek takes in the sound of pride. He turns to view the spectators, all of whose eyes were locked upon him as he to theirs. The Announcer pats on Zereks shoulder to gain his attention for one final question.
Announcer: “Zerek, as you know, it is tradition to request a final battle with one of the contestants. Who do you choose?”
Zerek takes a deep breath to speak to the crowd directly. Not doing so would surely ruin the mood.
Zerek: “I choose Jeos of The Alliance.”