The arena was a living canvas of raw energy, every heartbeat amplified by the expectant silence that had descended over the gathered crowd. In the center of the sandy battlefield, Rider and Dargal faced one another. Their eyes locked in a mutual, unspoken promise of blood. Rider's jaw was set with determination, while Dargal's lips curled into a disdainful smirk, his massive sword held loosely yet deliberately in hand. The tension between them was palpable—a spark that threatened to ignite an inferno of violence at any moment.
Dargal broke the silence first. With a voice dripping with cruelty and arrogance, he sneered, "I can't believe I get to crush a bug like you. Not only do I get to end your miserable existence, but I also have the luxury of waiting out the tournament to face the winner afterward. And, to top it off, I have a score to settle with you. I hope you're ready for this, little runt."
At his words, Rider's heart thundered in his chest. Beads of sweat formed along his brow as the heat of battle threatened to overwhelm him. Yet, even as his pulse pounded, Rider's face remained a mask of resolute determination. His eyes, dark and unyielding, never left Dargal's, as if daring the other fighter to make the first mistake.
Back in the contenders' room—an antechamber filled with nervous energy and hushed whispers—a different drama unfolded. The room was crowded with fighters, each bearing their own hopes and scars. Seated in various states of tension, they all watched the impending duel through the open doors that led to the central arena.
Zack, known for his nonchalant confidence, leaned casually against a rough-hewn wall. His eyes never left the unfolding drama, as he silently measured the strength and mettle of Rider—the son of the legendary Dran. For Zack, every fight was an opportunity to learn, to gauge where his own strengths might be tested in the future.
Not far away, Bianca could hardly contain her nerves. Her eyes were fixed on Rider's form as he prepared to face his formidable opponent. She tapped her feet impatiently, murmuring fervent words of encouragement in a voice almost lost amid the ambient clamor. "Come on, Rider… you've got this," she called out repeatedly. A fellow contender, his tone laced with skepticism, muttered that her shouts would never reach Rider through the noise of the crowd. With a small pout and a resigned sigh, Bianca lowered her voice and sat down—her heart still pounding in sympathy with the man she believed in so completely.
Back in the center of the arena, Rider drew a deep, steadying breath. The moment had come. With deliberate confidence, he unsheathed his sword. The cold steel glinted in the early sunlight as he raised it, pointing it squarely at Dargal. In a voice that was both defiant and laced with biting sarcasm, Rider spat, "You talk a big game, but I bet you're all muscle and no brain, you stupid idiot." His words rang out across the battlefield, a challenge that stoked the fire in Dargal's eyes.
No sooner had Rider spoken than the tournament bell clanged across the arena, signaling the start of the duel. Without wasting a single heartbeat, Dargal lunged forward, his sword slashing through the air in a heavy, intimidating arc. The force of the blow caught Rider slightly off guard, but with reflexes honed through years of training, he managed to raise his arm and block the savage strike. In that split second, Rider marveled inwardly, How can someone so massive move with such lightning speed? If I had blinked…
Dargal, seizing on his physical advantage, pressed his assault relentlessly. Each swing of his massive sword was designed to end the fight in one devastating stroke. The crowd roared in approval, the cheers and shouts mingling with the clashing sound of metal. Up above, Aingo folded his arms and watched, a slight frown creasing his weathered face as he noted Rider's struggle to counter the sheer force of Dargal's blows.
For several long, harrowing moments, the duel became a chaotic dance of strikes and parries. Rider's arms trembled with the strain of deflecting blow after blow, and he could feel the shock of each impact reverberate through his entire being. His hands, slick with sweat, began to shake uncontrollably as he absorbed the relentless barrage. "Damn it, I can't feel my hands," he gasped aloud, trying desperately to steady his weapon mid-air.
Dargal's mocking laughter cut through the din. "Is that the best you can do? How pathetic," he taunted, his eyes narrowing as he closed the distance between them. In a flash, Dargal exploited Rider's weakened state, swinging his sword in a powerful arc that struck true—knocking Rider's sword out of his grasp. The impact sent the weapon skittering across the arena floor, leaving Rider momentarily defenseless.
