Pax laughed. “Something, something, something, surrender and the Artist is never stronger than when they are the weakest, and never the weakest when they are the strongest.” He wiped at his eyes. “Quoting The Pranad is easy. You say one thing, and then say the opposite, and it sounds all wise and shit.”
The Arena Assistants didn’t know how to take that.
Niko wasn’t going to even try and explain Pax to them. He hugged the Sages again and gave Bonnie a long kiss.
Then he and Danette left with the Assistants. They walked ahead of them. Danette was going to be with him on the field. He was grateful for that.
“So is Evelyn back?” Niko asked.
“I’m not going there with her, not right away,” Danette said. “But my gut tells me that she won’t stay away. It might be a bit before she fights again, but Evelyn has the Arts in her blood. Quitting forever is easy to say, hard to do.”
They both knew that from experience.
Niko thought of Evelyn’s reaction to sparring with each other, and how uncomfortable she’d been. There was history there, secrets, and he wondered if he’d ever get her full story. Maybe not for a while. Evelyn kept her life clutched close.
An elevator trip later, through more concrete labyrinthine corridors, Niko and Danette emerged out onto the field. Unlike the BCBA Quarterly in September, the entire stadium was packed, every seat full. It was part roar, part murmur, and the smells of the vendors hit him, hot dogs, nachos, cotton candy, a swirl of sweet and salty and the grease of deep-fat fryers.
When he walked out, the crowd took notice. The roaring was mixed with boos and hisses, and a wave of energy swept down. All those people, all their prana, electrified the air. The sun was bright in the sky, and it was hot in the sun, cool in the shade, a perfect afternoon for a battle.
Niko and Danette walked across the grass to a nice wooden platform surrounding the 144 tiles, all the Zodiac signs painted there. Both a polished wooden deck and a bamboo railing surrounded the tiles. It was the nicest Arena he’d ever seen. Of course it was, Fright Night was a fan favorite event—the money poured in every year.
“I can’t believe we’re here,” Niko breathed.
“I can’t believe you’re fighting, and I’m not.” Danette patted his back. “I’m so nice.”
“You are.”
They went to the far corner, his usual place, and waited. The Arena Master was an older Asian man, lean and wiry. He had a long white moustache hanging past his chin. The two Arena Assistants Niko had walked down with were there, joined by a third woman.
The crowd died down.
Andrew J. Coffey walked out onto the grass, and the stadium erupted again. This time, there weren’t any boos or hisses, it was adulation and thunder and excitement.
Andrew waved. He didn’t smile. Then he locked his eyes onto Niko. Niko didn’t look away.
MudCon seemed forever ago, and the meeting in the man’s suite, over wine, felt like it had happened to someone else. Had he really been in the same room with Andrew J. Coffey? Back then, Niko had felt young and out of his depth. Now, it felt like he and Andrew were equals. They weren’t. Andrew was at least two belts ahead of him, if not three. Andrew had spent years perfecting his technique. Even his most complex Studies would only take a fraction of his prana.
The Arena Master went through introductions. For Niko, he’d kept his bio short. Niko Black was a Battle Artist, unspecified Study, unspecified Belt, Unrepresented.
That drew more boos and hisses, along with a smattering of applause.
Andrew J. Coffey was an award-winning Battle Artist, a Neptune Belt, of the Sanguine Studies, a famed fighter of SoulFire Incorporated, a darling of the Barton Hennessey Battle Artist Agency. Neptune Belt. He’d leveled up.
Every person in the stadium seemed to scream for him.
Niko’s family wouldn’t be. Bonnie wouldn’t be. Neither would Pax and Evelyn, somewhere in the stands. And Niko knew his old MudCon fans would be on his side—Brent, his sister Cynthia, maybe even Alex, the skeptic. He’d seen them tailgating in the parking lot when he and Bonnie had walked up.
Niko let go of his nervousness. This was his time. This was his fight. He would give it his entire focus, and when he got hit, he’d take it and keep on fighting. He wouldn’t stop until he’d given every ounce of sharira, every bit of prana, until he was exhausted.
