1
Commanding everyone's attention with her flamboyant call out, Fena felt the entire world's eyes all peering into the depths of her soul. You better be looking! she said to herself, ready to let every single one of them have it. The spectators had behaved like utter savages, Fenrir had treated his sister so horribly and Horace, he was by far the worst of the lot and Fena just couldn't wait to tell him exactly what he'd ought to hear.
"I dunno what the heck you or your fat dads problem is—what, ya think that you can just boss people around and make them do what you say just because they're weak?" GaleForces' mountainous figure towering over that helpless woman flashed in Fena's eyes. It made her blood boil. "In that case, you better get on your knees and surrender right now, cuz I'm way stronger than you, crybaby boy!"
After setting Fenrir straight, Fena turned her attention to the crowd. "And who the heck do you all think you are? Why don't you try stepping in there you cowards! All you do is—h-hey!" Though it'd taken a while for her to notice, far too long a while in fact, belatedly spotting the recipient of her challenge making his leave of the battlegrounds and the spectators conversing amongst themselves, not a soul amongst the thousands crammed into The Phoenix's Nest had paid Fena's ranting and raving much more than an ounce of attention. Soaring through the air, she'd held the entire world within the palm of her hand for just a moment, she was certain that even The Goddess Origin must have been watching, until solid ground welcomed her back down to the reality that faced her, or in other words, had already left her behind.
"How poetic! Whomever you may be—or even profess to be—young man, it seems to me that my supporters have spoken! Though, as is the way of such cultured connoisseurs of communication, rely upon words they needn't, for their actions have delivered their swift judgement unto you in such splendid harmony."
Fena scrambled for her words. She didn't care what the people wanted at all, but having their rejection of her challenge stuffed in her face like this by someone beaming with such a playful snigger on his face made it sting far more than it should have. "I don't care what the people want. I wanna fight him."
Caleb John Emberfield raised an inquisitive gloved finger to his pointed chin. His hair swayed, following him like a cloud of gold dust as he looked on at Fenrir Ember, then toward his father, Horace. A devious grin stretched the corners of his thin lips wide. "Dare I say it, dare I confess to wish for it, dare I even disgrace His Eminence and the Young Lord's ears with such a selfish request?"
The eccentric orator swung his arms out wide of himself, slowly panning the breadth of the crowd as though he were meeting the eyes of each and every spectator who'd journeyed from all over the world to bear witness to the spectacle that he was. "My heart aches, but it is a burden that I have worn with pride since it came unto me many moons ago. I, Caleb John Emberfield, exist solely for one purpose, and that purpose is to mirror the hearts of the very people who have made space for me within their own and when I stare into those precious hearts right this moment, there is only one thing I see, one word that I hear—a word that sings to me like a 'Fairy Rock' Ballad: encore."
Fena's heart rose up alongside the cheers and celebrations of the spectators in the stadium—it was like magic. She'd no idea why he'd done it, but Fena was certain that Caleb John Emberfield was throwing her a bone. What might that reason be? Fena couldn't even begin to hazard a guess. Once he got to talking, it was his show, everyone else needed only to follow his direction.
Caleb John Emberfield's glimmering golden eyes settled upon Fena. A theatrically extended arm searched for her, ready to guide her towards her place on stage. "Right there, Young Lord, do you see him? Sweltering is the backside that bears The Flames—oh! My my, beg your pardon, I seem to have misspoke. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, Young Lord, and so to help relieve some of that weight, relish in the faith and support of the people—your people."
"Enough of this farce theater boy, I've suffered enough fools for the day." Horace Ember grunted. Though the contempt on his face was clear, his eyes sagged and his face was plopped onto his fist as he sank back into his grand seat.
Fena noticed Fenrir looking aimlessly in his fathers direction. Horace languidly flicked his wrist, as if to say, "Do what you want".
Quicker than a matchstick catches fire, that spiteful snarl was seared upon Fenrir's face once again. He marched towards the centre of the battlegrounds, "Get him in here, now. I'll make this quick. One challenge, then I'm leaving." he said to the eccentric orator, much to his and the spectators delight.
