[Skell]
I bolted upright like a corpse rising from the grave.
Not because of a dream. Or nightmare. Or because a bed bug bit where the sun didn't shine.
Actually, I rose because of the sunshine. Roosters didn't conveniently crow in the middle of cities, enchanted clocks that bellowed at set times were ruthlessly expensive, and… it wasn't like I had someone else's internal timer to rely on, anymore.
So I got creative. With a little unauthorized redecorating, my bed sat under the inn window. When the sun knocked on its glass, I'd know it was time to "wake" when the light bugged me so much I couldn't stand to stay in bed.
But as I winced at the harassing light, I felt the idea quickly getting old.
Urgh. Just one more day before the Ordeals. Time to make the most of it.
—————————————————————————————————
Shrouds were a funny thing.
Without mine, I was about as stiff and full-bodied as a sip of apple juice. With it? Well, day after day of meditation and stress-testing built my Shroud both strong and long-lasting. In relaxed conditions, I could hold onto it's power for close to an hour straight.
And that was one good hour. I could perform athletic leaps I couldn't imagine doing before. Move quick as a cat, with a bear's strength. And my "flesh" and bone was as hard to wound as the bark of an oak tree. Simply put, I was one tough skeleton.
Tough skeletons, though, needed tough weapons. Not a practice staff. The real deal. Which is why I didn't head to the Rouge Revelry. Not yet.
First, I had something to collect.
Veering off one of the more popular streets in the Gilded Marketplace, I threw open the doors of a smithy. One that caught my eye way back when Niles and I searched for Oliver.
Unlike the colorful brickwork, flashy signage, and persistent barkers of the other shops, this one held a quiet confidence. Subdued and economic in design - pun intended. Dependable weapons hung on the walls and nothing else. The fact that the old, lithe man behind the counter could stay afloat in an environment so competitive spoke volumes about their quality.
His one good eye sharpened at my approach. "Ah," he leaned forward, crossing his arms - two old branches concealing lengths of corded muscle. "Ye've returned. Here for yer request, I take it?"
"That's right. It is finished, isn't it?"
"Finished as the pieces ye see around ye, m'boy." He spread an arm, shifting the unflattering overalls on his shoulders. "A moment. I'll fetch it for ye."
He made for a side room. It wasn't long 'till he returned with a weapon longer than I was tall.
Someone could've suffered a heart attack in that same room and my eyes would've still been glued to the staff. Between the smith's quick fingers rested an imposing weapon of glossy black steel, reflective enough to catch my grin. White veneer coated both ends, and a durable cord hung from its ends - perfect to hang against my back when not in use.
A custom quarterstaff, exact to my specifications. Attractive and intimidating, tempered with Amara's eye for practicality. I loved it already.
"Ha! That's the glint in the eye that keeps me strikin' steel!" He returned behind the table. "Rare is it I get to craft a weapon like this. Untold sabres, spears, mayhaps a rapier if I'm lucky. But an honest stave? Thank ye for the opportunity."
"Thank you," I tried to curb my hungry stare. "The staff looks amazing."
"That it does. But first and foremost - I needs to see yer armament license. And before ye ask - yes, I have to check it before and after a custom order. It's the law, and all that jibber-jabber."
"Right." I produced one from my pocket. Barely a moment's thought went to how oddly easy it'd been to get my own, after all the stress of "borrowing" one at the station.
Early in my training, Amara had me rise out of bed before dawn to sign up for the Ordeals. But not at the Citadel. An affiliated building in the Argent District was my destination. Inside was a lot of muscle, paperwork, and eyes. When it was my turn in the dozens-long line, I sat in front of a joyless old lady and gave my name: Skell Valzo.
Again, I chose to adopt Cynthine's surname. Not that I actually saw her that way - that'd be gross - I just figured a full name would add more legitimacy to my identity. Sure, I could've borrowed Oliver's surname: Maud. But that'd just complicate things. I wouldn't be the only Maud in the Templar ranks, after all.
Anyway, after several more questions she seemed satisfied. I was handed a crisp new armament license and urged out of the way for the next guy in line. Of course, the license would be null after the Ordeals.
