The crowd chattered as Leon and Gwarim calmly walked toward Triyr, Morui, and Britta. The weight of nearly a thousand post-Apotheosis mages was crushing, but Leon weathered it well, as did the others on the stage. For all their whispered words—most concerning this duel—Leon paid them little mind, concentrating instead on the mocking grin on Triyr, the Basileus’ confidence reaching the point of arrogance.
’He’ll regret that attitude…’ Leon thought. He had many tools at his disposal, many of which might buy him victory, and some he might have to resort to. He was fighting a thirteenth-tier mage, a man much older than him and who had tricks of his own, undoubtedly. Leon intended to win the duel and prove his claim in one stroke, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was the Thunderbird’s last living descendant. Doomfire or other powers he had might help him win the duel, but it wouldn’t help his claim of descent.
As he strode forward, he summoned Iron Pride to his waist, noting that Triyr had a saber of his own hanging from his hip. The familiar weight and eager power brought no shortage of comfort to him, cooling his blood for a moment and slowing his racing heart.
When he and Gwarim reached the waiting three, the crowd went silent. A mortal could’ve heard a pin drop in that theater. Every breath and every twitch was seen and scrutinized, analyzed for weakness, judged by the watching Lords.
“I’m surprised you showed up, Leon Raime,” Triyr said, confidence oozing from every pore. Leon wanted nothing more in that moment than to wipe his smarmy smile off the face of Voidshore, but he locked himself down, keeping an iron grip on his emotions.
“No one would have blamed you for running…” Morui spoke in a grandfatherly tone despite sharing the youthful features that nearly all post-Apotheosis mages did. “This duel is beyond your power.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time I beat the odds,” Leon replied with a shallow smile. He heard a few hisses and murmured curses from some of the watching Ocean Lords, but most kept their cool.
“One’s luck runs out eventually,” Triyr quipped. “There is no Princess for you to whore yourself to this time, child. Tell me, what did your allegiance cost? How much did Princess Miuna have to shit out for you to make you betray the Storm Lands?”
Auras behind Leon pulsed and shuddered; what Triyr said struck a chord in both Ocean and Storm Lords; the former increased their affronted murmurings while the latter more closely focused on Leon alone.
Leon’s hand came to rest on the hilt of Iron Pride, a tiny unseen bolt of lightning connecting the Adamant to his body for a moment and passing along a spark of power. A response, bitter as the neffen beans that the Spiders had started cultivating after settling in the Nexus, was swallowed.
“I recognize no master, Triyr,” Leon said boldly and loudly. “Least of all, you. Princess Miuna negotiated peace with me after I defeated Despot Terris! I am no more her vassal as you are!”
“Her frequent visits—”
A pulse of power from Britta silenced Triyr immediately, but despite that, the Anassa’s power was gentle and motherly, not insistent or violent.
“By the grace of His Radiance, the Luminary, the Sun King Anushirawan, I guarantee the sanctity of this city.” Her words flowed as smoothly as morning light, spoken in a voice as smooth and beautiful as shimmering silk. “Violence is prohibited. Killing, even more so. The Sun King has given his word, and all who break his rules make a personal enemy of His Radiance.
“By the power he has entrusted to me, I will oversee this duel and guarantee the agreed-upon terms—so long as the rules I impose are kept.”
Leon fixed her in an intense stare, as did most of the others, Lords or otherwise. Yet, as she continued, her voice didn’t waver for a single lyrical syllable.
“You are forbidden from killing your opponent. When I have judged the duel as over, so shall it be. There will be no attacks that intentionally place the spectators in danger. No powers shall place Voidshore, or any land upon this demiplane, in danger. Do you both understand me?”
Violet limpid eyes, captivating on the golden-blond woman, locked onto Leon and Triyr in turn, only turning away once they acknowledged her terms.
“And your seconds?” she pressed, her eyes tracking Morui and Gwarim, too.
Both nodded their assent—not that doing so cost them anything since neither would be fighting this duel. A second was only to stand in when either of the primary combatants couldn’t for whatever reason begin the fight.
