The Fate: Book 1: Tournament Wysteria

by Ko, John

  He holds up the tiny buckler and dissipates it with a single command. “Blue Transform: Steam Dagger!”

  Using the heat of his adversary, the he boils what remains of his Water into vapor. His vision blurs in concentration; he can barely see his target. Fortunately, it’s a gigantic glowing flame. No one can control a million tiny droplets of Water all at once, it’s insane to even try … I guess I’m a little mad after all.

  Wake loses some of it, but not all. The little bit of Steam he manages to hold onto, he shapes into something sharp. Like a heron that spots the diving eagle too late to flee, but too brave to die, he calmly faces his attacker and waits. Instead of a long thin beak, it’s a Dagger of Steam. All he has to do is hold it sure and straight. Don’t flinch.

  The Conflagrator wails an awful battle cry as he dives. His mouth gapes so wide open it threatens to swallow his own face. And that’s just what Wake takes aim for. Keep your eyes open and look, he thinks, even as his dagger pierces the fiery elemental. Cales Cent’s final attack is earsplitting, but there is little more to his defeat than the dying sizzle of a flame.

  “I guess Steam can be hotter than Fire,” Wake says as the last of his Water disappears. Cales Cent’s real body comes to life on the sideline with a scream and the battlefield stops burning.

  Wake begins making his way towards the round boy, who backs up with each approaching step. When the Molten Kid runs out of room, he stops and says, “What are you doing? You don’t even have anything left to fight with.”

  Wake leaps towards his opponent. He vanishes mid-step, landing next to one of the boots he threw earlier. From it, he pulls out the glob of Water he hid there for safekeeping. With it, he forms a second Dagger of Pure Water. The Molten Kid’s eyes grow wide with fear. He’s just now realizing that he no longer has the flames of his partner cloaking him. He should’ve paid more attention.

  The Molten Kid doesn’t even move as the Water Knight leaps at him. Wake sticks the small blade in the boy’s ear and again into his crumpled form. That used to be me, but not anymore, he thinks as he watches one of the top-ranked Criers in all the land fall before him. Define, Decide, Do. That’s all it takes. Well, I guess laughing doesn’t hurt.

  So he does.

  Is this really happening? Wake wonders, listening to the crowd chant his name. But it’s only the voices of his teammates that really matter. His head pounds as he comes back from that place. He never left the field, but for a moment he existed on a different level, a zone all its own. That’s where the Fate goes. No, it’s where he lives, he realizes, understanding his friend a little more.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of Wysteria, the match is not even midway through and we’ve already witnessed a miracle. Can these no-name Monsters steal another one from The Royal Team? Not if our next Crier, Ossei of Bloodgrip, has anything to say about it. Please welcome Bone Sunder to the ring!” the loudspeakers announce.

  Still basking in his victory, Wake barely acknowledges the small boy. His new opponent has no fancy weapons or anything else intimidating about him whatsoever—except maybe the look in his eyes. The heat is gone and moisture has returned. “Water Summon: Dual Falchions.”

  His head still swimming from his last victory, he can’t decide what to do as the smaller boy walks towards him with his palms facing forward. Backing up seems ridiculous after everything he’s just gone through. He slashes out at the small boy, but Ossei Bloodgrip ignores the attack and grabs ahold of Wake’s wrist.

  “Blood Clamp: Bone Breaker,” the unassuming boy says. Wake instantly feels an ache where the boy grips his arm. He screams as the boy’s grip grows tighter and tighter. When he looks down at his hand it is almost as blue as his Water. Just before the bones in his wrist shatter, his opponent stops and walks away.

  Wake realizes he is in a Loser’s Ball. When he looks around, he sees that someone from his side has thrown the white flag.

  He was able to overcome so much, but after all that, he lost it. He lost his focus. He just let everyone down.

  Chapter 53

  BROTHER MONSTER

  [Battlefield: Twin King’s Corridor]

  For the very first time, Brother Monster is beginning to see just what it’s all about. He used to think that Tear Battling was just another frivolous way for the strong to show off. Now that he’s come to care about those giving their all, he knows he’s assumed too much.