But that didn't matter one lick, then.
"Hm," grunted the smith, giving the license between my fingertips a momentary glance. "Looks like every other fancy ol' paper to me. Here's yer staff."
His hands hovered over mine. He let go, and the heft of the weapon filled out my palms perfectly.
I couldn't wait to gave it a couple casual swings. A hit from this bad boy, and shade, I could make someone's head and feet switch places.
With pep in my step, I moved to leave. Adjusting to the new weapon would be crucial, and the clock was ticking.
"Sit tight there. I wants to hold your ear a moment."
I turned back to the smithy. My face could've probably been more patient.
"Don't worry," he drew a thin smile, "I'll be curt. I know ye young folk hate to tarry. See, year-round, I get me a decent share o' custom orders. Blades, blunts - the whole gamut. But ye know my busiest season by a landslide? This one, m'boy."
Urgh, thanks for the sword, but I don't have time for this…
"Yer takin' the Ordeals, aren't ye?" he less asked, more stated.
"You-" I paused, and straightened. "How'd you tell? An uptick in sales doesn't mean everyone who walks in your door has interest in the Order."
"But ye do. It's in yer eyes, chest, shoulders - Abyss, I knew it 'fore you first opened yer gullet. My son had the same look when I crafted him his first real weapon. When he ran off to be a Templar. That was the last I ever 'eard his voice."
"He…" I turned to give him my full attention. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. That was thousands o' jobs ago, then. I don't mean to wet yer eyes, or yer bloomers. Only to say that when ye pass those high walls, ye better make it. Or fail. But don't ye go and die. Give anything to come back - even that staff if ye needs to. Everything but yer life. That can't be stuck in a forge and hammered back together again."
A part of me wanted to argue the complexities. Failure was death to me - and another year of it would be unbearable. But I still felt the weight of his words.
I gave him a serious nod. "My friends are waiting to see me again. I won't disappoint them by losing this life of mine."
I've already lost my past life. Not again. Not with Oliver and Amara and Cynthine around.
The smith chuckled from behind the counter. "Glad to hear as much. Thanks fer indulgin' an old soul, m'boy. Fight strong, and might ye remain in the light."
—————————————————————————————————
Finally…
I stopped at the doors of the giant stone worm that was the combat center.
What I'd give for a day full of night. Shadow Form-ing around the city would save more time than I'd know what to do with, but no, I've gotta walk everywhere. I shouldered my way through the doors. Least it's still pretty earl-
"I can sweep your floors!" begged a man.
The clerk shook his head. "Good luck with that."
"What about your dishes - I'll clean those!"
"What?" He crossed his arms. "We don't even serve food."
Huh? Who's this moro- wait!
"Gimme something! The Ordeals are tomorrow! Say I don't brush up on my skills - I could be - blugh!" The man rolled out his tongue like carpet, pantomiming a corpse. "Catch my drift, mate?"
That crimson headband! Those white gloves! The… abundance of personality!
"Niles!?" I blurted.
"Wha-" he shot back, disbelief behind his dimglasses. "Purple!?"
—————————————————————————————————
"Appreciate the room!" Niles laid spread-eagle on the ground, staring at the sunlight threading through his raised fingers. "Can't beat free, I always say."
I leaned against a nearby wall, twirling my new staff from one hand to the other and back again, getting a feel for the weight. "Don't mention it. There's plenty of space to go around. Plenty of questions I'd like to ask, too."
"Believe me, same here. You must've been busy this past month. But you did me a good turn - so grill me first. I'll keep myself patient somehow."
"Sure you will. Well, first on my mind is what you've been up to. Clearly you got your sword back from the city guard," I pointed to his hip. "Ever return that armament license to… what was the name of your alter ego again?"
"Alter ego!?" He burst into laughter. "Talking about Barbara? Let me tell you, even without all the funky sewers and crummy pickpockets, finding one person in a city this humongous might as well be impossible. Well, for anyone besides me! Keep asking everybody you meet, and eventually you'll get answers."
"Really? Everybody? What'd you say?"
"'Do you know a Barbara Calloway? She's got something coming to her, and I'm the one who'll deliver it.' Just like that."
