Divine Beast Ascension

“You... COCKY APE!” Harter howled as more plain robes flapped in the wind. “Don’t waste my time and energy!”

The tall young fighter leaped forward, equipping clawed, steel gloves. His synthetic talons tore through the air with rage and fury. No effort was left out as Harter looked deeply into Fulkar’s displeased gaze.

“That it?”

Those claws and the whirling tempest they created fell harshly onto Fulkar’s blue robes, causing them to flutter. Yet there were no cuts or tears anywhere to be found.

“Fight and lose honorably, at least!” shouting, Harter lashed out once more at full strength.

However, the same result was reached. Fulkar stood still, completely unmoved and unscathed.

.....

“A waste...” Fulkar tilted his head to the side, seemingly looking down on his taller opponent. “That’s not how you wield the wind, you technique stealing gorilla.”

Suddenly, another raging tempest exploded into existence, this time beyond Harter’s control. Fulkar scoffed, “You’re not worth my sword, so I’ll just slap you instead.”

With grace and speed, Fulkar’s next step carried him directly in front of his baffled opponent.

SLAP!

Harter was thrown backward as that raging tempest carried him away, slashing apart the robes beneath his light armor. But Harter wasn’t so easily defeated, breaking through the raging winds to land safely on the platform.

“You underestimate my–”

SLAAAP!

Yet again, to the amazement of the crowd, Fulkar sped into Harter’s face. But this time he lashed out with a backhand.

Thrown even further, Harter groaned as he forcibly ground his feet on the stage against the wind in his face. Coming to a standstill near the edge, Harter’s temper was being overcome by his sense of logic. He kept quiet and instead poured out all essence available to him in order to create a larger, countering cyclone. “Don’t look down on us! We’re–”

“Just get off, already!”

Without warning, the temperature plummeted across the lower levels of the arena. Snowflakes began to take shape and were immediately pulled into Fulkar’s growing tornado. His controlled blizzard raged against that of his opponents, consuming and destroying it bit by bit.

Shaken but unconvinced, Harter howled again, “DON’T! LOOK! DOWN! ON–”

“LEAVE!”

A plume of compacted snow burst out of Fulkar’s blizzard, suddenly breaking through the winds that were yet to be destroyed. It plowed directly into Harter, forcibly ejecting him from the stage while nearly freezing him solid.

“We have a winner!” declared the ref. “The Eaton Heir was remarkable in his own right, but he was unable to compete with the fierce, frozen winds of his competitor, Fulkar Libarn! Let’s hear it for the both of them!”

Fulkar had already returned to his seat, not caring for the crowd and their cheers at all.

Harter, on the other hand, was still trapped in ice and compacted snow, shivering harshly. Medics were running to his aid but Trantor was the first to lend a helping hand.

Gentle flames poured over the sleet, helping Harter escape and heat up at the same time. “Th-thank you, Trantor...”

“Keep your head up.” Trantor smiled. “Your skills are the real deal, so don’t count yourself short. It’s just that he’s a monster in his own right.”

“B-but–”

“Beating yourself up will only impede your cultivation. Focus on what you can learn from this fight and count yourself ready for the next time you meet in an arena. Compared to you, some people in the top ten would’ve fared much worse.”

“Thanks... As always, you and your family are worthy of respect and gratitude.”

“Don’t go there,” laughed Trantor. “I’m just helping. The medics are the ones who will treat you. Good luck!”

“And now, it’s finally time, ladies and gentlemen! We finally get to see our second seed in action!”

The crowd was immediately at full volume! Following such a show of force with another top seed was enough to get any spectating cultivator invested in the tournament.

“I forfeit!”

But the sudden call of the no-name combatant shook everyone’s hearts the wrong way. His shaky decision made sense, but a riled-up crowd would know what it wants and never settle for anything less.

Freele sighed and shrugged on the side, disappointed to not get a chance to fight like her fiance and the other top seeds. But she wouldn’t blame the guy for backing out after he witnessed the fourth seed slapping the eleventh seed around like a ragdoll.

“Don’t be sad, don’t get disillusioned! Despite the lack of a fight, this only brings us all the closer to the second round, where all eight fights will only increase our expectations and better stimulate our pride as cultivators!” Bringing the crowd back to his side, the announcer continued, “With no time to spare, we may as well draw lots for the second time! You know the drill but you don’t know who will be pitted with who! Come on up!”

Freele was already on stage, having made her way up only to accept a default victory. But now she could hope for a better, more capable opponent.

“Number 15! Once again, we’ll be seeing Freele at the end of the second round with someone special, I’m sure of it!”

Trantor led the remaining contestants as he gallantly leaped onto the stage. With his last match being the one he had wanted as the finale, Trantor was ready to settle for any competitor.

“Number 16! I can’t believe it, but I must, ladies and gentlemen! We have a battle of the fiancees!”

Against the odds and Trantor’s every expectation, his heart sank past his stomach and landed deep within his intestines. Turning to face his lover, Trantor squinted and scratched his head. “I’m... I’m so sorry...”

“Why? Now I finally have a worthy opponent!” cheered Freele, throwing her arms around him.

“But...”

“Just relax. It’s not like we’ve never sparred before.”

“But this is different...”

“While the lovers quarrel and share some lovely smack talk, we must keep things moving!” The ref motioned for Fulkar to come forward.