Suddenly, Fena noticed a bright light and a warmth underneath her chin. She scrambled at her chest, worried for a half-second that she was being attacked, until she realized that she'd been granted the coat of flames that allowed people to pass into the barrier. She'd realised it belatedly, but after passing through the barrier unscathed, Fena looked upon the palms of both her hands. Her right palm was particularly badly singed; the barrier had burned some of her skin right off before, but now she'd passed through just fine. It didn't look like Lady Ember got burned when she got pushed onto the top bit… maybe it's just the outside?
Fenrir's face was sharp. His eyes were knives soaked in darkness, aiming to gouge Fena's right out from their sockets. "Terms. State them. Now."
Fena faced them head-on. The fire in her determined eyes would not waver, just like Lady Ember. She thought hard about Koria's request. She thought hard about what Lady Ember might want. After composing herself, she stated her answer, "When I win, you and your dad better keep your hands away from Lady Ember and Koria. I don't care about your stupid clan. I don't care about successors and all that crap—I care about my friends, and when I'm done here, you'll be leaving them alone," Fena directed the fire in her eyes towards Horace Ember, "For good."
His sullen expression didn't even so much as twitch; the man couldn't even feign a morsel of interest any longer.
"Aaaand your terms, Young Lord?" Caleb John Emberfield asked with a wink.
Fenrir ignored the eccentric orators' words. He was looking toward Fena, but Fena could feel his narrowed talons passing through her. She clenched her fists tight. He thinks he's gonna blow right through me? Oh… I'm gonna enjoy this.
"Well… nevermind then?" Caleb John Emberfield took Fenrir's silence into his stride, as did he take everything in his stride, it seemed. "There you have it, my dear fans worldwide. The Young Lord, Fenrir Ember has heard the chorus that your hearts sang in earnest. He graces you with the encore you all so desired!"
His body swaying freely with the furor of the crowd, Caleb John Emberfield's eyes were like a spotlight. "Your audition today for the spot of challenger has been successful. Now, rising star, tell us, shout your name loud and clear, let the world know who shares this dance with the Young Lord!"
There it was once again, that feeling of having the entire world's eyes glued to her person, yet this time Fena felt their weight. Unlike last time, she hadn't commanded their attention at all, the spotlight had been thrust upon her and the difference was night and day. Each eyeball was like a lead weight dropped onto her shoulders. Meanwhile Fenrir's face wore his subdued fury with no reservations, and Fena could've sworn that, even though his velvety voice may have obscured his true thoughts from most, Caleb John Emberfield was expecting her to lose too.
Fena slid her left down onto Bolt, stretching her little finger out to play with the red, purple and pink tassels that hang from its hilt, before removing it from her waist strap and pointing it toward her opponent, puffing her chest right out as she put the entire world on notice. "Listen up! I'm gonna be the strongest Shinobi in the whole wide world, because mom needs me and I won't let her down—no way! My name's Fena Alexandria—you better remember that!"
"Alex…andria…" Fena heard what felt like every single person in The Phoenix's Nest collectively stumbling over her last name. The stadium wasn't silent, nor was it loud. Hushed voices reverberated around the arena, sounding almost like gushes of wind, all repeating the name that Fena had shouted out with pride, her surname.
"A diamond in the rough…" Caleb John Emberfield's golden eyes sparkled. The crowd burst into jubilant celebration, rejoicing like believers witnessing an act of the divine. "My, how The Goddess smiles down upon us from above on this special day! First she gifts us a Guardian Angel, and now we bear witness to the angel's daughter? Forgive me, my wonderful fans, I shall not stand in the way of this stupendous occasion any longer. Participants, take your stances! A duel to the death, do you both agree?"
Fena answered without hesitation. "You bet!"
Fenrir remained silent, but suddenly, his entire demeanour had changed. His snarl had turned into a demented, inexplicable grin.
