Chapter 62: BLOOD DEBT
The tunnel was cold. Dominic had been standing in it for ten minutes, Wobbly on his shoulder, the little creature’s glow a steady blue pulse in the dim light. The roar of the crowd filtered through the stone above him, a constant, muffled thunder that vibrated in his chest.
He could feel the bond humming, two threads of warmth, Florence’s restless crackle, Theresa’s steady calm. They were in the stands, in the sea of black and gold that had spread through the arena since Phase One. They’d refused to stay home. They always did.
He checked his sword. The blade was sharp, the hilt wrapped in dark leather, the steel recently reforged by Florence’s blacksmiths. His enchanted fighting clothes were black and gold, the Kane colors, the fabric shimmering faintly with Theresa’s wards.
Wobbly bounced once on his shoulder, a small, eager motion, and Dominic reached up to touch its surface. The gel was warm. The little vest was slightly crooked. The creature everyone had dismissed as useless was about to show eighty thousand people exactly what it could do.
"Two months," Dominic said quietly. "It’s been a very eventful two months since the dungeon floor."
Wobbly burbled. The sound was low and certain.
"I know. Let’s go."
He walked into the arena.
The crowd’s roar hit him like a wall of sound, eighty thousand voices screaming his name, the Kane colors a storm of black and gold in the stands. He walked to the center of the platform and stopped, his hand resting on his sword, Wobbly a steady weight on his shoulder. He looked at the opposite tunnel, where Victor Harwick was about to emerge, and he waited.
Victor walked into the arena with his blade already drawn, golden light flickering along the steel. His armor was immaculate, the Harwick green and black freshly pressed, the cracks from his previous fights buffed out and polished. His easy smile was in place, but it was a mask now, a performance, and everyone in the arena could see the strain beneath it. The golden child’s halo was tarnished, and he knew it. This match was his chance to remind everyone who he was.
"Kane," Victor said. His voice was light, almost friendly, the same tone he’d used in the team phase when he’d told Dominic to forfeit. "You’ve had a good run. An Impressive run, for someone of your rank. But this is where it ends. You know that, right?"
Dominic didn’t answer. He drew his sword. The weight was familiar in his hand, the balance perfect, and Wobbly’s glow brightened on his shoulder, ready.
"No final words?" Victor’s smile widened. "That’s fine. I’ll do the talking. I’ve been waiting for this since the day you didn’t die in that dungeon. Do you know how annoying that was? I paid good money, and you just... survived. Like a cockroach."
Dominic’s grip tightened on his sword. His expression didn’t change.
"Your father died in a cell, Kane. Rotting, forgotten, and quiet." Victor raised his blade, golden light intensifying along the steel."You should take a page out of his book, Kane."
Dominic stepped onto the platform. "Are you done talking?"
"For now."
"Good, then we can get started."
The match began.
Victor came forward with the full force of his rank, his blade a blur of golden light and crackling energy, and Dominic met him in the center of the platform with his sword in both hands and Wobbly a steady pulse on his shoulder.
The first exchange was a collision of steel and will: Victor’s overhand slash against Dominic’s raised guard, the impact driving Dominic back a step, his boots skidding on the stone. Victor pressed, his follow-up thrust aimed at Dominic’s throat, and Dominic parried with a twist of his blade that redirected the strike past his ear.
He stepped inside Victor’s reach and drove his elbow toward the Magic Swordsman’s jaw. Victor blinked, the short-range teleport he’d used against Greer and Doran, and reappeared three feet to Dominic’s left, his sword already swinging. Dominic dropped, felt the blade pass over his skull, and rolled to his feet with his sword extended.
Victor was already there, blade coming down in a vertical arc. Dominic caught it on his forearm. The steel shrieked against hardened skin, the faint blue shimmer of the Wobbly trait flaring at the point of impact, and Victor’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Dominic used that fraction. His sword came around in a low arc that forced Victor to leap backward, golden light trailing from his blade as he landed.
"Nice trick, Kane." Victor said, his smile sharp.
"Really? Thanks," Dominic said, sarcastically. "I put a lot of thought into it."
