by Liandra Jake
"T-this is my second time here." #255 stuttered. "My first." Corenden replied, only half listening. "Really!?" The Pog exclaimed, failing to hide his sense of superiority despite Corenden's impressive get up. #230's ears twitched at the exclamation. She raised her head and yawned. "Why the noise?" "He's a rookie!" #255 exclaimed, pointing at Corenden.
She snorted. "You're the rookie. You have three Exo-suit systems on you. He has none." Corenden nodded. "And I'm damn proud of it. This armor cost me 25K, but I'm not going to hide behind Exo-suits." "Fair enough." The Wullf replied. "I have the one, but it's not a redundant protection system; I've got myself a Shifted Tilt crafted Drive system." Corenden chuckled. "Then we have something in common. We've both got equipment crafted by Arend."
The two did a double take. "S-seriously!?" #255 asked. "It only cost you 25K for that!?" #23 asked. "I'm from Dragon's Den. I was friends with Arend before everything went big." Corenden replied as he walked away to get a look at the lineup. People moved when they found his hard armor protected him from pushing and shoving. Corenden didn't bother to roll his eyes at his placement. His first fight was against #255, with #254 through #248 in his bracket. His only chance at raising his reputation would be to create an exceptional performance for all his matches, and fight well against his High-Rank counterpart.
He shook his head as he walked back out of the crowd. "I suggest you prepare yourself." Corenden said to #255. "You're fighting me first." He continued to walk, sitting in a chair away from everyone. As time went on, the crowd dispersed enough for #255 and #230 to see the lineup themselves. They came back with little fanfare. #230 said only one thing to Corenden before lying back down. "I'll see you in the next bracket three days from now." #255 grumbled to himself as he sat next to her. "He's not that tough…"
The matches alternated between low and high from the middle of the brackets out; the highs and low in the lineups usually had the longer, more uneven matches people enjoyed. Corenden was one of the only people who kept a sharp eye on every one of the matches. Some of the competitors he may have to face if he wants to make it all the way through. The others watching as closely as him were all veterans of some form. Corenden was tempted to place bets, but due to his participation he was barred, so he instead predicted the matches just because. With an almost perfect success rate, he attracted the attention of the veterans.
"So who's next little man?" #34 asked. He was a leather-skinned middle-aged man covered with numerous scars. "#143 and #144. #144 is most likely to win." Corenden replied. "Not only due to Rank, but #143 has a weakness to #144's Orenth preference." #34 nodded. Two other veterans ran through the stats themselves to get a better idea of how Corenden did it. #20 was a rough-and-tumble women who was lean and very quiet. #9 was quiet as well, fiddling with a length of chain wrapped around his thick shoulders. He was salted and chapped from his time spent sailing. Corenden could smell the ocean on him from across the room. #230 sat away from them, watching the fight with little interest.
The day ground on slowly until the top and bottom brackets in both Ranks were left. The top of both Ranks fought first. #9, #20, and #34 all made it through and won the matches with their Low-Rank counterparts. They kept a close eye on the rest of the matches because they would eventually fight the strongest of the bunch. Corenden soon found himself called out to fight #255. The powder blue Pog was eager for action.
"C'mon! Let's end this!" He exclaimed. The referee called out. "Match start!" The Pog charged at Corenden. To #255, Corenden moved as a blur of grey and white before a downward kick from Corenden drove him into the ground. The announcer opened his mouth and began to speak, but Corenden waved him silent. "He's out cold." The referee checked on the unconscious Pog. With a shrug, he motioned to Corenden. "… The winner is #256?" The announcer said over the quiet stadium. A loud whistle caught everyone's attention.
"Good work Corenden!" Arend called from the stands. Kronth, Berry, and an entire section of Dragon's Den members gave him a cheer. After an embarrassed wave back, Corenden hurried to the edge of the field. #34 was laughing hard at Corenden's circumstances, the other two High-Ranked people Corenden had somewhat befriended only cracked a smile.
