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The naga had no time to finish off his prey, as eight Sentori guards sprang to life from both arena entrances, subduing the creature with a series of warded ropes in a practiced fluid grace that made all eight look more like acrobats than honed warriors. The naga hissed and struggled, throwing himself to the ground and withdrawing to a smaller almost entirely serpent form to slither away, but each sentori pulled taut on their leeds as one, the now smaller demon just as trapped as he had been when large.
As soon as the guards had removed the creature, another group followed suit with three long stretchers. Ken was by far the worst for ware, the skin of his abdomen slumping off his frame in a grotesque putrid mess of blood, puss and green fluid. His agonized whimpers reverberated through my psyche, my void humming with a near physical need to help him, my sympathetic senses mimicking his injuries across my own belly in a wicked piercing burn that lasted long after he was removed and the crews had scraped all the evidence of the last battle into the grates on the side.
The next two battles hadn’t gone much better, although Skah, with his golden brown skin and long black braid twined with a long white and black feather that I had never seen him without, had managed to remove the long coiling tail from an ashen gray naga, who was using it on Mitchell much the same way a boa would strangle a rat.
It wasn’t until this third bout was over and Skah, who had found himself without a weapon when he’d discharged his last ax to save Mitchell and received a mighty gash across his chest as a reward, had managed to walk out of the arena, that I was able to pull my eyes away, my gaze looking for anything of interest to distract me from the fourth round that would begin within the next few minutes.
Corbin had remained mute thus far, his normally warm gray eyes holding more than a glint of steel as he watched the crew remove the grotesque remains of the tail, which blistered even the pebbles that surrounded it with a burnished black and green and scorched the air with the smell of burning dust and morbid decay. He didn’t pay me any mind as I watched him, the fingers on his right hand drumming rhythmically on the bicep of his left, having folded his arms at the start of the first round. I could see the warrior beneath the elegance for the first time, and consciously understood that the muscles he so tantalizingly displayed were not simply for show.
As silent as Corbin was, Marik was anything but. He had been a regular presence in my mind, asking my thoughts so often that I had naturally projected everything to him throughout the fights, detailing each combatant’s skills, how I would best use them, and what fatal flaws I saw in their actions. For the normally quiet and reserved Skah my only answer had been “running out of weapons”.
The major mistake I’d seen made time and time again was that the three combatants in the ring had been unwilling to judge others on their skill sets, and develop a strategy on the fly. Most had wanted to show their personal skills, desiring the possibility of ending the battle with their own blade rather than increasing the chances of victory, even if it be by another’s blow.
What would you have done differently?Marik had asked when the unconscious Amiri had finally been removed after the first bout, battered but otherwise okay.
Amiri could have preserved energy by acting as a shield, not worrying about overstressing his limbs to form weapons. Arabela, remaining in the line of sight but moving as Amiri did, could have maintained control of his tail.
Why the tail alone?
That naga was too strong to stay contained in her whip for long, but controlling his tail alone would have minimized the ability to use his arm strength to break free. Ken then could have felt safe moving behind, and taken advantage of the fleshy gullet to slit the throat.
Bloodthirsty are we?
The soft smile that played at the corner of my mouth was the only answer I gave, and from the playfulness of the psychic fingers that had tugged at the hair on the back of my neck, he told me he knew it was there.
That had been the last moment of brevity I had felt, and now even the gruffness of Marik’s rough command to answer another of his questions hadn’t been able to pull me from my concentration - not since Ness in all her regal glory had prowled onto the field followed closely Acton and Ryan.
Acton Fitzson had been the most anticipated candidate in the pool, his clear gray eyes a near mirror of Corbin’s own, a mark of the pure Humility that flowed eagerly through his veins. His most prominent special skill which made him a nearly universal asset was his ability to create and project psychic shields. Strong and swift with various weapons, he was viewed as a virtual guarantee for a fast track to the Sentori.
Ryan was a candidate of the Justice line, a rarity amongst casters that made him a highly desired manipulator of holy magic. Unlike many of his counterparts he had two prominent abilities of interest: consecration which allowed him to release a pulsating aura that minimized the speed of ranged weapons, and runic touch which allowed him to imbue objects with a type of holy energy that was a much weaker, but still deadly, kin to angel fire.
While Ryan and Acton appeared to be in perfect sync for such an exercise, Ness was the wild card. She was of the greed and sloth lines, and while her supernatural skills were not immediately apparent for war, her bright mind had made them so.
