Wish upon the Stars chapter 939

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Sometimes a blur of pain, sometimes of tension. Alanna was a brutal taskmaster, but an effective one. I learned a LOT about countering swordmasters. I wouldn’t say I was in any way prepared to become one myself, but when someone with a Mythical Skill dedicates a day to teaching you the basics, you pick them up pretty quick. Finally though, I was escorted to the arena where I was going to face my opponent.

It had been a long time since I’d been in an arena like this. The last one I remembered was the tournament back on Callus before our first departure. Despite all I’d been through, and how far I’d come, there was something…disquieting about that wait before I stepped out to face my enemy.

Above me, I could hear the roar of the audience, the pounding of feet on stands as they cheered and bayed for blood. Whether it be mine or my foe, I doubted most of them cared. It should have been terrifying, or disgusting, but it felt…freeing. No one here cared about me. No one had expectations beyond what they would have for any combatant. I would win. Or I would lose. Wyndham, god descendant, none of it mattered. As Abel had once told me, all blood looks the same when it’s splashed on hot sand.

And the sand WAS hot. I could feel the heat sizzling up from below as I stepped out into the arena. They called my name, and I emerged into a sea of bone white powder. Hell, maybe it WAS bone. I could check, but I didn’t really care to know.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Boomed a voice from all around me. “Today, we have a special treat. A powerful Ascendant of the Wyndham family. Son of Elijah Wyndham, the Wish Devil, and Sasha Anders, the Star Queen. Great-grandson of Black Sorrow herself, and defier of the Void. A warrior of skill and renown of such magnitude that he earned the fealty of the Vampire’s youngest daughter. Shane Wyndham, but they call him SOLOMON!”

In normal circumstances, I’d have tried look imposing, or dignified, or something politically savvy. But down here, in the hear and with the glaring light of the red sky reflecting up from the white sand around me, I had no need or use for words. I knew what these people wanted. I raised one fist above my head, and let out a primal bellow of bloodlust, infused with the demonic voice of Mephistopheles.

My roar echoed off the stands and the walls behind them, overtaking the baying howls of the crowd, and there was silence as every single watched froze under the sheer weight of my wordless declaration. One single beat of silence, before they howls and cheers redoubled, rising like an erupting volcano as they burst forth to roll over the arena, shaking the sand down to the individual grains.

“And in the other corner, an expression that makes no godsdamned sense because these arenas are all ROUND, you know him, you love him. Cyrus the RED! Cyrus is, of course hometown hero, a personal chosen representing the Lord of the Hall of Steel Himself, and a frequent combatant in these arenas in the D-tier bracket. Cyrus is, of course, undefeated at his own rank, and we’ve been informed that today is a very special day for him. You see, if Cyrus wins this fight, Lord Fade has agreed to compromise on the rank limits necessary to enter the Hall of Steel. For the first time in living memory, a D-ranker will be admitted to the Heartless Hundred. Every child’s dream is within Cyrus’s grasp, so you can bet he’ll fight to the bitter end for this victory. Good look Lord Wyndham, you’re going to need it.”

I glared around me, tapping into Mephistopheles as my voice boomed out. “If I find out that you’re trying to boost my opponent’s morale because you’ve placed a bet on this fight, I’m going to find you and kick your ass.”

There was an awkward pause, then the voice cleared its throat. “In other news, all proceeds from tonights victory among the staff will be donated to the Aendarl Aren’s widows and orphans fund. Let the fight begin, or whatever, I don’t know,” he petered off toward the end muttering under his breath as I smirked at the direction change.

Of course, I was already crossing the hot sand, heading for the center as a small man with dark hair and electric blue eyes strode to meet me.

Cyrus was surprisingly compact. I expected a big hulking brute, but the man was every bit the duellist I’d been warned about. Despite that, he wore a heavy dark red plate that glimmered like freshly spilled blood. We stopped about fifteen feet apart. “I’m guessing you really are going to go all out for this” I asked him casually.

He nodded, his expression grave. “I am. Are you prepared?”

My staff smacked into my palms, called from within my soul. I triggered Glory, and a boxy razor sharp blade extended from the end as my body filled with power. Behind me, my wings spread out in a display of force and ferocity as my Waltz roared to life in my veins, calling out to begin the dance.

“Like the man said,” I drawled. “Let the fight begin.” I blurred, vanishing in an explosion of black flame, appearing behind him. To my shock, his hands clamped down above his head, rising to meet a tide of blood that flowed over his armor, condensing into a colossal sword that intercepted my blow as I aimed it at his lower spine.

My black flame spear ate into the blood, but more of the red liquid poured down his blade to reinforce the damage, effectively neutralizing the attack.

He spun on his heel, the blade reforming to change attack angles, perfectly sliding into my blind spot…only to be deflected by the butt of my staff as I anticipated the maneuver and moved to counter his rhythm. Commander. His style was that of a Commander to use Alanna’s terminology.

Overwhelming force, brought to bear on the world around him as he attempted to conquer the space around him and force me to meet him on his own terms.

