by KJ Harlow
“Competitors, please come to the middle.” Cal, Kai, Orson and Marsh made their way towards each other. The Qestians reserved their acknowledgements of their opponents to curt nods before closing themselves back into their zones. Cal wasn’t listening to the referee go through the rules. He was watching Javal the entire time. He was fidgeting and restless, as if anticipating something. Suddenly, he stopped.
A clarion blared out from the entrance to the arena. The four competitors all looked towards the sound. Nothing happened for several seconds then Hector and Laish walked back out from the tunnel. Cries of outrage descended upon them with a venomous wrath. Hector flinched but Laish looked indifferent. He glanced up at Cal, ignoring a bristling Kai and cleared his throat.
“What are they–?”
“Announcing his Awesomeness… the Lord King Fetter.”
23
New Challenger Approaches
20,156th Cycle
13-Karst
The king of Dresham walked into the arena. Sections of the audience were stunned into silence, others yelled obscenities, yet others murmured about the sudden appearance of the man who tried to kill their mayor. In his shadows, her violet-hemmed, vantablack robe rippling around her was C. Cal could just see her gray-silver hair reaching out from underneath her hood. She seemed to turn slightly towards the competitors in the middle of the ring and offer a hint of a smile.
“Mayor J-Javal.” Fetter put his hands on his hips and addressed the werejaguar sitting stiffly in the stalls above. “How could you throw such a grand party and not invite me?”
Javal got to his feet, looking exhausted. “King Fetter–”
“That’s ‘Lord King Fetter’ to you.”
Javal met Cal’s bewildered gaze and closed his eyes. “Lord King Fetter. I apologize for not sending you an invitation.” The arena easily sat 30,000 maybe 40,000 people. They had all fallen silent hearing their mayor apologize to the man who had tried to assassinate him moonshifts prior.
“To think I wouldn’t have known if we hadn’t s-s-serendipitously crossed paths by my camp.” So Fetter had been waiting close by after they had retreated. “Where were you planning to go anyway, hmm?” Javal clenched his jaw shut, as if trying to resist craft that would force him to keep talking. “Whatever. The important thing is that you’re here, back with your p-p-people. They’re important to you, aren’t they?” Javal kept his jaw shut, eyes blazing with hatred.
Fetter did a 180 and started strolling towards Cal and Kai, his hands in the small of his back. For several seconds, the only sound was the quiet scuffing of his ornate boots in the dirt. Fetter cocked his head, observing the four competitors in the middle of the ring as if they were street mongrels awaiting their fate at the hands of a cruel master. “You should look after your important people. Make sure they’re c-clothed, well fed,” he spun on his heel, “not dead.” He laughed a high-pitched titter.
“You should also treat them once in a while to an awesome spectacle.” Cal dragged his eyes away from the diminutive king. C had been staring at him the moment she entered the arena. Or rather, Cal could feel her staring at him; her hood still covered her head, not even allowing moonlight to penetrate her mask of shadow. Hector was fidgeting nervously, fingering the sword at his side and alternating between looking at Fetter and Javal. He caught Cal’s gaze, stared stonily at him before looking away.
“What sort of spectacle did you have in mind?” Javal said wearily. The longer this dragged on for the more tired Javal seemed to become. Had they engaged in battle at Fetter’s camp? Had the king tortured Javal, forcing him to reveal a deadly secret in exchange for his life?
“Thought you’d never a-a-ask.” Fetter turned back to the competitors in the middle of the ring. “As I understand it, your little tournament is two versus two, isn’t it?” Fetter took Javal’s silence as confirmation of this. “Well I’ve been itching to fight. The last time I was around here, I never got the blood I wanted, but you would know about that.” Fetter winked grotesquely at Cal. “So I p-p-propose a modification to this battle. Let’s make it… a four-on-one.”
Cal didn’t even see him draw his sword. He instinctively jumped out of the way when the ground started rumbling. Jagged spears of dirt five feet tall punched up through the ground towards the four of them. Kai’s feline reflexes helped him, while Orson and Marsh also negotiated the attack without injury.
