14-86. A Light Tickle

“There is an issue,” said Birk.

“Just the one?” asked Elijah, adjusting the Girdle of the Wild Revenant. It fit perfectly, but there were times when the wide belt felt extraordinarily restrictive. Or maybe it was his human form that made him feel claustrophobic.

Back on Gorveth, he’d spent so much time as a dragon or in one of his bestial shapes that he rarely needed to worry about his clothes being uncomfortable.

Over the past two months – ever since his conversation with Kirlissa – he’d gone through the most intense training period of his life. Birk left no stone unturned, letting him use abilities, his various forms, and the full breadth of his attributes. That was only possible because most of Vyrin was just as desolate as Earth’s moon.

The big drake had taken everything Elijah could throw at him, and he’d never once wavered. It was like railing against a mountain. Or a planet, for all the good it did. By contrast, when Birk hit him, it always required copious healing.

But Elijah loved it.

He finally felt like he was in his element, and he didn’t have to worry about holding back, as he had in the arena. The only time Elijah managed to hurt Birk was when he’d used Flames of Renewal, which resulted in the reptilian equivalent of a sunburn.

Elijah had celebrated that like it was a victory.

He’d also discovered the value of laying a proper foundation of combat technique. Even when fighting in his various forms, Elijah reaped the benefits of all the preparation Birk’s methods had sown. It wasn’t that he used similar strategies. No – he still fought like a beast when he took the form of one. However, his actions felt far more intentional. And he paid much closer attention to his opponent’s tells.

Of course, Birk had no such tells.

He was a blank slate followed by explosive, yet controlled actions.

But despite the fact that Elijah had never actually won any of the fights, Birk had been full of praise. So much so that Elijah felt more confident than ever going into the fight against Cyran.

Which was why he wasn’t terribly surprised to hear that something had gone wrong.

“You will not receive a time anchor.”

“What?” Elijah asked, surprised. “I thought that was managed by a transcendent.”

“It is.”

“And? No more story there?” Elijah asked.

Birk’s jaw clenched, so when he spoke, the words came out slightly distorted. “Treachery and arranged marriages, combined with trade deals and Primal Realm permissions,” he growled. “Politics.”

“I’m guessing Cyran will still get an anchor.”

“You guess correctly.”

Elijah sighed. He didn’t really think he would lose the fight. Cyran was good. Very, very good, as befit one of the top demi-gods in the entire Empire of Scale. There were plenty of others out there that had neither the backing nor the desire to compete in the Tournament of the First Fang, though. Likely, some real monsters that exceeded the age requirement, too. Still, Cyran was strong. There was no denying that.

But Elijah had yet to truly be challenged in the tournament. So far, the only real issue he’d faced was to decide how much he wanted to reveal. That was no longer a problem, because he intended to go all-out until Cyran went down.

“So, you’re telling me that if I go out there right now, there’s a very real chance that I’ll die.”

“Yes.”

Elijah took a deep breath, then glanced at the door before shrugging. “I can accept that.”

“What? Do you not understand –”

“I understand perfectly,” Elijah interrupted. “They’re pushing me into a corner. They expect me to refuse to fight. That’s why you were allowed to find out. They want me to forfeit.”

“It wouldn’t be the end. Prosperity would file a grievance.”

“And in the meantime, I still look like a coward. I’m also guessing that it would take time to set it right. If it happens at all. It’s really easy to deny something that hasn’t actually happened yet.”

“There are protocols to –”

“It’s fine, Birk. Really. It won’t be the first time I’ve risked my life.”

Birk grunted, then said something about fairness and honor. But he didn’t try to talk Elijah out of going ahead with the fight. Not any more than he already had, at least. Over the past couple of years – and specifically, in the last two months – they’d spent enough time together that Birk knew Elijah at least as well as he knew himself.

And that meant he knew good and well that Elijah wasn’t going to let the lack of a time anchor stop him from going out there and doing what he needed to do.

“Besides, a little threat of death gets my blood pumping, you know? These other fights have felt a little too sterile for my taste.”

That much was true. Back on Gorveth, he’d fought multiple battles that took weeks, or even months, to win. He’d been ripped apart, melted, and even ingested a few times. His strength was predicated on the fact that he just kept coming.

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In that respect, he hadn’t changed. If Cyran expected him to be dissuaded by mortal danger, then he had no idea who Elijah really was. Or what he could do.

For the next few minutes, Elijah paced back and forth. Then, he asked Birk to fetch Sara and Tura, saying, “If I do die, I’d like to at least see them once last time.”

“There’s no time.”

“Well. Shit,” Elijah responded. “I guess just…just tell them both that I love them.”

“Do you?”

“What?”

“Love them?”

Elijah cocked his head to the side, then smiled. “I guess I do. Yeah. They’re family.”

His grin widened, and he spread his arms as he approached Birk.

The big drake retreated. “What are you doing?”

“C’mon, big guy. I love you too. Like a surly, unrelated uncle. Give us a big hug!”

For the first time since Elijah had met Birk, the drake seemed entirely clueless as to how to respond. And a little afraid, too. He backed away, his eyes darting back and forth as he clearly considered using one of his abilities – or his outsized attributes – to escape Elijah’s oncoming hug.

But he hesitated for a second too long.

“Ah. That’s nice,” Elijah said, hugging Birk tight. Reflexively, Birk embraced him back. “That’s it. Get in there. You should hug more often. You’re pretty good at it.”

That was a lie. The drake was all rigid spines and hard scales. But still, the hug was satisfying.

“Can this end now?” Birk asked, obviously still uncomfortable with his own hugging prowess.