His sword flashed as he pressed the attack. Literally, it condensed into some kind of gemstone state, the weight dragging it down as the razor’s edge split the air…and then nothing else, as I drove forward at his back with my spear. Double Trouble had distracted him just long enough to commit to a blow. I grinned widely as I whirled my spear toward his spine again. I was going for disabling without actual death. Jessie could heal any long term damage.

I was so confident in the attack that I almost missed it when his red armor shifted again, spikes of red metal emerging from his back. My Danger Sense had been screaming non stop, so I was forewarned, and stepped back fluidly to dodge the attack. But Cyrus was better than I’d given him credit for.

Whether he knew I could sense danger or it was just dumb luck, he’d pushed back at me with two attacks. As I’d dodged the spike barrage, his sword had dropped, and then dissolved into liquid. When I moved to avoid the spikes, the whip of blood snapped taught, tripping me. Of the dozen spikes, eleven of them withdrew, the last one extending twice as far, and then whipped out to spear into my gut.

I screamed as my lower abdomen was drowned in molten fire, my staff snapping down towards the whip around my ankle, severing the tendril. As I pulled away though, I felt a tearing sensation as the red spike he’d used to punch through my armor shifted inside me, sprouting hooks and barbs.

The jagged edges caught on my abdominal muscles and what felt like something much more vital and TORE as I yanked myself off it, stumbling away with a gurgled scream. My staff dismissed, my hands shot down to my stomach. I triggered Zagan and Double Trouble again, and was treated to a front row seat of Cyrus whirling in an impossibly tight rotation as his blade reformed, whipping it through the neck of the illusion so fast that I think it took him a second to realize he hadn’t just beheaded me.

Stumbling away, I flooded my abdomen with green flame, sighing with relief. The purification wiped away all the poison from the damaged organs, and the life force helped staunch the internal bleeding. I was not in good shape, but it was better than nothing.

That had been an impossible attack. The speed of it. Not just the blood but the movement. He was moving too quickly for me to match up to. I’d assumed he might be faster, but this was beyond a bit of Might difference. It took me a second to figure it out and then I cursed. Blood. Not just the stuff on his armor. Looking close, I could see a red haze surrounding him, his skin flushed. I’d thought it was the heat, but paying closer attention he seemed to be in some sort of overclock state, burning his blood to enhance his physical body.

Stumbling to my feet, I stared him down as he turned to look at me. “You’re fast, and strong,” he said grimly. “And tricky. But that’s all it is. Tricks. You’re no warrior. No true combatant. Though I’m impressed you’re not curled up in a ball weeping on the ground. Your pain tolerance is astonishing.”

My mask receded like it did when I ate, and I spat a bloody chunk of something I’d rather not think about onto the sand. “Practice makes perfect,” I rasped. “But you’re talking like you’ve already won this? You think it’ll be that easy?”

“That blade shredded several of your organs,” he said idly. “Your blood is most likely turning septic. It might not kill you, but it’ll take some time to purge it all, and until you do, your body isn’t going to be in much shape to fight. In fact, the longer we talk, the more unsteady you’re becoming.”

Which explained the chat. He was stalling. My mask had reformed, so I didn’t have to hide my smile as I triggered my staff to boost Zagan to C-rank, flooding my body with healing fire that actually knitted it back together. Zagan was hands down one of my most overpowered forms, the intense specialization allowing it to operate far above its level, but at C-rank it was basically enough to close any wound that wasn’t made by an ACTUAL B-ranker, or at least a weapon of that level.

Meanwhile, Cyrus was staring me down, expecting me to be getting weaker and weaker. I triggered Glory again, surging Zagan’s vitalizing power into my body while it was still C-rank to both boost my regeneration and flood my body with strength. Cyrus noticed, nodding solemnly. “Well, it seems you’ve decided to die here. One last exchange then?”

I spun my staff experimentally, the black blade of the spear hissing as it ate away part of the white sand beneath my feet. As I did, I triggered another domain. Limbo. We’d been locked into a single tradeoff now, and that meant very limited futures. I kept up the spin, the blade of my spear cutting through potential outcomes one by one, narrowing the exchange down to a single possibility. With an explosion of black fire, I moved, appearing in front of Cyrus, my spear flickering out.

He’d been waiting, his blade splitting into five different spearing attacks aimed at my vitals. But I’d seen that. I turned my body. Some of the blades passed me by, some sliced into non essential body parts and my spear slipped into his gut, narrowly missing any vital organs as the edge clipped his spine, severing the nerves that held his body up.

Letting the blade fade, I allowed Glory to lapse as my still running C-ranked Zagan form got to work patching up my injuries. Cyrus stared down at the staff lodged in his gut, the only thing holding him up, and I didn’t bother saying anything. I levered the staff to the side, sending his limp form skidding across the sand, twitching and unable to move but still alive and fixable, and raised my weapon in the air. The screams of the crowd were all the last word I needed to get in.