And they told you…?
"But now it's my turn to ask about your search." He sat up. "Freckles. Tell me you found him after I left."
Amusement spread my grin. "Funny, he actually found me. Just walking and whistling around the city. He was pretty shocked when I told him we almost got two life sentences."
"Ha! I bet he was! What's the squirt up to now, anyway? Thought he'd be sitting on your shoulder."
My expression sobered. "He's… off now. Journeying. Oliver's always had a taste for the new and the unknown. Guess the road has those in spades."
"Huh. Well, it's no surprise he wouldn't sit around here long. Ever give catnip to a cat? That's how he was, all through our countryside jaunt. Can't say I get the appeal - 'east or west, home is best,' and all - but I'm glad the kid knows what he wants."
"Speaking of…" Niles barreled into an unsubtle segue, "what's your next move? I remember hearing you were meeting up with some girl - and best of luck on that front mate - but that must be over and done with, now?"
I tuned out the part about Amara, my mood rubber-banding back to the clouds. After all…
Niles is never gonna believe this. I bet his face'll be priceless!
He continued. "You've got that wicked-awesome staff; your own room in the combat center - even some new nicks on that sweet black armor. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were gearing up for the Sacred Ordeals."
"Seems you don't know any better; I am taking the Ordeals on, just like you."
While I smirked, he gasped, making a crazed scramble to his feet. "You've gotta be pulling my leg - no - my whole body! You're really gonna be a Templar!?"
I savored the whammy I gave him like a five-star dinner. "That's the plan."
Blowing minds was a fun of its own, sure. But it was more than that. In my own mind, things were looking up.
Training went well since Amara left. Dull skills were edged; sloppy habits were filed down. But despite the Knight's pep talk - uplifting as it was - I couldn't help but miss her and Oliver's company. Day and night I trained in silence. And I figured the Ordeals would do nothing to ease the feeling. Dark magic would outcast me from other applicants - not exactly an accommodating environment for the challenges ahead.
That flew straight in the garbage when I saw Niles. All the recent chaos made me forget.
I'm not the only one challenging the Ordeals. And if I'm not alone - then to the Abyss with anyone else!
Niles' bulging eyes threatened to vault over his dimglasses. "But, but, you just heard about them a month ago! From me!"
I shrugged. "I liked what I heard."
"C'mon mate; I'm not buying that. You? Signing up because it sounded nifty? Full honesty: you never came off as the knight-in-shining-armor type. No offense."
Believe me, none taken.
"Did something change?" he asked. "Oh, or maybe you want something from the Order."
A creeping discomfort nipped at me. "What, er, could the Order possibly give me?"
"Lots of things. Mates in high places. Mates in high places," he winked. "Clout. Valor. Good meals everyday. The list goes on and on and on. If you're not here to be some hotshot hero, then you must want something. So, what is it? Whisper it in my ear if you want. I won't tell."
"The reason I applied?" I hesitated. Had I time to prepare, I could've spun something convincing. But lies were like eggs: hatch them too fast, and anyone could tell what came out was horribly wrong.
Could I trust Niles with the truth, then? I would've liked to. Really. Yet I'd stand to gain nothing by doing it, and stand to lose… a lot. Worst case scenario, I'd have an enemy in the Ordeals who knew I was the exact target everyone was there to hunt. That couldn't happen.
Even if his reaction wasn't extremely negative, it could've been anything. And at a crucial time like that, I preferred less concerns, not more. But I must've spent too long thinking. Niles beat me to the punch.
"I get it, I get it," he raised two palms, "some tidbits are personal. How's this: I'll make it a fair trade. I tell you why I'm applying first."
That's right. He traveled halfway across Lumerit for this. I'd be lying if I claimed I wasn't interested why.
"I… can't make any guarantees," I said. "But you can still give me your reason, if you want."
"That's all right, we'll see if you'll spill when I'm done." He grinned. "As for me? Well, my reason's simple as they come, Purple: money. I'd like to be rich, mate."
"…Money? That's it?"