"Fantastic! Upon my leaving the barrier, you are both to do battle! Brace yourselves! And… beg—"
"Hold!!" Horace and Fenrir cut right through the noise.
Fena looked up towards Horace. He was wearing a similar, but for it being even more twisted looking, smile to his son. Fenrir was the first among them to break the silence they'd caused, "Did you hear that father?" he asked.
"Yes, boy. I did indeed… I recognise you now, crestless peasant."
Fena threw her arms behind her head. "Aw damn, how could you possibly have forgot? Especially after I gave that boar man of yours a taste of his own medicine."
Fena was certain she saw a vein or three press up against the surface of Horace Ember's forehead. "It seems that your memory isn't quite that sharp either, girl. I recall you sprawled out on the dirt, where you belong, spared by my whim."
"Father," Fenrir cut in. "I've yet to state my terms—"
"Hey! Hold on, you can't just do take backs like that! You said you didn't want anything!"
Horace's half-moon smile bore down onto Fena like the moon descending toward the surface of the earth. "What's this I hear? No—surely not, the daughter of Origin's Guardian Angel is a coward? What a great shame you bring to her name, peasant."
"Stop it with that stupid fucking name!" Fena bit into her lip. A faint steam rose from the wound, but in her fury, she didn't notice it. "My mom is not some God or some power—she's my mom. I'm sick of you—of all of you taking her away from me."
"Then why not wager for her to be released from her duties?" Horace asked, his tone rising, matching Fena's anger with a thunderous response of his own. "Might it be that you don't believe you can steal her back?!"
Fena slammed Bolt into the stone platform beneath her. That dreadful feeling was ripping at her insides again. It threatened to swallow her whole. Once again she clawed at her stomach, but the feeling refused to fade. The makings of a thought, one that she swore that she'd never, ever have, began to fester within her mind. She pushed it away, tried to lock it in the depths of her conscience, yet it refused to be sealed. She looked down at Bolt, focusing on its hilt, her mind pondering the infinite possibilities that could play out if she were to—
"Fena, don't listen to him! He's trying to provoke you, you mustn't let him reach your heart!" Out of nowhere, a voice shone through the mire of darkness that Fena was adrift amongst.
"I knew you were suspect, stable wench." Horace's voice oozed with a sort of vindication. "You've been in my child's ear. You've uncovered secrets that are for The Phoenix's Children alone. You seem to have forgotten who brought you here, or maybe you hadn't, and that's why you've been so meticulous in your meddling."
Fena took a deep breath. Thank you, Koria, she said to herself, meaning it from the very bottom of her heart. She found her words and spoke them true. "Mama loves technology. I don't understand it. I don't even understand her—but I love my mom, and I'd do anything to protect her happiness. I'm not trying to take what she loves away from her, I'm just gonna become strong enough myself so that everyone doesn't have to rely on her so much."
Fena pulled Bolt out from the hole in the ground she'd made. "But that won't happen today. I've got a long, long way to go before I can achieve that dream. Today, for the first time in my life, somebody's really relying on me for help—if I'm gonna be the strongest, I can't let them down, I won't let them down. Pick whatever you want for your wager, I don't care. I ain't losing today, not even if Origin fell out of the sky and tried to fight me."
The crowd burst into an uproar, saying things like, "How dare she speak The Goddess's name in vain!" and "Pish! That runt ain't never our Angel's daughter, she don't even look like her!" amongst an onslaught of other insults and complaints, but Fena didn't care.
This was bigger than her. It was hard to keep that fact at the forefront of her mind when the world, even what little of it she'd managed to see thus far, was such an incomprehensibly vast and terrifying place, yet she found herself feeling inexplicably grateful that amongst that space, she'd been fortunate enough to have met Lady Ember and Koria.
It's because of you girls that I'm gonna be able to stand up and face the world without crumbling away today. Fena turned back to look at Koria, flashing her another confident smile. I'm gonna win, no matter what and I hope that afterwards, we can be real friends, I'd love that so much.
