The minutes stretched into an eternity of unseen horrors, the thick, black fog a shroud over a scene of brutal, unseen violence. Then, with a sudden, almost theatrical flourish, the mage, or rather, what remained of him, managed to absorb the entirety of the smoke into a swirling, condensed ball of darkness held within his trembling hand. Ash, his senses returning, cancelled his half-transformation, his scales receding, his poisonous sweat dissipating.
The scene that unfolded before him was a tableau of pure carnage, a brutal masterpiece painted in blood and black smoke. The mage's hand, still clutching the concentrated ball of smoke, lay severed on the ground, a macabre testament to his final act. His body was nowhere to be seen, his head crushed beneath the assassin's boot.
The dire wolf, once a picture of raw power, now lay broken and bleeding. His ribs were a latticework of shattered bone, his muscles torn and exposed, his vital organs visible through gaping wounds. He stood, or rather, remained upright, held together by sheer willpower, his eyes glazed with pain, his life force draining away with each ragged breath. He was a monument to the brutality of the fight.
The knight's once gleaming armor was now a mangled wreck, his half-body crushed beneath the brute's massive hammer. His greatsword, a symbol of his strength and pride, was buried deep within the brute's gut, a final, futile act of defiance.
A hush fell over the pit, a silence so profound it seemed to press down on the very air. Even the bloodthirsty audience, who reveled in the spectacle of violence, were momentarily stunned into silence, their cheers replaced by a morbid fascination. The scene was too brutal, too complete, even for their hardened sensibilities or disappointment for not being able to witness it beforehand.
The assassin, her daggers dripping with blood, cracked her neck, the sound echoing through the silence. She kicked the mage's severed head towards the audience, a grotesque offering to the silent spectators. The head bounced across the stone floor, coming to rest at the edge of the pit, its lifeless eyes staring up at the horrified faces in the stands.
The brute, his massive frame still standing, his eyes filled with a feral triumph, looked around the pit, his chest heaving, his breath ragged. He pulled the greatsword from his gut, the sound of tearing flesh echoing through the silence. He looked at the assassin, a silent challenge in his eyes.
Ash partially transformed his eyes back to his draconic ember orange, ready to detect even the slightest movement from both of them. But after a few seconds, the brute fell on his own, his massive frame collapsing onto the bloodstained stone. He had lost too much blood, and the gaping wound left by the greatsword was too severe to ignore.
"He… he is dead too," Ash repeated under his breath, his voice laced with a delirious disbelief. The sheer efficiency of the assassin's carnage was unsettling, a chilling testament to her skill and ruthlessness.
The assassin stood alone, her silhouette stark against the backdrop of the carnage. She moved with a fluid grace, her daggers gleaming in the eerie blue light of the torches. She surveyed the pit, her eyes scanning the debris, her gaze finally settling on Ash. A faint smile played on her lips, a predator savoring the moment before the final kill.
The silence in the pit was broken by the echoing clang of her daggers as she sheathed them. She took a slow, deliberate step towards Ash, her movements radiating an aura of calm confidence. She didn't rush, didn't waste energy on unnecessary theatrics. She moved with a chilling efficiency, a predator closing in for the kill.
Ash, his draconic eyes narrowed, felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He shifted his stance, his body tensing, preparing for the inevitable clash.
"Impressive" the assassin said, her voice a low, melodic whisper that cut through the silence. "You've survived. That's more than I can say for the others."
Ash didn't respond, his eyes fixed on her every move. He knew words were useless here. This was a battle of skill, of reflexes, of raw, unadulterated violence.
The assassin's smile widened, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "Don't worry," she continued, her voice laced with a dark amusement. "I'll make it quick and painless."
She lunged, her movements a blur of speed and precision. Ash reacted instantly, his body moving on instinct. He sidestepped her attack, his fist lashing out, aiming for her exposed flank.
The assassin twisted, her body contorting in an impossible angle, avoiding his strike. She retaliated with a flurry of kicks, her movements a whirlwind of deadly grace. Ash blocked and dodged, his body moving with a fluid agility that surprised even himself.
The fight was a dance of death, a ballet of brutal efficiency. The assassin moved with a chilling precision, her attacks calculated, her movements devoid of wasted energy. Ash, his draconic instincts kicking in, fought with a primal ferocity, his movements a blend of raw power and calculated precision.
Everyone's eyes fixed on quick exchange most of them couldn't follow, kael fold his arms and relax his body with a slight smirk on his face.