"'That's it', he says," Niles chuckled. "Rounds can move mountains, y'know? Buy you perfection. Let you live like a King. Change your whole bleedin' life. They're not just weight in your pockets."
"Y-yeah. Good point. I never really thought of it like that."
"You haven't? You've got to come from money. Not that there's anything wrong with that," he added.
Yep, time to change the subject. "Regardless, I hear from a pretty reliable source that Templars, well, they don't want for rounds."
"Like fish don't want for water. They say if you're in the Order, you're set for life. That's where I need to be."
I didn't really know what to say. Something as simple as wanting money matched Niles' simplicity, sure, but in hindsight, I guess I expected… more. Was I standing on some high horse, assuming he should pursue a goal as serious as the Order for a better reason than riches? Well, I didn't try to. Decadence just wasn't the same to an undead. Can't exactly kick back and munch on grapes when the cushions are cold on your bones and the flavorless fruit rots in your ribcage.
"But that's just me," Niles popped fingers one at a time. "Back to you; how're you feeling about my little trade idea?"
This again. I can't tell the truth, and the perfect cover story isn't coming to mind. That leaves me with one option.
"…Sorry, Niles." I looked away, toward the room's wounded walls. "Some things are just too private to speak on. Just know I've got a good reason."
"Oh," he said, thrown off. "I- well, that's fine, Purple. You don't gotta blab if you don't wanna."
"Yeah…" I scratched the back of my head.
"Um… hey! I just came up with a genius idea."
"You did?"
"Nice, open room," he started extending fingers. "My blade arm's getting rusty. You've got that new weapon. And the Ordeals are tomorrow. I mean, the pieces couldn't fit better together."
"You want to spar? I like the idea, but shouldn't we use those practice weapons? I admit, missing the Ordeals because we're stuck in the hospital would be funny… but the bad kind of funny."
"Whaaat? Fat chance I use some wooden knockoff instead of my baby. But you've got a point. We need to spar with something else beside each other. Something that doesn't bleed. Or won't arrest us…"
Hm. Good luck with tha-
"I've got it!" he yelled.
"Got what?"
"Get off that wall and follow me. I know a place."
—————————————————————————————————
Selem valued logic in its streets. Buildings were grouped reasonably to their surroundings - you wouldn't find an orphanage beside a prison, for example.
Not the Rouge Revelry. Though, thanks to my strict training, I barely had time to spend anywhere but the outskirts: where you'd find the combat center. People were just kinda weird around there. I was only barked at once. Maybe twice.
Deeper in, some said, was where the revelry really started - whatever that meant. Niles led me past mute puppeteers and shouting mimes, inns specked with hearts and contests where challengers competed to guzzle the most ale while taking jabs to the gut. Somewhere within the chaos stood a lone tent, as small and flashy as a poodle in a dress.
"…Sure this is the arena you were talking about?" I eyed Niles. "This looks like where you'd go to buy organs."
"Don't be dramatic, Purple - nobody sells organs. Besides, they just opened the other day; every business starts small, right?"
I shrugged, and followed him through the tent flaps.
Inside was… no one. Just an ominous set of stairs built into the ground. They led to a dark descent, lit only in Selem's color-intensifying Domain.
"Ooh," Niles said, "Nice atmosphere! Arenas are serious business, y'know?"
He strolled right into the darkness. Despite my better judgement, I did the same.
Worse comes to worst… at least my organs aren't real.
Carefully I made each step." How'd you hear about this place, anyway?"
"An employer told me about it."
"Employer!?" I almost slipped. "You have a job!?"
His eyes narrowed. "How come you sound so shocked? Either way, it's not a job - it's jobs. Waiting for the Ordeals, I had to put food on the table someway. So I picked up a couple stints. Paint a fence here, fix up a wall there. Simple stuff. Well, one fat-cat merchant wanted me to set up a swing for his grandkids. A little Vine Cling action and boom: a swing that'll last until his grandkids have grandkids."
"That's clever," I tried to focus on conversation, and not the distinct feeling of eeriness.
"Merchant-guy said the same. We got to talking - I mentioned I was going to crush the Ordeals - and he told me about a kooky friend of his. The arena just opened, they could use customers, I could use some quality practice. A win-win."
