No, Vir had to rouse the Gargans, building their spirit and gaining their loyalty… all while avoiding the notice of the Chitran.
“With all that said!” the Overseer shouted. “Should you perform poorly, or, Vera-forbid, if you’re among the earliest to get knocked out, you will be punished. Mark my words. You do not want to be punished. So you’d better give it your all! The fight begins now! You have half an hour. May the best among you win.”
Vir pursed his lips. This would be bloody, brutal, and exceedingly tricky.
Mayhem broke out in an instant.
Vir wasn’t sure what he’d expected. That the prisoners would collectively revolt against the guards, that they’d refuse to fight one another, or that they’d organize matches of their own.
Reality was far more grim. Magic of all affinities flew in every direction, and demons sank into each other like packs of rabid wolves, hurling kicks and punches, and even biting each other.
A dozen fights among pairs or groups of three or four broke out, devolving into what Vir imagined a battlefield must look like. At least on a battlefield, there was some sense of direction—some sense of purpose. Here, there was only chaos.
Some fought bravely, while others scampered away. Yet others preyed on those who couldn’t fight, avoiding the stronger combatants.
Vir saw a demon fall—unconscious—only to have his head trampled by another, shattering his nose.
Stray magic hit unsuspecting demons, who were in turn taken down by others. A few strayed Vir’s way, but Prana Armor kept him safe, allowing him to ignore it. Since no one present could actually see prana, he succeeded in avoiding any attention.
That was, up until a blow came his way. Almost subconsciously, Vir grabbed the arm, tripped his assailant, and sent him to the ground.
Alone, such an attack posed no threat to him anymore. When combined with the Warrior Chakra, it became an attack he could no longer ignore.
Without Chakra, Vir doubted there was a single demon present who could pose him any real harm. Yet again, reality was not so kind, and Chakra-laden mind attacks and physical strikes filled the battlefield, turning it very lethal for Vir.
An icicle hurled for Vir, but he dodged, taking down another demon.
“Thought you weren’t a Warrior?” Balagra huffed, having just driven away a group of nearby demons. He was in his half-Naga Naga form, and a cloud of silver prana hung about him. His legs had disappeared, replaced by a serpent’s tail, which he used to strangle and whack his opponents—often sending them flying. Even if it didn’t, the Chakra he imbued in them forced them to defend.
“Does one need to be a Warrior Calling if they wish to protect themselves?” Vir shot back.
Balagra grunted and cracked a smile. “Fair enough. What do you say we watch each others’ backs? I could use someone capable beside me.”
Vir returned the Naga’s smile. He’d been planning to ask the same, after all. “Fine by me. But only if you can control your magic so it doesn’t harm me.”
Vir had been observing the demon fight, and what he’d seen left him confused. Balagra’s tattoo functioned quite differently than anything he’d envisioned.
“That, at least, is no issue,” Balagra chuckled as he pummeled another demon nearby. The demon tripped and fell… and then his skin started to bubble. The demon screamed and ran.
“I thought the Panav specialized in the healing arts?” Vir asked. Balagra’s magic had created something of a moat around himself, with demons attacking then quickly retreating around whatever it was that burned off their skin.
“I’m unsurprised you haven’t heard of Corruption,” Balagra said casually, even while he fought. “Among the Panav Bloodline Arts, it is by far the rarest. And not looked upon with any fondness by my people, I’m afraid.”
Vir wanted nothing more than to ask Balagra all about what led him to choose such a tattoo, but it would have to wait until later. Unlike Balagra, Vir possessed no physical Chakra defenses, and even the mental ones required him to open his Foundation Chakra to counter.
The issue was that no Chakra could be left open indefinitely, and Vir had only recently opened his. He had to exercise extreme caution about when and how long he left it open. Too late, and he’d succumb to an illusion, leaving him vulnerable. Too early, and he may not have enough concentration left to defend against the next attack.
This was combat on another level than what he was used to. There was the physical plane, with strikes, dodges, and parries. The prana plane, with Bloodline Arts and prana-infused attacks, and finally the Chakra plane, with its metaphysical elements.
Combat in the Demon Realm—true combat, among masters—was in another league when compared to human fighting.
Making matters worse, the weaklings had all been weeded out. Either from being knocked unconscious or by pretending they were.
Those that remained were strong, and Vir was elated to count the gray demon and the Kothi he’d scouted among their number. Either they were proficient at combat, or they were extremely good at running away from danger. Both were valuable traits in their own right.
“Let’s avoid those two if we can,” Vir said, pointing to each in turn.
Balagra shrugged his agreement, and they continued to fight, falling into a rhythm. Balagra’s Corruption Field kept enemies at bay, moving as they did. The courageous ones who attempted to penetrate were met with Vir’s grappling techniques, which had them pinned and writhing on the ground.
Luckily, there seemed to be none among them who could imbue their ranged prana attacks with Chakra.
Together, they proved to be a near-unstoppable force. Teamwork, it seemed, was the last thing on most prisoners’ minds, and with Balagra’s training, they brought demons down wherever they went.
True to his word, Balagra ensured Vir was never harmed, and Vir couldn’t help but be amazed by the demon’s level of control.
The free-for-all had gone surprisingly well, and only five minutes remained. Vir was starting to suspect they’d all make it out of this unscathed… when the inevitable happened.
Vir scanned the battlefield, his eyes coming to rest on the gray demon he’d scouted—the one who’d visibly reacted to the family the slavers had nearly turned into slaves—fighting some fifty paces away. He watched as the four-armed red demon behind him flared his tattoo—prana building.
It built… and it kept on building. Worse—the red demon’s expression was warped into a mask of rage so fierce it was almost feral.
Vir knew then that there would be no escape from such a blow. Whatever grudge this demon held was personal, and whatever magic he was about to unleash would be lethal.
With that realization came another—that there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Vir would have to Blink there to make it in time. A movement art so powerful that it’d ordinarily be impossible here in the Demon Realm would raise questions. Questions Vir would be entirely incapable of answering.
And yet, he couldn’t let that demon die. It may only have been a hunch. He might very well be wrong. But Vir didn’t believe the gray demon was a bad person.
And so, he disappeared. Carrying the momentum of Blink, he smashed his elbow into the four-armed demon’s back.
The poor fool didn’t even realize what hit him. His target spun, but he saw nothing. Vir Blinked back to Balagra’s side. Hoping the demon wouldn’t have noticed his absence.