But her foe leaped back, springing out of the hole he’d made with surprising athleticism, and created a second crater where he landed, the ground shattering anew.
A second furrow flew out, tearing a wide ditch through the sparring circle towards where Jova ran, and this time she angled her approach so that she could leap clear across it.
Again Massamach leaped, and again, and each time new furrows, a yard or so wide and several feet deep flew out across the ever more ruined sparring circle to where Jova approached. The shards of rock speared up, making their edges perilous, forcing Jova to dive between them with impossible agility as she negotiated the badlands that Massamach was turning the sparring circle into.
A fourth, a fifth, and Scorio thought Jova would actually close with Massamach when her luck ran out. The terrain immediately before him had become so wracked and ruined it was nearly impassable, fissured and splintered into a mass of sharp stone shards and cracks. Jova leaped over the fifth furrow as it roared out toward her, but lost her footing and fell into the belly of one of the trenches, going down onto one knee.
Massamach wasted no time. Again he leaped back, and this time he sent a furrow surging toward her along the same path as the one in which she knelt.
It hit her full-on, an invisible force impacting with enough force to pick her up and hurl her a dozen yards down the furrow’s length, to crash and roll over the sharp rocks and lie still.
Scorio felt the blow as if it had been directed at him; he gaped, shocked, to see Jova lain low.
Massamach stood still, shoulders heaving, and then leaped again.
A deeper furrow raced toward where Jova was stirring, hurling spears of rock to each side as it went, and slammed into her, picking her up once more and throwing her closer to the sparring circle’s edge.
She came to a stop, her robes torn, her flesh lacerated, and again lay still, face down amidst the chunks of rock.
“He’s going to do it,” said Leonis breathlessly. “If he hits her one more time and knocks her out of the ring before she gets up…”
“You think she’s getting up?” asked Scorio doubtfully.
“Oh, honey,” said Lianshi, and he felt her hand on his shoulder. “She hasn’t even started yet.”
Massamach took a deep breath and once more leaped into the air. Each assault was taking a toll on him; he was drenched in sweat, and his jumps seemed to take ever more effort. But once more he landed into a new crater, digging himself even deeper into the rock, and sent a fresh furrow roaring toward Jova.
About whose form, Scorio now saw, jagged arcs of black lightning were beginning to play. She stirred, raised her head, and Scorio recoiled from the flat fury in her eyes. With effort, she popped up, drawing her legs under her into a crouch, and then leaped clear of the furrow just as it roared past her and sent fragments of rock flying into the darkness beyond the circle.
“That’s it,” said Lianshi. “He missed his chance.”
Jova landed on a section of unbroken ground and rose to her full height. She was in rough shape, torn and lacerated by the rocks, blood causing her left cheek to gleam red, one shoulder slumped as if something critical had broken. But the black lightning continued to play about her, and now she began to walk purposefully toward Massamach.
He stood, heaving for breath, chest working like a bellows, staring dull-eyed at his foe. He took a moment to gather himself, and Scorio could feel the effort it took him to bend his knees and leap again. Tendons stood out in Massamach’s neck, his whole body strained, and again he cratered and hurled a furrow toward Jova.
She stepped aside, but without any real concern. The furrow clipped her, huge jags of rock spearing up into her side, but they simply knocked her aside and caused her to stumble.
Catching her balance, Jova straightened once more and resumed her approach.
“Gives me chills,” whispered Leonis. “Watch. I bet she doesn’t even bother to dodge the next one.”
Scorio stared intently at Jova, studying her closely for signs of new wounds. Two huge spikes of stone had slammed into her side with enough force to break bone, but her arm, while sporting a new gash, seemed otherwise unharmed.
Again Massamach leaped, and a smaller furrow roared forth, shallower and with less power behind it.
And this time, Jova simply walked straight into it. Stone spikes rose about her, but she didn’t even look down. Instead, she simply paused, lowering her head as she was buffeted by the invisible force that Massamach had unleashed, and then resumed striding forth.
Massamach backed away, climbing out of the layered craters he’d created, and retreated into his half of the circle.
Scorio blinked. Jova’s side was a wasteland of trenches and chasms, while Massamach’s remained pristine. The sight when taken in as a whole was surreal.
Gasping for air, the huge man drew himself up and waited.
Jova reached the midway point and grimly climbed up out of the last crater to face him.
For a moment, nothing happened, both contestants staring at each other, then Jova resumed striding forward.
Massamach let out a roar of defiance, leaped forward, and followed his surging furrow, racing after it right at Jova. The furrow carved out the ground beneath her feet, its buffet barely swaying her, then Massamach drove his huge fist across her jaw.
The force behind the blow was palpable, and Scorio winced, closing one eye. It would have caved in the side of anyone else’s face.
Before Jova could react, Massamach buried an uppercut into her stomach, grabbed her head and wrenched it down into his knee, then laid into her with a flurry of furious blows, pounding her as he shouted in desperation.
Jova took the blows, making no effort to ward them off.
Only to straighten up when Massamach backed away, looking so winded he might vomit, and resume walking toward him.
Her face was unchanged. No—he’d split her lip, Scorio saw, and blood was trickling from one nostril, but that was it.
Massamach was weaving with exhaustion now, fists still raised, and when Jova came close enough he threw more punches which she batted away. There was no strength behind them, and suddenly she was inside his guard. Faster than Scorio could follow, she slammed her brow into the bridge of his broad nose.
Massamach reeled back, arms going wide.
And Jova leaped, rising high enough to bring both interlaced fists across his jaw with such strength that Massamach’s head spun around, neck breaking, and promptly fell in a heap at her feet.
Jova stared down at him. She wasn’t even winded. Her wounds and cuts had to pain her, but her expression was hard, controlled. Then, without looking up, she raised a fist into the air, a simple gesture of conquest.
“Damn,” whispered Leonis.
Scorio blinked, released the magnified view, and looked out over the other sparring circles. Most of the fights were already over, with perhaps five or six only left in their final phases. He gazed numbly at the fights but didn’t really register what he saw.
He was just starting to come out of his reverie when the last of the fights ended; a man whose flesh glowed with a hellish crimson light slammed his way through a barrier of rock and drove his burning fist through his opponent’s head, ending the bout, and the crowd that filled the stands let out a raucous cheer.
Scorio blinked and turned to his friends. “How can anyone defeat her?”
“She’s not invincible,” said Lianshi firmly. “She’s just an Emberling, with Emberling-grade power.”
“Supposedly,” said Leonis, pitching his voice to carry over the cheers. “I bet she’d give a Tomb Spark a run for their money, though.”
“But how do you beat her? If she takes less damage the more damage she takes, doesn’t that make her… invulnerable?”
Leonis frowned, and Lianshi just shook her head.
“Congratulations, winners of the eighth round!” Helminth’s voice boomed out over the arena. “Thirty-two champions stand tall, while thirty-two defeated Great Souls shall now move into the Loser’s Bracket. We honor your valiant efforts and recognize the greatness of the martial displays!”