Horace Ember's thick, drumbeat voice made the demands of his side clear. "Theangel will serve me, exclusively. For far too long my brother has allowed her to spread her wings and fly carefree, whilst those who intend to do us harm prosper in the shadows, both off their own merit and by making use of her creations. No more silly gadgets or passion projects—she will see us prepared for war. Now, theatre boy, commence the battle."
"One more thing, father, send in the Technology Unit." Fenrir said. His father seemed confused, but also strangely intrigued, so he granted his son's abrupt request. "I have disappointed you enough today. The Phoenix deems me unworthy. No doubts—I must leave no doubts. Give me the 'Lightning Blade'." Fenrir swiped through the options displayed to him upon the holographic image of a small device attached to the wrist on one of the Technology Units assistants.
The assistant nodded. He pulled out a scroll from his pouch and sprawled it out flat onto the ground. At first it was blank, until he weaved a series of hand signs and planted his palm flat into the centre, causing black ink to spread across the scroll like thick clouds of smoke until their paths all seemed to converge and create the shape of a sword and then poof, in a puff of grey smoke it appeared in the assistants hand. He then promptly passed it on to Fenrir.
"Winning alone will not be enough, father. This Crestless peasant must be taught a lesson," Fenrir held the sword out beside him, as if to measure its reach. It remained within its sheath, until Fenrir twisted his arm and it shattered into tiny pieces. There was no steel, only lightning that pulsated in the shape of a blade. Fenrir took up a prepared stance. "You say we're taking your mother from you? Today, there will be no more doubts… I will rip what matters most to you right from your filthy hands, and I'll do it with your own mothers innovations!"
His booming guffaw ruling over the cheering crowd, Horace Ember, for what Fena thought was probably the first and would definitely be the last time in his life, praised his son. "That's it my boy! I see it now! Bring me The Angel and you may yet find that Flame within you."
Fena wordlessly motioned the assistant that had approached her away. She was ready to fight.
"Terms have been settled; our stars are ready and waiting to put on a show, yet one more question remains… to my wonderful supporters worldwide tuning into Origin's Ritual on this historic day—are you ready?!" The crowd's cheer was deafening, they were desperate for the bloodsport to begin once again. "In that case, may the battle begin!"
2
In a flash, a flaming thunderbolt zipped across the arena. Fena welcomed it with a devilish grin. Half a step off and she'd lose an arm, a leg, or even worse, she'd be dead on the spot, burned to ashes, yet she was prepared. Fena slammed Bolt onto the ground and used it to launch herself into the air, the blistering heat stung at her cheeks for a split second before she mischievously bopped her opponent on the back of the head with Bolt, watching on with delight as the nasty Ember boy smashed into the unforgiving stone wall in a burst of lightning and fire.
Fena cackled playfully like a child having their stomach tickled. "Oh man, I was worried you wouldn't go for it for a sec. Wooosh!! You didn't even wait a second! How's that wall taste, crybaby kid?"
Before Fena could take a second to realize that not a single soul was laughing alongside her, a chunk of stone came hurtling towards her direction. Quickly she evaded by leaping to her left. Fenrir emerged from the cloud of dust, The Lightning Sword, or at least what was left of it, still in his hands.
"Useless piece of shit," he hissed, tossing the remains to the ground. "You gutter rat… You dare make a fool of me? I'll burn you to ash!"
Fenrir weaved two quick hand signs. Fena felt her back tense right up. She hadn't seen him use anything like this during his fight with Lady Ember.
"Smoke Release: Smokescreen."
All of a sudden, like he'd plucked one from somewhere in the sky, thick grey smoke oozed out from Fenrir's body until a ghastly cloud permeated throughout the entire battlegrounds, almost completely obscuring Fena's vision. Instantly Fena covered her mouth and held her breath, whilst also gauging her ability to see, making note that she could see her hands if she held them directly before her face, but if she were to extend her arms, she'd only be able to see about up to her wrist—she was at a severe disadvantage.
