Ashborn 333: The Procession of Champions (Patreon)

Trumpets blared. Banners billowed in the breeze, and the cheers… The cheers were deafening.

The Ravager’s Den was barely recognizable in its current form—so drastic was its transformation. Where before, empty bleachers and work crews milled around the silent space, it now thrummed with an unstoppable energy Vir had never known. Indeed, had never thought possible.

For so many demons to congregate in one place—all for them. For the sixteen combatants who currently waited in the fighter’s corral, awaiting their turn to be introduced to the world.

The waiting area was a large, two-story space with vaulted ceilings and pillars that supported them. Windows looked out onto the arena, but were small enough that those in the grandstands couldn’t see anyone inside.

A four-armed Bairan worked at a grindstone, performing last-minute sharpening for the combatants—a free service offered to all the fighters, as well as complimentary armor checkup and tuning. It was one Vir was only too happy to take advantage of as he waited.

Shan sat quietly in a corner, not drawing attention to himself. For that, Vir was glad. Thanks to his prana density, his shaved fur had already grown back, hiding his tattoo, but Vir didn’t want to arouse any more suspicion than an Ash Wolf already did.

Through the waiting room walls, Vir could hear the muffled sounds of the commentators shouting to be heard above the frenzy, despite his amplified voice. Their energy was infectious—as real as prana or Chakra itself—and for the first time, Vir found himself feeling something other than anxiety about the upcoming matches.

Maybe, just maybe, this might actually be fun.

“There you go,” the armorer said, handing Vir back his sword and armor. “Polished and ready to go. I gotta say, never seen this design before. Especially your armor. Beautiful craftsmanship. And these segmented plates… You don’t think the master who built this would come after me, do you?”

Vir chuckled. “I’d say that’s quite unlikely.”

“Good, good. Let me help you put that on,” he said, assisting Vir as he donned his cuirass. Both the armor and weapon Princess Tiyana Matali bought him had served him well through the Ash, accruing many dents and scratches. The dents had been pounded out, and the paint reapplied, but there was no hiding its battle-worn appearance.

Which was good. It was proof of his toils and tribulations in the Ash. The years of struggle he’d endured to get to this point. Vir would’ve been saddened if the armor looked the same as it did when he’d first worn it in the Human Realm.

“Alright everyone,” a Bairan announced, gathering everyone’s attention. He was dressed in a formal blue Bairan silk vest and pants, and appeared to be their host. “In just a few moments, your names will be called in order of the roster posted on the wall.” He gestured to a large scroll that some attendants were in the process of unfurling on a pillar nearby. It listed all sixteen of their names. 

“When called, we ask that you walk out to the central stage and wait there until the procession is over. Oh, and please do wave at the audience. They love it.”

He stared directly at Zarak’Nor when he said that, but the Ghael’s expression remained blank, as if he hadn’t heard.

Vir scanned the list with excitement and trepidation. Predictably, Cirayus’ name was at the bottom, though he was listed only as ‘The Ravager’. Vir breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his name listed towards the bottom of the list. At least he wouldn’t have to wait out in the open for too long.

Tara was closer to the top of the list, and he threw her a look full of pity. 

Apparently, the naga had something to say, because she power walked over to him. She looked him in the eyes for a long moment, then slapped his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Quit pouting.”

Before Vir could reply, she walked off, striking up a conversation with another demon. Vir was left shaking his head wryly.

“Saras of the Aindri!” the host called. “You’re up!”

A burly red demon made his way to the hall that led out to the arena, a boar-like animal accompanying him. It paused at the entrance, looking back at the room, before snorting and farting.

Vir couldn’t know if that was on purpose, but a round of chuckles rippled through the room, lifting the heavy aura that had settled there. Heavy not because they were nervous, but because of the death glares several Warriors had been throwing at each other the whole time.

There was very obviously a tangled web of history and resentment here, and Vir didn’t want to get embroiled in any of it.

“Ladies! Gentlemen! Nagas, Ghaels, and Giants alike! Boy, do we have a special event for you this year. Isn’t that right, Nakin?”