  That’s not all he’s been wrong about. He also once thought that healing was only about medicine and proper treatment. But the wounds you can see are the easiest to heal, he’s realized. The other ones, the ones that you can’t see, that you don’t even know you have—those require something more. And thanks to them, I know that now.

  Wake’s wrist is fine. But by the look on his face, Monster can tell he is hurting, just not physically. The Half-Orc picks him up and gives him a monstrous hug. He tells his friend, “You did great out there. Just leave the rest to us.”

  It just makes Wake cry harder. All he can say through his tears is, “I’m sorry.”

  “You were wonderful, Wake. You have nothing to be sorry about,” his sister tells him.

  Riser comes over and adds, “Thanks for leaving some for the rest of us.” She pats him on the back. How did I not see it before? This is really what the Tournament is about, Monster thinks as he watches everyone try to comfort their victorious yet fallen teammate. It’s not just some display of brute force, luck or foolery, but of determination, hard work and courage. One man’s Will versus another. And where one man’s Will is greater than just his own … well, that just means he has good friends.

  I really have been a coward this whole time—afraid that someone like me could never have friends like this.

  He looks at each of them, his gaze finally falling upon the Daughter. She’s trying to look anywhere but towards the other side of the field where the boy on the throne watches her every move. That must be him, Daisho Sixblades.

  The blaring of the Tear Speakers disturbs him from thoughts. “Back and forth, expect the unexpected. Who knows what will happen this next round? If you have to relieve yourself, I’d suggest you hold it, because the two teams in the King’s Corridor are dead even at the midway point. Next up for Monsters is the fairer Avenoy, Rachel of Ice Ridge, the holder of the all-time fastest time on the Light Course. Let’s see how she fares in the ring!”

  Wake looks up from his own disappointment to offer a word of encouragement for his sister. They all do.

  As Rachel enters the ring, Monster studies her awaiting opponent. When he looks into the eyes of the small boy, he sees something unexpected: sadness. A sorrow that only comes from having to do what he must. Even though physically they could be no further apart, Monster is reminded of himself, his old self.

  “Way …” the Fate calls out. Wake rushes over to his side. “Way, you were awesome …” he says before his eyes close again.

  Monster leaves Wake in the care of their Captain and returns to his uncomfortable seat as is required. He catches Sense’s eye and waves him over. “Tell me about the remaining three,” he asks the young strategist, who seems surprised by his interest.

  “I’ve never heard of this guy before. But it appears he has a serious advantage over Shine. Since he uses his bare hands, her Sun Orb will be useless.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Monster says. “What of the other two?”

  “The only one I know anything about is Stacy Iss. They call her the Perfect Draw. She’s pretty much unbeatable. The best we can hope for is to force her to use her specialty and draw,” Sense tells him. “All I’ve been able to learn of their King is his name, Daisho Sixblades.”

  So that really is him, Monster thinks, wondering just how Esperanza must feel.

  Monster watches closely as the fighting begins. He has a bad feeling about this. Of all the different styles he’s seen, this opponent uses the most reprehensible. If he hadn’t thrown the flag the round before, Ossei Bloodgrip would’ve surely broken Wake’s wr
ist. He holds onto the white flag tightly.

  Ossei Bloodgrip rushes Rachel. She holds her Sun Orb before her.

  It does nothing. Ossei reaches his hand straight through the Orb and grabs her by the arm. “Blood Clamp: Bone Breaker.”

  The young strategist explains, “His hand passed right through because he isn’t wielding any weapons. His hands are his weapons and they aren’t Teared. He must be using a Blood Technique to strengthen the force of his grip.”

  Monster studies the Blood-User, trying to understand how someone could sacrifice his own body to master such a Technique. Blood is the Physical Aspect of Dark Red. To make use of Blood in such a manner and at this age means he is sacrificing his future for the present. How long has he been using Blood? How much of himself has he forfeited to master such a style?

  There’s nothing Rachel will be able to do against this type of attack, but he gives her every opportunity to perform a miracle. He knows she’s capable of something like that, but it doesn’t happen; at least not today. He throws the flag before it’s too late.