Dargal's next move was as brutal as it was swift. With his free leg, he kicked Rider across the battlefield. The force of the blow sent Rider crashing against the unforgiving ground, his armor clanging as it hit the sandy floor. A sharp cry escaped him as he coughed up blood, clutching a battered rib where the impact had landed. The crowd gasped collectively—a ripple of shock that passed through every one.
In the contenders' room, Bianca's eyes widened in terror as she watched the unfolding carnage. Zack's face fell into a mask of disappointed concern, knowing deep down that Dargal's ferocity was on full display and that the fight was tilting dangerously in his favor. Even Aingo, a veteran of many battles, lowered his head in silent dismay as he watched Rider, his pupil and warrior, suffer under Dargal's relentless assault.
Dargal stalked over to Rider's prone form with a predatory grace. Grabbing a fistful of Rider's hair, he hoisted the fallen fighter to his feet with a cruel sneer. "Say it now," Dargal hissed, his voice low and menacing. "Surrender or prepare to regret what comes next." His grip was unyielding, and his eyes burned with the promise of further brutality.
Rider's gaze, however, remained unbroken. Even as pain radiated from every bruised muscle and every battered rib, his eyes met Dargal's with a fire that refused to be quenched. "I… I'm not giving up," he declared, his voice trembling but resolute. For a long, excruciating moment, the two adversaries stared into each other's souls—a silent war of wills where neither was ready to concede defeat.
Dargal's smile turned mocking. With a sudden twist of his knee, he drove it into Rider's stomach. The blow was so fierce that it sent Rider reeling backward, his armor creaking ominously as a seam split open. For minutes that felt like an eternity, Rider absorbed blow after punishing blow. The crowd watched in a mixture of horror and awe, as every savage strike and every grimace on Rider's face underscored the brutal reality of the fight.
Off to the side, Bianca's father leaned toward King Neon with a hushed urgency. "This has to end before Rider does something irreversible," he murmured, his voice heavy with concern. King Neon's eyes, full of quiet sorrow and determination, flicked toward Aingo, who himself seemed broken by witnessing Rider's suffering. It was a moment of painful clarity—a recognition that sometimes, duty demanded the unthinkable.
Yet even as those around him prepared to call an end to the contest, Rider—against all odds—rose for the twentieth time. His body trembled with pain and exhaustion, and his mind teetered on the edge of despair. In that fleeting moment, as he struggled to pull himself upright, he heard the voices of doubt echoing in his mind. I'm a failure. I was stupid to think I could ever stand a chance against him. Slowly, his consciousness began to wane, and the world around him blurred into a haze of agony and regret.
Just as the darkness threatened to claim him completely, a single voice cut through the chaos—a cry of determination that pierced Rider's despair like a beacon. "Rideeeeeeer, don't you dare give up, you hear me?!"
The shout came from Bianca, her voice trembling with both desperation and fierce encouragement. In that moment, a rush of memories flooded Rider's mind. He recalled the countless hours in training—the lessons of battle IQ, the strategies honed under Bianca's vigilant eye. He remembered her words during those grueling sessions:
"Listen, if you're at your lowest, your opponent will always target your vitals with a precise swing aimed at your ribs. When that happens, you must tilt your head just enough to deflect the blow. It might not work every time, but often, that slight adjustment can mean the difference between life and death."
Those words became his mantra. As Dargal, enraged that Rider had not yet fallen, charged once more with a vicious rib attack, Rider's mind snapped into focus. Summoning every ounce of willpower, he tilted his head at the precise moment—just enough to let the strike pass harmlessly by. The move, born of desperation and honed through countless hours of practice, left the crowd in stunned silence. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Rider's eyes burned with the clarity of renewed purpose.
