Brass trumpets roared from the pews of carved stone to a chorus of cheers from the bloodthirsty crowd. The tournament had begun, and all delusions of grace vanished from the eyes of even the most pompous nobles. Soon, warriors who had travelled from the most remote lands to seek endless glory in the spectacle would be taking the stage, while those who remained idle in the arena's underground training halls bided their time and reinforced their spirits with drink and merriment.
Smaller skirmishes would appear first--less-experienced warriors bound to give a passionate fight, but who couldn't hold a candle to the more seasoned veterans of Gria's arena. As the evening continued, battles would only grow in intensity, interspersed with bouts of the so-called 'Special League', made up of the finest fighters the world had to offer.
"Seems like you and I will be facing one-another early on, Pale."
Gathering around the tournament bracket which had been hastily tacked to a cork board, Dorma traced the thin sheet of parchment to find her own name next to the Rabbitkin's.
"Honestly… I return from my journey and you won't even allow me a day of rest…" The girl in question crossed her arms and pouted, "Where is Barion? I don't see his name."
"He's awaiting the final competitor." She replied, "Naturally, His Majesty wants the final battle of tonight's event to be a particularly climactic one."
"I don't suppose there are any limitations on magic in this competition?"
"Oh, no. Certainly not." Dorma smiled, "Don't worry. I'll try to refrain from casting anything too dangerous on you."
"Don't think I'll be going any easier on you." Pale retorted, "I've had scarce few opportunities to fight ever since departing from the Steppe. I'm looking forward to facing you."
"And I you, Pale."
"But, there is one thing that's confusing me." She turned her eyes back to the board, "Who is this 'Witilla' woman?"
Upon the bracket were a plethora of familiar names. Only one such moniker stood out to the girl--a name she had never heard spoken before. The matchups were at follows:
Manyu vs. Yula
Lotte vs. Shilahi
Dorma vs. Pale
Fusala vs. Witilla
"Hm… the top contender during the preliminaries, I believe." Dorma hazarded a guess, "His Majesty did mention that he wanted an additional competitor to even out the bracket. I suppose this Witilla must have proven her worth to him in some way."
"I'm surprised Fusala is fighting at all."
"Well, there are no restrictions. If one wishes to make use of magical items, there's nothing stopping them from doing so. I'm rather looking forward to seeing how she handles it, if I must be honest."
"-So this is where you two were."
Moving through the amassed crowd of fighters, Manyu made his presence known as his gaze fell upon the shrivelled bracket.
"Seems I'll be on in just a moment." He remarked, "Lady Yula is already prepared to fight."
"Hang on… isn't it a little unfair for you to be participating?" Pale questioned.
"However do you mean?"
"Must I really lower myself to answering that question, as if it isn't obvious?"
"It isn't my fault that only a handful of tight-lipped comrades know of my true identity." Manyu retaliated, "But not to worry--I have no intentions of revealing myself. Keeping the strongest of my abilities locked away should prove to be a more exciting challenge in any case."
Between the chattering of countless warriors, a muffled sound could be heard. The blare of a trumpet, summoning competitors from the damp recesses of the barracks.
"I believe that's my cue…" Manyu muttered, "Good luck in your future battles, the two of you."
As the former Demon King wandered off, Dorma couldn't help but sigh.
"Yula is in for a terrible surprise once the match starts." She predicted, "Even when limiting himself, I can't imagine Manyu's strength has at all dwindled in the past five centuries."
"Shall we head to our seats?" Pale suggested.
"Of course. Lead the way."
Lady Yula was far more than a commander of the Anti-Demon Leagues. As the castle's resident Master Alchemist, she was responsible for ensuring the health of Gria's citizens as well as advising King Granda on the state of developing technologies. Her magical prowess, while not as pronounced as Lotte's or Dorma's, was nonetheless unparalleled among the city's court sorcerers.
As the iron portcullis rose, allowing Manyu entry into the arena proper, he couldn't help but notice a peculiar design which had been scraped into the dirt on Yula's side of the rotunda--a circular sigil, flanked with esoteric symbols and jagged geometries, upon which the girl stood as she wandered out to meet him on the battlefield.
