The air in the pavilion crackled with anticipation, a tangible thing that pressed down on the eleven warriors locked in the arena below. Each held their stance, a coiled spring of muscle and focus, the scent of sweat and freshly turned earth thick in the air. For victory to be claimed, three more had to fall from the remaining group.
Aingo, however, seemed detached from the simmering tension. He leaned back in his ornate chair, one leg casually crossed over the other, his gaze sweeping over the brutal ballet unfolding in the ring. Then, his attention snagged on Rider. The younger man sat perched on the edge of his seat, a knot of anxiety tightening his features.
"What troubles you now?" Aingo's voice, low and steady, cut through the murmur of the crowd.
Rider didn't shift his gaze from the fray. "Only eleven left... the best of the best are down there. And Bianca... she's among them. I just hope she can pull through."
Aingo's brow furrowed, his usual expression of mild irritation deepening. "I confess, your sentiment escapes me. Let us entertain the improbable: Bianca triumphs in this seven-way melee, secures her place in the tournament, and by some further twist of fate, claims the win. You are aware that you would then be her opponent, yes? At this moment, she is your adversary. Cease this sentimental display."
Rider finally turned, a matching frown etching itself onto his face. "Seriously this again? She's the reason I even won my match! Her strategy, her support... she was looking out for me. That has to mean something."
"Then enlighten me," Aingo countered, his voice laced with a sharp edge. "Why has she entered this tournament herself?"
The question hung in the air, a barb finding its mark. Rider's certainty wavered, his lips parting and closing without forming words. He wrestled with the contradiction, unwilling to accept Aingo's cynical assessment. "Look, I don't know her reasons, but—"
Aingo's interruption was swift and decisive. "But nothing. If you cannot fathom her motives, consider this: she seeks the Red Katana for herself. She used your naive trust to her advantage."
The accusation struck Rider like a physical blow. He shot to his feet, fury blazing in his eyes. "You don't know that! You don't know her at all! All you've done is spew negativity since the beginning. She's... she's incredible!"
Before Aingo could retort, a chorus of angry shouts erupted around them. The spectators behind Rider were craning their necks, their view of the arena completely blocked by his sudden outburst. "Sit down, boy!" one bellowed. "We can't see!"
Rider's face flushed with embarrassment. He spun around, offering a series of jerky bows. "Forgive me! My apologies!" he stammered, sinking back onto his seat, pointedly ignoring Aingo who merely sighed, a weary sound that spoke volumes.
Just as the tension began to dissipate, a voice from the crowd pierced through the murmurs. "Hey! That girl from before... she's cornered!"
Rider's head snapped back towards the arena. His breath hitched. Bianca, her chest heaving, was desperately deflecting a relentless barrage of attacks from a hulking Laziba warrior. He had her pinned against the edge of the fighting circle. "Oh no," Rider whispered, his knuckles white as he gripped his knees. A wave of cheers rippled through the crowd, their bloodlust rising with Bianca's precarious position.
In the Battle Field:
Bianca's lungs burned, each inhale a ragged gasp. Every muscle screamed in protest, her energy reserves long depleted. The Laziba warrior, a brute of a man, pressed his advantage, his heavy sword whistling through the air with brutal efficiency. He had her backed against the dusty perimeter, the roar of the crowd a deafening testament to her impending elimination.
"This is where your little dance ends, pretty girl," he snarled, a wide, unsettling grin splitting his face.
But defiance still flickered in Bianca's eyes. She waited, her senses honed despite her exhaustion, until the Laziba warrior raised his sword high for a final, crushing blow. In that split second, she moved. A swift, unexpected step forward, followed by a sharp elbow that slammed into his gut. The warrior grunted, momentarily stunned, but his rage only intensified. He lunged, his sword a blur of steel aimed at Bianca's exposed side. With a desperate twist of her body, Bianca narrowly avoided the thrust, simultaneously hooking her foot behind his ankle. The Laziba warrior roared in surprise as he lost his balance, his massive form tumbling out of the ring.