In that heartbeat of opportunity, Rider sprang into action. He dashed forward, his limbs propelled by a surge of adrenaline, and managed to snatch his fallen sword from the ground. With a fluid motion that defied his battered state, he whirled around and pointed the tip of his blade directly at Dargal. The sound of Bianca's voice rang in his ears once more:
"Most of the opponents in this tournament would likely rely solely on brute strength. Use that against them. Block their attacks just a moment, not with all your might, but enough to unbalance them—and then let the weight of their own force turn against them."
These words echoed like a battle hymn in Rider's mind. As Dargal charged yet again, hurling curse after curse, Rider's focus narrowed solely to the lesson. He executed a perfectly timed, one-second block—a brief pause that absorbed the momentum of Dargal's furious attack. For an instant, time seemed to slow. Dargal's power, once so overwhelming, now faltered under the subtle deflection. Rider's deft maneuver tripped Dargal, sending him stumbling and off balance. The crowd erupted in disbelief; even Aingo, who had watched with a furrowed brow, could not hide his astonishment.
Emboldened by the success of his technique, Rider pressed his advantage. As Dargal staggered, Rider's thoughts raced remembering Bianca's lessons. "When your opponent is exposed, do not attack him directly—attack his sword. A swordsman without a sword is nothing more than a man." With this in mind, Rider launched a series of rapid strikes aimed not at Dargal's body, but at the massive blade that had been his instrument of destruction. In a flurry of precise, calculated slashes, Rider chipped away at the edge of Dargal's sword. Sparks flew as metal met metal, the sound ringing clear and sharp in the tense air.
Dargal's eyes widened with both shock and rage. "How are you doing this? Where is this strength coming from?" he bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the arena. But Rider did not answer with words. Instead, he roared—a warrior's roar that spoke of defiance, of unyielding spirit. In that roar lay the memory of every lesson, every moment of training with Bianca, every sacrifice made by his father, Dran.
Then, in a climactic moment that seemed to suspend reality itself, Rider gathered all his remaining strength. With his eyes fixed on his adversary's weakening stance, he stepped back, allowing Dargal one final, desperate swing with his now chipped sword. In that critical pause, Rider's mind recalled Bianca's final instruction:
"Once you have your opponent off balance, finish him in style. Unleash a final, decisive attack that leaves no doubt of your mastery."
Rider took a deep breath, and as Dargal's sword descended, he countered with a move that would be remembered for ages. Mid-swing, he shouted, "RIDER SLASH, BLADE CUTTER!!!" The command rang out like an incantation. In that instant, Rider's blade sliced through the air, meeting Dargal's weapon with explosive force. The collision of steel was accompanied by a sickening crack as Dargal's sword broke—and with it, the final barrier to his defeat.
The impact was cataclysmic. Rider's strike found its mark, cutting deeply into Dargal's side and severing the flow of his strength. Dargal's eyes bulged in disbelief as he staggered, his body crumpling under the onslaught. Within seconds, the fearsome fighter fell unconscious to the sandy floor, his once-mighty presence reduced to a lifeless heap.
A momentary silence fell over the arena—a stunned hush that spoke volumes. Then, as if released from a dam, the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers. Bianca's father, his voice resonant with pride and relief, announced the victory: "The winner is… Rider!" The words seemed almost surreal to Rider as he gazed down at Dargal's motionless form, the weight of his triumph mingling with the agony of his ordeal.
Tears began to stream down Rider's face, not from the pain of his injuries, but from the overwhelming flood of emotions—relief, pride, and the bittersweet remembrance of all those who had sacrificed for him, and yeah maybe the pains too. He shouted at the top of his lungs, a cry that blended triumph and sorrow, "I… I did it!" His voice, raw and trembling, carried across the battlefield, touching the hearts of everyone present.
In the aftermath of the duel, the arena buzzed with an electric mix of jubilation and introspection. Aingo, his expression softening as he looked upon Rider, wiped away a stray tear. He knew that this victory was as much a testament to Rider's indomitable spirit as it was a bittersweet reminder of the cost of ambition and the price of glory. Zack's eyes, wide with awe and newfound respect.