Paragon of Skills

King Skaernex, still sitting among the crowd, looks at the giant Dragonkin who takes off the hood and reveals an equally black set of scales underneath.

That's one powerful warrior, King Skaernex thinks.

The Dark Champion's aura hits the stands. It is a brute, physical thing that makes the stone seats vibrate.

The Dark Champion looks at Vyrrak across the arena floor and grins.

"So you're the fake Dragonkin King," he says. His booming voice doesn't need Mana amplification."I've heard about you. Son of Skaernex. Grandson of the Headmaster." He rolls his neck, and the black scales catch the light like wet stone. "Born into everything. Given everything. And you think you can call yourself a warrior in front of me, Korrath Kethys?"

King Skaernex watches as Vyrrak just observes the Dark Champion, Korrath, staring him down, but saying nothing. His son has always been like this.

Vyrrak steps forward without a word while Korrath is still grinning.

"Is he serious?"

"That thing is huge, man. I'm worried."

"He's not even talking back. Why isn't he talking back?"

A student in the second row turns to the girl next to him. "Can Vyrrak even beat that?"

She doesn't answer. Her hands are in her lap and she's squeezing them together.

Everyone's expecting Vyrrak to say something, or at the very least to look menacing. Instead, he's looking completely relaxed, not even intimidating.

Even King Skaernex has his doubts on this strategy.

You must give them something son.

King Skaernex has seen Jacob Cloud briefly talk to his son and say a few things to him, using Mana to cover their voices.

The Dark Champion takes Vyrrak's silence as an invitation. He starts walking a slow circle around him, gesturing to the crowd as he talks.

"Look at you. Look at that armor. You ever had to fight for anything? Anything at all?" He gets closer. "I bet you haven't. I bet they handed you everything. Rank, title, the pretty scales, all of it. And you just took it because that's what princes do."

He stops circling and faces the crowd.

"I've fought Dragonkin before. I've eviscerated them. Plenty. They all do the same thing. They stand there looking big and then they fold." He looks back at Vyrrak. "You're going to fold too. I can tell. You've got that look."

Vyrrak does not respond.

Korrath laughs. It's loud and he's enjoying himself.

"Nothing? Really? Not even a growl?"

"Come on, say something!"

"He needs to fire back. You can't just stand there while that guy talks shit about your entire bloodline."

"Maybe he's intimidated?"

"Vyrrak? No way."

"Then why is he just standing there?"

A boy near the top rows cups his hands around his mouth. "GIVE HIM A SPEECH, VYRRAK!"

The crowd picks it up. Not a chant, just a restless energy, people shifting in their seats, muttering, wanting something from the Dragonkin who won't give them anything.

The Dark Champion is still talking.

Vyrrak opens his mouth.

Fifty thousand people go quiet at the same time.

Vyrrak assumes a very serious expression and says.

"You're fat."

Several members of the audience, who were leaning forward on their seats, waiting for an inspiring speech, actually fall on their faces.

"Did he just..."

"Did he just call him fat?"

"That's... that's not a speech."

A girl in the third row puts both hands over her mouth. The boy next to her is staring at the arena floor with his jaw open.

"HE CALLED HIM FAT."

"I heard. I am here, too."

Korrath stands very still. His grin is gone. He stares at Vyrrak waiting for a real answer.

"What did you say to me?"

King Skaernex blinks. His son looks flustered. Not composed, not cold. Flustered. His scales have gone a shade lighter and he's blinking too much.

This is not like Vyrrak. This is not like Vyrrak at all.

"I said you're fat," Vyrrak repeats.

Korrath's nostrils flare. He grabs the front of his tunic with both hands and rips it off in one motion. Underneath is a body that looks like it was carved from black granite. Every muscle is visible. Every scale sits tight over sinew and bulk. There is not an ounce of fat on him. The crowd can see this. Everyone can see this.

"DOES THIS LOOK FAT TO YOU?" Korrath roars.

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Vyrrak looks him up and down.

"Fat," he says.

Korrath's tail slams the stone hard enough to crack it. His aura spikes, wild and uncontrolled, the corrupted energy pouring off him in hot waves that make students in the lower rows cover their faces.

"YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY? YOU THINK YOU CAN DISRESPECT ME? I WILL BREAK EVERY BONE IN YOUR BODY, YOU SPOILED, SILVER-SPOON, COURT-BRED—"

Vyrrak is just standing there with that flustered look on his face like he'd rather be anywhere else.

King Skaernex watches his son repeat the word "fat" three times to a Dark Champion of Asmodeus. The Dark Champion is cracking the stone under his feet and screaming about honor, and Vyrrak is just standing there blinking.

Something clicks.

King Skaernex turns his head and looks toward the edge of the arena.

Jacob Cloud is smiling.

You told him to do this, King Skaernex thinks. You told my son to make the Dark Champion lose his mind.

King Skaernex realizes that the uncouth, foul-mouthed Leader of the Champions is a strategic genius beyond what he realized.

What a terrifying human.

"Is this actually happening right now?"

"I think I'm in love with Vyrrak," a girl says from the stand.

"You're in love with the guy who just said 'you're fat' to a Dark Champion?"

"I said what I said."

"VYRRAK, STOP!" Jacob shouts from the edge of the arena. His voice carries across the floor. "Don't call him fat, you're going to hurt his feelings!"