Danette chuckled. “It all changes today, Niko. It all begins today. Surrender to the moment. Choose your targets, choose your Studies, and let the life flow through you. It has all come down to this moment.”
And the moment was sweet. He’d been a fool to ever think he could give the Arts up.
The Beating
THE CROWD CHANTED, “Zenith Spin!”
Niko winced at the noise. He’d never heard such a roar. He stood on the tiles in the southeast corner. Danette stood behind him. Andrew was alone in the northwest corner.
The Arena Master bent and touched the tiles. The twelve painted Artist signs didn’t just flash. This Arena Master was at the top of his game. The Sanguine sign burst upward in a blood-colored ram that went splashing back into the Luna sign, a moon rising out of the ocean. The moon flashed upward in a silver crab shape, before plunging down into a lion made of fire, which soared upwards on fiery wings. Around it went, each of the tiles animated with the prana of the Arena Master. He was either a very high-level Forge or Metallurgist. Or perhaps he was a cusp who hadn’t specialized.
The Artist signs rose and dove until a set of glowing scales became monstrously big above them.
“Radiance!” The Arena Master’s declaration echoed around the stadium. Microphones were placed at the corners of the Arena, capturing every sound.
The stadium let out an audible groan of disappointment. Only a few people screamed and clapped, and they were the ones who knew Niko’s secret.
Without a doubt, the spin went in his favor. He felt the Radiance energy in his core spring to life. It was like someone had plugged a battery into him.
The Arena Master shouted, “Arena clear! Artists approach!” More echoes that raced around the crowd.
Niko and Andrew approached each other. Andrew was all glowering glares and deadpan disgust. He was thinner, paler, and he’d forgotten to shave. A dirty beard covered his hollowed cheeks. Was there the stink of wine coming off him?
Andrew hadn’t clipped the fingers on his left hand, and his nails protruded in yellow keratin. What was that about?
The prana in him boiled. Andrew had leveled to the next belt, and he was nearly bursting with energy. A partially digested daemon? Probably. He’d eaten enough of it to get the benefits, and yet, there was something off about him.
Niko smiled. “You can’t beat me. Just standing here, with you on the tiles, means I’ve won.”
That brought a sneer to Andrew’s face. “After your humiliation? No one is going to look at you twice. Enjoy your moment, you little asshole. Because this is all you’re ever going to have.”
“It’s enough,” Niko said. “This moment, right now, is enough for me. For I am a Battle Artist, and I live in the eternal now.”
“Artists ready?” the Arena Master shouted.
“Yes, Master!” Niko and Andrew barked. Niko listened to the sound bounce through the stadium. Here he was. This was it.
“Assistants connect?”
“Yes!” from the Arena Assistants.
Andrew winced. The man connected to his core let out an unexpected gasp. Andrew leered.
Niko’s assistant didn’t react at all when they linked to his core.
Above them, on the scoreboard, both their statuses were there, along with a huge video of their faces.
Prana and sharira, each at 100%.
The Arena Master stood on the wooden deck. He yelled, “Arena engaged!”
The bamboo railing fell away. The tiles rose twenty feet into the air. The crowd went wild. An elevated, rail-less Arena would give them better views. If either of the Artists slipp
ed off the platform, the Master or an assistant would try and ease their fall, yet, sometimes, that didn’t happen. It added a definite element of danger.
However, after his ability to animate the tiles, Niko trusted the Master wouldn’t let them fall. Both he and Andrew retreated to their corners.
Danette was below. She nodded at him.
The Arena Master rose on a gleaming platform of forged prana. He held his right hand high in the air. “Minds sharp?”
“Yes!”
Andrew snarled out the word. He was in a rage. This was good news for Niko. Angry Artists couldn’t think, and the real battles weren’t of the flesh, but of the mind.
“Souls strong?”
“Yes!”
The Arena Master dropped his hand. “Let the Artistry commence!”
Niko used a little of his precious prana to race across the tiles. His Second Study brought him right up to Andrew, and he battered the man, a hook, an uppercut, a few jabs, left, right, left. He wasn’t using his First Study, but he’d reinforced his knuckles with energy. He didn’t want to break any bones.
