The echoes of Celes's hard-fought victory had barely faded into the dark, rocky recesses of the Building of Entertainment when the massive violet display suspended above the arena pit flickered with a sudden, violent burst of light. The automated brass drones were already dragging the heavy, motionless form of Jhespa out of the blood-stained sand, leaving a thick, dark trail that quickly soaked into the golden grains. The heavy heat of the stadium remained suffocating, thick with the smell of sweat, iron, and the metallic tang of fresh blood. Up in our section of the stands, I leaned heavily against the smooth obsidian railing, my hands gripping the cold stone so tightly that my knuckles turned white. My heart was still hammering against my ribs from the sheer brutality of the last match, and my eyes felt strained against the constant, rhythmic pulsing of the crimson soul-lamps that lined the high, jagged arches of the ceiling. Salphy had finally uncovered her eyes, but she kept her small face buried safely against Elphyete's shoulder, refusing to look down at the floor. Alea and Hanashighi stood like unyielding pillars on either side of our row, their expressions entirely unreadable under the dim, red-tinged lighting. The thousands of spectators packed into the stone tiers around us kept up their low, vibrating hum of anticipation, their collective hunger for violence acting as a physical pressure against my chest.
The announcer's voice suddenly tore through the chaotic din of the stadium, stripped of any theatrical flourish or dramatic build-up, delivering the next pairing with the cold, absolute necessity of the tournament guidelines. "Nishighi vs Athria!"
The moment the first name left the magically amplified speakers, a sharp, deafening transformation occurred within the stadium. It wasn't the usual deep, guttural roar of bloodthirsty mercenaries or battle-hardened gladiators. Instead, a piercing, high-pitched wave of noise erupted from various sections of the stone tiers. I nearly jumped out of my skin, my hands flying up to cover my ears as a massive chorus of random girls began screaming frantically, their voices echoing off the high cavern walls in a state of absolute frenzy. I blinked in utter confusion, my eyes darting across the stands as rows of female spectators leaned precariously over the barriers, waving their hands and shouting the man's name with an intensity that felt entirely out of place in this dark, underground slaughterhouse. I turned my head back toward the gate, my jaw dropping slightly as I waited to see what kind of person could provoke such a wild, chaotic reaction in a place like this.
From the left entrance tunnel, Nishighi stepped out onto the sand. The moment his figure emerged into the crimson glare of the soul-lamps, the screaming of the girls reached a fever pitch. He was a middle-aged man, but he possessed an undeniable, extremely attractive physical presence that seemed to command the entire space around him. His long, midnight-black hair flowed loosely past his shoulders, catching the pale red light and shifting with a smooth, silken grace as he walked. He had deep, piercing black eyes that seemed completely unaffected by the madness of the crowd, staring forward with a calm, terrifyingly clear focus. His physical frame was broad and exceptionally powerful, his posture reflecting the quiet confidence of a seasoned veteran who had survived countless battlefields. He carried a standard, elegantly crafted sword at his hip, his left hand resting casually near the guard as he made his way toward the center of the pit. He didn't wave to the screaming fans, nor did he acknowledge the frantic chants echoing through the stone tiers; he simply walked with a measured, deliberate stride that made the loose sand beneath his boots seem to settle perfectly under his weight.
From the opposite tunnel, Athria strode out to meet him. The atmosphere around her was entirely different, radiating a sharp, lethal energy that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. She was a powerful warrior, her movements fluid and deceptively casual as she closed the distance. What caught my eye immediately, causing me to lean further over the obsidian railing, was her stance. Her hands were raised in front of her body, her fingers curled tight as if she were firmly gripping the hilt of a weapon, but there was absolutely nothing visible in her hands. The air around her knuckles rippled and distorted, a subtle, shimmering blur that indicated she was wielding an entirely invisible sword. She was a master of the feint, her torso shifting and swaying in a hypnotic, erratic pattern that made it nearly impossible to determine which direction her physical weight was actually moving. She stopped ten paces away from the black-haired man, a confident, dangerous smile playing on her lips as she adjusted her invisible grip, the air whistling softly around her empty hands.
I stood frozen at the railing, my eyes darting rapidly between the two combatants as they squared off in the center of the broken sand. The absolute contrast between Nishighi's serene, mature attractiveness and Athria's predatory, shifting stance made my stomach knot with a sudden, anxious tension. I expected the fight to start with a massive exchange of words or a sudden burst of magical energy, but the two random fighters simply stared at each other for a brief heartbeat before the silence was shattered.
Athria exploded forward first. Her speed was immense, but it was her movement that completely broke my ability to track the action. As she rushed across the sand, her body seemed to split into a confusing blur of motion. She feinted to the left, her shoulder dipping so low that I was certain she was launching a low-register sweep, but a microsecond later, her weight had completely shifted to the right. The invisible sword cut through the air with a terrifying, high-pitched hiss. I couldn't see the blade, but I could see the physical reaction of the environment; a deep, clean line was instantly carved into the sand several feet away from her actual hands, the sheer pressure of the unseen steel displacing the earth with lethal force. I gasped, my eyes widening in sheer panic as the invisible strike aimed directly at Nishighi's throat.
