by Aaron Oster
Around the waist of her tattered and torn robes sat a Purple-Belt containing seven Red stripes on one of the hanging ends, signifying her rank at the peak of Purple. Three-and-a-half grueling months of nonstop training had seen her soar in rank. She pushed herself to the breaking point and beyond, each and every single day.
There were times when her body had nearly given out on her. Times when she’d almost given in and gone back to Roy. Times when she’d felt so very tired that the warm release of death would almost have been welcome. And yet each time she found herself in just such a position, she pushed herself harder.
Now, just two weeks from the start of the competition, she was closer than she ever had been. She just needed to pass one test and an epiphany about her Ideal to break into the 1st Dan. The latter was already taken care of as far as she was concerned. Unlike a lot of Martial Artists, Aika was keenly aware of her Ideal as well as its deeper meanings.
Once she advanced to Red, all she would need to do was gather the requisite power, and then, the advancement would simply happen.
She felt ready to test. Her Core was stuffed to the brim with Light Qi and a small kernel of denser Chakra sat at her very center. She was ready, and yet, the gate refused to appear. She’d been sitting at the peak of Purple for almost four days now, yet no matter how she tried, she could not discover the reason for its absence.
Roy’s gate had appeared without trouble or fanfare, and when she’d spoken to him about it, he’d said it had just felt right. To her, though, things weren’t so simple. She had doubts. Worries about the future and her place in it. After all, for the longest time, her driving force had been vengeance and the need to never feel helpless in the face of a powerful enemy.
With her discovery about Doragon’s true self, a lot of that anger had leeched away. Her father was still dead, that much was true, but the man who’d killed him might very well never emerge again. If the original remained in control, she would never have her justice, which in turn, gave her no outlet for her anger.
While Aika had managed to burn most of it away with training, one thing still stuck with her and it was — she believed — the one thing keeping her from the test.
She still felt too weak.
She’d mastered all eight techniques in both Essence and Qi, but she had yet to discover a Conqueror technique for either. Aika had no idea why she’d attached the need to learn a Conqueror technique to her ability to test, but it seemed that self-fulfilling prophecies did have a good deal of merit when it came to the Marital Arts.
She had come to this realization earlier that day, which was why she was now up on this mountain peak in the middle of a hail storm, to try and clear her mind as she pulled the energy provided by the sun’s light into herself and let its warmth soothe her troubled mind and soul.
She inhaled slowly, ignoring the hail slamming into her with enough force to kill an ordinary human, and concentrated on her Path, where her techniques had gone so far, and what a technique combining them all might look like.
It was different with Conqueror techniques, though. While Full-body and Full-area techniques tended to bear at least some resemblance to the three they were made up of, not all Conqueror techniques did. Some looked so different that people might have to wonder where the connection even was.
The answer, obviously, was that there was none. The Conqueror technique was a sign of ultimate power and mastery over the form of energy the Martial Artist used. As such, it would manifest in whatever way it chose.
Aika began circulating her Essence through her body, slowly at first, allowing the gaseous white energy to flow through her channels, strengthening her both physically and mentally. The hail, which had only been bothering her a bit, ceased to be a problem altogether, as her body, enhanced by Essence, became temporarily tougher.
She continued to remain focused inward, her mind clear of all troubling thoughts keeping her from concentrating on what was truly important right now.
The passage of time soon became meaningless as Aika floated inside a world of stark white, her Essence swallowing her, pulling her ever deeper until she couldn’t even sense the outside world. She had no idea how long she sat there, staring at the light and feeling its power wash over her.
When she opened her eyes, the storm had ended, and a Red Torii gate floated in the air just a couple of feet in front of her.
Aika looked down to her palm and felt a small smile stretch her lips as a flicker of jagged Essence flashed across her palm. She could feel the technique’s power and the raging destruction just below the surface.
Slowly, she stood, cramped muscles stretching as she unfolded herself from her meditative position. She ignored the pain, knowing that once she passed through the gate, all of it would be wiped away.
She had a Conqueror technique at last. Now, she would get to test it.
***
Ikari let out a long sigh as the stone wall slid aside, allowing her entrance to the long tunnel. Truthfully, she was not in the mood of being down here, but Pelata had wanted a meeting, and when one of the conspirators wanted something, the other two had to comply. If there was no mutual trust and cooperation, any good scheme would be pointless.
“You’re late,” Sora Ame said as she stepped into the small room.
“I was busy,” Ikari said, not even looking at the woman as she took her seat.
“We were all busy,” Ame retorted. “Who wouldn’t be, what with all those stupid preparations we’re being forced to make?”
“In case you’re both forgetting, those preparations are so that we don’t have to do any more fighting of our own,” Pelata said, cutting in.
Ikari turned to the man, intending to snap at him, but cut herself off as she noticed his posture. He was tense and agitated, like a caged animal just waiting for an opportunity to pounce.
“What’s got you all twisted up in knots?” she asked, trying to take on a light tone and only halfway succeeding.
“Our team has reported in,” Pelata said, immediately getting the attention of the two sniping women.