Can he see me? He hasn't awoken his Aura, so he probably doesn't have any special abilities in his eyes, but that still doesn't mean he can't feel me somehow. Or maybe he has some hearing ability? It's probably not poisonous either, he's in here too, way too risky. Shit, gotta figure him out quick, then stick to the plan.
'Earth Release: Duplication'. Fena weaved a single hand-sign, creating multiple copies of Bolt.
Bolt was a special sword unlike any other. Though she was still strong without it, inhaling any Essence whatsoever, even impure Essence as a byproduct of used techniques, would put Fena's body in perilous danger and would mean almost certain death. Bolt, so long as it was close enough to Fena, with the Essence infused within it from her mother allowed Fena to use a technique that almost all Shinobi, particularly those of the highest level, can do innately, one that allows the user to coat their bodies with a sheet of protective Essence—the stronger the Shinobi, the more dense and durable the cover. The technique was called, "Veiling".
Considering it was her mother's Essence that she was Veiling with, it provided her with robust protection. Though there was a drawback, and that was that it drained the most Essence from Bolt's reserves by far, so it heavily restricted Fena's freedom when it came to using techniques—she'd mostly have to rely on her hand to hand combat, though there was one exception.
Fena and her mother had never quite figured out why, but Fena could perform her Sheath Step technique without needing to draw any Essence from Bolt whatsoever. Even its effective range was vastly superior in comparison to any other technique. As a result, the pair had spent countless hours theorising, planning, practicing and refining battle plans all structured around one definitive outcome: creating the perfect situation to perform the move, and then defeating the opponent with a single blow.
Sheath Step would only ever work with the real Bolt though, and now wasn't the time to make use of such a technique. Given the situation she was in right now, getting disarmed would be paramount to a death sentence, so she slid the real Bolt underneath her hakama and wielded the copies, one in each hand, and tucked the other two into her waist strap.
She threw one ahead of herself, then waited… but there was nothing. The inaction made a shiver run down her spine. She thought her ears were ringing and it made her second guess whether she really was hearing almost nothing at all, or whether the thumping of her heartbeat was obscuring the sounds of her opponents footsteps. Tentatively, she threw another copy out before her and shortly after it had hit the ground, a myriad of shuriken and kunai ripped into it like piranha's, leaving next to nothing left of it. Got him! Fena celebrated to herself, now she just had to lead him into her trap.
Before she was ready to engineer a situation where she could win this fight, there was one more thing that Fena needed to confirm. There was no doubt in her mind—the barrier had burned her hands when she'd smacked it. Since entering the barrier and having the coat of flames removed from her person, she'd not made contact with it again and so she decided that in order to further understand it, she needed to make Fenrir touch it. She'd already made a fool of him once, now he seemed to have changed his entire approach; he wouldn't be fooled so easily again, and so the ceiling of the barrier was the only place she could think to draw him.
Fena threw out another copy, this time making sure it landed closer to her. Fenrir's response was noticeably faster, the instant the clone Bolt hit the ground, steel arrows and stars chewed right through it. Fena was certain that next time, he'd either close the distance, or he'd make the mistake of revealing his exact position.
Taking hold of the two clones she had remaining, Fena braced herself. She'd have to be diligent and close the distance the second she caught a glimpse of his image. She threw one to her left and with a fraction of a delay, threw the other to her right.
"—Your tricks won't save you," Fenrir cursed and in a flash, he was right before her eyes.
Fena slipped Bolt out from underneath her clothes, raising it to defend herself just in time and thrusting it toward her target. Bolt's blunt tip sloshed through Fenrir's chest like he was made of mud, and by the time Fena had realized what she'd done, it was too late.
Shit! she cursed to herself, as the Fenrir that she'd stabbed began to melt away. Its skin dripped like hot candle wax underneath a flame, falling onto Fena's toes and stinging her as she tried to yank Bolt free, but it just wouldn't budge. Suddenly, Fena heard footsteps behind her. Another Fenrir came rushing at her with a closed fist, cocked back ready and aiming for her head. Using Bolt as a lever, Fena hoisted herself up and over the top of the melting clone to avoid the blow.
