Chapter 94
Chapter 94
“Tell me again why this meeting was necessary?” Fowl asked. “I mean… It’s a fight in the arena and the first one we’ve seen in a while that looks worth betting on. Usually, you just say ‘here’s what I think we should bet’ and we go from there.”
Their helper groaned and swiped his tablet, changing the display before them. A match had been announced and the pairing seemed like a good one to bet on.
“Four to one odds are a pretty safe win,” Sog said, shifting in his chair. “I’m not saying we go all in, but I guess this must be another one of those gods who prey upon the weak.”
Max watched as Jazzjak shook his head. “I don’t know. In all my life, I’ve never seen the name of Ooohmara, and yet they're supposed to be the clear winner. 80,000 years of silence is a long time. The limited data I can find shows they’ve won the three matches listed. I just can’t find any details or watch any of their previous matches. Even worse, they’re not revealing any physical or visual data about either fighter. Ooohmara is fire-based, and Greokol is water-focused.”
“And that bothers you?” Tanila asked.
“Something does, I’m just not sure what,” Jazzjak said. “It’s not uncommon for gods to keep a low profile, only fighting every thousand or so years. Others are much more aggressive but all that does is remind others that you exist. Eventually, you’ll paint a target on your back.”
“But this is a tier four fight,” Cordellia said. “Wouldn’t a god whom you can’t recall seeing fight in all your time of being a helper easily overpower another one? Especially with those odds?”
“Not always,” Jazzjak replied. “You’re thinking logically but don’t forget the matchup against the metallic liquid-based god. The real question you have to ask is why would a god at this rank fight? Most who are at tier four and biding their time do everything they can to remain silent. Once you exit the safety window and your name is announced to everyone within your rank, you’re eligible to be challenged. Ooohmara’s been a possibility for a long time, but no one’s challenged them, nor vice versa. Since Max didn’t see the name Greokol, the opponent, appear on his notification recently, telling everyone a potential opponent had arrived, it means this god has been out of the protective period for a while.”
Fowl held up a hand, causing a few to chuckle. “What? I don’t like always interrupting,” the dwarf said. “I just want to know why this bothers you so much. Even if we only risk say, 1,000,000 DP, we stand the chance of gaining four times that.” “I’ve considered that,” their helper stated. “I have also weighed what if I’m being foolish and limiting your potential gains. Something in my being thinks something is off and I don’t want to be wrong. One way costs you from gaining a lot of Divine Points you need, while the other might take from you the limited amount you all have.”
“So you’re basing this decision on a feeling? Like gas?” Sog asked.
A single, fluffy, white finger was directed at their demonic friend, who grinned in return. “No, you…” Taking a deep breath, Jazzjak composed himself. “I’m looking big picture. Something feels off. I’ve… I’ve been beaten and even killed before by other gods for lots of stupid reasons. While I don’t believe you’ll do that to me, I also don’t want to make a gigantic mistake.” Jazzjak pointed at Max for a moment. “What if he bets 100,000,000 DP and my gut is right? Then he’s out a massive amount of points. But, if I’m wrong and he doesn’t bet, we’re in the same problem.”
The arena moderators or whatever you want to call them did seem a bit… sketchy last time. That offer they gave me was obviously one they doubt I’d survive. Maybe Jazzjak still doesn’t trust them.
But if your helper is right and something is off, then that’s also another thing to consider.
“Jazzjak, are there matchups like the one you referenced earlier where being that much older and most likely stronger doesn't matter?” Max asked. “Is that remotely possible?”
“Yes,” their helper answered. “Since you started fighting, the arena odds have shifted from some very broken numbers. I recall a ten-to-one matchup thirty thousand years ago. Now most don’t get above two to three or something like that. We haven’t seen odds that make sense.”
“And that’s my fault?” Max asked, grinning.
“Probably,” Cordellia answered first.
“I don’t know,” Jazzjak muttered, shaking his head. “It’s just after that last fight…”
When a few seconds of silence passed, Max spoke up. “You don’t trust them.”
“Why wouldn’t he trust them?” Batrire asked. “Don’t they gain something regardless of who wins or loses?”
“Not a question I can answer,” Jazzjak said. “All I can tell you is that I’m concerned. You get to decide how you want to wager and how much. You’ve got two days to decide or until the–”
The image, which showed the matchup and the odds, suddenly changed, and giant words were stamped over it “Betting Limit Reached.”
“Wait, what?” Fowl said, standing. “That’s it?”
Max saw the way their helper was standing, seeing his hunched shoulders and both ears drooping slightly.
“I’m… I guess…” Jazzjak kept trying to talk but seemed to be struggling to do so. “I’m sorry.”
“Let it go,” Max said, waving off the others. “Jazzjak, you’re fine. There was never a guarantee of a matchup and now we’ll get to watch and see if your instincts were right.”
“And if they were wrong?” their helper asked, still looking defeated.
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“Then we go on and don’t worry about it,” Tanila answered immediately. “There’s more to life than betting on matches, isn’t there Sog?”