#230 chuckled when she met Corenden. " I told him you weren't a rookie." Corenden shrugged. "I'm not that experienced either though. I haven't had much practice in actual fighting." "Corenden right?" She asked as she walked next to him. Corenden nodded. "She-Long." She said with a smile. "Call me Long." Corenden could now notice just how large she was. Long's shoulders were level with his ears, her head well above his own.
Corenden gave her a polite smile as he sat within view of the field. Long rested her chin on the counter in front of them, the perfect height to sit comfortably. "So… What brings you to the tournament? Fame? Fortune? Training?" Long asked. "Money for my family." Corenden replied. "Brother/sister sick?" "So my wife and I can have kids and keep our new apartment." Corenden replied, flashing Long a stare. "O-oh… So you're not single…" Long said , suddenly embarrassed. Corenden laughed. "No. Definitely not. She's the pink Pog sitting with Arend and the others from Dragon's Den." He pointed, but Long wasn't interested in looking.
Corenden sighed, turning his attention to the next fight. After a few glances his way that went unanswered, Long slinked off. Time went on unchecked. Corenden soon found himself called out for his second match. #253 was also a rookie, although he was more understanding of his limits. Like Corenden, he was dressed in full armor made of plain iron. From what Corenden could tell from his previous match, he was well trained, if a bit cowardly. His weapon was also plain; a dull dark grey steel that matched his unpolished buckler. "Match start!"
At the referee's call, #253 started his slow advance, buckler raised on jhis left arm and his right letting his sword point drag on the ground. Corenden too ktwo the air with his weapon in two hands. He strafed around towards #253's left. He turned towards Corenden, his feet practically shifting by themselves. Corenden darted forward, aiming his sword for #253's elbow. With a light spark of neon, it bounced off the edge of #253's buckler, bouncing sideways. Corenden let his right arm continue with his sword, brining his left up to block #253's sword.
The impact knocked Corenden out of the air, but he landed on his feet with a grunt. His left arm throbbed, but it didn't hurt all that much and Arend' armor held up with light scratches. #253 returned to his defensive stance, waiting for the read out on their stats. "#253, 112 Endurance, 4 Attack, 4 Defense. #256, 84 Endurance, 5 Attack, …Wait… 12 Defense? This can't be right…" Corenden rolled his right shoulder, switchin his sword to his left hand. #253's deflection pulled a little at his muscles. He sudden;lly had an idea.
He ran forward, awkwardly trying to stay upright with feet not built to run. Many found it amusing, but #253 realized just what kind of tactical advantage it gave Corenden; Corenden was so low to the ground on his feet that most of #253's attacks would lose a great deal of power. Kicking would prove useless as he didn't have the leg strength to hurt Corenden through his armor. He switched to offence and rushed to meet Corenden. Corenden stuck low as a sword glanced off his helmet. He rolled onto his back, kicking at the side of #253's knee. He rolled away and to his feet to dodge a punch, glad he had practiced rolling.
Could smiled when he saw #253 shift his weight to his left. Not only did it weaken his opponent's ability to attack comfortably, it weakened his attacks themselves and #253's state of mind. He was growing anxious and his cautious nature led him to return to a defensive stance. Corenden approached him more casually, his sword still in his left hand, he walked with a slight waddling gait.
When he was the right distance away, Corenden put his plan into action. He feigned jumping by twitching his wings. #253 immediately brought his shield up expecting a chest-level attack. Corenden rushed under him with a kick and a snap of his wings. Corenden drive his sword into the ground directly under #253's shield, twisting his body around violently and whipping his tail around into the side of #253's knee, f
orcing it to buckle and bring #253 down.
Corenden pulled his sword out of the ground as he backpedaled away from #253 to his left. Using the same technique he had before, Corenden rushed back towards #253 and drove his sword into his ribs. The neon tournament Shield exploded into life on contact with Corenden's sword. Corenden and #253 were thrown away from each other from the force the impact created. #253 rolled onto his back, panting with a hole in his armor. Corenden stood up, his shield still sparking erratically.
"#253 has been eliminated. #256 is the victor." Dragon's Den cheered louder than before. Arend' whistle was echoed in the speakers. Corenden waved a hand as he returned to his seat. He was surprised to find #34 waiting for him. "That was impressive little man." Corenden shrugged as he sat down. "I've watched matches like this for a long time. I might have only recently taken it up myself, but I learn quickly."