“Indeed, that is true, Samik. With the Ravager’s return…”

Vir tuned out the overenthusiastic commentators. Their voices made them sound fake, and Vir didn’t know why they spoke that way. Did people find it interesting?

The cheers that erupted soon after answered him.

“And now, we have the pleasure of welcoming our first combatant. This veteran fighter from the north is back, and he’s been training! Having sequestered himself at the Boundary for years, he’s gained a full Guardian Rank. Can the Silver-ranked Saras finally break the quarterfinals this year? Weee’ll seeeee! Everyone, welcome the one, the only, Saras of the Aindriiii!”

Saras jumped on his companion boar and rode out to uproarious applause—pumping his spear high into the sky with each cheer. 

After an introduction like that, Vir was hardly surprised. Still, there was something off about the cheers, and it wasn’t until the third combatant had left that Vir understood what.

Each time, the applause came from a distinct section of the arena. And generally, only that section. The area where the Warrior’s clansmen sat and stood.

As Cirayus had mentioned, each Clan had their own section, and though there was nothing preventing the clans from comingling, nearly everyone sat with their kin.

It said something that the cheers were so isolated to the clans. From what Vir saw, nearly nobody outside of the clan cheered.

That was until Roshan—Thaman’s son—walked out.

“One who needs no introduction—if you don’t know who he is, you don’t deserve to be here!”

“True. Take a good look, everyone. You may very well be looking at one of our finalists. Are we headed for a master versus disciple duel for the finals?”

“That sure would be something, wouldn’t it?”

The commentators went on as Roshan loped out, casually waving at the crowd like he was taking a stroll. He hefted his enormous war hammer over his shoulder, and made no move to show off or brandish it. It was clear from his demeanor that he was used to such attention.

As the Raja’s son, Vir understood why that would be, yet he still struggled to fathom how anyone could truly grow comfortable with so many eyes upon them.

The applause came not just from Baira, but Panav, and to a lesser extent, from Aindri as well.

The names continued to be called until Zarak’Nor was up. Vir honestly wasn’t sure how the Iksana Ghael would be received. 

As it turned out, he was another fan favorite, despite skulking out without bothering to wave. Unlike the others, his dagger was sheathed, and he looked almost… Bored. Vir suspected the host’s words were actually directed solely at Nor, rather than at any of the newcomers.

“Everybody. I could make a long and storied introduction, but does anything need to be said apart from two words? Reigning. Champion. That’s right. The Iksana Ghael you all know and love! Let’s hear it for the Gold Rank, Zarak’Noooooor!”

The cheers were on another level from before. The Iksana camp absolutely exploded, but Bairans, Panav, and even a few Aindri joined in.

To Vir’s surprise, though, there were also a fair share of boo’s, and those came from all over. Vir wondered what that was all about. They were swiftly drowned out by the cheers, though, so he wasn’t quite sure what that was about.

Vir was noticing that the Panavs were cheering on several warriors. Perhaps it was because they were used to not having a competitor in the top sixteen. Or maybe it was because they were just friendlier than the others.

Vir resolved to speak with the Panav Rajni before the tournament was over. He felt like of all the clans, Panav and Baira were the most likely to side with him.

Still, Gold Rank, huh? Vir thought. He wouldn’t be an easy opponent to defeat. Not by a long-shot.

Then came Tara’s turn. Vir gave her a reassuring nod, which she returned with an amused smirk. Like Roshan, she too exhibited no hint of anxiousness as she sauntered out of the room, one hand on her talwar.

“And now, a debut fighter from a clan that honestly needs more representation in this tournament. Are we looking at a Champion in the making? Will this Steel Ranked Panav accomplish what only a handful from her clan ever have? She’ll be one to keep follow, folks. Welcome Tara of the Panav!”

None of the other clans applauded. It hardly mattered, because the absolutely deafening energy from Tara’s clan more than made up for it.

“We-he-ll!” The commentator Samik said, clearly taken aback by the response. “Have you ever seen the Panav cheer this hard for anyone?” 

“Can’t say I have, Nakin. This is just unprecedented. What a great welcome for a newcomer!”

Tara beamed, hefting her spear over one shoulder while waving at her clan with the other, even going so far as to blow them kisses. That, of course, sent them into a fervor of hoots and cheers, and there were as many eyes on the Panav clan as there were on Tara.

