14-88. The Victor

“Beast,” came a whisper, slightly louder than the rest. “Animal.”

Elijah ignored it, just as he paid no attention to the rest of the crowd’s muttering. Nor did he care for the cheers, jeers, or anything in between. He simply strode across the arena floor, his wounds healed, and his gear clean. The first came from a Healer commissioned by Kirlissa herself, while the second was the result of the Clean trait that came with his Chausses of the Wild Revenant.

In the center of the arena stood three people.

The first was the Curator, who hovered slightly above the sandy ground of the arena floor. His silver scales rippled with illumination as he basked in the crowd’s attention.

The second was a glaring Cyran. Being decapitated hadn’t cured his haughty disposition, and in fact, he looked as if he wanted to go another couple of rounds. However, Elijah suspected that doing so would not end the same way as the first. Cyran had used a lot of items during their previous fight, and most of those would have significant cooldowns.

It would likely take months for him to recover from chugging dozens of potions in such a short amount of time. At that volume, they still did what they were meant to do, but Cyran’s natural regeneration would be greatly reduced until his body reacclimated. For some, the consequences of potion abuse were permanent.

But in a life-or-death struggle, people made those sorts of choices. That Cyran had done it when his life was never really on the line was just a testament to how important winning the Tournament of the First Fang really was to him.

Doubtless, his other items were already on cooldown.

No – if he fought Elijah again anytime soon, the battle would be over in a few minutes at most.

Not that Elijah hadn’t burned a few of his own cooldowns. But he still had some tricks up his sleeve.

In any case, Cyran stared at him with venomous hate in his eyes. As befit a dragon who’d been told his whole life that he was destined for greatness, only to taste defeat on the biggest stage.

Millions had seen it firsthand. Uncountable citizens across the Empire of Scale had seen it through projections sent out as far as the frontier. To most people, there was no humiliation in defeat. Sometimes, others were just better. And coming in second in a field of millions? Certainly, there was no humiliation there.

But Cyran clearly wasn’t most people.

And if Elijah hadn’t already made an enemy with what he’d done to Skahan, his victory over Cyran had cemented what was sure to be lifelong enmity. Given what he knew of Cyran, Elijah was okay with that.

If he met Cyran on another field of battle, he’d put him down permanently. Likely, Cyran would try to do the same.

The third person was one Elijah didn’t recognize. A drake with black scales, she was surely the next highest finisher in the tournament. Elijah couldn’t help but grin when he considered that Skahan might’ve occupied that place, had Elijah not crippled his mind and spirit.

He deserved worse.

Elijah would kill him, too, given half a chance. But with his condition, that was unlikely to happen. Elijah would just have to be satisfied with what he had.

In any case, Elijah approached casually, as if he hadn’t just experienced a battle to the death where he’d decapitated his enemy from the inside out. Someone had reset the arena, at least. There was no more forest. No wave-like mountains of earth. Just a flat surface covered in coarse sand.

The others stood atop a raised platform, around which hovered a cloud of what appeared to be glitter. They were Projectionist’s tools, meant to capture everything and broadcast the results to the rest of the Empire of Scale. Normally, they weren’t even noticeable, scattered across the arena as they were. But with all eyes focused on that platform, they’d congregated into a single group.

Elijah climbed the steps and stood where they’d told him to stand.

After that came another one of the Curator’s speeches. He had a way with words, but Elijah barely listened. Instead, he took in the sight of the arena, probably for the last time. Apparently, there were always tournaments going on, and some of them featured deities. However, none of them were as highly regarded or as hotly anticipated as the Tournament of the First Fang.

Which meant that Elijah had little reason to participate. Not unless the prizes were good, at least. Then, he might make an exception.

Either way, the Curator kept going, listing the accomplishments of each contestant. The third-place winner was named Fosch’in en Talaras, and she had risen from the qualifiers all the way to the semi-finals. The Curator touted her story as an example of what a determined drake could do, segueing that point into encouragement for the many serpentors who’d participated.

He did mention Skahan as well, but only to lament the dragon’s absence due to injury.

Then, he talked about Cyran, painting him as a true draconic champion with the brightest of futures.

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When he got to Elijah, he only acknowledged him as the victor. No listing of accomplishments. No pretty words about what great feats the Empire expected from him. Just a begrudging admission that he had, indeed, won.

After that came the rewards.

Elijah saw a notification that he’d risen another ten levels. Expected but welcome. Then, the Curator shoved a box into his hands. The other two received similar boxes. As he did so, he leaned forward, whispering into Elijah’s ear, “Use it well, half-scale. You won’t live to enjoy it for long.”

He then pulled away, a smile painted across his face.

Apparently, the powers-that-be weren’t just angry that Elijah had dismantled Skahan. Or that he’d beaten Cyran, who was obviously the Empire’s chosen one. No – they hated him on a much more fundamental level. To them, he wasn’t a real dragon. He was just another half-scale.

He let out a sigh.

Then, without further ado, he just stepped off the platform while the Curator had gone back to talking about Cyran.

Someone shouted for him to stop.

The arena rumbled as someone a little higher up the food chain made their displeasure known. It stopped after a second as Kirlissa’s now-familiar presence enveloped the entire Praesidium. Maybe the whole of Esik. It was her planet, after all. In the middle of her galaxy.

The rumble faded.

Elijah had never stopped walking. If a transcendent wanted him dead, then he was dead. He might be able to survive a deity’s attack, but he definitely wouldn’t put money on that bet. Especially if it was someone like Birk, who could defeat him without even trying.