Corenden took off his left bracer. Flexing his arm, he watched the blood collect in a sizeable bruise visible through his fur. "Hmmm…" #34 said as he looked at Corenden's arm as well. "That's quite a piece of armor you have." "Really?" Corenden asked, looking up at him. "My friend's skilled with stuff like this, but I think he might have created armor for a vehicle, not a Monster." #34 laughed. "Trust me; he knows exactly what he's doing. That bruise is inevitable for any piece of armor, but your body isn't exactly conditioned all that well, and you're lucky your arm isn't broken."
"He didn't seem that strong…" Corenden said. "He isn't. #34 replied bluntly. "Or at least not yet; you're small and vulnerable little man. Even with the same level of conditioning he had, your body just can't take punishment at that level." Clough sighed as he replaced his bracer. "Regardless, I still have to fight. I'll just have to spend more time toughening myself up." #34 smiled, slapping Corenden on the back. "That's the spirit little man! A warrior never gives in!" Corenden laughed politely before checking his sword.
The blade was still fair, but the point was extremely dull from driving it into #253's Shield, and flattened where he hit his armor. Sharpening only lasted a small part of the next fight. Corenden asked #34 to fill him in on the detals and took a nap. Corenden groaned as #34 shook him gently. "Your fight starts in ten minutes. Prepare yourself." Corenden shot up. "What." #34 put a hand up defensively. "You needn't worry little man! I remember the significant moves and can reenact them for you."
Corenden looked outside. The sun was very low in the sky, almost past the edge of the stadium. "How long was I asleep?" "Almost three hours." #34 replied. "The matches were very long. Yours is the last for this evening, if you're going to be forfeiting your High-Rank matchup." He held out something roasted on a stick and seasoned with lemon and spices that tickled Corenden's nose. "Eat. It'll help you wake up."
As Corenden ate and drank a little water, #34 ran him through some of the more complex moves and abilities he had missed. Corenden found whatever meat he was fed moving out of his stomach in time for his fight. He stopped just as he was about to leave. "Hey, what's your name?" "Fritz. Fritz Carmine." #34 replied. "Heh. Mine's Corenden." Corenden replied as he turned back around. "Thanks for the help, Fritz."
Corenden walked out to meet #249. With his left hand on the hilt of his sword, Corenden raised two fingers and pointed to the sky, the signal that meant Corenden wanted a Rush-Start. #249 obliged, copying the gesture as they walked to the center of the field. With a nod from the officials, the ref made the call. "Rush-Match, Start!"
True to its name, #249 and Corenden rushed at each other. Corenden's sword was deflected by a thin rapier that barely missed Corenden's chin. With a flick, #249 flung Corenden aside. A long scratch stood out mockingly on Corenden's sword. Corenden hopped to his feet in time to block another thrust. A jolt of electricity ran down Corenden's body, backed by a cascade of neon. #249 attacked again, his rapier sparking into empty air.
Corenden was on all fours some distance away, his sword gripped in his teeth. With a grunt, he stood up and returned it to his hand. #249 cocked an eyebrow. "Not a dignified technique." Corenden spat, pointing with his sword. "Shut up and fight." #249 raised his empty right hand, his left gripping his sword tighter. A small ball began to form on the tip of #249's finger, expanding to the size of his fist. "Very well then." #249 snapped his fingers and a blinding light filled the field.
Corenden brought his sword up quickly, making a wild dive to the side. #249's sword skipped off the side of Corenden's sword and into the ground. Corenden ran to counter attack, but #249 brought his sword across his body mid snap. With another desperate dive, Corenden saved himself from being blinded a second time. Even more desperately, he flipped over his head to dodge #249's attack, abandoning his sword. With a sideways roll onto his feet, Corenden retreated.