  Shine is as devastated as her brother was. Monster checks her arm quickly and finds no damage and leaves her to their teammates. He picks up the white flag before making his way into the ring. It’s my turn now.

  The light washes over him as he steps into the ring. The stadium is louder than sin, so loud it feels like complete and utter silence. The announcer introduces him, but all he can hear is the word Monster, though it doesn’t sound as bad as it used to. When your friends call you something, whatever it is, you look forward to being called that.

  I won’t let that word define me. I’ll change what it means instead.

  Chapter 54

  RISER

  [Battlefield: Twin King’s Corridor]

  Esperanza tries to comfort Rachel. “Styles make fights. Your honor is intact.” Her words ring hollow. Similar words were said to her the last time she lost to that unforgivable boy from Gregory’s House. The words didn’t make a difference then and they don’t make a difference now. Rachel hunches over in silence.

  Riser leaves her Unnie with her brother and returns to her seat. She’s familiar with Bloodgrip’s Technique. Monster has no chance. At the very best, he may draw, though, she doubts he’ll even accomplish that much. What I really have to do right now is figure out a way to get past Stacy Iss.

  She finds Sense next to her, so she asks, “How can I beat Perfect Draw?”

  The little strategist shakes his head. In some small way, she feels relieved—she won’t have to dance with Daisho Sixblades after all. When she remembers the look that the Half-Orc gave her as he entered the ring, she suddenly feels ashamed.

  “Kick his ass, Monster!” she shouts.

  The Half-Orc actually turns slightly and nods his head. When did he grow a backbone? she wonders.

  Surrounded in darkness, Brother Monster enters the ring of light. He bows low to his undeserving opponent. Surprisingly, Ossei Bloodgrip returns the gesture.

  It’s a strange sight. On one end stands the tallest Crier on Tour, slumped forward and humble. On the other, erect and proud, is poised one of the smallest.

  The Half-Orc strides towards the center of the ring and assumes his stance. He looks good like that, almost like a real fighter. He stands tall, right foot forward, one hand above the other, palms facing his opponent. Looking at him like this, she realizes just how much bulk he’s put on in the past weeks. At least, he can thank me for that.

  The Blood-User eyes him warily, as if he is unsure to believe that his opponent is the Pacifist they say he is. Monster inches forward. Bloodgrip retreats step for step until the Pacifist stands at the dead center of the ring and beckons for his opponent to to attack. The smaller boy shakes his head.

  Monster begins to chant something. Riser realizes it’s all in farce, that he doesn’t use any Techs that require such chanting. But his opponent doesn’t know this. Bloodgrip charges with quickness so abrupt that his shadow strains to keep pace.

  Monster, Disciple of the Doubting Palm, stands his ground and faces the oncoming boy. Serene and calm, no movement wasted, he knocks the smaller boy’s hand away. They stand there, legs unmoving, but arms alive. Low, high, from one side and then the other, Bloodgrip attacks. Monster turns each attack away.

  Once, Esperanza saw two vipers fight, heads raised high. They circled and lunged and dodged with frightening quickness. Now it seems as if she is watching four such vipers in action. Each hand, fanged; one bite could end it all. Except Monster’s fangs hold no poison.

  As they continue the one-sided dance, Riser marvels that the larger one can keep up with his undersized opponent. Can he keep it up long enough to end this in a draw?

  The Blood-User manages to land an odd strike or two, but whenever he closes his hand, he comes up with nothing but air.

  Step for step, they continue, trying to gain position or any small advantage to turn the stalemate of styles. As the little one lunges forward, mixing in feints with real grabs, the Disciple of the Doubting Palm avoids and diverts. The attacks come faster and faster, until even Riser can’t follow the blurs that their arms have become. Unbelievable!

  Just as she thinks her dining partner may just have a real chance of outlasting their opponent, he stops. Ossei Bloodgrip almost cancels his attack, but he’s already far too committed.

  Even Ossei looks confused by how easily he is able to grab ahold of the Half-Orc’s arm. “Blood Clamp: Bone Breaker.”