"Makes sense. And you said you've been here before?"
"Once. Told the owner to throw everything they had at me. But just as I was winning… I got dizzy. Then I got thrashed."
Dizzy?
We touched the dim stone floor and Niles thrust an arm in front of me. "Stop. Wait for it."
My eyes turned to him, confused, before they discerned a figure ahead.
A flowing red long-coat formed first in the shadows. Then a wide-brimmed top hat. And last, a dastardly smile. "Visitors! Vanquishers! Victims? Amidst the tenebrosity, I believe I see one old, one new. Yet experience matters little! For the Hardlight Arena welcomes all!"
They raised a white-gloved hand and snapped, the noise echoing off the walls. Walls I had no clue were so distant.
On cue, rich light coursed underfoot in tube-like rings of a rainbow's color, its rows revealing a disc-shaped room littered in barrels, boxes, and just about anything else one might figure an obstacle.
Woah. All this space? Magical lighting? Was this made by just one person?
Lit over a band of bright cyan, I saw the arena's owner much better. Long dark hair fell to their back, and their enthusiastic eyes seemed more like a viewer's than an impresarios'. I found their gender difficult to parse. Something told me they preferred it that way.
"I am Émile-Houdin," broad, sweeping motions accompanied their words, "and you - our newest player - are due a brief explanation. See, this arena is unlike any other in the world! Blood is rarely spilt, lives are never lost. Gone is the barbarism! To stay is the fast-paced thrill of colorful combat! And the combat is assuredly colorful!"
A gloved finger hushed their lips. "For with but a whisper, I will invite the presence of a legion of soldiers. Blessed with intellect enough to prove a challenge; also-blessed with so little as not to raise thoughts of any icky moral quandaries. As so."
"Hardlight Lackey," Émile-Houdin incanted softly. With that and a quick flourish, a being materialized beside them.
It was… humanoid. Almost perfectly so. Like a featureless yellow mannequin given animation. Subtle movements were all it made, mimicking the breathing and unconscious tics of a real person. 'Till the owner produced a cane and lopped off it's glowing head.
"Shade!" I jumped.
The thing plopped onto the floor and rolled, specks of light rising from its "wound".
"Relax, Skell," Niles reassured. "It's all magic. Not a real guy's real head."
"I know that…"
Just sudden, is all. Doesn't help that it's so lifelike.
The owner continued, dispelling the beheaded construct with a casual snap. "If you've still the stomach for it, allow me to describe the different challenges you may undertake."
"You don't hafta," Niles shifted his weight back and forth. "Let's do it like last time. Three rounds. And I want the hardlight guys going full tilt," he turned to me. "It's just a good ol' fashioned melee, Purple. Us versus the light guys. That sound good?"
"A melee?" I repeated. "Usually I'd ask for more details, but I've been dying to practice. Let them come at us, hard as they can. If we can't take them, no way we're beating the Ordeals!"
And besides, I was weak when we first met. I'll show you what I've learned since.
"Ha! Couldn't have said it better myself!"
Interest lifted Émile-Houdin's brows. "I do so enjoy players with pluck! Well then, simply utter a "stop" or somesuch - and the battle ends at once. Though a "get the Abyss off me" will suffice," they smiled charmingly at Niles.
He folded his arms. "You're not hearing that this time. Let's show out, Purple!"
I reached for my staff. "Right."
"Oh, this very moment?" the owner's performative smile dropped. "Ah, well, first I must present you a couple agreements. Selem's justice system is a work of art, you see. An occasionally brutal piece of art I'd rather like to stay in the good graces of."
Niles and I eyed them curiously.
—————————————————————————————————
"Sign here, and here," they pointed. "And… there. Where it kindly asks you not to sue me. Thank you."
Niles and I sat, scribbling impatiently at the many blanks marking our contracts.
—————————————————————————————————
"And now, without any further ado," announced Émile-Houdin from the center of the fluorescent stage, "we have upon us Round one of the Hardlight Arena!"
Their arm swept toward us. "In this corner stands our two daring players: Skell Valzo and Niles Hawthorne!"