In order to not be found out, the other half of the communication construct was kept down here. This way, if any of them were grabbed by either of the Scions, there would be no proof of any wrongdoing.
Every day, one of them came down here to check on it. It just so happened that today was Pelata’s turn. Ikari almost felt stupid for not realizing it. Almost.
“We’re cutting it a bit close, aren’t we?” Ame asked. “We’re less than a week away from the competition. Will they be able to grab him and get him out in time?”
“Why did they even take so long in the first place?” Ikari added. “If time moves twice as fast there, they should have been able to nab him months ago.”
“It was locating him that was the issue,” Pelata said. “Not that I’m defending the Martial Artist in charge of this mission.”
He gave Ame — whose chosen Grandmaster had been placed in charge of their group — a pointed look.
Ame, of course, completely ignored him, turning her ire on Ikari instead.
“Two of the five we sent are from your clan,” she said, crossing her arms. “Who’s to say they’re not to blame?”
“Because the other two are from my clan,” Pelata interjected. “We all know how leadership works. If you’re the one in charge, you get to make the decisions. However, all of the blame also falls on you.”
“We’re missing the point here,” Ame said, trying now to change tactics. “The real question now is if they can get him to the border of the Darklands before the start of the competition.”
“According to your man, yes,” Pelata said. “He claims that the actual distance shouldn’t be too hard to cover, so long as they can rough Duncan’s brat up a bit.”
“Let them break all his limbs,” Ikari said with a shrug. “Hell, let them beat him to the brink of death. So long as he’s alive enough to use as blackmail, I don’t care.”
“Maybe don�
�t go quite that far,” Ame said, shooting Ikari a glare. “We can’t risk letting him die. If we kill him and Duncan finds out, the three of us are as good as dead.”
“So long as that useless Grandmaster of yours can exercise control, we shouldn’t have any problems then,” Ikari said in a sickly sweet voice.
The corner of Ame’s eye twitched, but before the two of them could start bickering again, Pelata cut in. It seemed that despite the fact that they were all Sovereigns, he was the only one who could act like a grown-up — most of the time anyway.
“I will relay the message now,” he said, placing his hand on a bare patch of earth, his hand glowing with brown light. “In the meantime, the two of you should get back to your clans. With the competition drawing so near and our chosen fighters doing what they can to grow, you’ll be missed if you stay too long.”
“I guess we’ll meet again when our group has him close to the border,” Ame said, rising smoothly from her seat.
Ikari remained where she was, refusing to meet the woman’s eyes as she made her way to the exit. Still, despite the haughty façade she put on, internally, she was brimming with excitement. Up until this point, seizing control back from her brother had only been a dream. Now, with just days left to the competition, it looked to be close to fruition, and things could not have been set up better for them.
With the competition set to begin, and Hermit and Duncan unable to call the shots, the Seven Great Clans would split once again. Their best fighters would still work together, of course, to secure human victory, and then, when the dust settled, they would claim their prizes from the Beast clans who dared stand against them.
She was confident they could keep Duncan’s brat hidden long enough for the three of them to advance, and once they did, they would destroy what remained of the Herald clan, and Ikari would finally have her revenge on her bastard of a brother.
44
Roy’s head rocked back, blood spraying from his mouth as the motion forced him to nearly bite his own tongue off. He staggered, trying to regain his balance as the hulking, silver construct came barreling after him.
“That wouldn’t have happened if you’d kept your chin tucked to your chest,” Doragon commented as the oversized sledgehammer of a fist crashed into Roy’s face, driving him headfirst into the ground.
Roy barely heard what the man said as the back of his skull slammed into solid stone, massive plates crumbling and cracking beneath the force of the impact. His vision flashed black and red as he momentarily blacked out, only to be brought right back to the world of the living as the construct wrapped an oversized hand around his ankle and lifted him into the air.
He didn’t even have a chance to brace himself before he arced over the monster’s head, smashing face-first into the ground. Blood splattered the ground all around him as he impacted with enough force to leave a sizable crater. His nose didn’t so much break as it was mashed into a pulp. He felt a couple of his teeth knocked loose. But, of course, the construct wasn’t done.
“You might want to do something soon,” Doragon said as the construct whipped him back over its head, still holding onto his ankle.
Roy couldn’t get away before smashing back down into the first crater, enlarging it by a good degree. One of his forearms — which he’d stupidly tried to get in the way — shattered into over a dozen pieces as he impacted once more, sending lancing pain shooting up and down the limb.
“Hey, I’m not telling you what to do here or anything, but you should probably try fighting back,” Geon said as Roy was hauled into the air once more.
Roy, barely conscious and in more pain than should have been possible without fully blacking out or worse, struggled to free himself of the crushing grip. His fourth impact was no softer than the first three, his head leaving a visible imprint in the stone as the construct dragged him out.
“If you’re hoping it’ll eventually let you go, I’d give up on that notion,” Doragon called as Roy was hauled into the air once more.
Roy, who’d actually been hoping for just such a scenario, was forced to act on the fly. As he reached the high point of the arc, he kicked down with the foot that hadn’t been trapped, using his Shockwave Airstep. His hope was that the force of the downward pressure would break the construct’s grip.