“State your terms,” she ordered.
“Storm Herald,” Triyr immediately jumped in, his aura buzzing with the excitement of his words. “All of your golems, as well! And you will acknowledge me as your Lord and will serve me loyally as one of my Despots!” He paused and glanced at Morui, who was boring holes into the back of his head with his gaze. When he turned back to Leon, his smile had broadened. “Furthermore, you will turn your consorts over to my friend Morui.”
Fury, black as the Void, reared its head within Leon, but aside from a twitch in his sword hand, he kept his exterior calm. ‘You’ll get yours, lecher,’ he thought without even acknowledging Morui himself.
“Are those all of your terms?” Britta asked when Triyr paused.
“Yes,” the Basileus responded.
“And yours?” the Anassa asked Leon.
“Should I win…” Leon said, momentarily wondering how he ought to push this since he’d already made his terms known at the challenge, but they seemed paltry now. Some measured response was warranted, to be sure, if only to not upset the status quo, but Triyr and Morui’s demands were simply too onerous for Leon to let slide—especially not with his enraged and terrified wives depending on him.
It took him a moment to find his voice, and when he did, he said, “When I win, you will fall to your knees and apologize publicly for your behavior and dishonorable terms. You will kiss the ground my wives walk upon—these terms apply to both of you. You will never disturb them again. Additionally, I demand that you each pay me one hundred times your weight in Aurichalcum, and another one hundred times your weight in Titanstone. You will acknowledge me as the last living scion of the Thunderbird Clan, and you will thank me, my father, and my entire lineage for the privilege of your life, and the gift I bestow in not taking it. You will stay here on Voidshore for the duration of the Belicenian Games, not participate in their glories, and reflect on the poor choices that led you to such a point.” Leon glanced at Britta. “I’m done.” A quick look at Gwarim invited him to state his terms.
“I desire nothing more than the gift of your company, Leon Raime,” Gwarim stated. “Come to Brontos and stay a while in my castle, where we shall feast and drink as new brothers!”
Leon grinned. “That sounds like a fantastic time. I’d be a fool to turn you down!”
Gwarim let out a booming laugh that must have been audible over half of Voidshore. “Of course you would be! All would be a fool to turn down my hospitality!”
“Are you done with your terms?” Britta asked, her cold demeanor standing in strong contrast to Gwarim’s boisterousness.
“Yes,” Leon replied, and when Gwarim nodded, Britta continued.
“Your terms are stated. Agree to them and begin your duel at your leisure. Turn them down, and I will not allow this duel.”
Leon was about to agree, not letting his twisting stomach that insisted he consider the consequences another few hundred times dictate his actions, but Triyr narrowly beat him to the punch.
“Turn the terms down, Leon Raime,” Triyr mockingly jeered. “A fool who claims the most venerable bloodline in the Storm Lands, relying not on their own power but on borrowed prestige from a dead Clan, has no business fighting me! Turn this duel down and you won’t have to suffer knowing your whores are being broken in Morui’s harem!”
Morui himself, instead of looking pleased with himself, instead glared momentarily at Triyr. Leon wondered if the man had just taken things too far—or at least, far enough to inspire just a little bit of ire within the other Basileus, for it certainly wasn’t enough for the man himself to back out.
A thin smile, one promising a torturous reprisal, spread across Leon’s face. No amusement had alighted in his heart; only a desire to paint the ground red with Triyr and Morui’s blood.
“I extend to you the same offer,” he growled, his words rumbling like thunder. Though Voidshore was a demiplane, tiny in comparison to a plane like Aeterna, clouds still gathered above and golden lightning flashed through them. A bolt fell from the largest cloud and struck a statue adorning the top of the theater, and with a wave of her hand, Britta dispelled the gathering storm.
“Watch your power…” she said again, her eyes locking onto Leon. “I will not say it again…”
Leon reined himself in even as the demonstration sent a wave of whispers through the watching crowd.