“Not bad!” Fetter said, nodding slowly. “Looks like these NPCs will keep me entertained.” His eyes flicked across to Cal. His look said it all: he knew that Cal was a ValorVale player. Once again, Cal felt C’s eyes penetrating his being. She must have told him, who else could it have been?
“Let’s make things interesting. I’ll give you three rounds to hit me. You don’t even have to injure me. I’m just saying land an attack. If I’m feeling generous, I might not block it and give you the privilege of decreasing the HP of a king.” He tittered again. “If you can hit me once, I p-promise to leave you and your quaint little village alone. Neither I nor my soldiers will bother you again. If you don’t hit me…” he paused and searched the sky for inspiration, “B-Bracewell will be no more.”
People started panicking trying to scramble out of their seats. Soldiers and eryn forced them back, striking them with sword, mace, axe, lance or craft.
“Call your men off!” Javal ordered slamming his hands on the table. “People of Bracewell, please return to your–”
“You don’t get to order me around, G-garfield!” If the situation wasn’t so serious, Cal would have laughed out loud. “If your people have half the intelligence that you have, they would know there’s no p-point running now. They might as well stay around and enjoy the show.”
There were anguished cries from the eastern stalls. A mother was cradling the lifeless body of her daughter. A corpulent soldier brandished a bloodied, spiked mace over her head. No… no! That peach coloured dress… it couldn’t be. Javal was openly bearing his sharp, feline teeth. Being powerless, watching his people suffer… that was the ultimate torture.
“Cal.” Orson had slipped in next to him. “Have you Examined him yet?” Cal did so:
NAME: Fetter Knox
CLASS: King of Dresham
LVL: 146
HP: 2,915/2,915
MP: 1,501/1,501
Damn, he had gotten even stronger since the last time. “Do we have any chance of getting him?”
“We have more than a chance, we can defeat him,” Marsh said, his voice gruff and low.
Cal shook his head. They didn’t know what they were up against. Fetter wasn’t an NPC. He wasn’t even a regular player.
“Quickly, form a party with us.” A notification popped up in front of Cal:
You have been requested to join Orson’s party. Accept?
Yes | No
Cal hurriedly selected ‘Y’. Immediately, he felt power surge into his being. He looked across at Orson who nodded at him knowingly. He Examined his new comrades:
NAME: Orson
AGE: 78 (Terrafaytum)
CLASS: Mercenary
LVL: 38
HP: 490/490
MP: 520/520
AFF: Water (x1)
STR: 112+17%+3%+3%
DEF: 150+15%+2%+5%
AGL: 99+11%+5%+4%%
INT: 120+30%+4%+8%
ABILITY: Examine, Mercat’s Blessing
SKILL:
Tears of Flulia – Level 18–Next Level in 84%
Hailstorm – Level 20– Next Level in 55%
WEAPON: Lance – Level B – Next Level in 76%
NAME: Marsh
AGE: 112 (Terrafaytum)
CLASS: Werewolf Druid
LVL: 39
HP: 509/509
MP: 680/680
AFF: Wind (x17)
STR: 109+17%+3%+3%
DEF: 101+15%+2%+5%
AGL: 110+11%+5%+4%%
INT: 150+30%+4%+8%
ABILITY: Examine, Hyten’s Song
SKILL:
Tornado – Level 25–Next Level in 42%
Hailstorm – Level 21– Next Level in 31%
WEAPON: Wind Tome – Level B – Next Level in 76%
“How much do you know about multi-member party battles?” Orson asked, keeping his eye on Fetter.
Cal shook his head. “This is our first one.”
“When you’re taking on a foe who is a lot stronger than you are, you add up the levels of the people in the party to get a better idea of whether you can defeat him.” Cal scrolled through the four status screens, mouthing silently as he added the levels together.
“128. Fetter’s 148.”
“It’s better than challenging him individually. That’s why you always try to fight in a party if you can. It spreads the EXP out amongst each member, but better that than the alternative.”
“All we have to do is strike him.” The werewolf said. He patted a pocket book-sized tome sitting in a satchel at his pocket. “The only thing we’ll have to worry about is whether he has enough integrity to keep his word.”