"You're even dumber than you look!" Fenrir's voice shouted from somewhere within the void of smoke.
The second Fenrir's fist plunged into the melting wax stomach of the first one, but before it did, Fena noticed something spilling from its closed fist, almost like sand, but instead of brown or golden, it was black. A smoky smell came rushing into Fena's nose and just as quickly as she could register that smell and what felt like a million fireworks scattered in every direction exploded with deafening crackles and bangs that popped her eardrums like they were balloons, and all of a sudden she was flying.
The explosion had burned some of her face and her hands a bit, but all in all, its ferocity didn't seem anything close to the level of blasts that Fenrir had unleashed from his fists against his sister in their fight. Crucially, Bolt remained firmly within Fena's grasp. She readied herself as best she could for her opponent's next move.
"You've made a mistake that'll cost you your life, Crestless rodent," Fenrir rasped, clearing away the dense cloud of smoke and revealing his true self. He stood in the dead centre of the battlegrounds, orange and blue flames fizzing around his body, poised to strike. "The Phoenix filled the hole in my sister's stomach with his flames—you shall have no such fortune!"
Fenrir blasted himself into the air like a comet launched from a catapult, his pitch-black eyes dead set on their target.
Crap!! Can't use Sheath Step, not yet! With only a split-second to spare, Fena drew as much Essence as she could from Bolt, concentrating it all around her palm. She made out like she was ready to meet Fenrir head on, but when he was within arms reach, "'Wind Release: Gale Bullet'!", she blasted herself away with a ferocious gust of wind, sending herself careening into the upper edges of the barrier before she tumbled down onto the ground, whilst Fenrir smashed into the barrier's roof.
Due to only having such a short period of time to cast the technique, Fena far overcompensated, sucking up way more Essence from Bolt than she had needed, thus resulting in her making contact with the barrier and burning herself heavily once again. Her back stung ferociously, but as she patted herself down to get rid of the lingering flames, something far, far worse became apparent to her. "I'm… outta Essence already?!" she gasped, after noticing that what she'd had left was only enough to maintain her Veil.
"It's only a matter of time. I will spare you no mercy." Fenrir spoke down to her from above, standing atop a floating red fire cloud. He weaved a string of hand-signs and it was clear that whatever he was preparing was something that required a great deal of Essence. To his left, his right and before him, three orange rings of ethereal fire formed. "I may not have been chosen yet… but my 'Ember Release' will be more than enough to burn you to ashes!"
Countless twinkles of orange light flashed before Fena's eyes like shooting stars and though she'd not made any wishes, they descended from the sky regardless, aiming directly for her. Fena took a readied stance, sucking up a deep breath. Innumerous flaming arrows rained down from the sky, but in the moment, that wasn't what Fena saw.
Her mind took her back to the hours upon hours of meticulous strategy talks and exhausting training sessions that her mother had been alongside her for every single step of the way and there was one particular training drill that Fena had mastered: deflecting incoming projectiles into static and moving targets. At first it was the drill that she'd hated the absolute most out of any that her mother would make her do, always arguing that she'd be quick enough to close the distance on any enemy before they'd ever have a chance to throw things at her in the first place, but in time, after her mother had hammered it into her, she adjusted. Now, for every one object her mother used to throw at her, she could throw five and Fena was deft enough to discern which objects she could feasibly deflect and which objects she'd have to avoid entirely.
Fena used Bolt to swat away arrow after arrow and the resulting sparks that flew in all directions made it look as though she was whipping up a tornado of fireflies. For a split second, the downpour stopped, and then Fena made her move. She pulled up one of the arrows from the ground, one that still kept its fire. It seared a stinging pain through her already burned hand so she had to act fast—now was the time to seize her victory.