“Neat trick,” Triyr said. “But not enough to save you. Very well, let us get on with this, I’d like to break in my new ark before the day’s out!”
Leon smirked in response and let a few silver-blue bolts of lightning crawl up his arm.
Silence descended upon the crowd at the sight, and Triyr’s eyes narrowed. Morui backed up a step while Gwarim started to laugh. Several Storm Lords took off from their seats and hovered over the stage, apparently seeking a better view.
“Colorful lightning… means nothing,” Triyr said, his demeanor quickly recovering. “In the millennia since Jason Keraunos, many have come to the Nexus claiming to bear his power. All are now gone. You ought to take that as a warning against spreading your falsehood: the Storm Lands no longer desire to be ruled by the Thunderbirds.”
Leon responded by slowly drawing Iron Pride, the blade sparking and flashing with silver-blue lightning.
Triyr sneered. “Humiliation it will be, then. Be sure to thank the Sun King; his will is all that will save your life today.” He drew his own weapon, the silvery metal glinting in the light of the shining city. Its aura radiated like a bolt of lightning, melding so perfectly with Triyr’s that Leon knew what it was made of: Adamant. Triyr, too, had an Adamant weapon.
As weapons were bared, Gwarim and Morui both fell back to the edge of the theater, just far enough back that they could protect themselves yet not far enough to truly disengage.
For a moment, nothing happened.
And then everything happened.
Leon and Triyr shot towards each other at the speed of lightning, Leon’s colored silver-blue and Triyr’s standard gold. Leon stabbed while Triyr slashed. Blades brushed each other, deflecting to the side. The force of their meeting nearly threw Leon off balance, while Triyr only stumbled slightly.
Another slash came in at Leon’s side, but he twisted out of the way. In the same motion, he slashed at Triyr, using his silver-blue lightning to reach even further. The lightning of the Thunderbird slid over Triyr, held off by golden bolts that exploded out, bathing Leon in their light and heat. Leon was thrown back, but he’d already reached out and held off the worst of it, leaving himself little more than mildly scorched.
He righted himself quickly, expecting a follow-up that didn’t come. Instead, Triyr remained where he was, gloating like a man who’d already won, with hardly a hair out of place.
“Face it, L—” he said, but Leon thrust his blade forward, letting loose with power.
Lightning streamed from Iron Pride, overpowering the light of Voidshore, and struck Triyr with all the power that Leon could bring to bear. Origin power lanced through him and gave the stream a boost, while the Iron Needle within sang in tune, speeding Leon’s lightning along its deadly journey.
Suddenly, pain lanced through Leon as a blade of dull iron tore through his thigh, ripping skin from flesh and muscle from bone. His bones stood up for a moment longer before they, too, cracked, and with a gasp of pain, Leon fell, his lightning momentarily cutting off.
’Where did…?’ he thought in confusion, his golden eyes remaining locked on the grinning Triyr while his magic senses inspected the horrific wound.
“A Despot is strong,” Triyr said. “But a Basileus is stronger.”
‘Thirteenth-tier. He made matter from origin power and the Mists of Chaos…’
Leon’s wounds were already healing, his flesh stitching back together rapidly and even accelerating as he tore the blade from his leg. But in that moment, Triyr launched himself at Leon, bringing his saber down on him in a vicious overhead chop backed up by a cataclysmic amount of golden lightning.
Iron Pride met the weapon, Leon using all of his power and both hands to hold Triyr back.
Golden lightning arced around him, licking at his feet, hair, and anywhere else it could penetrate his defenses. Caught on the ground in a battle of strength, Leon knew he wasn’t going to win. Gritting his teeth, he kicked out at Triyr and slammed his foot into the man’s shin. He did little damage, but he momentarily disrupted Triyr’s concentration, allowing him to grab himself with his elementless power and dart into the air.
Blood flowed freely from his leg, but the wound had already healed halfway. Pain lanced through Leon’s mind, but more than even that, anger at the wound and fear of potential loss pushed him on. Triyr came after him, and Leon began dancing through the air, staying mobile and refusing to get locked down in another contest of strength. Blades clashed and lightning boomed, while above, clouds gathered again.