“Sure thing,” Elijah said, giving him one final squeeze. After he pulled away, he said, “Seriously though. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. If I end up getting obliterated out there, it’s not your fault.”

“I know.”

“You were a great teacher.”

“I know that too.”

“Humble, as well.”

“False humility has no purpose. I am honest.”

“Fair enough,” Elijah allowed. “I’m just trying to thank you. I know you only did it because you were ordered to, but it still means a lot to me that you’ve helped me so much. If you ever need anything from me, just ask. I’ll do what I can.”

“Stop.”

“What?” Elijah asked.

“You act as if you’re going to your death. You are not. You will defeat this foolish child, and we will continue training.”

“I –”

“Say it.”

Elijah repeated Birk’s words, but before the drake could reply, the door opened. The attendant said, “It is time. Please come with me.”

“Alright. Wish me luck.”

“Break your feet.”

“Uh…what?”

Birk blinked. “It is an Earth idiom, is it not? Saraalinisa said it was.”

Elijah sighed. “Break a leg. That’s the saying.”

“Ah. What is the difference?”

To that, Elijah had no answer. So, he just said, “I’ll be sure to win. Thanks again, Birk.”

Then, before the drake could respond, he turned to follow the attendant through the bowels of the Praesidium toward the arena. As he did, his stomach tied itself into knots. It was one thing to fight for his life if the situation caught him by surprise, but it was something else to willingly walk toward a death battle that ultimately didn’t mean anything. There were no people to protect. No grove to defend. It was no better than a sport.

And certainly, his annoyance at how it had all been set up played a part. Hopefully, Kirlissa would do something about that. But for now, he had no real choice but to go through with it.

Not if he wanted to maintain his dignity and chance of gaining the reward.

Was it dumb? Sure. But it was very draconic, which was what his enemies were obviously banking on.

In any case, it didn’t take long for him to reach the Chronomancer’s chamber. Instead of the tetradrak he expected, there was a dragon who went through the motions, prompting Elijah to ask, “You’re really just going to pretend, huh? Fair enough. Respect the commitment to the bit, I guess.”

“Silence, child,” she barked.

“Just so you know, I know what’s going on. I know you didn’t really create an anchor, and that whoever’s paying you or your boss expects me to die out there. I don’t blame you, though. It’s tough out there, right? Who cares if one demi-god gets thrown to the wolves? But I want you to know that I know and that I have a good memory.”

The attendant had already gone pale.

The Chronomancer glared at him. “Your comments are noted.”

“Good.”

Then, Elijah turned away and waited for the door to open. It did after only a few seconds, and he stepped forward into the starlit night. Elijah took a deep breath of cool, humid air.

He looked across the arena, latching onto Cyran. The dragon’s aquamarine scales looked brighter than the last time Elijah had seen him. Almost as if they had been charged with ethera. Maybe he was holding a spell on the cusp of activation.

The Curator rose above the arena, his silver scales glimmering in the starlight. His voice echoed through the arena as he introduced the fighters, recounted their achievements, and reiterated what was at stake. The mention of the First Fang drew a gasp, mostly from the dragons in attendance.

Then, the Curator said, “We have the honor of welcoming their eminence, the emperors.” He gestured toward the most opulent palace standing above the arena. The crowd went wild. “In addition, eight honored transcendents have come to see these brave fighters battle to the death.”

He listed them, including Kirlissa. She got a bigger cheer than the emperors.

None of them actually showed themselves, but each palace lit up with an ethereal display at the mention of their patron’s name. Elijah was reminded of fireworks during sporting events, though the ethereal lights were much more impressive than anything he’d seen on Earth.

Finally, the Curator rose much higher before finally announcing the beginning of the last fight of the Tournament of the First Fang.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Elijah raced forward. As he did so, he released three spells he’d held on the edge of casting. Wild Resurgence was the first. Then came Blessing of the Grove, which covered half the arena in a rejuvenating rainstorm. And finally, Bough of the World Tree.

It was just in time, too, because only a moment later, Cyran released his own spell. The light drained out of his scales, flooding the spellform. Elijah embraced his Mantle of Authority, but the spell smashed through. A thousand whirlwinds erupted into being, then collapsed onto Elijah.

Their swirling forms were like razors, cutting through him with ease. Only through his preemptive healing spells did he manage to survive for long enough to embrace Shape of Spores.

Even as he transformed, the tornadoes ripped through his flesh, bathing the arena floor in blood. The second Shape of Spores took hold, Elijah used Mycelial Regrowth.

From that moment on, he lost track of everything as the spell tore his fungal body to pieces. It outpaced even the combination of Mycelial Regrowth and his healing spells, reducing him to nothing more than a pile of blood, scales, and fungi.

But Elijah had had his body destroyed more than once, and he kept his spirit tethered to that disparate collection of his body parts for long enough that the spell eventually petered out.

He latched onto the largest piece of fungal flesh and let himself reform under the power of his ongoing healing spells and the powerful effect of Mycelial Regrowth.

Cyran hadn’t moved.

And over the next few seconds, he remained rooted in place. Especially when he heard a booming laugh.

Elijah’s body reformed, and he locked his eyeless gaze onto his opponent. “That couldn’t have come completely from you, huh? Should’ve saved it until later in the fight.”

Cyran threw another windstorm at him, but this one was much tamer. It still ripped into Elijah, but it was nothing his body couldn’t handle.

He stepped forward.

Cyran turned and ran, tossing wind spells at him along the way.

Elijah lumbered ahead, enduring the damage as he tried to gain ground.