Ness had two major gifts: the ability to read and amplify desires, and manipulating minds. Once she understood a target’s goals in battle, she could focus their attention on it, often causing a type of one-track fury that made a target much more dangerous but ultimately more open to attacks.
Each naga who had emerged so far had done so similarly, making themselves as small as possible in their slithering snake-like bodies to emerge in an ambush quietly. Each trio had been caught in different states of unawareness, having no advanced warning of who or what their opponent would be. But this final one, with matte tan and brown splotched scales that dampened the reflection from the fluorescent lights overhead and a dark tan belly marred with aged scars did not. Instead, he struck before leaving the blackened hall, a volley of sharp black spikes almost a foot long spraying out across the arena, followed by a snap of fangs emerging from a sleek cobra like head, the tiny knicks and healed slashes in his hood making him look more dangerous with each lythe movement of his twisting body. I would have appreciated the elegant lethality on full display if he hadn’t nearly taken off Ness’ head with a spike or Ryan’s foot with his jaws.
The three candidates scattered, only to regroup on the far end of the arena where the naga had first emerged, a tall thin boulder their only refuge. The Naga lay his body flat and pressed down into the sand, his wriggling body moving with quick flicks of his tail, his tongue snaking out to taste the air as he moved, digging in to blend seamlessly with the sand and other debris. To his credit, as he went I had to raise my gift, watching the weaves of dull yellowish green as it coiled in position beside a boulder.
Ryan was the first to emerge, sword glowing with a subtle golden hue as he sidestepped, carefully keeping his back against as many hard objects as possible. His head swung side to side, his movements practiced and graceful as he floated seamlessly across the ground, footsteps soundless against the sand below.
But naga didn’t rely on sound to hunt.
With a spray of golden dust and pebbles that blasted across the arena, arching high enough to clatter harmlessly against the warded barrier before us, the naga struck, his long brown tail spike elongating as he thrust up and forward. Ryan stumbled backwards, back hitting against the closest boulder, but he remained unscathed, the spike panging harmlessly off a projected shield from Acton.
Releasing a hiss of fury that lit every one of my senses like the laceration of a whip, the naga charged, the scales of his forearms fracturing as the long blades extended, hot green fluid dripping to leave sizzling pools of miasma ladened filth behind. His arms became as fluid as the rest of his slithering form, striking forward in sharp snaps that matched his cobra like head. Ryan lifted his blade, parrying as many as he could to preserve the strength of the shield that surrounded him which fizzled and sparked less and less with each continued strike.
That was when Acton emerged, his strong broad forearms swinging the massive sword in a sweeping arch that would have taken the head of the naga had he not flattened it as the blade swung overhead. Ness’ knives began to fly, one cleanly tearing through the Naga’s right hood flap.
I had prepared for another vial screech, the echo of the hiss still pummeling through my already wounded mind. But instead, the gleaming mouth pulled back in a smile - elongated fangs glimmering with the venom that crystallized as it hit the floor.
And that was when I knew playtime was over.
With one sudden strike, the shield surrounding Ryan burst in a series of lavender sparks that bounced harmlessly off of every surface they touched - fizzling the way a child’s sparklers would on a birthday cake. The naga’s tail whipped out, wrapping around Ryan in one fluid movement, squeezing tightly until the candidate had no choice but to drop his weapon or risk impaling himself with it. In a second rapid movement, the naga yanked free the spike at the end of his tail, slamming it down to pin the tip of his tail to the base a foot away from Ryan. And then, as if that hadn’t been shocking enough, he yanked his body free in a spray of dark burgundy blood and venom that scorched the earth, leaving Ryan entirely trapped within the tail’s grasp which was already beginning to dissolve, the acid burning through the protective leather of Ryan’s armor and directly into his flesh.
Ness’ quick reflexes came into play, and she threw a series of quick knives, one landing into the injured naga’s right shoulder. But rage and adrenaline had built, the bright green slits focusing on Acton with a deadly fury that few could match. Ignoring Ness, he struck, the two fighters coming to blows that shook the shields surrounding the arena.
Ryan’s screams grew louder, and I fought to keep myself down, clenching my fists so hard I was shocked I didn’t break the skin. Only Marik’s heavy psychic presence pushing down on my shoulders held me still as I shook with the need to break free, raw power pulsating through me as I could not do anything but watch.