“You can’t win!” Triyr shouted. “Your resistance, though admirable, is futile!”
Leon ducked under a saber slash, enduring the golden lightning raking across his face in favor of thrusting Iron Pride at Triyr’s exposed ribs. But the man twisted and brought his saber in for another slash. The saber glanced off Iron Pride, the metal humming as silver-blue and golden lightning exploded between them.
For a moment, Leon retreated. His senses accelerated by lightning, Triyr noticed and pursued. The moment he shot forth, Leon reversed course, throwing himself back into Triyr in a display of manic, nigh-suicidal aggression. Having held Iron Pride with both hands for strength, Leon released his off-hand and conjured his power.
Triyr’s saber met Iron Pride and, with Triyr’s strength, ripped it from Leon’s fingers. But Leon only pushed further in, a silver-blue lightning spear already formed in his left hand. Triyr’s eyes widened in shock as Leon drove it into his body.
Silver-blue lightning erupted around them, drowning out all other senses. Thunder filled Leon’s ears as silver-blue filled his eyes, and ozone his nose. He could feel resistance against him pushing further, so he packed more and more power into the lightning spear while tensing the fingers of his right hand and calling for Iron Pride.
The familiar hilt found its way back to him, the blade and the Iron Needle within joyfully blazing with power at the reunion. Had Leon been so much as a fraction of a second slower, it might’ve cost him everything.
Triyr’s saber cleaved through Leon’s power, and he barely managed to bring Iron Pride in to block the strike. Golden lightning exploded, hurling him back into the invisible barrier protecting the spectators. Leon had little chance to do anything but brace himself with Iron Pride as Triyr followed, his saber chopping at Leon’s abdomen.
With a vicious metallic clang, their blades met again, and power overwhelmed both combatants. Leon called upon all of his skill in lightning to ward off Triyr’s power, but he could feel his hair start to burn and a few foreign bolts rippling over his skin. Slowly, Triyr’s power squeezed against him, crushing him down, pressing into his skin, seeking his heart, seeking his soul realm.
Through the blinding power, through the bone-shattering thunder, Leon heard Triyr laughing.
“Your power is convincing, Leon! But even if it’s true, it wouldn’t matter! You wouldn’t be the first Thunderbird heir I’ve killed!”
Leon’s eyes widened in shock, his strength waning for the slightest of moments. But that was enough to let Triyr’s saber slice into flesh, and the foreign power crawling under his skin like burrowing insects multiplied tenfold.
A scream tore through Leon’s throat as he felt another power surging behind him—Britta, possibly seeking to enforce the terms of the duel. He had less than a second to act before he lost by default.
His fingers squeezed Iron Pride. He’d sought to win with skill and the power of the Thunderbird, but he was about to lose. He needed to reach deeper.
Iron Pride, and the Iron Needle within, responded to his desperate call. His fingers burned, flesh boiled, bones cracked, and black lightning ripped through Triyr’s power like a harpoon through water.
Triyr, caught unprepared for such a move, screamed. The horrific sound bounced around the theater, curdling the blood of all the mighty Lords and well-blooded warriors who heard it.
Leon fell with Triyr’s power no longer holding him against the barrier, but he caught himself and lowered himself gently to the stage floor. Triyr had been nearly thrown off the demiplane, the same barrier Leon had nearly been crushed against holding him from hurtling off into the black.
He looked much worse for wear, his tunic having disintegrated, leaving much of his flesh over his chest and left shoulder burned black, flesh having been torn from his body and everything beneath cauterized beyond recognition. Triyr hit the ground at the same time as Leon, the wounds he’d inflicted on Leon also needing healing.
