14-56 The Roar of the Crowd
“Are you not entertained?!” Elijah bellowed to no one, practicing his best Russell Crowe voice, which was to say that it sounded absolutely nothing like the actor.
“Why are you talking like that?”
Elijah looked up to see Sara coming into the room. She’d been allowed the day off from her studies so she could attend Elijah’s fight. And he hadn’t expected her to arrive for a while yet.
“Uh…no reason,” he said, quickly looking away.
“You don’t normally talk like that,” she persisted. “It sounded weird. Like you were trying to –”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he interrupted, sighing.
“Oh, now I really need to know!” she exclaimed, slithering around and popping up in front of him. Her wide grin was infectious. “C’mon. Just tell me!”
Elijah ran his hand through his hair. “Fine.”
Then, he tried to explain the concept of movies, which led to a lot of questions that he couldn’t really answer. He had a vague idea how they worked, but his explanation wasn’t even close to detailed enough for her sense of curiosity. After that, he recounted the plot of Gladiator and tried to do justice to the scene he’d meant to mimic.
“Huh.”
Sara was clearly unimpressed.
“I’m not telling it right.”
“I mean, that’s obvious. And this Maximus was famous on your world?” she asked.
“Maximus was the character. Russell Crowe was the actor. And yes, he was very famous.”
She didn’t quite understand why anyone could hold an audience’s attention without system-backed abilities. The concept of an Actor wasn’t foreign to her, but people with that class – and its derivatives – manipulated emotions via purposeful skills. To Sara, acting without those abilities missed the point entirely.
And after what he’d seen during the opening ceremonies, Elijah was inclined to agree. He’d been to plenty of concerts over the course of his life, and none of them had hit him quite like what he’d heard from that transcendent Entertainer.
Apparently, he was quite famous in the Empire of Scale. Outside of it, too. Wherever he went, Ouisi Es Vios was the center of attention.
Still, even he was outshone when one of the Emperors spoke. The content of that speech wasn’t incredibly informative, but it didn’t need to be. The entire point of the short speech was to show how big of a deal the Tournament of the First Fang really was.
After that, the ceremony had shifted into parades meant to display the cultures surrounding the eleven most powerful factions within the Empire of Scale. Elijah had watched, enthralled by deft manipulations of elemental forces as well as more esoteric concepts. All performed by deities.
It was one of the most majestic things Elijah had ever seen, and he ended up leaving in a daze that hadn’t faded until hours later. Even now, he struggled to remember details – evidence of the avalanche of emotional manipulation that came with so many high-level Entertainers.
He didn’t sleep that night, and he was still a little jittery from it.
“You’re about to fight in the Fang, and you’re thinking about actors?” she asked.
“Oh, come on. It’s applicable. He was a gladiator. This is sort of like that.”
“Shouldn’t you be thinking about your opponent?”
Elijah shrugged. He’d done a little research on Axar ak Shano, but there really wasn’t much to learn. He was a Warrior archetype who’d used his immense strength to fight his way through the qualifiers. Elijah had watched some recordings from his fights, but it was difficult to gauge the drake’s power.
So, he figured he’d just wing it.
That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t taking it seriously. He was, but he chose to focus on his actions, rather than his opponent’s.
“I’ll be fine,” he told Sara.
But he did end up pacing back and forth, Thorn clutched in one hand as the Mantle of the Chimera fluttered behind him. He hadn’t really fought much with his full kit, and he was eager to see what he could do.
Finally, a serpentor entered the room and told him it was time. So, after getting last minute well-wishes from Sara, he followed the attendant through the adjacent hall and to the chamber just outside the arena. There, he saw a rattled contestant who’d fought in the last round. Judging by her expression, she hadn’t won.
Elijah rolled his shoulders as he approached the Chronomancer.
The tetradrak was tall but much leaner than someone like Birk. Not the Chronomancer in charge, but rather, a subordinate who assisted the transcendent running the time manipulation. He laid his hand on Elijah’s forehead, saying, “I am creating an anchor. Do not resist.”
Elijah forced himself to relax as foreign ethera gathered around him. Then, it squeezed before infesting his entire body. The whole process lasted less than a second, but it left him feeling violated in a way he couldn’t really describe.
Taken from NovelPhoenix, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Is it always like that?”
“Unfortunately,” the tetradrak replied. “Should you make it through the fight undamaged, just leave the arena on foot. If you are gravely injured, I will revert you back to the anchor’s condition. Otherwise, Healers are available. Do you understand?”
Elijah nodded.
“Then good luck, young one.”
After that, he placed himself in front of the door and waited his turn. It took a little more than a minute, but it felt like an eternity before the double doors swung open, revealing a wall of noise and bright sunlight. After taking a deep breath, Elijah stepped through the door and to his first fight in the Tournament of the First Fang.
Hopefully, it would be one of many.
* * *
Sara settled into her seat, slightly out of breath as she stared at the arena floor. She had attended many of the qualifying fights, so she thought she knew what to expect. However, she was entirely unprepared for the sheer scope of the crowd in attendance. She had never seen so many people. And she certainly hadn’t felt so much power gathered in a single location.
Glancing around the Praesidium, she couldn’t help but focus on the thirteen towers standing far above the general crowd. That was where the elites of the empire sat. It was too much to hope that many transcendents were there for the first round, but perhaps a few had made the trip.