"Just. DIE ALREADY!" Fenrir let out a guttural roar. He fired off one more sizable flaming arrow, this time with notably more blue flames laced within the orange, that arced widely to his left and then zipped towards Fena once again, his own path of travel bending to his right and descending rapidly to the ground, a blur of scintillating orange and mysterious blue.
Here we go Bolt. We've only got one shot at this! Fena launched Bolt towards the flaming arrow and then took a readied stance. For a moment, she was dead calm, preparing herself for what was to come, then the hellacious pain wracked through her body. Bolt was too far away from her now and with no extra Essence to draw upon, the flames from Fenrir's arrow began chewing through her Veil like it were as thin as string, so she had not even a moment to waste. Then he was upon her and the pain was amplified a hundred fold. Disdain was seared across his face as he swung his flaming fist toward Fena. Fena slipped underneath it, but the explosion that followed scorched at her cheeks. She grit her teeth as she took the pain in her stride, squeezing at the arrow in her hand with every fibre of might within her being before thrusting it into Fenrir's foot, tethering it to the earth as she pierced through his skin and into the stone.
A visceral yelp scraped at Fena's ears. She formed a single hand-sign and just like that, she was in the air once again, but this time, it was all a part of her plan. Reuniting with Bolt, Fena felt an inexplicable feeling of calmness come over her. It wasn't only her mother who'd been with her on this journey every step of the way, Bolt had been supporting her too.
Fena cast her fiery gaze filled with determination toward Bolt, entrusting her everything to it, knowing that in turn, it would give her the strength that she needed. Such was the nature of their symbiotic relationship. Without it, her dream of living a peaceful life with her mother simply could never be a reality. She'd never be able to fulfill Koria's request and save Lady Ember—but together, they were unstoppable. When the two halves had the opportunity to unite and become whole, the only thing that would await them was victory.
"Sheath Step!" Having only enough Essence left within Bolt to maintain her Veil, Fena was left with only her own strength to rely upon when launching Bolt in Fenrir's direction. Even without infusing her hand with Wind Essence and amplifying her throw with Gale Bullet, Bolt zipped through the air like a javelin at a frightening speed.
Fenrir's screech was deafening as he yanked the arrow out from the ground and ripped it out from his foot, attempting to muster up a last ditch effort to defend himself.
"You made my friends cry—now you're gonna regret it!" Fena smashed her fist into Fenrir's face and careened into him from above like an asteroid crashing down into the earth from the beyond and a ghastly dust cloud obscured the pair from the audience's view.
Fena wasn't sure if the audience was dead silent or if her ears were playing tricks on her again. She'd put absolutely everything she'd had left into that strike; there was no way that crybaby kid was gonna get up from that. Marvelling at the golf ball sized welt her fist had decorated his face with, Fena grabbed at the scruff of Fenrir's neck. "Now listen up. I'd love to take my time with you and really make you pay, but for some reason Lady Ember really wanted to help you, so I can't. Not until she tells me what's going on. So count yourself lucky. Surrender—it's over, crybaby kid."
The dust had finally settled and the combatants came into view of the spectators. The filthy beasts had awoken once again. They spewed their insults and their disparages and despite being prepared for it, Fena had wondered somewhere in the back of her mind whether or not the people would actually be happy to see her win, even if only because of her last name and the supposed "love" that the people beared for her mother. The answer to that query was being communicated to her loud and clear.
"Young Lord, you mustn't falter here!" an elderly woman shouted. "You are to guide our children and our children's children, you and your family are the light bearers. You mustn't falter!"
"That kid can't possibly be Lady Melina's child, right? Them Historia dogs've gotta be in on this!" Fena heard a man shout.
"How dare you! If there's any village that knows a thing or two about conniving tricks it's this one! Cowards—the lot of 'em. For a clan blessed with The Flames of a God you sure do strike in the dead of night often!" Another man bit back.
"I'll gut you for that!"
Fena found herself drifting away as her gaze travelled all around the sweeping arena—it was bedlam. People pushing and shoving, cultural divides, which seemed to have largely been united or at least ignored up until now, came to a boil. Fena felt the stands drawing closer, as if some unseeable force was squashing The Phoenix's Nest between its hands, condensing this festering cluster of malevolence that seemed ready to explode any moment now.