"A magical circle?" He muttered, "I understand that anything goes, but isn't carving a circle into the ground before the beginning of the match taking it just a little too far?"
"Manyu!" As he spoke to himself, Yula called out from the other end of the arena, "You'll have to forgive me for planning in advance, but I'd like to get this over with as quickly as possible!"
King Granda, seated within a boxed outcrop at the arena's south end, watched with intrigued eyes as the competitors appeared. As he lifted a silent hand, the aides flanking his private booth raised their trumpets to sound off the beginning of the combat.
"I must admit, it has been quite a while." Manyu massaged his shoulders, "My joints were aching after that ruckus in Anjima… hopefully this won't take too long."
A second later, the trumpets were sounded.
Trapped in Yula's grasp was her stave--a sorcerer's closest ally on the battlefield. The crystal atop its twisting wooden heft wasn't quite as sophisticated as adamantite, but still upper-market as far as staves went. Walking forward immediately to plant the staff within the magic circle, cerulean flashes of light accompanied sparks that kicked up dust as they travelled along the ground, and flickers of light--magical particles, wavered around Yula like stars.
"Hang on-" From the stands closest to the arena, where the most wealthy and influential were seated, Pale leaned forward and spoke with a worried voice, "What's stopping her from destroying the entire arena with a powerful spell?"
"Not to worry." Shilahi replied, chin resting on her fist, "The court sorcerers are currently maintaining a magical barrier around the perimeter of the fighting pit. It should be powerful enough to nullify anything Yula tries."
"S-Should be?"
"Well, I never expected her to plant a magic circle on the ground before the tournament started… perhaps we should have been more strict about the rules?"
"Why isn't Manyu doing anything?"
"You'll find out in just a moment."
As magical particles were focused into the circle, the spell Yula had begun to channel through her focus was amplified tenfold. Globules of molten metal flew from the engorging fireball coalescing like a sun at the tip of her staff, soon growing to such a size as to force the audience to shield their eyes lest they became blind. As the fireball levitated into the air, constrained only by Yula's will, Manyu squinted as the brightness seared into his retinas.
"Dear oh dear…" He muttered, "That's quite the eyesore."
"Apologies in advance for any pain this may cause, Manyu!" Yula's glittering silhouette fired a taunt at him from across the floor, "I'll make sure to grab the priests as soon as it's over!"
And like that, her concentration faded, sending the gargantuan fireball, which had grown to just barely fit within the arena's perimeter, hurtling towards the young man. Even from that distance, Manyu felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead as the tremendous heat beamed down on him. For many, such a spell was the last thing they would ever see--mercifully, the explosive force would normally put most combatants down before they were engulfed by agonising flames.
But Manyu didn't falter, even as the glowing fireball came ever closer. Rather, to the amazement of those who could still bear to look upon the spectacle, he extended an arm out towards it, as if beckoning the spell to draw near.
There was a glow at the tip of his finger--a colourless hue which sapped the light around it. Against all rationality, it scraped against the undulating sphere with a sound like swords clashing, immediately stopping the fireball in its tracks. A few seconds later, its very shape began to deform, becoming an inverted teardrop coalescing from Manyu's touch. Then, as he curled his finger inward, the fireball was drawn directly into his body, eliciting gasps from the onlooking crowd. Those who uncovered their eyes expecting to see a charred corpse on the ground were astounded to spot Manyu idling as calmly as ever, like the spell had never existed to begin with.
"What…" Yula blinked, "Was that… absorption?"
It was possible for minor feats of magic to be nullified using one's own body as a vessel to contain magical particles. Small magical fires and especially weak spells were common targets for such a strategy, but Yula's attempt at Manyu's life was anything but weak.
"Impossible." She concluded, "Absorbing that many magical particles would kill you in seconds. Just how attuned are you?"