Her gaze settled on the gilded tower devoted to her mother. It wasn’t the largest among them, but it was clearly the richest. As befit a dragon colloquially known as Prosperity.
Sara was meant to follow in her mother’s footsteps. A tall order for a girl who felt like she’d just begun to understand her own identity. Of course, she still remembered her old life, stuck somewhere between being a guardian and a sapient member of society. Back then, she was self-aware enough to know that she wanted certain things – like to explore a newly integrated world – but not enough to truly understand what that meant.
But now, she could see it all, albeit through the eyes of a relative child.
Inwardly, she cringed at who she’d been back then. That person never would’ve embraced an Administrator archetype. But Sara had grown since then. And what’s more, she had seen how much good someone like her mother could do. And Kirlissa had begun her life as a Sorcerer before gradually shifting her path with every class evolution.
She was living proof that a person’s archetype was just a starting point.
And even though Sara was happy with what she’d chosen, she was also very relieved to know that she could still steer her way through the currents of fate.
“You should spend more time on your physical training,” Birk grunted, noting her panting breaths.
“And you should take more showers, Birk Birk. What is that smell? Some sort of cologne?”
“Keep going. You will regret it next time you find yourself under my tutelage.”
That shut her up. The last thing she wanted was to draw the big drake’s ire. His training sessions were already difficult, and if he made them even worse? No. Sara didn’t want anything to do with that.
“He’s coming out!” she squealed when she saw the doors open.
Elijah took a few steps forward into the arena. Due to the Praesidium’s enchantments, it was like he stood only a few dozen feet away, which gave her a good look at him.
He looked so strong. Weird, certainly. No one else wore the kinds of clothes he wore, and the armor he’d donned for the tournament was even more unique. It fit him, though.
Especially when his helm shimmered into view. It looked like an elongated skull, with fiery, green antlers spreading above. He planted the butt of his spear into the ground and waited.
Across the arena was his opponent. A heavily armored tetradrak carrying a bladed staff. Axar ak Shano was not highly seeded, but that was as much due to his humble origin as because he lacked power. Sara had seen one of his fights during the qualifiers, and she had come away impressed by his strength and brutality.
Plus, it was easy to root for an underdog.
Not against her brother, though.
She leaned forward as the Curator – a deity-level silver dragon – introduced the two contestants, listing their levels, their archetypes, and a brief summary of their history.
Elijah’s level, which was probably the lowest among all of the tournament’s participants, drew a gasp from the crowd. So did his archetype. However, the real buzz came after the Curator said that he was Kirlissa’s adopted son.
“Half-scale,” someone muttered behind her.
Sara turned to glare at the dragon, who at least had the good grace to look away and pretend he hadn’t just uttered the slur. It was a derogatory label for those people who’d been adopted into dragonhood after someone granted them an elder core. Some among the citizens of the Empire of Scale considered them less draconic than natural-born dragons.
It was ridiculous. No one was ever granted a dragon core on a whim, meaning that anyone who was adopted into dragonhood was more than deserving. The cost was just too high to approach it any other way. Often, those dragons turned out to be among the most powerful people in the Empire of Scale.
Which was probably at least partially responsible for the derision.
Jealousy was potent fuel for resentment and hate.
Sara turned away from the bigot, then focused on the upcoming fight.
“How do you think he’s going to do it? Which form will he use?” she asked.
“I don’t know. We didn’t discuss it,” Birk admitted. “If I had to guess, he will use his duelist form. That gives him the greatest advantage.”
That form would definitely impress the crowd. The emberkin saint was all but mythological, originating on a singular planet where even deities needed to walk softly. Seeing one in person was regarded as evidence of great fortune, provided the observer managed to survive the encounter.
Which was not likely.
Emberkins were territorial at the best of times, and their saints only appeared in times of great need.
“I hope that’s the one he uses,” she said. Raising her voice, Sara added, “Maybe it’ll shut some idiots up.”
She turned to glare at the bigot who’d uttered the slur. He pretended not to notice.
“Pay attention,” cautioned Birk. “Perhaps you will learn something.”
Gritting her teeth, she folded her arms in front of her and slumped in her seat. By her reckoning, Birk should have taught that bigot a lesson.
But her anger didn’t last long before the Curator announced the beginning of the fight.
Axar ak Shano dashed forward.
And then, suddenly, he stumbled. A second later, he fell on his face. As he tried to claw his way back to his feet, Elijah casually strode toward him. Then, a massive yellow mushroom burst from Axar’s back, showering his surroundings in gore and shrapnel from his shattered armor. He let out a pitiful scream.
Then, Elijah was upon him.
His spear darted out, the asymmetrical, leaf-like blade sliding between the slit in the Warrior’s helmet. Axar fell limp an instant later.
Elijah yanked it free, then performed a horizontal slash. Not an attack. He just meant to clear the blood.
“The winner is Elijah Hart es Vyrin!”
Elijah raised his spear, saluting the Curator. Then, he turned and walked back the way he’d come.
The crowd remained silent for a split second before erupting into cheers. Meanwhile, Sara’s jaw remained open. She knew Elijah was strong, but she’d had no idea that he could do that.
And he hadn’t even used any of his forms.
“Smart. Keep things close to the chest,” Birk growled in approval.
Sara gathered her wits and turned to the bigot. “Not bad for a half-scale, huh? Asshole.”