Fena looked up toward Horace Ember. She'd wanted to shoot him a smirk that would swallow his ego whole, but his sunken expression trampled over any chances of Fena finding much joy in sticking it to him.
He was a sly fox. He bloviated and postured and acted for all of it like he had some skin in this game, yet as soon as the odds turned against him, instead of taking his loss fair and square, he just abandoned all that he'd wagered on the board, caring not a whit at the losses he was about to incur. That really was just the type of sick man he was—everything was expendable to him.
A jolt ran up Fena's legs as she heard moans and groans from beneath her. Fenrir began to mumble things, strange things. Fena couldn't make out much of what he was saying, but she could hear him saying one thing for certain: "Fenrir".
That name, his own name, kept escaping from his mouth. Fena wondered for a moment whether she'd punched him so hard that he'd genuinely gone mad until something flashed at her leg and caused her to leap back. Blue flames!
"You told me… that you'd give me strength… Fenrir," he despaired. Wisps of blue flames began to feast upon Fenrir's limp body. His left arm was set alight, then his left eye. "You lied to me, Fenrir,"
"What the heck…?" Watching on in anxious disbelief, Fena felt an inexplicable dread crawling up her spine. Within the fire of her own red eyes she withheld the ethereal hue of the blue flames that oozed around and were feasting upon Fenrir's body. Those flames… they rejected her. Somehow it was just something that she innately knew. She knew something else too, she didn't know how, but her body, her heart, the knowledge was seared into their very being—they weren't flames.
They were pure. Unprocessed by the body. Unfettered by the meddling hands of man. There was only one thing that they could possibly be, by far the worst possible thing for someone like Fena to be up against: Pure Essence.
Fenrir had gotten up onto his knees. His eyes were empty. His body was limp and lifeless. He looked like a man lost. "You lied to me. I gave you my dreams, and you lied to me. You promised me that I could protect her. You promised me that I would be chosen. You… LIAR!" Fenrir slammed his head into the ground, drawing blood from his own skull, over and over again he smashed his head against the floor and scraped at his eyes as if he were trying to claw them out. "You will give me the power that you promised, or we shall both die this day! Get out here—GET OUT HERE RIGHT NOW FENRIR!"
Fena kicked into gear, trying to close the distance and land a finishing blow, but a wave of scintillating heat tore at her skin and she simply could go no further. The Essence around Fenrir grew more and more violent, like he and it, amongst his psychotic ramblings, were fighting for control—he was Awakening.
Fena recalled her mother's warning once again. It echoed in her mind millions of times. The Essence was changing. Something that looked like a limb came bursting out of Fenrir's left eye. It wore an ethereal, furry coat of blue Essence and tiny bits of it floated into the air, escaping from the naked eye like a vapour. Then another cluster of Essence morphed into some sort of animal and it began to rip and tear at the boy's left arm. After a gut wrenching roar, Fenrir went up in a small pillar of Essence. A chilling gust of air brushed against Fena's face.
Once the dust had finally cleared, she withheld her opponent within her sights. The nasty Ember boy stood back up onto his feet. A mystical blue wolf's pelt that oozed Essence hung from his neck. His left arm and his left eye were both gone, as though the Essence had swallowed them without a trace. Standing alongside him was a spectral wolf that radiated Pure Essence.
Fena's body knew, just one touch—even if so much as a hair grazed her body, she would die. That wolf… it was everything that she was not. It was pure, like a teardrop from the very Goddess herself, whereas she was a fake. Her body rejected Origin's Blessing.
Fate always smiles. It always plots. It always chooses and it especially likes to choose to pick upon those who endeavour to defy it.
"Fenrir…" Fenrir called out, his grumbling voice laced with malevolence. "I have given you my dreams. Now you shall grant me victory. Kill her Fenrir, kill her and make me victorious."