The crowd erupts. Half the stands are laughing. The other half are too scared to laugh because Korrath's aura is still cracking the stone under his feet.

"KORRATH!" Nimirea's voice cuts through the noise from the Dark Champions' side. "They are trying to rile you up. Stop falling for it."

Korrath turns toward her. The scales across his chest are flaring with each breath. For a moment the warning lands.

Then Vyrrak says, "You're soft, too."

Korrath turns back to Vyrrak very slowly.

"Soft," he says. The word comes out quiet, which is worse than the screaming. He slams his fist into his own chest. The impact echoes across the arena. "You want to see soft? Hit me. Hit me with everything you have. Your strongest attack. I want every single one of these privileged kids to watch what happens when they put their hope in someone like you."

He slams his chest again.

"HIT ME."

The laughter dies. The Dark Champions on the sidelines relax, and Nimirea looks pleased. Even the Prophet, on his raised platform, is watching.

King Skaernex frowns.

Vyrrak tilts his head. "Why should I bother?"

"WHY SHOULD YOU—" Korrath stops himself. He breathes. And then he grins.

"Because you can't hurt me," Korrath says. "My Rainbow Skill is called Absolute Defense. When you hit me, the damage will spread across my whole body. Every scale takes a share. You understand what that means? Nobody here can hurt me. Not you, not ANYONE." He spreads his arms. "So go ahead. PROVE IT in front of fifty thousand people."

The stands go quiet.

"Did he just..."

"He told everyone his Skill. He actually told everyone how his Skill works."

"If that's true, how is Vyrrak supposed to win?"

"He can't. There's no way. If every hit just spreads out..."

Nimirea walks closer to the edge of the arena floor. She looks at Jacob and she is smiling.

"Your strongest Champion is about to embarrass himself trying to scratch Korrath," she says. "I hope you're ready for that."

Jacob looks at Nimirea.

"You gained some weight as well, didn't you?"

Nimirea goes red. Her composure cracks for exactly one second and then she turns toward the arena floor.

"KORRATH. END HIM!"

"Yeah," Korrath says. He is grinning again. "This is going to be the easiest thing in the world."

An aura condenses over Korrath. It presses against the skin of everyone in the first ten rows like static before a lightning strike. The black scales across his body harden and lock into place.

"Come on," Korrath says. "Show me your worst."

Vyrrak closes his eyes.

When he opens them, there is a dagger in his hand.

The crowd goes still. Vyrrak starts slowly walking toward Korrath.

Korrath watches him come.

"A dagger?" Korrath says. "You're bringing a dagger to this?" He points at his own body, flexing every muscle.

"We're dead."

"What is he doing?"

"Maybe it's a special dagger?"

King Skaernex knows that Vyrrak is a Dagger, as in someone who uses stealth, not brute force. He's got word from the Vice Principal, but...

Is he going to lose?

Vyrrak stops three paces from Korrath. He shifts his feet into a wider stance and begins to move.

It is not a fighting stance. His left hand traces a slow arc through the air while his right holds the dagger loose at his side. His feet step in a deliberate pattern, one crossing behind the other, tracing something on the stone that only he can feel. His body flows through the movements the way water follows a channel.

His aura starts to thin.

"What's happening to his aura?"

"It's getting weaker. Is he giving up?"

"No, look at him. He's doing something."

"What, a dance? He's dancing in front of a Dark Champion?"

King Skaernex can feel it from the stands. His son's aura, which has been steady, is fading. It is draining inward like water being pulled down a hole. The air around Vyrrak is getting colder.

Korrath watches the display with his arms still spread wide. He looks at the dagger, at the footwork, at the thinning aura, and he starts laughing.

"You're putting on a show for me? That's cute. That's really cute." He slaps his own chest. "Whenever you're ready, little king."

The Dark Champions on the sidelines are watching. Most of them look bored or amused.

Nimirea is not looking at Vyrrak.

Nimirea is looking at Jacob.

Jacob is smiling widely right when Vyrrak is about to strike.

Her face changes.

"KORRATH, DODGE!" Nimirea screams.

Korrath turns his head toward her. "What—"

Vyrrak's pattern completes.

But there's nothing visible at all.

One moment Vyrrak is mid-step and the next the dagger is pressing flat against Korrath's chest, so light it barely dents the scales.

The Dance of Dragons fires inward.

Every ounce of force that should have become a firestorm visible from the top of the stands instead detonates through the point of contact.

Korrath's Absolute Defense activates. The damage tries to redistribute across his body.

And it does.

Every scale, every muscle, every little inch of his body receives the hit simultaneously. Korrath's entire body seizes like he's been struck by lightning. His muscles ripple in a wave that starts at his chest and rolls outward. His back arches. His eyes go wide and then they roll back in their sockets. His mouth opens but no sound comes out.

He drops.

The stone cracks under him.

He does not move.

His muscles are still twitching, involuntary spasms running through his arms and legs.

The body that looked like it was carved from black granite now looks wrong. Swollen. The muscles that were hard and chiseled a moment ago are loose and bloated from the inside, with every fiber shocked apart and ruined.

The arena is silent.

Vyrrak stands over him. He looks down at the ruined body.

"You do look fat up close," he says, turning away from Korrath and nodding at Jacob.

"One down," the Jacob, Leader of the Champions, says toward Nimirea, while the crowd starts cheering wildly and one proud father reconsiders his son's marriage proposals.