The arena fell into silence as Zander stepped forward. Dust crunched under his boots, and the air seemed thicker, as though the whole hall itself was holding its breath.
Across from him, the Lygari youth emerged. Taller by at least two heads, his frame rippled with cords of muscle plated in scales. Black and green glistened across his hide, mottled patterns like oil streaking across stone. A long tail lashed lazily behind him, gouging furrows into the earth with casual menace.
The Lygari's eyes—slitted, molten emerald—locked onto Zander with a predatory calm. His claws flexed once, long and sharp, scratching against each other with a metallic screech. The sound bit into the silence like knives.
Zander's pulse slowed. His breathing softened. In his heightened awareness, every detail sharpened—how the sand shifted under the beast's talons, how his chest expanded with each measured breath, how the low thrum of hostility in the air pressed against Zander's skin like static.
From the stands, whispers cut into the silence:
"Too big."
"Look at the claws…"
"He's already lost."
But Zander wasn't hearing words anymore. He was hearing rhythms. The scrape of scale against scale. The thump of the tail against the ground. The slow, heavy tempo of a heart pumping blood into massive veins.
The signal came. The match began.
The Lygari exploded forward with a roar that rattled teeth. His stride was heavy, like an avalanche on legs, claws swiping in a vicious arc meant to cleave Zander in half.
Yet to Zander, it wasn't fast.
He shifted his weight before the strike even reached him, sliding back in a blur. The claws missed his chest by a hair's breadth. He felt the wind of their passing, sharp enough to sting his skin, but they did not touch him.
The crowd gasped.
Another strike, downward this time—brutal, crude. Again—slow. Predictable. The claws left the shoulder open, the balance tilted. Zander evaded, weaving under, boots skimming across the ground. His body moved almost of its own accord, guided by instincts sharpened beyond thought.
Why so slow? Zander thought, incredulous. Why so obvious?
The sheer power of the blows was undeniable—each one cracked the stone floor, spraying fragments into the air. The force behind them could have torn a lesser fighter in two. But the rhythm was savage, untamed. Compared to the drills of Sensei Slade, compared to the machines' merciless consistency, this Lygari's movements were riddled with flaws.
Another swipe—dodge. A tail strike—duck. A kick like a hammer—sidestep.
To the audience, Zander looked like a phantom dancing through the storm, slipping between lethal attacks with uncanny precision. But inside, he was bewildered.
This shouldn't be possible. He's stronger, heavier, faster on paper. But why can't he touch me?
A grin flickered across the Lygari's reptilian maw, revealing serrated teeth. He lunged again, jaws snapping forward. Zander pivoted, rolling past the strike, feeling the hot rush of breath graze his ear.
Something inside him clicked.
He stopped thinking about evasion. He stopped being surprised. His senses aligned in harmony—the vibrations underfoot, the rush of displaced air, the beat of a heart just a moment before a strike. The rhythm of the world.
And then—he struck.
His fist coiled at his side, the Heavenbreaker stance snapping into place. But this was no ordinary blow. The breakthrough of nights past resonated through him, guiding his hand. His knuckles tightened, his arm twisted, his whole body moving not in a straight line but in a spiraling wave.
The Heavenbreaker Riptide.
He drove his fist into the Lygari's abdomen.
At first, it seemed like any other punch—impact, muscle against scale. But then the vibrations surged, spiraling inward, not stopping at the surface but drilling deeper.
The Lygari's body convulsed. His eyes bulged wide as the resonance tore through him. Inside his chest, his organs quivered violently, rattling against bone. A wet, awful sound escaped his throat.
He dropped to his knees. Blood spewed from his mouth in a crimson spray. His claws clutched at his stomach as if trying to hold it together, but the internal damage was already done. His tail thrashed once, twice, then stilled.
The mighty predator collapsed face-first into the sand, twitching, before going still.
For a moment, silence reigned. Even the Lygari side froze, disbelief flashing in their slitted eyes.
Then—cheers erupted from the human side. A roar of joy, raw and unrestrained. Voices cried Zander's name, fists pumped into the air, the sound of hope breaking chains of despair.
Zander lowered his hand, chest heaving. He didn't raise it in victory. He didn't smile. His gaze lingered on the fallen Lygari, on the blood soaking into the arena floor.
I… won?
He almost couldn't believe it. His senses still rang with the vibrations of the strike, the echoes of pain he had inflicted. The fight hadn't felt equal. It had felt—one-sided.
But before the joy could settle, a voice cut through it all.
"Interesting."
The word came from above, cold and heavy. A Lygari elder stood, towering over his peers. His scales were deep bronze, horns curling back from his skull. His voice was calm, but the contempt in it dripped like venom.
"You bring us children to fight. And one surprises. Yet do not think this means you are equal."
The arena hushed. Humans stiffened, the joy snuffed out like a candle.
The elder's eyes fixed on Zander, then shifted to Veylan and the human representatives.
"These youths," he continued, gesturing to the fallen black-green Lygari, "are our lower stock. Barely tested. If you wish to claim victory, then face one of our higher young. A true son of Lygari blood."
Murmurs of outrage surged from the human side.
"That wasn't the agreement!"
"This is mockery!"
"Unfair!"
But the elder only bared his teeth in a grin. "Or do you admit your victory was hollow?"
The tension spiked. Veylan's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. The other instructors shifted uneasily. The humans were cornered—deny the challenge, and admit weakness. Accept, and risk annihilation.
Zander stood silent, his senses still humming. He could feel the hostility pouring from the Lygari stands, a thousand heartbeats pounding in unison. He could feel the faint tremors of fury in the floor beneath his boots.
He closed his eyes, the echoes resonating within him.
The cheers of moments ago were gone. What remained was cold silence, heavy and suffocating.
And the knowledge that this was far from over.