My staff laid ready over my shoulders. "They're not half bad at this. Wish they had a crowd," I whispered.
"When people hear two Templars paid a visit," Niles' crouched slightly, sword in reverse-grip, "they won't have enough seats to spare."
"And in this corner," swept Émile-Houdin's other arm, "a pair both yellow-bellied and light-headed - the petulant Hardlight Lackeys!"
Far across from us were two of the constructs, firing crude gestures and threatening body language, basically everything - short of insulting our moms, thanks to their mouthless faces - to make us wanna tear them apart. All obvious prodding from the owner to goad us into fighting.
I clenched a fist, triggering my Shroud. And somehow it's still working…
"But enough introductions!" Émile-Houdin slipped away. "Combatants, let the battle begin!"
I hunkered down, entering a defensive position - just as Niles blew by with his blade bared like reckless fangs. "Wait, you're-"
He ran across the arena over rings of blue and red and orange and green, steps matched by the faux-human gait of the hardlight men - their color changing with each passing fluorescent light.
Crap. Can't let him fight on his own.
But the fight already started. They met in the center, and the first lunged for Niles.
He leapt into a nimble spin, rising over the construct's swooping form just in time to bring down his blade. The slash connected cleanly; a purple arm hit the ground right as Niles did.
The other construct didn't give him time to recover. Its fist phased green as it passed over the associated light to punch Niles.
Niles rushed to block it - glowing knuckles crashing against his blade. Locked in place, both readied a counter-attack.
Then the construct's head went flying.
After all, before either could strike - I arrived. "Rush off," I smirked, letting the headless creature fall before me, "and I won't be there to save your hide."
"Pshh," Niles watched my timely swing with shock. "Like I need saving!"
We turned to the remaining construct, still "reeling" from it's missing arm.
He set his feet. "I can take some small fry!"
I did the same. "So can I!"
The construct stood no chance. In moments it was littered in lacerations and cracks like shattered glass, dropping to our feet in a heap of green fragments.
"Hm," I checked our handiwork, honestly a little disappointed. "That was easy."
"'Course it was!" Niles slapped a hand around my shoulder. "With my sword and your staff, we're invincible."
I… wouldn't go that far.
"But I gotta say mate," he continued. "I'd no clue you were handy in a fight. Maybe I should've known back when you dove through that boiling water like it was nothing, huh?"
Yup. Always been this tough. Definitely haven't trained my tailbone off with a battle-crazed Templar…
"Round one," announced a cross-legged Émile-Houdin, sitting far out of harm's way atop an upright barrel, "is over! Our dynamic duo reigns victorious! Yet for how long? Round two… begins now!"
With a whisper and a more elaborate flourish, they summoned another batch of hardlight men opposite the arena. This time, we were outnumbered.
"Five?" I watched them form a tight group, brandishing knives and batons made of the same hardened light they were. "And they're not bare-handed."
Émile-Houdin raised theatrical arms from afar. "A challenge asked, a challenge provided! You'll find they're not so brittle this time around either. Unless - and there's no shame in it - you'd prefer the danger… stifled."
I shook my head. "Give us the best you've got. Niles, looks like we'll have to work a little harder."
"I just see more targets, mate. C'mon, let's smoke 'em!"
Side-by-side, we charged ahead. The constructs waited for us to reach their side. Then they closed in like the jaws of a beast.
"Get down!" I warned Niles. He was quick to trust and listen, and ducked as the constructs came close. My hands slid to one end of the staff.
And I spun it in a jaw-crushing sweep. All five skirted back from my vast range. Unhurt. But distance was made - between both us and each construct.
Niles saw the opportunity. From his coiled position he sprung ahead for the centermost one and caught it by surprise and plunged a blade in its chest, cleaving it brutally from there to its orange-glowing collar. Cubes of hardlight were flung airborne.
It fell. One down.
True, living enemies would've been startled. Hesitated at a slain ally. Not the hardlight men. They barely gave us time to think; in moments two were upon Niles.
The other two were upon me.
I backed into a terribly-placed wooden box. A second later and a scarlet dagger would've dug into my arm. I tumbled backwards over the box but as the first construct worked to free its blade the next jumped onto the box and came down with a hardlight baton.