  What in Silla is he doing? Is he trying to lose on purpose? No, never … Riser thinks.

  The Blood-User cannot hide his surprise.

  He looks up at the much larger Half-Orc and says in a quiet voice, “Please submit.”

  “No. I am sorry, but that is something I cannot do,” Brother Monster says, his arm growing pale.

  Ossei’s own arm pulses and flexes as his grip tightens by the moment. Given enough time, those of the Bloodgrip Clan are known to bend steel with a single grasp. He’s lost his mind, Riser worries.

  She begins to search the sideline. Where exactly did the white flag go? She has to stop this for his sake.

  In a stadium used to shaking with cheers, the beating of hearts is all that can be heard. Monster pulls out the White Flag of Surrender. Displaying it for all to see he says, “If you’re looking for this, don’t bother.”

  He’s watching her at a time like this. The babo. He who refuses to use the Fire he was born to control activates his gauntlet. The small piece of cloth disappears in a puff of smoke. It’s the first time she can remember seeing him burn something. It all happened so fast that she isn’t quite sure she saw it clearly, but for a moment there … his flames looked white, so hot that they burned Blue.

  “Submit!” she screams, watching his hand turn unnaturally pale. “You’ve taken this as far as you can. Submit … Please!”

  “But then you’ll keep calling me a coward,” he says, not turning around. He tries to sound at ease, but is unable to hide a flinch of pain. It’s the first time she’s ever seen him show any sort of discomfort.

  “I’ll never call you that again. Just please stop! Please …”

  CRACK!

  Riser almost throws up. Behind her, she hears one of her teammates doing just that.

  The Half-Orc’s only response is, “Still the Flame.” He frees his fractured arm from his enemy’s deadly grasp.

  “Orc bones are much stronger than those of a regular human. And yours are probably even weaker than that from your training in Blood.” He stares deep into the eyes of his enemy. “I doubt you would be able to release the Tech the same instant that I release mine. I wonder what would happen during that split second before you can cancel your Blood Clamp.”

  Monster moves the smaller boys paralyzed hand so that it grips the Blood-User’s own arm. “Please, I ask that you submit.”

  Ossei Bloodgrip stares wide-eyed at his arm clamped in the grasp of his own Blood Clamp. The small boy looks up at the Half-Orc and shakes
his head. He too is prepared to make the very same sacrifice.

  “I thought as much,” Monster says as he pulls the boy’s hand away from his own arm. And then he does the most ridiculous thing Riser’s ever seen. He places his own neck between his enemy’s fingers.

  The Blood-User’s unmoving eyes widen even larger. The Half-Orc let himself be caught; he sacrificed his arm, he destroyed the chance for his teammates to save him, and now this.

  “I am Brun of the Sanctuary of the Divine Image. My friends call me Brother Monster. I walk the Path of Peace, a path with no shortcuts. Though we are born with violence in our hearts, I refuse it. Never is there a reason to harm another. For violence leads to violence, an escalation of hurt, pain, sorrow and hate. But I will fight! The only way I know how …”

  “I am a Pacifist. This is my Will and those who oppose it shall fall to the fury of my love and forgiveness. No matter what you do, I love you and forgive you. I offer you a choice. I offer you my life as redemption. I do this because I believe in the goodness of man. The goodness that is in you.”

  His words start as a whisper and finish a roar. The Blood-User’s Inner Flame begins to flicker back to life. This is no bluff.

  “I submit,” Ossei Bloodgrip says so softly that if all of Wysteria weren’t holding its breath, no one would’ve heard.

  Riser wipes at her eyes. “Big Babo,” she mutters to herself. She can’t even hear herself over the crowd. From a stunned silence to a raging roar they chant his name. “Monster!”

  He’s done it, but is it enough? His friends are quiet; even they are shocked at what just occurred. He looks over at them and says, “It’s just a slight fracture. I’ll be fine.”

  “No, you won’t. Your bone has a crack in it. We all heard it!” Riser yells at him. Just how babo can he be? “Do you want to break it clean in two? That’s what will happen if you keep on …”