Nishighi didn't flinch. His excellent tactical mind was on full display as he anticipated the deception before the strike could even manifest. With an incredibly smooth, minimal movement, he drew his sword just enough to meet the unseen danger. A brilliant cascade of white sparks suddenly erupted from empty air as his steel collided perfectly with the invisible blade. The sound of the impact was a deafening, metallic ring that vibrated through the stone benches beneath my feet. Nishighi didn't just block the attack; he absorbed the entirety of her immense momentum without moving an inch from his spot. His physical power was staggering, his boots locked into the earth like iron weights as he effortlessly deflected the pressure of her assault, forcing Athria to skid backward across the grit.
I was completely breathless, my eyes darting from the sparks in the air back to our section of the stands. I happened to look over at Hanashighi and Ishighi, expecting them to show some sign of worry or excitement given the terrifying nature of Athria's invisible weaponry. To my absolute amazement, both of them were completely quiet. They hadn't uttered a single word since the match was called. They sat back against the stone wall with their arms crossed over their chests, their expressions entirely relaxed and confident. They were just watching the display below as if they already knew, with absolute certainty, that Nishighi would win this fight without any trouble. There was no anxiety in their eyes, no tension in their shoulders; they looked like spectators watching a predetermined simulation.
Beside me, Eufrien leaned slightly forward, his long blonde hair brushing against the obsidian barrier as his heterochromatic eyes narrowed into cold, calculating slits. His emerald left eye and sapphire blue right eye tracked Nishighi's movements with a rare, profound level of respect. Eufrien watched the black-haired man reset his casual stance, and then he spoke in a low, steady tone that carried clearly over the screaming of the random girls in the tiers. "His sword skills are close to my own," Eufrien remarked, his voice devoid of his usual playfulness. He paused for a moment, his gaze intensifying as Nishighi effortlessly parried another complex, shifting feint from Athria. "And as far as I can tell, he is holding back currently."
My head snapped toward Eufrien, my mouth hanging open in complete shock. To hear a swordsman of Eufrien's ultimate caliber admit that someone else's skills were close to his own—while the man was actively holding back against a master of feints—sent a cold, shuddering wave of awe down my spine. I turned my eyes back to the pit, my vision straining to capture whatever details I could as the battle reached its absolute peak.
Athria was growing visibly frustrated, her face twisting into a snarl as every single one of her masterful deceptions was met by an impenetrable wall of steel. She dropped into a radically low stance, her muscles tensing as she prepared to unleash everything she had. She launched into a final, overwhelming sequence of feints, her body moving so erratically that she looked like a shifting shadow tearing across the sand. She swung the invisible sword from multiple angles simultaneously, the wind pressure creating a localized vortex that whipped up a massive cloud of golden dust around Nishighi's position. The air screamed with the force of her unseen blade, cutting up the ground in a chaotic grid of destruction.
Nishighi stood perfectly still in the center of the roaring vortex. His long black hair whipped wildly around his attractive face, but his black eyes remained completely calm, staring directly through the illusion of her movements. He didn't shift his feet. He didn't drop his guard. In fact, to my eyes, he didn't even move his sword. His hand remained resting near the guard, his weapon appearing completely stationary as Athria completed her final, desperate rush, passing right beside him in a blur of motion.
For a single, agonizing second, the entire arena seemed to fall into a dead, breathless silence. The dust cloud slowly began to settle, and Athria came to a halt five paces behind him, her hands still raised in that empty, gripping posture. She stood perfectly rigid, her back to Nishighi, her expression frozen in a look of sudden, profound confusion.
Then, the reality of what had happened manifested all at once. Athria didn't separate, but suddenly, a multitude of deep, horrific lacerations erupted simultaneously across her entire body. She got cut up, down, left, right, the perfect lines appearing instantly through her armor and clothing. A massive spray of crimson blood burst outward from the wounds, painting the golden sand in a wide, macabre circle around her feet. She let out a choked, breathless gasp as the sheer volume of blood poured from her frame, yet remarkably, her flesh and bone remained held together by whatever tissue was left, her body refusing to fall apart as she collapsed heavily onto her knees. She fell forward into the dirt, motionless and completely defeated, the invisible sword vanishing entirely as her fingers finally went limp.
I recoiled from the obsidian railing, a hand flying over my mouth in absolute terror and disbelief. My mind was completely broken by what I had just witnessed. He hadn't moved. I had been staring directly at him, and I hadn't seen the steel leave his scabbard for that final strike. The sheer, imperceptible velocity of the execution left me trembling against the stone barrier, my brain refusing to comprehend how a human being could inflict such devastating, multi-directional damage without a visible motion.
From the edges of the pit, a group of arena workers rushed out onto the blood-soaked sand, carrying a heavy canvas stretcher between them to clear the body. The crowd watched in a stunned, hushed silence as the attendants approached the fallen warrior. The moment the workers reached down, grasping her shoulders and legs to try and carry her onto the stretcher, the slight physical disturbance broke the fragile balance holding her together. The cuts that had sliced her up, down, left, and right finally gave way, and the body began to separate along the clean, terrifying lines of the hidden strikes as they lifted her.
The screaming of the random girls erupted once more, a wild, deafening tempest of sound that shattered the silence of the Building of Entertainment. Nishighi slowly sheathed his sword with a quiet, metallic click, his long black hair settling back over his broad shoulders as he turned away from the gruesome scene without a single backward glance. He walked toward the competitor's tunnel with the same calm, attractive grace he had entered with, his black eyes fixed on the darkness ahead.
The massive violet display above the arena flickered to life, updating the text with the finality of the tournament's progression. The announcer's voice boomed through the high stone arches, delivering the final verdict over the chaotic noise of the thousands of spectators.
"Nishighi wins!"