Hitting Andrew was like punching a brick wall. He stood on strong legs; he blocked most of the punches, but not all.
Out of his peripheral vision, Niko saw the Sanguine Artist’s sharira drop, only a few percentage points. It was enough to bring the stadium to its feet.
Niko raced back to the middle of the ring. Andrew flung kicks at him, ghostly red constructs of stylized feet. Niko ducked one, dodged another, but then took a foot to his belly. It brought him to his knees and knocked the wind out of him.
Gasping, trying to breathe, he was helpless—if Niko couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t use his prana. Panic narrowed his vision.
Andrew sped across the tiles, using his Second Study, Ram Speed, but little prana. He towered over Niko. Andrew’s fist glowed crimson. He struck. Niko knocked away the blow, but even protecting himself, he took damage. He lost sharira, but he had far more sharira than prana.
Andrew was too fast. He drove his knuckles into Niko’s face.
Blood filled Niko’s mouth, and he spat it out.
Not a second later, Andrew wielded a long saber of red light. Niko knew the Sanguine Artist had access to Blood Shield, but his new upgrade had also helped him unlock Blood Weapon.
Niko rolled across the tiles as the saber came smashing down on the tiles. Then, seemingly from nowhere, Andrew kicked him hard in the ribs. He’d used his prana to leap over to the other side of the ring.
Andrew stood on the edge of the tiles.
Niko got to his feet. Instead of retreating, he attacked. Dizzy, hurt, he gasped in a few breaths. He knocked away Andrew’s sword, then spun and kicked him in the chest.
Andrew pinwheeled his arms, a desperate attempt not to fall. The saber was gone for the moment, yet there was more blood on the tiles, from Niko’s bleeding lip.
Andrew got his balance and used more prana to speed into Niko, knocking him down. Then it was more kicks, and every time Niko tried to get up, Andrew knocked him down.
Niko was losing sharira left and right. He’d be lucky to make it to the end of the first round, but surviving a second round? Not likely. And worse yet, other than his initial strikes, he’d done little to Andrew.
Niko was forced to expend more prana. He blurred as he shot to his feet, and instead of running, he waded in, getting in Andrew’s face. That close, Andrew couldn’t use his Third Study, Distance Kick, or his Fourth Study, Blood Weapon.
They traded blows, both speeding, both full of prana, and Andrew took no damage, but every single blow wiped away more of Niko’s dwindling sharira, not to mention his small supply of prana.
“Round one complete!” the Arena Master announced. “Artists to their corners.”
Niko went and knelt with the back of his left hand on his right palm. He checked both their stats. Andrew was down to seventy-five percent prana with ninety percent sharira. That was terrible news.
Niko’s own stats weren’t as dismal as he first thought. Fifty-eight percent sharira and forty-four percent prana.
He felt a tingling on his lip as the Arena Assistant helped heal him a bit, just to stop the bleeding, but not enough to increase Niko’s sharira.
Niko spit blood off the side of the tiles. He didn’t want to give Andrew any more weapons to use. The Sanguine Artist stood, tall and proud in his corner, glaring at Niko.
Niko closed his eyes and felt his prana, and that Radiance in him. He’d wanted to use it in the third round. He might not be able to wait that long. He reached out with his senses, to feel the vile thing inside Andrew’s core. A cambion, definitely, and it must not be easy for him to fight that thing in his core, buzzing. It gave him power, but it also must be damn uncomfortable.
Then he heard the crowd chanting something, and he realized what it was. “Niko! Niko! Niko!” It wasn’t everyone, but it was enough. People loved an underdog. After round one, it was clear that was exactly what Niko was.
The Arena Master called out, “Round two. Artists ready!”
Niko stood. Andrew pointed at him and said something. It certainly wasn’t nice.
The Arena Master stood on his pedestal. “Minds sharp?”
“Yes!”
“Souls strong?”
“Yes!”
“Let the Artistry commence!”
Niko stayed back, at the very edge of the tiles.
Teddy’s advice during their talk on his back porch came to him. Get him to use his prana, as much as you can, because he’ll want to. Those are the crowd-pleasers. He has so much, and his technique is so good.