“Enough chatter!” Fetter spat. “Let’s start already!” He pointed his sword menacingly towards the referee, who hurriedly gonged the bell.
“Round 1, begin!”
Fetter swung his sword upwards, came around the second time then brought it crashing down into the dirt. It sent three rows of jagged spikes ripping through the ground towards the four comrades.
“Earth Wall!” Cal slammed his gloved hands into ground. His wall was a little over a foot thick and spanned the distance of the four fighters standing in a row. Marsh jumped back a few feet, pressed a hand into the tome on his hip and started an incantation. Orson took a few steps back, grounded his feet and drew his right hand back.
Was there something they could see that–?
Cal caught a spear of earth right into his stomach. He spiralled through the air, dry retching at the same time. “Earth Wall.” He twisted around, approximated his landing point and summoned a pillar of earth to catch him.
Fetter’s attack chased Kai as he bounded around the arena on all fours until it ran out of steam. Orson pummelled each spire of earth with his gauntleted hands. One caught him off guard and crunched into his chest armor. Marsh summoned up a small tornado four feet high. It spun so fast that it destroyed the spears of dirt, spitting debris all over the arena.
“Rargh!” Fetter brought his sword crashing down on Orson, who managed to pull his lance up just in time. Javal spun and whipped his sword into Orson’s side. The moment it touched Orson’s armor, he flew across the arena, bouncing along the dirt like a pebble that had been skipped across a lake before crashing into the wall beneath the judges’ stall.
-250 Damage!
Fetter laughed, his hands on his hips for a moment before he spun around and slashed at a six-foot wide fireball. It dissipated immediately, as if his sword had sucked all the energy out of it.
“Try this!” Kai swung his lance over and over, firing another half a dozen fireballs. Fetter stood there batting them away like he was doing tennis drills. Kai’s fanged maw appeared behind the sixth one, his Blood Lance raised and hungry for royal flesh. Fetter twisted his body, evading Kai’s surprise attack completely. He clenched his left fist and crunched it into the side of Kai’s face. Kai thudded heavily into the ground rolling several times before laying still.
-220 Damage!
Fetter spat on the ground, shaking his fist out. He was wearing dark gauntlets with intricate gold threads decorating it. A purple gem throbbed on the back of them.
“Come on, is that all you got? It’s only Round 1 p-people!”
“Orson is fine. I can still sense that he’s alive, just not conscious.” Marsh had come up next to Cal. “We stall him. Use the Health Potions.”
“Hey, hey!” Fetter said, pointing at Marsh and Cal. “What are you two whispering over there? Don’t you know that it’s rude to talk strategy in the middle of a battle?” Fetter brought his sword back but had to jump before he could launch another attack. A tornado appeared where he had been standing. It spun there for 10 seconds before it petered out.
“Nice try, w-wolfie,” Fetter said. “Almost had me there.” Fetter raised his sword again.
Gong!
“End of Round 1!”
Fetter hesitated, moving to bring his sword down anyway.
“Fetter.” Cal jumped, spinning around. C was standing off to one side, her body angled towards the king. He heard her voice as if she was standing right next to him.
He sheathed his sword with disgust then walked towards her. Cal ran to Kai. He lay prone and still. His cheek had caved in from the force of the punch. Thankfully it looked like his lights were out. He unsealed the HP potion and carefully poured it into the werejaguar’s mouth. Kai’s face returned to normal, though there was now a dark bruise there.
He coughed and propped himself up on his elbows. “What–?”
“He got you pretty bad.”
Kai looked at him, confused. He felt his face and winced. “And I thought that Grandmother’s hand was painful.”
Cal laughed. “You were close with your fireballs. It’s worth trying it again.” He helped the werejaguar get to his feet.
“Round 2, start!” Damn it, time already? Marsh was still trying to get Orson to his feet.
“Eenie, meenie, m-miney…” his sword hovered in mid-air, swaying one way slightly then the other. “Mo.” He started walking slowly towards Marsh and Orson, tapping his sword in the dirt. Perfectly formed spires grinded out and rose into the air. Orson’s side plate had a dent in it. He leaned heavily on Marsh’s shoulder as he fought to stand on his own. Orson raised a hand to the sky and dark clouds swiftly shuffled over the arena. Hail started falling, pea sized initially before they became the size – and weight – of bowling balls.
