Chapter 1963 (Patreon)

ToC: https://www.patreon.com/posts/23899958

Alana sipped her beer and leaned back in her chair. The night air coming off the sea was pleasantly cool. Tonight was a well-deserved break after the past two days of tense matches. A lot of people were leaving Tournament Island, returning to their lives. Partially because their favorite had lost, partially because of the extended nature of the fighting. There would only be two days of preparation before the round of 16, where the group who would fight Randidly would be determined.

Alana barely prevented her image from slipping out of her person. As she won in each match, another bit of heat was added to the flames burning inside her chest. Each victory was a little more sizzling anticipation she needed to endure. She had been waiting for this opportunity for a long, long time. As much as she was thankful for the Ghosthound and how he had helped shape her image, her Book of Revelations, she also had her pride.

Alana released a scalding breath through her nose. Her spear would find his flesh in this challenge.

Next to her, Hank, Tykes, and Donny were laughing and joking, mostly at Donny’s expense. He had lost in the round of 32 to Wolfram, unable to keep up with three heads’ worth of Skills being cast at once. For all of his wide area defensive brilliance, he didn’t have any decisive offensive component to his image. Some part of Alana wanted to join in the harmless fun, but the tension in her kept her from relaxing.

The heat kept building. She was so close. She wanted this chance so bad-

Alana raised her head; she felt it immediately when Azriel walked into the restaurant. And also when the woman stalked past the host without even a glance, making a beeline for their table. Conversation died as she passed, due to how recognizable a woman Azriel was.

It was also relatively predictable that the jovial nature of the night rapidly evaporate as Azriel approached the group. Donny frowned and Hank clicked his tongue loudly. Tykes only glanced at Azriel, unflappable even when the entire table knew that the reason Azriel won was that she was willing to die for the victory and Tykes wasn’t willing to kill her. He hadn’t spoken about the concession all night, and no one had pressed him on it.

However, what took them all by surprise was that Azriel’s gaze went straight to Alana. She didn’t even acknowledge Tykes. “I would like to request a spar with you, Alana Donal.”

There was a moment of silence as they all processed this information and pointedly didn’t look at Tykes. Then Hank snorted and slapped the table before standing up. “Alright, y’all sort this out. I’mma find some tequila.”

“Why?” Alana tilted her head to the side.

Azriel lifted her chin with a determined set of her lips. “Because I cannot see the way to defeat you, given our relative power and the consistency of your training regimen over the last few years. However, with exposure to your techniques, I believe that I will find an appropriate way to counter you and seize victory despite our differences.”

“Are ya fuckin’-” Hank stopped and turned around a few steps from the table when he heard Azriel’s words. Alana gave him a look and he held his hands up in surrender. “Yer right, none of ma’ business. Figure it out ya-selves~”

Alana turned back to Azriel, glad she didn’t have to remind him how little she needed his help. “And what benefit do I get out of this arrangement?”

Azriel’s gaze didn’t waver. She folded her arms behind her back. “I believe my qualifications speak for themselves. Our spars will be beneficial to you as well; after all, I am your next opponent. Finding my weaknesses and understanding my image will only improve your chances.”

Alana couldn’t help but chuckle; she would give Azriel this, the woman had no sense of shame. She could easily matter-of-factly state two narratives that were completely incompatible with each other. Next to her, Tykes raised his glass and finished the rest of his beer in a single massive gulp.

Azriel remained very, very still. She simply stared at Alana with her intense crimson gaze. Her abrupt passage through the bar continued to hold the attention of other patrons, now drawing their attention to the relatively low-key group. A man nervously asked Hank for an autograph on his way to the bar.

Alana sighed inwardly, all the cool breeze of the night vanquished by the attention and the heat in her chest. Now that they were fixated with so many strong gazes, the crowd began to whisper, wondering why two foes would be talking to each other. Especially with a defeated participant there at the table as well.

“Fine,” Alana leaned back in her chair. Better to take what she could; Azriel wouldn’t give up easily. “Let’s spar. But for each match, I’ll determine when the confrontation is over. And for each loss you suffer at my hands, you will need to give me one genuine piece of advice to improve my fighting ability. If you cannot give a satisfactory hint of how to improve, our sparring will be done. If you want more matches against me, you’ll need more insight.”

“This… is acceptable.” Azriel nodded. “But I must admit, your agreement seems contingent on an unlikely premise. You will acquire very little value if, after a single spar with you, I am satisfied with the arrangement.”

“Yup,” Alana grinned. Hank came back to the table, holding a tray filled with shots that he hadn’t even had to pay for. She grabbed each one, throwing them back in quick succession. Hank watched the whole thing with a sour expression, while Tykes laughed aloud and slapped his knee. Alana placed all the small glass cups face down on the table and grinned at Azriel. “Alright, lets go.”

In a way, Alana had hoped that the liquid in those small glasses would douse the mixture of nervousness and indignation she felt at Azriel’s actions. It hadn’t. So instead, she planned on thoroughly working off some stress tonight, in preparation for their match in a few days.

Anything to keep her restless body moving. Any distraction from the burning wave of need that grew in her.

*****

“So,” Beatrice rubbed the back of her head and blushed. She reached for her water glass, but her hand trembled so much she ultimately brought it back to her lap.

“So,” Illdan shifted in his seat, feeling vaguely sweaty. He resisted the urge to smell under his arms. He very abruptly regretted sending the blonde woman an invitation to dinner. There was something… immensely present about her blue eyes. The table, candles, polite servers, tasteful chandeliers, the entire restaurant… everything sank into a blue lagoon when he looked at her. And swimming in those waters felt like being baptized.