His theory proved itself to be correct, as the massive thing’s fingers came loose. What Roy hadn’t considered, though, was the amount of strain that would put on his other leg. While it didn’t quite break, Roy did feel an uncomfortable twinge as he landed, staggering and falling to his back before scrambling up again, unwilling to be caught by the monstrous construct like that again.
The thing was, thankfully, slow to recover, first staring at its empty hand, then casting about for him.
Roy stared at the hulking construct through a red-tinted gaze, blood vessels in his eyes having burst under the pressure and strain of hitting the ground so many times. He breathed heavily through his mouth, trying to ignore the pain wracking his body and thinking of some way to take this monster out.
His training with Doragon over the past few months had been hellish, to say the least. His uncle would increase the difficulty each week, pushing him harder and harder to the point where Roy actually felt that he was in real danger of dying. Which, he soon learned, was the point. Doragon wasn’t an easy teacher. If he won his fight, he got a Pill. If he lost…well, he hadn’t lost yet, but Doragon had made it pretty clear what would happen if he did.
The construct, towering some eight-and-a-half-feet tall, finally set its sights on him. Or at least, Roy assumed it did, as its face was as blank as the rest.
These altered constructs were new, having been implemented just at the beginning of the week. Doragon said they were here to simulate the types of opponents he might face in the competition, though Roy had to wonder if the man was exaggerating a bit.
He’d faced a few tougher constructs before, but nothing like this one. This monstrosity wasn’t just tall — it was broad as well. In fact, it was nearly five feet across and built like a boulder. One arm was literally just a massive hammer, while the other contained oversized fingers, the ones that had caught his ankle in its crushing grip.
Roy could almost feel the ground shaking as it approached, swinging its hammer up and over its shoulder, preparing to pound him into the ground. Roy kicked to the side and triggered his Shockwave. He blurred out of the way as the hammer smashed into the ground, sending small chips of stone flying in all directions.
“You might want to try hitting back,” Geon said as Roy caught himself, stumbling a couple of steps before regaining his balance.
“Stop telling me how to fight!” Roy snapped, pulling his good arm back and using his Void Sphere-Pulse.
The golden technique made of Qi streaked across the distance. The impact of the bubble of force barely caused the construct to budge, but when the beam of gold slammed into it, it staggered a bit.
“What the hell is that thing made of?” Roy exclaimed.
“It’s made to simulate a combatant who has advanced to Gold the moment the competition began,” Doragon said, his voice calm. “In case you’ve forgotten, that can, and likely will, happen.”
In all of the confusion at the start of the fight, Roy hadn’t even checked on the thing’s advancement. That was partially because of the levels of the combatants he’d fought until now. Doragon had only ever sent out fighters between 1st and 8th Dan Red. The actual advancement had always been randomized, but knowing the upper limits of his opponents’ strengths had definitely helped.
“Why the hell are you mixing these in now?” Roy snapped, backpedaling as the lumbering construct came after him.
“Because you’ve got exactly nine days of training left,” Doragon replied. “This is the final push before the competition. You’re still woefully short of what I would consider even competent. Maybe with a few more years, you would be a halfway decent fighter. We only have days though, so I’m doing the best I c
an to prepare you.”
“By trying to kill me?” Roy nearly yelled, narrowly avoiding a horizontal sweep of the construct’s hammer hand.
“It’s no less than what your opponents will be trying to do,” Doragon replied with an unapologetic shrug.
“My opponents won’t be forcing me to use only my base Path,” Roy snapped.
“That’s why it’s called training,” Doragon replied.
Roy staggered again, barely managing to avoid a sweeping grab made by the oversized brute. He kicked at one of its shins, trying to knock it off balance. If he’d struck another Red-Belt at his own level, even one who had an active Armorer technique, the attack would have shattered bones.
Instead, his kick, enhanced by the speed of his Shockwave and the power of the Exploding Fist, bounced harmlessly off the tree trunk-like limb. The actual force of the attack was still transferred, but all that did was cause it to take a single step back.
Cursing, Roy retreated again, ignoring the pain in his legs as he did so and putting as much distance between him and the walking mountain as he could.
“At least it’s not one of the types that actively uses techniques,” Geon said as the oversized construct came after him again.
“If we’re looking for positives, why don’t you just add in that it’s not nearly as fast as a normal Gold-Belt would be either?” Roy said sarcastically.
“No, I’m pretty sure something that large would probably move around that fast,” Geon replied, ignoring the sarcasm. “It would make up for its lack of speed with that massive defense and ability to shrug off large attacks. Its overwhelming strength would also mean that a single attack would…well, you’ve already felt what it can do. All in all, it’s a pretty accurate simulation if I do say so myself.”
“Wow. I’m glad you appreciate the attention to detail!” Roy shouted.
Seven spheres of gold formed in a line, all firing beams to a single point, then lancing across the intervening distance and slamming into the construct’s chest. The beam of power intensified for just a moment as it drove the massive thing back a few steps, finally forcing it to raise a hand to defend itself.