#249 picked up cloud's sword. "Hmm. This will be very difficult to break, but-"A ball of water splashed into his face, filling his mouth. As # 249 coughed, Corenden retrieved his sword and quickly retreated as #249 swung wildly at him. "Puh!" #249 spat in Corenden's direction. "Damn animals don't have any respect." Corenden twitched. Fully abandoning caution, Corenden charged at #249. With a wide swing, Corenden deflected #249's rapier with a twang. As the ball of light in his other hand began to glow, Corenden cut through it with a second blade made of wood. Unlike his metal one, it had viciously serrated edge.
#249 took a step back, pulling his arm back for a powerful thrust. Corenden dropped his sword, curling his fist and meeting the rapier's tip. On impact, a brief trickle of electricity and down Corenden's arm until #249's rapier suddenly exploded in a flash of neon. Corenden brought the wooden sword up and morphed it into a shield to block the blast and shards of metal. #249 disappeared from view in a burst of neon that faded only when his head hit the ground, knocked out. Corenden, with a grin, picked up his sword. The stadium was silent until a roaring cheer from Dragon's Den filled it. Corenden turned to them and exchanged a mock salute with Arend.
- |-|-| - Catching Up - |-|-| -
Corenden was granted a brief reprieve before his High-Rank match. Arend was in the corner of the room, muttering under his breath as he polished out the scratches on Corenden's blade. He had to work quickly to make it to the next match. Long was in the far corner, watching Corenden with a touch of sadness. Fritz was talking to Corenden as Corenden massaged his bloody fist. "I still don't understand how you beat him with just a punch. I know the strength Wood has on Light, but your other type is Water." "It was the Shield." Corenden replied, jangling one of the bracelets. "It's Plasma based."
Fritz nodded with an impressed look. "You made the system and #240's Lighting feed off each other." Corenden nodded. "A feedback loop. I got the idea when I remembered a friend of mine had a ability similar to the Shield. It was the second time his Lighting hit me when that came to mind. Normally, the Shield wouldn't have a second emergence like it did." "It's called a Default Cascade." Arend commented. "They're nominal so long as you don't overload the system with feedback. It was Corenden's Mithril gloves that saved him from being knocked out as a side note. Electricity doesn't like to go from one material to another like that, particularly when it comes to Orenth."
Fritz chuckled. "Did your technician teach you how to do that?" He tilted his head at Arend. Corenden shook his head. "Not really. That was just something I just kinda thought up after watching years of tournaments." An official poked his head into the room. "#256, it's time." Corenden replaced his glove, pulling the buckle tight around his wrist before replacing the bracer. Arend tossed Corenden his sword. Corenden caught it backhanded without looking, sliding it into it's sheathe. "Wish me luck!" "Watch yourself out there!" Arend called as he left with the official. Corenden caught a stare from Fritz. He sighed. "Yes, we've practiced that move. What of it?" Fritz only laughed.
Corenden was nervous as he stepped out on the field, now lit by the stadium's lights. #121 yawned wide as he walked across the field. He was mostly unarmed, with only his fists and feet armored. In his previous matches, he used Moon and Ice, creating Moon land mines w
ith his feet, and used wicked punches to freeze the ground and corner people, with the ice making them slip into his traps. Corenden had a distinct advantage with his flight, but the type matchup gave him no strengths for his Water, and only one to his Wood.
"Alright shorty, let's make this quick. I don't have time to deal with you." #121 said before the ref made his call. "Match Start!" #121 started with kicking Moon Orenth into the ground as he brought down heavy ice-coated punch. Corenden replied with airborne acrobatics that ended with his heel driving into the side of #121's chin. The announcer called out their stats as #121 grunted, and Corenden flew higher.
"#256, 72 Endurance, 3 Attack, and 6 Defense. #121, 243 Endurance, 19 Attack, 16 Defense."#121 kept an eye on Corenden as he paced out a trail of Moon Orenth. Corenden dived, skidding across the ground as #121 simply stepped to the side. "That was my second chance to end you." Corenden threw a ball of water that #121 caught and froze. "Then do it! I didn't fight through all this for pity!" #121 replied with a sharp kick. Corenden blocked it with his shoulder, allowing himself to fly back. With half-cocked wings, he decelerated and landed, crouched.