Vir almost felt bad for the demon who came after—a Bairan named Tarab—who received only a middling reception.

A Chitran kothi was announced, who received middling applause, along with a handful of boo’s, and then the dreaded moment finally arrived.

“Vaak? You’re up,” the host announced. Vir braced himself, tapping his Foundation Chakra to calm his nerves. His palms had grown sweaty, and it took all he had to force himself to walk normally.

He cast a brief glance at Cirayus, but the demon was animatedly chatting up another. Vir was sure his godfather would’ve wanted nothing more than to come over and clap his shoulders as Tara had, but that was why he’d sent Tara in the first place.

Cirayus didn’t want to attract any more ire toward Vir than he already had.

“Getting to the end here, Samik. Our next contestant is a debut warrior! In fact, I’d wager he’s the one we know the least about!”

“He’s also a bit of an oddball, Nakin. He’s the only unranked participant here. He fights alongside a prana wolf, but he claims no association to the Aindri. Just who is this newcomer?”

“I agree, Samik. We have ourselves a mystery Warrior that nobody has ever heard of. From where does he hail? How strong is he? We don’t know! We do know, however, that he has the favor of the Ravager himself. Tell me, who’d bet against someone claiming that?”

The answer, apparently, was a lot.

Vir walked boldly out into the arena, but it was not to deafening cheers, nor even to booing. The arena had fallen deathly silent, and only the Panav gave him some halfhearted claps.

Through sheer force of will and Chakra, Vir stopped himself from flushing from embarrassment. Instead, he waved as if the entire arena had lit up for him.

That, it seems, earned him some booing.

Oh well… he thought. I tried.

Just when he was about to lower his arm, Shan cocked his head to the sky and howled a howl so loud and long that even Vir startled in shock. 

It hadn’t just been his imagination, either. The arena had heard. Or at least, enough of them had that they started clapping—in earnest this time.

“Well, would you look at that!” one of the commentators said. “That has to be a first!”

The clapping picked up, until Vir felt comfortable waving to them again. He even smiled, despite his heart threatening to leap out of his chest.

Vir took up his spot and nodded at Tara, who nodded back with a genuine smile.

Was she worried for me? Vir wondered. He still didn’t know what to make of that girl. He felt like she was as mysterious as he must’ve appeared to her.

With so many others already lined up, Vir managed to calm himself as the rest of the names were announced. Now that he was out of the limelight, being able to see the entire stadium was actually quite a sensation. Every time the crowd roared, he felt ripples down his back.

The roars weren’t for him, but he couldn’t help fantasizing—what if, one day, they were? If, one day, he earned the arena’s respect enough for them to greet him with thunderous applause?

Would they react that way if he defeated Cirayus? Or would he be booed instead?

Vir was shocked out of his daydreams when Samik called the last name.

“Last, but certainly not least, we bring you the only Seric Ranked Warrior in this competition. Behold, everyone! The myth. The legend. The Rav—”

The commentator didn’t have time to finish. Cirayus bounded out of the waiting area, jumping a hundred paces into the sky as he brandished Sikandar high overhead.

The arena fell into a hushed silence.

He made for an awesome sight, with the enormous blade reflecting the sunset’s red glow as he fell, faster and faster.

He hit the ground with tremendous force, sending shockwaves through the arena.

The demon whirled and pointed Sikandar to the sky, then bellowed a war cry that made Vir shudder.

The arena, all at once, exploded.

So deafening were the cheers that Vir had to plug his ears. That, however, didn’t stop the drumbeat of fifty thousand demons as they stood in ovation to Cirayus’ arrival, stomping in unison. Every clan. Every single demon.

A chant rang out. It took Vir several repetitions to understand the words, but when he did, another set of shivers rippled down his spine.

“Ci—Ray—Us!”   

“Ci—Ray—Us!” 

“Ci—Ray—Us!”

Vir realized in that moment that no mere champion won such fervent adoration. No, one had to become a living legend for this. One had to win every tournament they ever fought, dozens upon dozens of times.

One had to be Cirayus the Ravager.