Everything Cirayus had ever done had been to help Vir. To push him and help him grow, in the Ash, and here, to force Vir to show the world just how formidable a warrior he truly was. To show the world how deserving he was of the Bairan Ultimate Bloodline Art.
Even this was for Vir’s sake.
And so, all Vir could feel was shame. That, despite his godfather giving him such consideration, he could not live up to expectations. That despite pushing past his limits, he could not win.
Vir fought desperately, warding off slash after slash, blow after blow, and Chakra attacks that rained upon him in an unending torrent, making him nauseous, delirious, and nearly crippled. It was only on account of Prana Current, the Artifact Chakram, and Vir’s relentless determination that kept him in the fight. The art accelerated his blood flow, and when combined with his pranites, proved useful in warding off some of the Chakra-induced hallucinations.
It was, however, not nearly enough.
Haste wavered and began to fail as the prana ran low within Vir’s body, and the infrequent nicks on his skin came faster, the cuts deeper. Blood ran down his arms, legs, and face in streams. One eye was fused shut from an augmented blow.
Despite Haste failing, the world seemed to slow for a moment. It was not the result of any ability or Chakra, but rather of Vir’s own mind. The end was near. In the next several seconds, he would either be knocked out of the ring, suffer a fight-ending blow, or he would be knocked unconscious.
Thousands of ideas ran through his head—kicks, strikes, Chakra attacks… All futile. All ended in failure. Some might delay that end by a few seconds, but what did it matter?
Vir’s eyes rose to the stands. It was the outcome the crowd expected. The defeat they couldn’t wait to see. Losing would make them happy, wouldn’t it?
And then, amid the throng of bodies, Vir’s eyes locked on one.
That ought to have been impossible. With as far away as she was, with so many people, singling out an individual couldn’t have happened without a telescope.
Ashani, however, appeared to Vir as though she were just a dozen paces away. He could make out every detail of her demonic armor. Her long black hair and her red eyes.
And she was saying something. Vir couldn’t hear the words, but he could read lips.
She was saying… “What are you waiting for?”
Vir didn’t understand. Waiting for what? he thought, his mind now hazy, distracted by the impossibility of having a conversation with Ashani in the split-second before his loss to Cirayus. It was as if the world no longer existed—that only he and Ashani were here.
At the same time, he felt his own body, seemingly moving at its normal pace. It truly made no sense.
“You know what you have to do,” Ashani mouthed.
What I have to… Understanding dawned. But I can’t! That is the one thing I cannot do.
“Are you not ready?”
I’m not… Am I?
He’d yet to obtain even a single Ultimate Bloodline Art. His demons—a paltry two hundred, training within the Ash—couldn’t possibly hold Samar Patag, even if they did somehow manage to take it.
“What of the Ash?” Ashani mouthed.
She was right. He didn’t need to storm Samar Patag immediately. The Ash was his. Only he had the keys to that realm. Only he could enter and exit as he pleased. No one else. It didn’t matter if the entire realm banded against him. One year at Mahādi was barely a few weeks outside, and he could strike from wherever he wished.
He had Cirayus, he had Thaman, and now… Now he had Ashani.
Wasn’t he ready? If not for outright rebellion, then at the very least, for the next step?
I am.
The answer came so easily. As though he had known it this entire time and was simply stalling. Nestled deep within his layers of false identity. Afraid to cross that point of no return.
If, however, crossing that line was what it took to shift the fate of this realm, then Vir decided there and then that he would take that step.
Right here. Right now.
Shan was gone. Vir had expended every last trick he had.
It was time to win this.
Vir saw Sikandar’s broken edge swing for his chest, promising certain defeat. In that instant, he saw the world more clearly than he ever had. He saw what must be done.
Prana Current surged beyond its safe limit, and the temporary tattoo that hid his prana from prying eyes burned away.
Vir, in full view of forty thousand souls, sank into the shadows.
117
THE FIGHT OF A LIFETIME (PART THREE)
“Now that’s a move!” Samik roared into his mic. “What sort of movement do you think that is, Nakin?”
Nakin, similarly on the edge of his seat in the commentator’s booth, replied with a quivering voice.
“It’s… like nothing I’ve ever seen, Samik. It… It reminds me of the Iksana’s Dance of the Shadow Demon. Has young Vaak managed to replicate something similar?”
“If so, it would be the invention of the century. Perhaps even the millennium! What a fight! What a show! And now, Vaak presses the offensive, unleashing a barrage of deadly blows against the Ravager! And the Ravager takes a hit! Is it just me, Samik, or do young Vaak’s strikes seem to pack more of a punch now?”
“Certainly looks that way, Nakin. For the first time in this fight, the Ravager’s getting pushed back. Oh! Vaak disappeared again.”
“There he is, launching a devastating surprise blow from the Ravager’s own shadow! I must say, Vaak truly has replicated the traits of the Iksana art with this.”
“And not just that, Nakin, but look at those strikes! The Ravager’s armor is falling apart. Notice how he’s avoiding the blows now?”
“Indeed. On the verge of defeat, Vaak has truly pulled off a monumental comeback. The two finalists are now at the center of the stage, with the Ravager being pushed back. OH! What a near miss from Vaak’s chakram!” Nakin roared as Cirayus’ upper arm was sliced open.
“Cut through like butter! The Ravager won’t be able to rely on his Bairan toughness against an Artifact of the Gods!”
“Quite right. That is one nasty weapon. And Vaak seems well versed in exploiting the disk. He’s got the Ravager on the—”
“Sorry to cut you off, Nakin, but there seems to be a commotion in the Iksana camp.”
“Indeed, they’re growing restless, Samik. I wonder what—Hey! What are you—! You can’t be in here! This is a private booth!”
The commentators cut out, and for a long moment, there was only silence.
The other clans looked around in confusion as the Iksana panicked for seemingly no reason.
Then Samik’s voice filled the stadium once more, and upon hearing his words, the whole stadium was sent into an uproar.
“Apologies, everyone, but… But we’ve just received new information. It seems that… Well, folks,” Samik paused, breathless, and more than a bit confused. “I don’t quite know how to put this. But we’ve been informed by our Iksana friends that Vaak is somehow using Ash prana…”
While Vir’s eyes were on Cirayus, his ears were tuned to the crowd. The noise, so blaringly loud at first, had actually grown once he used Dance of the Shadow Demon. Vir suspected the Iksana were the only clan who stopped cheering, but well, they were a quiet bunch to begin with, and the confusion they must surely have felt was easily overshadowed by the uptick in fervor from everyone else.
It won’t last, Vir knew. His window for victory had just shortened considerably. If he couldn’t nail this bout before the stadium got over its confusion, he was done for.