The morning dawned cold and clear, the sky a brittle blue over the endless sweep of the Kylian Plains. News had spread through Kylia City like wildfire: the two Valor siblings, Viskov and Kylia, were sparring just outside the city walls. By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, a considerable crowd had gathered. Soldiers in their blue uniforms, city officials in their finery, and even a few daring civilians huddled together, their breath misting in the frigid air. The apartments of Kylia City loomed behind them, a silent, watchful audience.
Viskov, all 123 years of him, stood at the edge of the designated field. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his purple wings, feeling the familiar ache ease. Clad in simple, dull-toned clothes that did little to mask his powerful frame, he cut a feral figure against the backdrop of the city's sleek modernity. He knew that any strenuous activity would likely shred his attire, revealing more than he intended, but he couldn't be bothered with such trivialities. Across from him, Kylia strode confidently onto the field, her tailored dark-blue uniform rippling in the wind. Her blue hair fluttered, her blue eyes sharp and focused.
3.4 meters apart they faced each other, the wind whipping around them, tugging at their clothes and hair. The vastness of the Kylian Plains stretched around them, emphasizing their isolation. Viskov felt a surge of anticipation, a thrill that had been missing from his life for far too long. It had been decades since he last engaged in a real fight, and the prospect of testing his skills against his sister was exhilarating.
Kylia grinned, a flash of white teeth in the cold morning light. "Last chance to back out, brother," she called out, her voice carrying easily on the wind. "I wouldn't want to bruise that Valor pride of yours."
Viskov snorted, a plume of vaporous breath escaping his lips. "You talk a lot for someone who's about to eat dirt. I am 123 years old. Are you afraid of a beating from your first brother?"
A ripple of nervous laughter ran through the crowd. The tension was palpable, the anticipation almost a physical presence.
General Odin, stiff and formal in his uniform, stepped forward, raising a gloved hand. "This is a friendly match," he announced, his voice clear and commanding. "No lethal force. The first to yield or be pinned for a count of ten seconds loses. Begin when ready."
Odin retreated, leaving them alone in the center of the field. For a heartbeat, there was only silence—the kind that comes before a storm.
Then Kylia moved. She was fast, a blur of blue against the muted landscape. Years of training and war had honed her natural abilities into something formidable. She closed the distance between them in 0.01 seconds, pretty much an instant, her movements precise and economical. Her first shot out, aimed for his midsection, but Viskov, relying on his superior age and experience, sidestepped the blow with ease.
"Not bad, sister," Viskov mocked. "But you'll have to do better than that."
Kylia pressed the attack, her movements a seamless blend of calculated aggression and raw speed. Viskov countered with brute strength, relying on his size and power to deflect her blows and drive her back.
Kylia's grin sharpened as she performed a feint to the left, then pivoted on her heel. Her hands blurred, drawing a fan of razor-edged shuriken from hidden compartments in her uniform sleeves. Each star-shaped blade gleamed coldly in the brittle light, tethered to nearly imperceptible steel wires coiled at her belt.
"Let's see you dodge this," she taunted, wrists snapping forward. Fifty projectiles fanned outward in a lethal constellation, wires hissing like serpents as they unspooled. The crowd gasped as the attack unfolded in slow motion—to Valors, the world moved at half-speed.
Viskov's wings flared, scattering frost-kissed air as he backflipped. Shuriken embedded themselves in the frozen earth where he'd stood, wires crisscrossing into a glinting web. Kylia yanked her wrists inward; the mesh contracted with a metallic shriek, aiming to ensnare him mid-air.
Viskov's laugh rumbled like distant thunder as he twisted—not away, but into the trap. His left top wingtip grazed a wire, sending sparks skittering. Before the strands could fully constrict, he channeled raw strength through his wings. The wings extended outwards, snapping the wires with ease.
A dozen wires fractured near their anchors, whipping back toward Kylia. She danced aside, but Viskov exploited the opening: seizing a severed wire, he spun it like a whip, lashing it at her ankles. Kylia vaulted over the strike, only to find him already repositioned—his heel aimed at her ribs.
"Predictable," Viskov growled as Kylia barely parried the kick, skidding backward through frostbitten grass. The remaining wires lay scattered between them, glittering like a spider's discarded web.
Viskov's Valor eyes suddenly sped up, resting his hand on his hilt, he took a quick glance at Kylia and announced, "Ha, ha, ha, …My turn."