“What? Why bring me into this?” the demon replied. “I’ve already learned my lessons. Pick on Cordellia, she’s got problems.”
“What?!” their ranger exclaimed, rising from her chair.
Max saw Tanila wink at him.
She’s a smart one, redirecting all that.
That she is.
***
Max and the rest sat there in the room, eyes fixed upon the match that was about to start. Things already looked to be one-sided, even with the arena being a glassy lake.
Ooomhara looked far more dangerous than Max had expected. His skin glowed like obsidian that was heated to a point it might melt and his veins appeared to be magma. A mane of living flame hung around his shoulders. Every step he took across the water created a trail of sparks that hissed against the damp air. His eyes burned like a white fire, holding something dangerous behind them.
Greokol appeared to rise from the mist on the water. Her body was pale blue, completely liquid-based, and her hair shifted like ripples on water. Her eyes were small pools of a deeper blue. Even stranger was that she wore no armor.
When the gong rang, fire met fog.
Ooohmara unleashed a storm of molten light expanding outward like the birth of a star. Max wondered how much stronger that ability had to be compared to his elemental fire. The lake boiled in every direction as it traveled.
Even as the flames came toward her, Greokol did not move. Instead, she just breathed, and the mist around her thickened.
Where the flames struck fog, energy seemed to diminish. The fire was snuffed out and Ooohmara’s radiance dimmed. The fire god didn’t seem fazed, sending out more waves of power, yet each wave seemed to cause the fog to grow thicker and slowly move out from around her.
“She’s countering him somehow,” Tanila said. “It’s like she is absorbing the energy of his spell and turning it into something she can use.”
“Magic can do that?” Fowl asked. “I mean… I know it can, but… those flames look intense.”
Max didn’t get involved in the discussion. He could sense his friends with Sonar. Each of them shifted, watching a fight that felt so easily one-sided at the start take a fast turn in the other direction. Jazzjak was chewing on a nail, his attention focused on the display they were all watching.
Somehow, her ability is consuming his.
I wonder if it’s just against fire or against other magic as well. Most likely a racial ability of some kind.
Which would make climbing the tower easier if one could convert the power sent against them as energy for their own abilities.
Max grunted to himself, almost mesmerized as he watched Greokol convert Ooohmara’s fury into her strength. For every wave of flame he sent at her, the mist deepened, until it cloaked the arena floor in a silver fog.
“Show yourself!” Ooohmara bellowed.
“I already have,” she replied, everywhere at once. “You were a fool to seek me out.”
“Seek him out?” Sog asked. “Does that mean–”
“SHHH!” Jazzjak hissed, cutting the demon off as his eyes never left the fight.
Ooohmara hurled a spear of fire that was white like the sun, striking the water that covered the floor beneath his feet. The beam struck, split, and refracted through thousands of droplets. The arena’s sky was filled with light going in every direction. The attack that Ooohmara had unleashed was reflected at him.
He crossed his arms, taking the hits head-on, but each beam of light that struck seemed to extinguish the flames that covered him. In mere seconds, the fire that had been so brightly, flickered beneath the bombardment of his own spell.
“You are a fool, Ooohmara,” Greokal’s voice came through the display. “I laid a trap, knowing you couldn’t resist. You might have been able to extinguish my sister, but I’ve come to collect what is owed.”
Max watched as Greokol appeared behind Ooohmara in the mist. She lifted her hands in a slow, deliberate motion. The mist around her converged into tendrils of translucent blue. She invoked some ability and what Max saw was terrifying.
Every ember that left his body was caught and mirrored back, but not as fire. Instead, it came as something blue yet not ice. Ooohmara spun, swinging a sword that materialized in his hand. A molten arc meant to cleave her in two came yet it passed through the mist and then bounced back. A blade of blue came from where it had struck the fog and sliced through his chest.
He stumbled, his feet faltering on the liquefied glass below. His body was almost dull now, light barely being where an inferno had been.
Greokol stepped forward, her form solidifying once more, eyes glowing like the reflection of the moon on still water. She pressed a palm to his chest, and the water hissed where it met his skin.
Steam billowed everywhere, and then there was silence.
The mists cleared after a few moments, and Ooohmara was on his knees, a small sheet of ice keeping his body from falling over. Gone were the flames that had been there a moment ago.
A single breath came from his mouth, the faint fog as he tried to breath, his body trembling.
Greokol bent forward, putting her lips near what might have been an ear.
“The strongest fire,” she said softly, “is the one that learns restraint. You never learn that lesson. Now die.”
No one said a word as her hands gripped both sides of the smoldering head. Water cascaded over Ooohmara, extinguishing every part that it touched. For less than a moment, a howl came before water filled the hole that had dared open up.
Then the gong came and the announcer cried out, “WINNER! Greokol of the Vieled Waters!”
Jazzjak turned off the sound and slowly turned to face him, his red eyes trembling.
“What’s wrong?” Max asked, sensing something was amiss.
“The game's changing… of that I’m certain.”