Leon struggled to move against the smoking Basileus, who struggled just as mightily to rise. Leon sensed Britta’s power closing in to ensure their safety, and he forced himself back up, his leg nearly healed even after Triyr’s near-win. His right hand had been ruined by his use of black lightning, but his left hand was still in working order. Pain died slowly as his left fingers closed around Iron Pride’s hilt. Silver-blue lightning raced along the blade as he pointed it at Triyr.
The last move. His win. Lightning surged from Iron Pride.
Triyr looked up and smiled. His power flared; a spell appeared; noise, alien and wrong and familiar, slammed into Leon.
His blood rebelled against him and his power dissipated. Everything went dark for a moment before his eyes shot open, the familiar sight of the Mists of Chaos above his Mind Palace greeted him.
“Leon…!” the Thunderbird called, and Leon saw her collapsed on his platform. Her skin was ashen and her body weak. Leon sensed the defenses he’d laid across his soul realm being tested in a way that was all too familiar.
He acted. Origin power snapped into place, forming a protective dome around his Mind Palace, and the pressure on him disappeared. He spared the Thunderbird only as long as it took to see her relax minutely before he launched himself back into his throne and opened his physical eyes.
He found himself lying on the ground with barely a handful of seconds having passed. Britta hovered above the stage, her hand extended, the fight about to end at her direction, but when his eyes found hers, she faltered; her power halted.
Pain filled Leon’s mind, but he recognized this as his last chance. He heard Triyr shuffling just behind him, and Iron Pride lay a few feet away.
“I… warned… you…!” Triyr gasped as he drew closer, pained wheezing hissing through holes in his chest and left lung. Leon sensed him draw close, and when Triyr halted, words forming on his lips, Leon flexed his left fingers, and Iron Pride moved.
The Adamant blade struck Triyr like a bolt hurled by all the gods mankind had ever worshipped. It cut into the center of his chest, missing his heart by the smallest of distances only at Leon’s direction—maimed and wracked with pain through he was, Leon wasn’t going to break the Sun King’s order now, much though he wanted to.
Triyr slammed into the barrier, Iron Pride cutting through to leave him impaled in the chest. Silver-blue lightning washed over him as his saber slipped from his hand, scorching everywhere it touched from within and without.
Leon rose shakily, nearly falling twice as he conjured a silver-blue lightning spear in his left hand. He could barely get his body to move right, but his aim was true; his thrown bolt struck Triyr, and for a moment, his body was lost in the power of the Thunderbird.
Then warm, gentle rays of light shone down, snuffing out Leon’s lightning while at the same time catching both Leon and Triyr and lifting them into the air. Light magic sank into their bodies, mending countless wounds. Pain was banished from Leon’s mind as his body was restored to pre-duel condition.
Triyr, however, couldn’t say the same. Iron Pride was forced from his chest and Leon caught it before it hit the ground, and Britta’s power wound its way through Triyr’s body, healing as it went. Triyr’s chest, where he’d been struck by Leon’s black lightning, however, resisted.
Britta’s power flared, nearly blinding Leon’s magic senses, and more origin power than Leon had ever sensed anywhere save for from the Origin Spark wrapped around Triyr, but even that had a surprisingly slow effect. Burned flesh fell from Triyr’s body and was replaced with new flesh, but Leon had already been fully healed by then.
“Basileus Triyr!” Britta called out.
The man himself, though his eyes remained open, didn’t respond.
“Basileus Triyr!” Britta insistently repeated, and Leon thought for a moment that he’d actually killed the man despite his efforts to only grievously injure.
And then Triyr hiccupped. That hiccup turned into the foulest, most awful, most horrific coughing fit that Leon had ever heard. Triyr contorted in the air, his aura shaky but flaring, and caught himself, freeing himself from Britta’s hold. Leon tensed, expecting an attack, but the man simply floated to the ground, where he fell to his knees and remained there, his eyes dull and unfocused while his fingers lightly brushed against the remaining black lightning burns on his chest.
As Triyr wheezed, Britta continued healing him. At the same time, her sonorous voice rang out for all the watching Lords to hear—though none needed it to be said at all.
“The winner of this duel… is Despot Leon Raime!”
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