The air crackled with energy, the sound of their clash echoing through the pit. Each strike was a potential death blow, each dodge a narrow escape. The assassin's daggers flashed like silver lightning, her movements a blur of deadly grace. Ash, his scales shimmering, his eyes glowing with an ember orange light.
The assassin, her movements a blur of deadly grace, landed a blow on Ash's shoulder. It wasn't deep, but the pain was sharp, a stinging reminder of her skill. Ash, his instincts flaring, retaliated with a savage kick, sending the assassin skidding back. His mind always goes to the part where he can use his scales to protect from her attacks but he can't reveal it, atleast not yet.
The assassin landed gracefully, her eyes narrowing, a flicker of surprise crossing her features. "You're stronger than you look," she murmured, her voice laced with a hint of respect.
Ash didn't respond, his eyes fixed on her, his body coiled, ready to strike. He knew he couldn't afford to underestimate her. She was a master of her craft, a predator who had effortlessly dismantled seasoned warriors.
The assassin lunged, her daggers a blur of silver, aimed at his heart and throat. Ash, his draconic eyes burning with a cold intensity, moved with a calculated precision, his body swaying and twisting, dodging strike by a hair's breadth. He wasn't trying to overpower her, not yet. He was observing, analyzing, gauging her speed, her technique, her every subtle movement.
He could feel the phantom sting of her daggers, the near misses a constant reminder of her lethal skill. He knew he could end this quickly, unleash the full force of his draconic power, but he held back. This tournament was a long game, and revealing his full hand now would be a foolish mistake.
The assassin, her movements a whirlwind of deadly grace, pressed her attack, her daggers flashing like lightning. Ash, his body a fluid dance of evasion, continued to dodge, his movements a silent testament to his control. He allowed her to dictate the pace, to believe she was in control, while he subtly steered the fight, guiding her into his trap.
He felt a slight nick on his arm, a shallow cut that drew a thin line of blood. The assassin's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, a flicker of triumph in their depths. She pressed her advantage, her attacks becoming more aggressive, more relentless. Ash, his expression impassive, continued to evade, his movements precise, his breath controlled.
He let her corner him, backing him towards the edge of the pit. The assassin, her smile widening on her cracking face, prepared to deliver the final blow. But just as her daggers were about to strike, Ash shifted his stance, his body becoming a conduit for his ability.
A faint, purple mist began to emanate from his pores, a subtle, almost invisible cloud that swirled around him like a shroud. The assassin, her senses heightened by years of training, noticed the change immediately. Her smile faltered, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"What is this?" she hissed, her voice laced with a hint of unease.
Ash didn't respond. He simply allowed the mist to thicken, to permeate the air around them. The assassin, her instincts screaming a warning, backed away, her daggers raised defensively. Mist thick enough to get fully digestive in assasin's system while faint enough that audience not able to understand, except only handful with extreme eyesight.
"Poison," Ash finally said, his voice a low, guttural growl. "A gift for you."
The assassin scoffed, her bravado returning. "Poison? I've faced worse."
She lunged again, her daggers flashing, but this time, Ash didn't just dodge. He allowed her daggers to graze his skin, the slight cuts a calculated risk. The purple mist clung to her daggers, seeping into the wounds, a subtle, insidious poison.
The assassin, her eyes widening, felt a burning sensation spreading through her veins. She staggered back, her movements becoming sluggish, her reflexes dulled.
"What… what did you do?" she gasped, her voice laced with panic.
Ash stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with a cold satisfaction. "My poison doesn't kill quickly," he said, his voice a chilling whisper. "It melts. Slowly. From the inside out."
The assassin's skin began to bubble and blister, the wounds from her own daggers weeping a dark, viscous fluid. She screamed, a sound of pure agony, as her body began to dissolve, her flesh melting away like wax in a flame.
Meave caught on what's going on and felt a surge of respect for ash and his decisive strategy.
Ash watched, his expression impassive, as the assassin's body withered and crumbled, her screams fading into a gurgling silence. He had held back, revealed only a fraction of his power, a subtle, insidious poison that was both effective and discreet. He had won, not with brute force, but with cunning and control.
The audience, who had watched the gruesome spectacle in stunned silence, erupted into a cacophony of cheers and gasps. Ash, his eyes scanning the crowd, ignored their reactions. He had a champion to face, and he would need every advantage he could get. He had shown them a glimpse of his power, but he had kept his true strength hidden, a weapon to be unleashed when the time was right.
He looked at the melted remains of the assassin. He needed to be more careful, he needed to make sure he was able to control his abilities, he couldn't let his bloodlust get the better of him.