Paragon of Skills

chapter 266

The arena suddenly goes quiet when a dark aura spreads from above.

Dust hangs in the air. Fine, pale, lit by the afternoon sun. It drifts over the cracked stone, over the scorched lines where Mana tore through the floor.

Nimirea kneels on the arena floor.

Her hands are on the stone in front of her. The corruption is gone. Jacob's Primordial Spell ripped it out of her, and what remains is a young half-Elf on her knees with nothing holding her up. Her skin is pale.

Jacob stands three steps behind her.

He is not in good shape. The Primordial Spell consumed every single last bit of Mana he had in his body and he de-activated the Reverse Domain, the Domain, the traps... everything.

His arms hang at his sides and his hands are shaking and there is blood running from his nose in a thin, steady line that he has stopped bothering to wipe. His eyes are back to his normal color.

He does not sit down, though he should.

Fifty thousand students sit in silence until the Prophet moves.

He steps off his raised platform and drops to the arena floor, landing with a crack that splits the stone under his feet. His robes settle around him. His face is empty.

He walks toward Nimirea.

His stride is long and unhurried. The Dark Champions, what remains of them, appear into formation behind him without a word.

The Prophet stops ten feet from Nimirea.

He looks down at her. His expression gives nothing.

"Stand up," the Prophet says.

Nimirea does not stand up. Her fingers are still pressed into the stone.

"Get up, Nimirea. We are leaving."

She lifts her head. Her eyes find the Prophet's face and her whole body flinches.

The Prophet extends his hand.

Jacob shifts his weight forward. His body screams against it. But his hand finds the hilt of Baalrek's sword and he takes one step, then another, until he is standing between the Prophet and Nimirea.

"No," Jacob says.

The word is quiet. His voice is raw.

The Prophet's eyes settle on him.

"Move," the Prophet says.

There's no humor; no fakeries anymore.

"She's lost. Both the duel and the tie to your God. Get out."

The Prophet's aura shifts. The pressure of it pushes against Jacob's chest and Jacob locks his knees and holds.

Then two things happen at the same time.

King Skaernex appears.

His armor catches the sun. His Dragonkin frame towers over both of them, and the aura that rolls off him is unbreakable.

And beside him, stepping out of a fold in the air that shimmers with the light of distant stars, Stella Aerodromos.

She is tall. Her hair is silver, cut at the jaw, and her eyes carry no warmth at all. She wears white.

Two reassuring auras fill the arena.

The Prophet stops.

His extended hand drops to his side. The empty expression fractures, just for a moment.

"She is not your property," King Skaernex says. His voice carries the way a Dragonkin King's voice carries. Heavy. "She is not Asmodeus's property. She is a student of this world and she has been freed of the corruption your master inflicted upon her."

"Freed." The Prophet repeats the word as though tasting something foul.

"She is free to choose," Stella Aerodromos says.

The Prophet's teeth press together. His gaze moves from Skaernex to Stella, measuring, and his hands close into fists at his sides. The Dark Champions behind him shift.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Silence holds the arena.

Then the Prophet smiles.

"You think this changes anything," the Prophet says. "You think you've won something here today. You think your students are safe. You think you've struck a blow against the darkness." He looks at the crowd. "You have done nothing."

The Prophet assumes a crazed look.

"My master is awakening, and a tide of monsters the likes of which this world has never seen is already moving. Your academies, your kingdoms, your little alliances." His gaze passes over Skaernex, over Stella. "None of it will matter. Asmodeus wakes. And when he does, everything you have built will be memory."

Nobody speaks.

The Prophet turns to look at Nimirea.

She is still on her knees. She has lifted her head and she is looking at him and her face is white and drawn.

"You are a failure," he says.

"We gave you everything. Power beyond what you could have earned in a lifetime. Purpose. Direction. A place in what is coming. And you could not hold it. You let a boy tear it out of you."

Nimirea's hands tighten on the stone. Her knuckles go white.

"We do not need a weakling." The Prophet's voice is flat, final. "There are others. There will always be others."