No – there was no point in living in fear. Nor would he let them intimidate him.

He left the arena behind, only to realize that he didn’t really know what was expected of him now. Normally, he’d have gone back to the staging room to reunite with either Tura or Birk. Would they be waiting on him?

Maybe.

He decided to check.

Unfortunately, no one was there. However, he did take that opportunity to change out of his armor and don more comfortable clothes. Then, he sat on one of the benches and opened the box to reveal a simple, wooden token.

Elijah was busy studying it when he felt someone arrive.

Or rather, many someones.

Birk came in first, followed by one of Kirlissa’s projections. Then came Sara. Tura, after that. And finally, a large figure he didn’t recognize. He was mostly human in appearance, and almost as big as Birk, though with dark grey skin highlighted by gleaming black swirls of scale. Upon his bald head was an elaborate topknot.

He wore thick, chitinous armor and carried a massive halberd that glistened with so much power that just focusing on it nearly caused Elijah to black out.

The other difference between him and the drake was the broad grin he wore.

Kirlissa was the first to speak. “Congratulations, my son,” she said with a genuine smile of her own.

At that moment, Sara threw herself past everyone else and slammed into Elijah with a tight hug. “I was so worried about you! The way you made that earthquake. Then, bam! Decapitation!” she practically screamed. “When he ate you, I thought you were a goner!”

“Bah,” Tura said. “The boy is made of sterner stuff than that.”

“Smart move, letting him eat you,” said the armored figure. He radiated barely-constrained power, marking him as even stronger than Birk or Tura. But far weaker than Kirlissa. “I did that once with an abyssal world-devourer. Spent years carving my way out.”

“Mano.”

“What?”

“Do not give him ideas.”

“I got swallowed by a whale once,” Elijah provided.

“Whales aren’t known for their viciousness, are they?” asked Mano.

“This one was. Plus, I was a mortal at the time.”

“Ah. That explains it. There are void whales the size of solar systems, but most people consider being swallowed by one of them to be a great opportunity.”

“Nobody thinks that, boy,” Tura said.

Kirlissa cut in before the two could get into an argument. “Elijah, let me introduce my other son, Mano’leth.”

“They call me the Scourge of Ebon Breath upon Galaxies,” Mano’leth said proudly.

Elijah narrowed his eyes.

“Black Death,” Sara said. “Everyone just calls you The Black Death.”

“That name is offensively simple-minded,” Mano’leth retorted. “It loses all nuance.”

“Just saying that’s what people call you. Not that it’s right.”

Mano’leth gave a subtle growl before responding. “No respect for the language.”

“Scourge of the Ebon Breath Upon Galaxies is infinitely better,” Elijah cut in.

Mano’leth nodded approvingly, though he still looked a bit offended.

“It is a good name, sweetie,” Kirlissa said, patting him on the forearm. “Very terrifying.”

That seemed to satisfy Mano’leth, who went on, “That was an entertaining fight. I had my doubts when mother adopted you, but it seems that her eye for talent remains as sharp as ever. I particularly enjoyed the brutality.”

“Which part?” asked Sara.

“All of it?” he answered. “Besides, I know that dragon’s uncle. Insufferable coward. Good to see that family put in their place and reminded how a true dragon fights. There’s no standing on the back lines and keeping your robes clean. A real fighter must dive into the blood and guts, and –”

Kirlissa cleared her throat, interrupting her son’s diatribe on brutality. “We came to congratulate you, Elijah. In addition, I have asked Mano to act as your escort. No one will seek revenge so long as he is around.”

“I’ll destroy their planets if they do.”

“Black Death indeed,” Tura muttered.

“Escort where?” Elijah asked.

“I told you there would be a banquet, did I not?” she asked, a twinkle in her eye. “Besides, we must plan your trip to the center of the Empire of Scale, where you can take advantage of your rewards.”

“Oh – that reminds me,” Elijah said, holding up the wooden token. “What is this, anyway?”

“It is a Meritorious Act Token, exchangeable for any item in the Fourth Treasury,” Kirlissa stated. Seeing that Elijah had no idea what that meant, she went on to explain that the Fourth Treasury referred to a vault on the planet of She’evoth. It was supposed to contain treasures meant for peak demi-gods, with some reaching the lower reaches of the deity stage. “The Third Treasury contains items meant for mid-stage deities, with the Second being fit for those at the peak of that stage.”

“And the First?”

“I do not know. I have never visited,” she answered. “However, it is said to play host to the most valuable treasures in the Empire of Scale. Likely, in the entire multi-verse.”

“Cool.”

“Cool?” asked Mano. “What does temperature have to do with it?”

Sara punched him in the hip, which was the easiest part to reach. “Ow,” she muttered, shaking her hand. “Less body cultivation, you big idiot.”

“You need more, little lizard.”

“And cool just means, like, cool. Neat. Awesome.”

He snorted. “You children and your slang.”

“I’m only ten thousand years younger than you!”

“Closer to twenty.”

She hit him again, which she immediately regretted.

“Children,” Kirlissa said with the infinite patience of a mother. “Behave.”

Elijah could only grin.

“What’s that smile about, boy?” asked Tura.

“Nothing. Just kind of happy. I won the tournament. I got some prizes. And, you know, other things.”

She nodded.

And the argument between Mano and Sara continued.

Despite everything that had happened and what it had cost to get there, Elijah was content.