Victor’s smile flickered. He came again, faster now, his blade shifting from gold to crackling electricity mid-swing. The lightning arced from the steel, reaching for Dominic’s chest, and Dominic reached through the bond. Wobbly moved. A single globule detached from its body and shot forward, intercepting the lightning mid-air. The electricity vanished into the gel, consumed, and Wobbly’s glow flared blue. Victor’s eyes went wide. The globule merged back into Wobbly’s body, and Dominic closed the gap.
He swung for Victor’s ribs. Victor parried, the impact ringing, and threw a bolt of energy from his off-hand. Dominic hardened his other forearm and batted it aside. The bolt scorched the stone. He was inside Victor’s guard now, sword and fists working together, a combination Florence had drilled into him. A slash to the shoulder that Victor barely deflected. A knee to the stomach that caught him before he could blink. A headbutt, ugly, desperate, effective, that snapped Victor’s head back and sent him stumbling. Blood streamed from his nose. The crowd was on their feet, roaring, as the C-rank Summoner drove the S-rank favorite across the platform.
Victor’s eyes were wild. The mask was gone. He came at Dominic with everything, a combined assault of magic and steel, lightning and golden light woven together in a continuous flow.
The first strike was a feint. Dominic read it, but the second was real, and it caught him across the ribs before he could twist away. The Wobbly trait absorbed some of the impact, but not all of it. Pain flared. Blood welled. Victor pressed, his blade a blur, each strike faster than the last, and Dominic parried what he could, dodged what he couldn’t, took another hit to the shoulder, another to the thigh.
He was bleeding from a dozen wounds. His mana was draining. The Wobbly trait was keeping him standing, but barely. Victor was S-rank. The gap was real. But Dominic was still there, still fighting, still refusing to fall.
"You don’t fight like C-rank," Victor snarled between strikes. "You’ve climbed. You’ve trained. But it doesn’t matter. You were born beneath me, and you’ll die beneath me, just like your father."
Dominic’s vision blurred. He parried a thrust, dodged a sweep, took a knee to the chest that sent him stumbling. Victor raised his blade for the finishing blow, lightning screaming along the steel, and Dominic looked at Wobbly. The creature’s glow was bright, eager, ready.
Now.
Wobbly launched itself. The whole mass of it, a blur of translucent blue, crossed the distance before Victor could register the movement. He tried to blink. Too late. Wobbly was already on his face, spreading over his mouth, his nose, his eyes. Sealed. Thickened. Formed a helmet around his head. At the same moment, a single globule, smaller, faster, shot between Victor’s lips and down his throat.
Victor choked. His free hand flew to his neck. Something was moving inside him. The rest of Wobbly flowed into his ears, his nose, every opening, filling his sinuses, his throat, the space behind his jaw. The pointy tip formed inside the helmet, pressing gently against the base of his skull. A promise of death.
Victor’s mana drained. His limbs weakened. His struggles slowed. He dropped to his knees, then to his hands. The helmet pulsed with blue light, Wobbly processing the mana it was consuming. The crowd was silent. Eighty thousand people watched a man’s summon crawl through another man’s head.
Dominic stood over him, breathing hard, blood dripping from his wounds. He could kill Victor. Right here. Wobbly could push that pointy tip a little further. Could block his throat until he suffocated. Could drain him until there was nothing left. Victor Harwick, the golden child, the man who’d paid to have him killed, could die on this platform in front of eighty thousand witnesses.
"Release," Dominic said.
Wobbly hesitated. A questioning burble.
"Yeah, I’m sure. Release him."
The helmet dissolved. Wobbly flowed out of Victor’s ears, his nose, his mouth, retreating down his throat and out past his lips. It pooled on the stone, then bounced once, twice, and flowed up Dominic’s leg onto his shoulder. The vest settled back into place. Wobbly wobbled once.
Victor collapsed, gasping, coughing, gel dripping from his face. He looked up at Dominic, and what he felt was written there. Fear. Victor Harwick was afraid of Dominic Kane.
Dominic turned and walked toward the edge of the platform. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. The crowd erupted. KANE. KANE. KANE. The name filled the arena, shook the banners, made the barrier mages stop and stare. Dominic walked into the tunnel, Wobbly on his shoulder, the chant following him like a tide. The finals were set. Dominic Kane versus Pembroke. Tomorrow. The wall.