Manyu didn't answer, for he was more concerned with the feeling that was welling up in his body. A slow and uncomfortable lethargy, like that inflicted by a cold, made him feel sick to his stomach. Repressing the urge to vomit, he attempted to steady his breathing while trying to comprehend the vast amount of magical particles that were fluttering through his body at that precise moment.
Something was coming. A rising sensation in his core. His chest became numb first of all, paralyzed by pins and needles, which then spread to his head, his arms, his legs… soon, it felt as if something was turning beneath his skin like a parasite.
A final exhalation accompanied his release. There was a sudden sound--like the rushing of a storm, and as he recoiled from the pain, a wave of cerulean light was expelled from Manyu's body, quickly dissipating as ripples expanded from the barrier surrounding the arena's pit. Yula felt something--a projectile of some sort careening past her cheek which left behind a searing pain. When she raised a hand to touch the apparent wound, it came back studded with droplets of blood, as if some microscopic knife had just barely missed her.
"Ah…" After a pause, Manyu groaned, "Perhaps that wasn't such a good idea…"
From innumerable, invisible wounds, bruises quickly appeared on his skin, dyeing Manyu's body an unseemly purple.
"He actually survived expelling such a large amount of magical particles…" Yula noted, "That must have hurt, Manyu!"
"It did… or rather, it does…" He sighed, "That's what I get for trying to show off…"
What had just occurred wasn't something that could be easily understood. By taking control of so many magical particles--far in excess of what even he was capable of wielding, Manyu had triggered a release, or 'expulsion', of excess particles from his body. In a single instant, countless microscopic shards of metal had torn through his skin and flown through the arena like shrapnel, not large enough to cause grievous wounds, but with enough force to leave thousands of miniature lacerations across his body.
"An impressive show of magical aptitude. But my circle remains etched in the dirt." Yula smirked, "I hope you won't mind if I ended this now, would you?"
Grabbing hold of the staff still stuck halfway into the ground, Yula began another incantation--the very same she had been chanting just moments prior.
"Right…" Taking a breath, Manyu tried to ignore the pain in his joints, "I've had my fun."
Holding out a discoloured, bruise-covered hand, a flicker of darkness appeared in his palm.
"Hm?" The sight of it knocked Yula straight out of her incantation, "...D-Dark magic?"
A gaggle of pitch-soaked particles, like a swarm of flies, began to flutter around Manyu's hand as he extended a finger towards Yula.
"Fall." He commanded.
There was no spectacle to accompany his cast, nor was it apparent that he had done anything in the slightest. A few seconds of utter silence were allowed to follow, before Yula's grip separated from her staff, the light gone completely from her eyes.
Like a puppet with its strings cut, she fell into a heap on the arena floor without another word, unresponsive and unable to fight.
"Oh…" From the noble's stands, Dorma leaned back in her seat, "A power word. Very impressive…"
It was decided in that moment--Manyu had emerged triumphant, though there were no cheers or claps to accompany his victory. As soon as it became apparent that Yula wasn't going to be standing back up, the gates of the arena rose once more to allow the priests and healers access to the pit, who quickly surrounded the girl.
"Wha-" As mutters exploded from the crowd, Pale stammered in confusion, "What was that!?"
"Seems to me that Manyu didn't feel like playing around any longer." Shilahi answered, "...Well, that went about as well as I expected for poor Yula."
"How is that fair?" She asked, "A spell that just kills people instantly?"
"It's quite the difficult spell to cast--or so Dorma once told me. Dark magic through-and-through, so there are even fewer sorcerers willing to attempt it." The Great Hermit explained, "-I don't believe she's dead, however. A power word can be used to stun just as easily as it can be used to kill."
"Won't he use that against everyone?"
"I believe those of sufficient constitution can resist it. I should know--the slug once sought to end me just as easily. And dark magic can take its toll on a Demon King, so I don't think he's likely to attempt it again anytime soon."
"...I suppose that means you're up next?" Pale wondered.
"Indeed. And against another sorcerer, to boot." Shilahi sighed, "Then again, I would much rather face off against one of His Majesty's advisors than Dorma. Bad luck on your part."
"Ugh…" A sour expression crossed the girl's face, "Don't remind me…"