“Ahem,” Illdan coughed to recenter his thoughts. “It’s… quite strange for us to get dinner together, considering we are going to fight tomorrow. And because… well, we haven’t spoken at all in the meantime. Since you- since your first triumph.”

“But I’ve been watching you!” Beatrice said excitedly. Then she blushed again and looked at the table. “Ah, I mean your matches, of course. Just your matches. So, uhm, it was… really nice when you reached out. I’m glad. I had been… slightly hoping for the opportunity.”

“Of course,” Illdan’s mouth felt very, very dry. He really had no idea why he had briefly believed it a good idea to come here. To tell the truth, he had come out of the match in the previous round feeling nearly invincible. A subtle change came over his Skill while he fought against Daemont, who proved more challenging than Illdan had expected. It was like the entire world tingled against his skin; he sensed nearly everything in his vicinity.

So many Paths seemed open to him, then.

In that awesome feelings aftermath, Illdan deduced that he had some emotional reservations about his rematch with Beatrice; in order to keep that from being a problem, that confident version of himself had set up this meeting. He had considered it his chance to quiet any unusual feelings for the woman and set his sights on becoming champion.

All of that confidence now deserted him as he fiddled with his napkin. Complicating matters was that Illdan still struggled somewhat to understand customs of Expiran dining and social interactions: for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why there were so many damned forks and spoons arrayed around his plate.

Training hit a wall, as well. Over the past several days, Illdan had tirelessly attempted to recapture that feeling of understanding and awareness. And he was making definite inroads. Yet it occurred to Illdan that perhaps Daemont had been guiding him toward that evolution the whole time. Because he found himself now fumbling in the dark, whereas during the fight he had been sprinting toward a beacon in the distance. Everything had been so clear.

Abruptly, Illdan realized it had been silent for almost a minute. “So-”

“Uhm…!”

Both spoke at the same time. Then they laughed awkwardly. Illdan gestured for Beatrice to go first and she said. “So, I’m just asking out of curiosity, and all that, but… is it true what they are writing about you online?”

“Huh?” Illdan frowned. “Online?”

“On-” Beatrice looked him up and down. “Do you really not know what the internet is? So you haven’t seen the message boards about the tournaments? And the… sections about you specifically?”

“No. What are the people of your planet saying about me?” Illdan asked. At least this would give him something to focus on aside from her intoxicating gaze.

“A-ah… if you want me to s-s-say it out loud…” Her face flushed. “U-uhm, that every night, you descend from your window and stalk around the island. That you pick a girl who you don’t know: a new one every night, usually someone pretty and blonde, because that is your t-t-t-type. And- ahem, and then you convince her to come back to your room… you don’t take no for an answer, and you, your c-cheekbones, and the night air… the things you say as you whisk her away… the things you promise her… the way your hand rests on her hips, the heat of your touch… and because you are a spearman, you are especially good with your- ahem ahem, hmmm… the stabbing part-”

Illdan leaned back in his chair. “I- what?”

“I did think it was just fanfiction but when I read-” Beatrice blinked several times and furtively scanned his face. “O-only the start of a few stories, I just couldn’t help but wonder if that was something… the sort of thing you did. Or would be interested in doing. Sweeping up a girl at night, strangers who-”

“I literally have no idea what you are talking about,” Illdan felt very out of his element on this planet. If anything, he started to wish they would just fight and be done with it, already.

*****

Alana waited for almost a minute, her nose crinkled up at the smell. Then she shook her head and stood. “Well, it is pretty admirable that you already came up with a third piece of advice to get me here. Let’s call it here for the night after that last session.”

Azriel lay inert in a smoldering crater, the last vestiges of orange flames dissipating at the edges. If not for the woman’s surging fury, Alana might have assumed she was dead. Alana walked away slowly, giving her time to perhaps think of another recommendation. To her surprise, the woman had come up with two very solid pieces of advice the first night when they spared.

A lot of her own hesitance about her chosen style disappeared with the intense woman’s comments. If nothing else, Azriel’s direct nature made her advice quite relevant.

Of course, Alana had thrashed her three times, using the Revelations of Advance, Struggle, and Anguish respectively. So they had adjourned with Azriel unable to match up to her. Now, the night before their match, Azriel had returned with a new piece of advice, prompting one important rematch.

Using only those three revelations, to which Azriel had developed countermeasures in the meantime, Alana had thoroughly crushed the other woman into silence.

Outside the entrance to the training area, Tatiana waited with her arms folded. “You know, the audiences will be quite disappointed if you obliterate her fighting spirit outside of the tournament and she forfeits. People pay for the pleasure of watching their most powerful warriors demonstrate their Skills.”

“We both know that there is no way that Azriel is going to back down. That woman would walk toward her own execution and reprimand the executioner for being late.” Alana shook her head. Then she raised an eyebrow at Tatiana’s bare feet. “Also… after so long, Randidly finally converted you?”

Tatiana flashed an aggrieved expression. “Well, in a sense. I had a breakthrough in my Skillset related to him; I can borrow some of his Skills in their lesser versions. And wouldn’t you fucking know it, so many of the useful ones require contact between the feet and the ground- and seriously, what is wrong with him?!? How do buildings not interfere in the connection with the energy roots, but shoes do?!?”

Alana patted her shoulder. “Don’t let it drive you crazy. Anyways, goodnight-”

“Oh, no, Alana, not so fast.” Tatiana smiled at her, but in that expression, Alana could sense the wicked aggression of the Ghosthound. Tatiana widened her stance and put her hands on her hips. “I would have overlooked wrecking one of the training areas a few days ago, but doing it twice in a short span? While other participants are clamoring to use them? No, no, no. You own me quite a bit of money.”