Fetter abruptly drove his sword into the ground. A hundred spires crumbled out of the ground and formed an interlocking mesh, floating above him. Hailstones crashed into the craft-powered platform, shattering on top of it.
“Nice try,” Fetter smirked.
Orson was breathing heavily. He kept his hand pointed up at the sky. Larger hailstones the size beach balls started falling. The platform buckled slightly but it was air-tight. Not one shard of ice fell through. “Hand.” One of the spires that had been floating in mid-air came to life. It shivered then flew like a dart towards Orson. It skewered straight through his raised hand, dragged him back and nailed him to the arena wall. The gigantic hailstones stopped falling immediately.
“Orson!” Marsh howled. The shock of the attack thankfully seemed to have knocked him out. Marsh brought his hands together as if he was moulding a vase made out of mana. A small tornado formed, growing bigger and bigger with every rotation until it grew as tall as the lowest viewing stalls. Cal looked up. A transparent film shimmered over the top of the arena. Marsh’s craft was powerful, but without Hyten imbuing him, it wasn’t as strong as it could be.
The tornado grinded towards Fetter but couldn’t get past the spire wall. It now stood at an angle over Fetter, absorbing Marsh’s attack. Eventually, the tornado petered out.
“Marsh, no!” Orson woken up to see his comrade loping towards Fetter on all-fours. His robe flapped around him as he dodged spires hurtling towards him. He pounced on the floating spire platform and jumped off it. Twisting in mid-air, he landed then bolted straight at Fetter, jumping at him with an outstretched hand.
“Ugh, this is too easy.” The spires broke free from their square lattice and rushed at an airborne Marsh. The spires crunched into the wall, piercing the werewolf in the chest, head, left arm and right leg.
-845 Damage!
Marsh has died.
“You’re no king! You’re a coward!” Orson strained, but his hand was completely trapped by the spire.
Fetter slowly turned toward Orson. The spires had formed back into a square lattice and hovered over Fetter again. “‘C-coward’? That’s the best you could come up with?” H
e directed a spire and made a throwing motion towards Orson. The spire sped straight towards him. The screams of the people in the arena couldn’t drown out the crunching of the spire into the wall.
One brave soul in the lowest stalls uncovered her eyes, peeking at Orson. The spire was definitely in the wall, but something else had happened. She stood up and pointed. “Look!”
More and more people uncovered their eyes, looking down in confusion. The spire definitely had crunched into the wall; more than half of it was embedded in the thick stone. But Fetter had missed; Orson’s head was inches below the spire.
However, that wasn’t what the woman pointed out. The king was hunched over, standing on an earth platform 10 feet in the air. The floating spire shield he had created was broken into its individual parts, the spires in disarray. One by one, people looked towards the other side of the arena. The orc had his hand raised and pointed at Fetter. He dropped his hand, bringing the king back down to ground floor.
“It counts if I can make you hit your head on your own spire platform, right?” Fetter sat on his haunches head bowed. Red blood started dribbling down his head, collecting at his forehead before dripping onto the ground.
Javal started laughing: hearty guffaws that seemed to come out of his stomach. One by one, people all around arena joined in. A minute later, over 30,000 people were laughing at their king.
“SHUT THE F-F-F-FUCK UP!” Fetter threw his head up, breathing heavily. The blood trailed down his nose, over his lips and into his mouth. He pointed his sword at Cal. “You don’t make the rules! I do! I. Am. King!” He drove his sword into the ground again. The earth started caving in as spire after spire shot into the air.
Cal and Kai ran towards the arena exit. C’s hood was folded back. Her hair reflected so much moonlight it almost seemed to burn red. She put herself between them and the way out. There was no chance they were leaving the arena.
They took a sharp right and ran towards the arena wall, leaping over the chasm that just yawned open at their feet. Cal pressed himself against the wall, trying his best to ignore Marsh’s lifeless eyes endlessly staring into the hole below.