However, Niko had already taken a Distance Kick to his diaphragm, and if Andrew had been in it to win, he could’ve ended the match right then and there. Yet, he wanted to humiliate Niko. It was foolish for Andrew to use his Blood Weapon so early. Niko hadn’t been prepared for that.
Pax’s laughter echoed through Niko’s head. If you can dodge a train, you can dodge an Artist.
Niko focused his mind, feeling good, feeling strong, and loving the audience.
Andrew threw kick after kick of energized prana, and Niko danced through them, anticipating each attack, seeing the trajectory, and whirling about.
He managed to make his way to the southwest corner without taking any damage. Andrew was down to seventy-percent prana.
“Come on!” Niko yelled, throwing up his hands. “Come on and kick me!”
Andrew hurled more. Niko struck one away, ducked one, and rolled under another, feeling the sizzling prana roar mere inches above his head. He’d made his way back to his initial corner.
Andrew flashed toward him, hard to see, going so fast. More prana.
Niko threw a kick, but he wasn’t using it to strike Andrew. No, he created two steps, prana from his own feet, a trick Danette had suggested to get across the highway when they were practicing leaping over traffic. Then Niko spent precious prana to increase his speed so that he could walk up the two orange-colored manifestations of his feet. He turned a flip in midair and landed on the north side of the Arena.
That made the mob in the stands scream themselves into a frenzy. As far as Niko knew, this was the first time anyone had used a Twin Damage kick to actually create steps for such a leap.
Niko couldn’t stop to enjoy the applause.
Andrew hurled more Distance Kicks. One after another after another. Andrew wasn’t thinking. He was draining his prana recklessly. Niko avoided the attacks, unhurt. Andrew roared and sprinted toward him. Niko feinted left and went right, charging his speed with his Second Study. He slid under Andrew’s punch and across the tiles, reaching the south side again.
Andrew tossed more Distance Kicks. That brought boos from the audience. Let them complain. For Niko, the second round was about defense and getting Andrew to use his prana.
Danette’s voice came to him. He’ll be overconfident. You can use that, Niko.
And then something else... Danette had said she couldn’t think st
raight around Andrew, and Andrew couldn’t think straight around him.
Niko played like he was going to keep up his defense. Instead, he ran at Andrew, slid under a manifested foot, and let another glance off his arm. Andrew was in striking distance.
Instead of hitting Andrew and taking damage, Niko booped the Sanguine Artist on the nose—a light little poke.
The crowd laughed, yelled, applauded.
Niko used Andrew’s surprise to spin around him. Niko backed into the northwest corner. He was trapped. The round was almost over. He hoped to see the end of it.
Andrew screamed in rage. He scratched the long nails on his left hand down his right arm, drawing blood. He was too far away from the blood on the middle of the tiles to use it. So that’s why he’d let the nails on his left hand grow long.
Andrew created his saber again and hacked at Niko, sending him onto his tiptoes at the very edge of the Arena.
A little Second Study, just a bit, and Niko somersaulted under the blow and stood back in the middle of the ring.
A red-glowing foot struck Niko in the face. He flopped backward, unable to think for a second, as the pain eclipsed all thought. His nose was broken. He swallowed what felt like gallons of blood.
He looked up to see the sword arcing toward him. The blade was going to end the fight.
Niko shifted just in time to take the blade on his shoulder and not his head. It didn’t have a sharp edge, but just getting hit with that length of forged prana hurt.
“Round two complete!” the Arena Master shouted.
Andrew retreated to his corner.
Niko tried to stand. He couldn’t focus from the pain. It was a brutal blow. A match-ending strike.
He hardened himself. He wasn’t going to end the fight on his knees. He’d stood with zero sharira, and he’d stand again.
He reached his feet. “Is that all you got, Andrew? Is that the best you can do?”
The stadium thundered.
It sounded tough, sure, but the reality was, Niko was done. He was at fifteen percent sharira, thirty percent prana, and yet, he’d survived two rounds with a Battle Artist that outclassed him in every way.
Sages of the Underpass Page 38