41BEWARE OF GODS BEARING GIFTS
Vir was not happy.
Maiya was off training with Tanya again, no doubt learning more secrets of the mejai.
He could’ve been spying on them right now, absorbing the mejai’s teachings—knowledge that might help him unlock the secrets of his own prana. Instead, he was stuck here, forced to duel Riyan against his will.
Of all the times he could’ve picked, why now?
Balancing on one leg atop one of the dozens of vertical posts Riyan had installed in the training dome, he glared at his instructor, eyes full of loathing. If he had to fight, he at least wanted to wipe that smirk off the smug man’s face.
The obstacle course had dominated the dome before, but it was downright bursting now with the addition of the posts, which ringed the base of the course. Each post was positioned a few paces apart—not quite close enough to step onto, but close enough to reach with a small jump.
The man stared back at Vir, smirking as he balanced on his own post with ease, thirty paces away.
“You fall, you lose. Begin.”
Vir sprang into motion, leaping aside. As always, this duel would have to be swift if he wanted any chance at victory, or his stamina would rear its ugly head.
The dozens of wooden posts were about five paces high, so a fall from this height wouldn’t kill him, but it wouldn’t be fun.
Months ago, Riyan had wiped the sand with him. He wasn’t the same as back then. He’d grown. This time, he didn’t intend to lose.
Vir fired off a chakri that sailed past Riyan, landing harmlessly in the sand below.
“Were you aiming at me? Or over there?” The man pointed to the sand as he leisurely hopped from one post to another.
Vir didn’t take the bait. He hurled another chakri, which went wide as well.
Apparently, Riyan had seen enough. Realizing that Vir was no threat from afar, the man jumped his way to Vir, skipping posts with his leaping strides.
And he isn’t even using Talents, Vir thought. The man had so many advantages, it wasn’t even close to fair. But despite all that, Riyan had walked right into his trap.
Vir jumped, meeting Riyan head-on. When the man was just ten paces away, he threw a chakram. This one sailed through the air, directly on an intercept course with his head.
Riyan’s speed worked against him, reducing the time he had to dodge the incoming strike. Yet somehow, using reflexes that shouldn’t be possible, the man brought his katar to bear and deflected the steel blade with a clang.
What he didn’t deflect was the chakri that followed behind. The smaller blade sliced a deep gouge into his cheek, leaving a trail of blood.
Vir hadn’t idled. Immediately after throwing the disks, he charged, slicing down with his katar. And Riyan was there to meet him with his own.
Their blades locked, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. Riyan’s bristled with confidence. Vir’s glowered with determination.
Riyan moved first.
Balancing on one leg made any kicking incredibly difficult, but the rules didn’t seem to apply to the man, who swept his dangling leg at Vir, threatening to knock his support out from under him.
Vir didn’t allow it. He jumped back, landing gracefully on the post behind him. Prana Vision gave him something akin to eyes in the back of his head when it was active. And right now, it was roaring at full steam.
He attacked once again, a flurry of motion and steel. What he lacked in strength, he made up with speed, launching attack after attack at Riyan, forcing the man onto the defensive.
Except, Riyan’s defense was more than his match. Even after a dozen strikes, Vir hadn’t landed a single hit. Rather, it felt like Riyan was deflecting each of his attacks in a way that destabilized him.
The message was obvious. The man was saying he could knock Vir off his post without even having to attack.
Vir was never one to blindly bash his head against something. The moment he realized he had no chance of winning a frontal engagement, he backed off, attempting to put several posts in between him and Riyan.
He was too late. Riyan’s blade came like a wraith, silent and deadly. Vir twisted, avoiding the savage strike, taking a gash to his forearm instead. Painful, but it didn’t hamper his ability to fight.
Unfortunately, Riyan’s attack robbed Vir of his balance, and he slipped off his post.
At this rate, he’d fall, and it would be his loss.
No badrakking way!
Wrenching his core muscles with everything he had, he twisted and reached out a hand to stabilize himself. His left arm gripped a post while his right leg straddled another.
It worked, but it left his back exposed.
Riyan didn’t hesitate to take advantage of this opening. He jumped, clearly intending to smash Vir’s back into the sand below.
But Vir wasn’t without ideas. He’d spent months running scenarios in his head against Riyan. And he’d come up with several potential solutions. Untested, of course, though what better time to prove his tactics?
Vir threw a chakri, not bothering to check whether it’d hit his opponent, then sheathed his katar and grasped the log post with both hands, allowing his legs to fall. Now, he was hugging the side of a single post with all four limbs.
Instinctively, he leaped out of the way onto another post before climbing back up, regaining his position. Riyan’s diving attack hit nothing but air.
Variation C, he thought, shifting his stance. If a storm of swords wouldn’t work, he’d have to rely on movement.
Vir bounded from post to post, circling Riyan like a vulture. The man merely observed, amused. And when Vir dove in, Riyan’s smirk shrank just a hair.
Another chakri flew at Riyan, and Vir was right behind it. If Riyan blocked the disk, he’d be wide open for Vir’s incoming attack. The proper move was to fall back to another post, but that man had too much honor to do so.
Riyan moved slightly, allowing the chakri to graze his other cheek while bringing his katar up to deflect Vir’s thrust.
How can he even do that?
The man hadn’t even blinked at the deadly chakri. Most people would flinch out of instinct. If Riyan felt fear, he certainly never showed it.
With Riyan about to block his strike, Vir ducked low, attempting a swipe, but his opponent jumped up at the last moment, allowing the katar to pass harmlessly under.
Vir didn’t even wait to see what his instructor retaliated with. The moment his strike missed, he was already repositioning to another post—and not a moment too soon. Riyan’s blade swiped at where his ankle had been just a split second ago.
The pattern repeated for several more exchanges. Vir would jump in, attempt an attack, only for Riyan to block or dodge, forcing Vir to escape within a hair’s breadth.
The tides turned the instant he ran out of chakris.
Without his ranged weapons to distract the warrior, Vir lost his only chance, and his body was tiring out.
The battle paused for a moment as the two fighters locked eyes.
This next encounter would be the last. Vir had to end the fight now, or he’d be forced to surrender. Prana Vision flared as bright as ever, but his body could take no more. His heart threatened to burst and took everything he had not to retch.
Riyan made the first move. He sailed through the air, katar strike telegraphed from a mile away.
A feint? Vir thought. It had to be. There was no way a seasoned warrior like Riyan would attack with such an amateurish move.
Unless… unless that’s exactly what he wants me to think.
The prudent move would be to back away, but Vir was on a timer.
Disobeying every instinct he had, Vir lunged with a thrust of his own.
Didn’t see this coming, did you?