Chapter 67 The new history
The cloud descended. It was a fact so simple, so bizarrely out of place in the stone and blood reality of the arena, that it bypassed comprehension and went straight to the awe section.
Not only the bleeding black haired man saw it. Every eye in the stadium, from the highest noble's box to the bloodstained sand. The cloud, a perfect, solitary cumulus puff, drifted down with serene. The thing was ignoring the laws of wind and weather.
It came to a gentle stop just above the fallen knight. From within its nebulous form, a voice emerged, clear, calm, and faintly exasperated.
"You weren't hit that badly. Your vitals were protected by your own muscle and my mana.You are not dying, so please, stop with the dramatic ending."
The knight, whose mind had already begun its final, sorrowful journey towards the stars, jolted as if struck by lightning. The voice was not in his head. He tapped his chest, his side. The pain was sharp, real, but not the deep, cold agony of fatal wounds.
His hands came away bloody, but the spears had missed arteries and organs by a margin that felt like divine intervention. Slowly, shakily, he pushed himself up onto his elbows.
As he rose, he got a closer look at his savior. It was a cloud, but it held a form of a vague, half-torso shape, roundish and shifting. Two darker patches within it might have been eyes.
Seeing this, maybe I already died after all, he thought, the situation too surreal for his battle hardened mind to accept. He simply stared, trapped between pain and disbelief.
Moon paid the man no further mind. His form shifted subtly, and his gaze a palpable, chilling pressure turned and settled upon Marquess Valerius.
The Marquess felt that gaze like a physical weight on his shoulders, a sudden drop in temperature that had nothing to do with the night air. His mind, so adept at political calculations and cruel games, raced to categorize this new variable.
A summoned elemental? An illusion? A powerful mage's projection? The danger was immediate and formless.
His eyes darted to the knight, whom the cloud had clearly and publicly saved. The old lever, the one that had never failed, presented itself. He straightened his back, forcing authority into his voice.
"If you, or that cloud, come any closer," he declared, pointing a trembling finger at the rising knight.
"that man's family. I will not be able to guarantee their safety."
The effect was instantaneous. The cloud, which had begun a slow, drifting movement towards the noble's platform, stopped.
Seeing this reaction, the Marquess let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. A bead of sweat traced a cold line down his temple, but a thin, triumphant smile stretched his lips. The rules still applied. "You are not unintelligent. That's good. We can work this through just fine. There is no need for further unpleasantness…"
As he spoke, the cloud began moving again. Not faster, but with the same inexorable, slow drift. It was elevating itself bit by bit, rising to the exact level of the Marquess's platform, closing the gap with terrifying patience.
The Marquess's smile vanished. Panic, raw and unfamiliar, clawed at his throat. "You don't understand!" he barked, his voice losing its cultured edge. "If his family dies! The heartache, the pain he would feel! Could he even live with himself? Would he want to? Think of his suffering!".
He was babbling now, trying to rebuild a wall of control that was crumbling into mist. He had stated the consequence, the main point of his leverage. It had always worked before.
Just as he was about to reiterate his threat, a new voice spoke, calm and cold. A breath beside his right ear.
"Do it."
The Marquess flinched violently, nearly stumbling off the platform. He turned his head and there, floating effortlessly beside him, was the beast.
It was closer than he could have imagined. Its perfect black and yellow furred body was sleek, its orange eyes like captured embers holding his reflection. Its lean, muscular arms were crossed, and a long, slender tail with a needle sharp tip waved slowly in the air behind it.
Most unnerving were the wings. They were large, powerful, and utterly silent. The Marquess had not heard a whisper of their flapping.
Beads of cold sweat now freely dotted the noble's forehead and upper lip. From his youngest days, Marquess Valerius had lived a life of curated power. Danger was something he ordered, not something he experienced.
This was different. This was not a report of a commoner's death in some far off district. This was the chill of a blade at his own neck, the silent presence of a predator that did not recognize his title, his wealth, or his threats.
Before he could form a coherent word, his loyal guards, finally shaking off their own stupor, rushed forward. They crossed their spears before their master, the points aimed at Raiz's chest.
Raiz did not even glance at them. He simply waited, his orange eyes fixed on the Marquess, tail swinging with calm wave.
The cloud, Moon, took his time.
The arena, which usually thrived on roaring chaos, was now a tomb of dead silence. Thousands watched, breath held, as the nebulous form finally came to a stop, hovering just one meter in front of the trembling noble.
From within the cloud, the voice spoke again, flat and devoid of negotiation. "I have only one request for you. Free everyone. The warriors here. And their families. Every single one."
The command left no room for argument. The Marquess, trapped between the silent beast and the speaking cloud, his guards' spears feeling pitifully inadequate, could only manage a weak, jerky nod.
Seeing the nod, Raiz finally moved. He unfolded his arms and flew smoothly down to the arena floor, landing beside Zion.
Without a word, Zion reached out and grabbed Raiz's offered shoulders, his own feet lifting off the sand as Raiz took to the air again. Amilios, with a powerful swing of his own wings, rose to join them.
Raiz then flew to where Skele stood, still gaping. He didn't land, but simply hooked his hands under Skele's arms and lifted him unceremoniously off his feet, drawing a startled yelp from the man.
Carrying him like a suitcase, Raiz flew up to Moon. As they approached, the cloud extended a wisp of itself. Now skele was set floating elegantly beside Moon as if standing on an invisible platform.
Now, the tableau was complete.
Moon and a levitating Skele before the Marquess, with Raiz carrying Zion and accompanied by Amilios hovering just behind.
Moon's dark patches seemed to bore into the noble. Skele, sensing the climax of the performance, straightened his back with theatrical flair. He lifted his right hand, finger pointed skyward for dramatic emphasis.
"Just in case you have any funny ideas after we're gone," Skele announced, his voice carrying surprisingly well.
"Let me show you the cost of breaking your word."
He took a deep, visible breath. "Skele!"
Above the arena, the clear night sky shattered. Clouds gathered not from the horizon, but from nothingness, boiling into existence directly overhead.
They were not peaceful white puffs, but dark, roiling thunderheads that blocked out the moon and stars. A howling, localized wind screamed around the island, shaking the stadium's highest banners. And then, the lightning happened.
Vicious, blinding forks of white purple energy did not strike the arena. They hammered the outer edges of the island and empty docks. It continued its journey into the deserted perimeter forests and the rocky cliffs.
Each strikes was a thunderous.
CRaack
It vibrated through the very bones of the fortress, followed by the distant, ominous glow of fire. It was a display of a true power, meticulously aimed to terrify, not to destroy the audience.
The storm, having made its statement, began to dissipate as quickly as it formed. And with it, the cloud, the floating man, the winged beast carrying a human, and the second, silent monster… they all simply faded from view. Completely vanishing into the retreating as if they had never been there.
In the sudden, ringing silence and the return of shaky moonlight. Skele now standing alone on the platform . He let out a huge, genuine sigh of relief. His role was over, and he was profoundly glad to be alive.
But to the thousands of pale, stunned faces in the crowd, that sigh looked like the satisfaction of a destroyer admiring his handiwork.
The last image they had was of the strange, weak-seeming man who had commanded a storm, looking upon the Marquess's humiliated form with what they could only interpret as cold, terrifying pleasure. The game was over.
The players had left the board. And they had rewritten all the rules on their way out.
These people were the bad crop of the kingdom. This place they called their pleasure was thrown into chaos by a seemingly the weak human.
This story would be told amongst themself and those prisoners and the fortunate ones who survived tonight, would tell quite the tell tonight.