A sidestep and I was safe. But when it hit the stone floor with so much force, I expected the baton to at least crack.
Instead the ground did, ever so slightly.
I had to bury my alarm when the other construct bolted around the box. With a knife it came, in tandem with the baton-carrier. Their attacks were simultaneous; I summoned what I learned from Amara to block their relentless assault as I drew back past rings of light and barrels at my side. Steel clashed against light twice for every second.
Shade. I parried a sneaky swipe at my legs. They're not gonna wear out. I gotta find a way to break this deadlock!
For all their tirelessness however, they were up against the one man who shared their advantage. Deflecting endless attacks would've left anyone spent, given enough time. But bones didn't exhaust. And as I kept them at bay, patterns formed.
The hardlight men had some skill, I realized. An imitation of it. They were constructs, and by nature lacked sentience. Individuality. They both came at me exactly the same; with strikes that were rigid.
Stilted.
And ultimately, predictable.
A dagger drove for my side before I deflected it. The construct at my left was wide-open for a counterattack. I thrust at the chest.
Of course, the one on my right saw I was committed. In going for its ally, I'd see a baton to the head: an opening within an opening. If I was smart, I would've retreated - waited until a better opportunity arrived.
But I wasn't trained to sit on my hands and stall for a miracle. I was trained to forge my own.
The baton whished through the air from the corner of my eye. It never landed. How could it, when no one held it?
Charging into its wrist, my staff disarmed the baton-wielder and left its weapon wheeling into the distance. Uniform as they were, they never anticipated every motion was intended for anything other than the obvious target. A textbook feint. One they fell for hook, line, and-
Sinker.
I quickly reversed my staff and rammed the dagger-wielder before it recovered - cracking the surface of its white-light jaw. Letting up wasn't an option. I persisted.
A swift swing to a shoulder, then a double-back to the other's knee. One broken shin, another's shattered temple. Each strike carried momentum from the last: an unrelenting dance of back-and-forth violence that'd end under two circumstances.
One: I won.
Two: I tired.
And I never got tired.
Battered and barely-standing, the two constructs could do nothing but watch as I slipped between them. In one wound-up spin carrying all the force I could muster, I whirled the staff around to strike them simultaneously with both ends.
Their damaged heads couldn't take more. They broke into tiny shards and rolled down their slumping shoulders like pieces of hard candy.
I relaxed; the heat of battle wore off, and I stared at my staff with newfound pride.
Pride accompanied by applause. I shot back, remembering my friend, when-
Niles clapped partway across the stage, standing over two hardlight bodies sliced into clean portions. "I was gonna butt in," he said, "but you got into such a groove! I didn't want to spoil the fun."
How long has he been standing there? Don't tell me after how hard I fought, he still got to the finish line first?
I ignored the thoughts; they were better spent on our win - even if we did have to sweat for it. "Glad you didn't. It's good to finally get a feel for this new staff; it hits even harder than I imagined."
"Bravo!" said Émile-Houdin. "Again our Templars-to-be surpass the efforts of any competition! Great though their powers may be - one must posit the question: are they enough to vanquish the next round!?"
Niles and I grouped up.
"Odds are," he stood at my shoulder, "this round'll be even tougher than the last. The perfect opportunity to show off!" his smile was lit silver in the nearby light.
"Last one." I started to get fired up, my own lit gold in the closest light. "Whatever comes, I'm ready! Émile-Houdin, we'll take anything you throw at us!"
An indescribable euphoria washed over their face. "The conviction! The excitement! Oh, I do so love my job! But enough talk; your greatest threat approaches! Behold: Hardlight Manticore!"
This "flourish" was more like the gestures of a maestro conducting a full-blown orchestra. Performed for good reason. No hardlight men appeared - not one - though I expected just another round with greater numbers. Still, we did welcome just one opponent at the center of the stage. The low quantity didn't give us relief.
After all, when you stood face-to-face with a towering beast constructed of hardlight - it's bat wings flared, scorpion tail high, and lion face bellowing a eerily silent roar…
Well, I'm glad I couldn't crap myself.