He suddenly unleashed a 10 meter 1,000,000 degrees celsius plasma slice, a blazing arc of searing energy cutting through the cold morning air. The attack was unlike anything Kylia had ever seen—raw, fierce, and utterly unexpected. She barely managed to twist aside, feeling the heat singling the edge of her reinforced uniform. Her breath caught as the plasma blade scorched the ground where she had stood moments before.
Viskov's voice rumbled with pride. "This technique... I learned it from our parents. One hundred years it took me to master the control of heat force at this scale." His sword, though made of low-quality iron, glowed with the waning energy of what was, momentarily, a million degrees, a testament to his years of grueling practice and battle experience.
Looking at the molten 10 meter trench besides her, Kylia gazed for a moment in stupor then nodded in apprehension. What Viskov called the heat force was just plasma created by drawing in air with electromagnetic fields then superheating it with a Valor's energy. With Viskov's level of knowledge, it would be a miracle to make a blob of the stuff, let alone shaping it. Kylia however, knew the actual physics behind Viskov's "special" ability.
Kylia then started to copy the same actions as Viskov, hand on her hilt, she slashed out.
"How...?" Viskov stammered, wings bristling defensively before decisively he shot up into the sky away from the predicted target zone.
Less than a second later, a horizontal 100 meter 10,000,000 degrees celsius plasma slice passed right through where Viskov had been. The slash of destruction traveled 100 meters before dissipating. What was left was an area of 10,000 sq meters of ground being evaporated off the surface. Had Viskov not moved, he would have been cooked, literally.
The crowd was silent, utterly stunned. The air still crackled with residual heat, the scent of ozone biting at their nostrils. Even General Odin looked pale, his hand gripping the hilt of his own sword. Kylia stood amidst the devastation, her uniform unblemished, her face serene. The blue of her eyes seemed to glow with an inner light.
"Show off," Viskov grumbled, descending slowly, his wings working hard to keep him aloft. He landed a safe distance away, his usual arrogance replaced by a healthy dose of respect, and perhaps a little fear. "That… that was ten times more powerful than mine! And a hundred times larger! How did you even…?"
Kylia shrugged, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "You taught me well, brother. You showed me the foundation. I simply… extrapolated."
Viskov frowned, glancing around suspiciously. "extrapolated? For the long lost mother of us all, Hylia, екстраполюй мою дупу! How!" He now knew Kylia was brilliant, a prodigy in everything she turned her hand to, but scaling up a plasma slice to that degree in mere moments… it seemed impossible.
Kylia smiled enigmatically. "Want to learn the underlying physics?"
Viskov recoiled. "Absolutely not."
"Then you have your answer." Kylia concluded before accelerating towards Viskov for a second round.
The second round was a whirlwind of controlled chaos. Kylia, emboldened by her near-fatal display of power, pressed Viskov relentlessly. Her attacks were swift, precise, and imbued with a chilling level of understanding of Valor Plasma, with a near miss of a 1000 sq meter slice passing by Viskov's face. Viskov, initially shaken, quickly recovered. He relied on his century of combat experience which trumped Kylia's recent and rapid power scaling. He danced around her attacks, parrying with brutal force, turning her own momentum against her. He knew he couldn't match her raw power, but he could outmaneuver her, outwit her, outlast her.
The fight became a brutal dance of attrition. Kylia, knowing her energy reserves are smaller than Viskov's and a greater energy expenditure, pushed to force Viskov onto the defensive, the ground around them becoming a scorched wasteland from their errant heat force projectiles. Viskov countered with calculated strikes, aiming to wear her down, targeting pressure points and exploiting the slight hesitations in her movements that betrayed her relative inexperience. He knew he needed an opening, just one. He just had to survive long enough to find it.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, it came. Kylia, momentarily distracted by the crowd, faltered. Viskov seized the opportunity, a burst of raw speed carrying him forward. He evaded another 100m plasma slash, closing the distance and grabbing at her, his grip hard and unyielding. He threw her to the ground before pinning Kylia. He struggled, muscles screaming, to keep her pinned. Ten seconds. They stretched on forever. Nine... Eight... Seven... Then, with a final, desperate surge, he pushed down with all his might.
"Ten!" General Odin bellowed, his voice echoing across the plains.
The crowd cheered. Near naked Viskov collapsed beside Kylia, his chest heaving, his body trembling with exhaustion. His clothes had been all torn up during the battle.
Kylia rolled away from the indecent Valor.
Viskov, seeing this, barked a laugh, a sound that was weary and triumphant. He slowly pushed himself to his feet, offering a hand to his sister. "I, the eldest brother, Valord for Viskov, recognize your strength!"