He holds her gaze for one more second.

Then he turns away from her and she flinches as though he struck her.

The Prophet's gaze drops to the silver sword across Jacob's lap. It stays there for one second.

The Prophet walks. The Dark Champions fall in behind him, a formation of hooded figures moving across the arena floor toward the outer edge.

Korrath is carried by two of the Champions, his massive body limp between them, black scales dull in the afternoon light. The others walk with their hoods up and their auras sealed. They are already past this place.

The Prophet does not look back.

A fold opens in the air at the northern edge of the arena. Dark at the edges, burning with the same quiet corruption that marked his entrance. The Dark Champions file through one by one. Korrath's limp form disappears into the fold. The others follow.

The Prophet pauses at the threshold.

He does not turn. But his voice carries across the arena floor one last time, directed at the Headmaster this time.

"Prepare your students well. They will need it."

He steps through. The fold closes behind him. The corruption burns out of the air. And the arena is left with nothing but the sun and the dust and the silence.

***

King Skaernex has not moved. He stands where the Prophet stood, looking at the edge of the arena where the fold closed. His tail is perfectly still.

Stella Aerodromos turns to him. Something passes between them. A look, brief and loaded.

Skaernex remains.

Jacob's knees give out.

His legs simply stop holding him and he sits down on the arena floor with his hands on his thighs and his head bowed.

King Baalrek's sword rests across his lap.

Nimirea has not moved from where she kneels. The healers give her a wide berth. They do not know what she is. They do not know if she is safe. She stares at the cracked stone between her hands and her lips are moving but no sound comes out.

Baal has sat back down, just like Jacob. Cecilia has reached him and placed her hand on him. Her only hand. She counts his heartbeats while she looks at him and he looks away.

A healer approaches. Kneels beside Baal. Presses a glowing hand to his chest and the glow stutters and the healer's face goes tight.

"His wounds are..." the healer says. "I've never seen damage like this. It's like his body tore itself apart from the inside."

Cecilia does not look at the healer.

"Can you fix it?"

"I... this is beyond me. The damage alone is..."

"Allow me. I doubt this will interfere with his Karma given all he's gone through."

The Headmaster appears behind the healer, who nearly falls over. The old man waves his hand.

Baal feels his body instantly rejuvenated. He looks at his hands. Opens them. Closes them. The tremors are gone.

"Hey! Can I get some of that?!" Jacob shouts.

"It'd interfere with your Karma!" The Headmaster turns and says, yawning. "Calm down, Cloud. You've done a good job and your wounds are not even that bad."

"I can't even walk!"

"Use the time to reflect on the preciousness of your legs, then! I'm off to deal with some important business!" Then, the Headmaster realizes that the entire arena is still swarming with people in the stands. "This was all! The winners are..." The Headmaster scratches his head. "Jacob and Baal... and Vyrrak! Congrats!"

That said, the Headmaster disappears, leaving everyone stunned.

***

Vyrrak is on his feet.

He reaches Jacob and stands over him.

"You look terrible," Vyrrak says.

Jacob does not lift his head. "You should see the other guy."

"I did see the other guy. She's looking at you."

Jacob says nothing and doesn't turn to Nimirea.

Slowly, all the Champions come up the arena and gather around him.

"Lad, aren't you going to talk to her?" Boomgar goes and kicks Jacob's leg.

"Ouch!"

"All those Afflictions almost killed a bunch of people!" Sabrina Margrave kicks Jacob too.

Asterion bends on his knees beside Jacob and squeezes his should hard, "you had us all worried."

"OUCH! What are you guys doing?!"

All the Champions take a little beating to Jacob but then all of them hug him in their own way.

Kai almost crushes his ribcage.

"I thought you wouldn't make it."

"Thanks," Jacob says to his brother, "but don't worry."

"Jacob."

That voice doesn't belong to any Champion.

Nimirea, very slowly and very shakily, has stood up and is now looking at him from outside the ring of Champions surrounding him.

Jacob looks up.

The Champions part for her as she comes forward.