But the victory came at a terrible cost. The edge of his descending sword ripped a deep gash along Bianca's flank, staining the earth crimson. She crumpled to the ground, clutching the bleeding wound, a strangled cry escaping her lips.
From his elevated position, Azrael's jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek. He fought to maintain his neutral facade as he announced, his voice betraying a hint of forced calm, "Only ten warriors remain." Beside him, the King, sharp eyes missing nothing, noted the subtle shift in Azrael's demeanor. "Is everything alright, Captain?" he inquired. Azrael offered a strained smile. "Perfectly fine, Your Majesty."
Rider watched the scene unfold, a cold dread gripping his heart. Bianca lay helpless, victorious yet vulnerable. This is bad. Really bad. How can she possibly continue?
Meanwhile, Bianca fought back the encroaching darkness. Her teeth gritted against the searing pain, she forced herself to sit up, her hand pressed tightly against the bleeding wound. I can't give up now. I've come too far. I have to push through, no matter what.
As she struggled to her feet, three more warriors, a rough-looking band, approached her, their grins predatory. Their leader, a wiry man with a cruel glint in his eyes, chuckled. "Well, lookie here, boys. A little girl made it this far." His companions echoed his laughter. "What's wrong, pretty? Can't fight anymore?" he taunted. "Too bad for you. Because right now, I'm gonna toss you out of this ring, and then maybe go rough up those other two dullards while I'm at it." Belton, their leader, a sneer twisting his lips, watched Bianca struggle. But a spark ignited in her eyes, fueled by sheer will. Her legs trembled, threatening to buckle, yet she pushed herself upright. "Or perhaps," she rasped, a forced smirk mirroring his own, "I have a better idea. How about I toss you and your little goon squad out of this arena and win this whole damn tournament for everyone?"
Belton's booming laughter echoed across the dusty ground. "Seriously? You can barely stand, little bird. Talk less of eliminating us. Don't worry, I'll make this quick and painless."
Bianca's inner world was a storm of desperate pleas. I can't lose. Not now. I've come too far. I made a promise. Her muscles screamed in protest, refusing to obey her commands. Come on, body, move! Damn it! Then, the agonizing throb in her side intensified, a wave of numbness washing over her. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed, the feeling draining from her limbs. I'm sorry, Rider... I failed you. Tears welled in her eyes, hot trails down her dirt-streaked cheeks. I'm so sorry.
Rider, from the pavilion, watched in horrified silence as the three warriors loomed over Bianca, their victory seemed imminent.
"HEY, MORONS!"
The taunt, sharp and unexpected, sliced through the tense atmosphere. The three warriors froze, turning as one to see two figures striding towards them. The first, a stocky youth with a fiery glint in his eyes, swung a double-bladed polearm loosely at his side, a length of cloth wrapped around the wicked-looking blades. He moved with undisguised anger. The second, smaller and leaner, clutched a sword staff, its single blade gleaming subtly in the arena light, and grabbed his companion's arm, his expression a mixture of apprehension and forced nonchalance.
Belton, confusion etched on his face, addressed the newcomers. "What in the blazes do you want? Can't you see we're busy here, huh?"
The smaller of the two bowed quickly, a nervous smile flickering across his lips. "Our apologies! We seem to have gotten... terribly lost in this rather large ring, you see. Please, do carry on." He tugged insistently at his companion's arm, trying to steer him away.
But the stockier youth shrugged off the restraining hand, a defiant smirk spreading across his face. "You know the second thing I hate most in this world, pal? Cowardly bullies picking on someone who can barely stand." He gestured towards his reluctant companion with his cloth-wrapped double-bladed polearm. "Reminds me a little too much of that Dextin creep. Why don't you three overgrown gnats try facing me and my brother instead?" He gestured towards his reluctant companion with a challenging grin.
Bianca, still on her knees, stared up at the unexpected intervention, a flicker of disbelief and a fragile tendril of hope stirring within her. The crowd, a moment ago baying for Bianca's downfall, now buzzed with astonished anticipation at the sudden, dramatic turn of events. A new showdown was brewing.