"What, me?!" Darek asked in shock.
"Who else?" the Deputy Commander of the Order of Vanquishers replied calmly.
I bet he's grinning widely under that helmet right now, Darek thought.
"Finally someone who might actually give me a proper fight," Pow-Pow said, his excitement clearly audible.
"Don't get overconfident, Pow-Pow," Darek warned. Even Iris drifted slightly to the side and shook her eye, as if she too wanted to temper Pow-Pow's enthusiasm.
At that moment, the plates on the Vanquisher's chest began to move.
The white armor shifted slowly, as if it were made of living material. Individual segments loosened from the massive breastplate and slid across his armor while thin vines began to work their way between them. The plates themselves became thinner, losing mass, yet at the same time something new began to grow from them.
Vines pushed together, twisting and hardening until they wrapped around his right hand and slowly began to take the shape of a weapon. Within a few breaths, the living structures had formed a massive spear — simple in its shape, yet heavy and threatening, as though it had grown directly out of the armor itself. The Vanquisher did not hold the spear like an ordinary weapon. In his hand, it looked like a natural extension of his body.
The Vanquisher raised the weapon slightly.
"Shall we begin right away?"
Darek and Pow-Pow looked at him at the same time.
"Why a weapon?" they asked almost simultaneously, both equally confused.
Darek frowned.
"I thought it was going to be three strikes we had to endure again."
The Vanquisher burst out laughing.
"Wha, wha, wha! Three strikes?"
The mocking tone vanished from his voice as suddenly as it had appeared. The atmosphere around him noticeably changed, as if the air itself had grown heavier.
"No."
His voice was calm now.
Cold.
"The test is a different one."
The Vanquisher lowered the spear slightly.
"Survive."
Iris' voice sounded in Darek's mind.
"Be careful. I'm not entirely sure what this is. But it looks like he can hurt you in more ways than just physically. I think he can attack your regeneration. Maybe even the dream itself."
Darek blinked.
"What?"
Then the Vanquisher moved the spear.
With a fluid, powerful motion, he began to spin the weapon above his head. At first the movement was calm, almost controlled, but within a few heartbeats the speed increased. The spear cut faster and faster through the air until the steady rotation grew into a howling vortex.
The wind answered the motion.
It began as a faint whisper, but quickly turned into a powerful current rushing through the cave. The sand of the arena lifted from the ground, first in thin veils, then in entire clouds. Grains broke loose from the floor and were caught by the growing stream of air.
More and more sand was ripped upward and drawn into the whirl forming above the Vanquisher, as though the spear itself had summoned the storm.
Seraphis hissed a warning at Darek.
Darek only shook his head slightly.
"No, Seraphis. It's fine. Pow-Pow and I will somehow manage this."
Darek and Pow-Pow exchanged a serious look. For a brief moment the gaze lingered, then they nodded to each other. Both of them knew that in this situation they could not allow themselves even a single moment of weakness or doubt.
Let's do this, they thought almost at the same time.
Iris, Seraphis, the third leader of the Hunter Order, and even the Silvaran bear braced themselves against the rising wind and slowly withdrew toward the edge of the stands.
Darek and Pow-Pow remained in the arena.
The wind tore at them, making their clothes whip and their hair stream backward while the sand at their feet lifted from the ground and was drawn into long spiraling veils within the growing cyclone.
But neither of them moved.
Amid the raging storm they stood there, firmly rooted in the arena floor, as if the roaring wind were nothing more than a distant murmur.
Composed.
And seemingly unfazed.
Then the Vanquisher stopped.
With one final, controlled motion, he allowed the vortex to fade and casually hurled the gathered dust aside. The swirling sand was carried across the arena like a heavy cloud before settling in one corner.
The spear came to rest.
He lowered it slowly and let the tip touch the ground beside him, as though the storm he had just unleashed had been nothing more than a casual gesture.
A deep, amused laugh filled the arena.
"Wha, wha, wha! That brings back memories," the Vanquisher said. "It still looks exactly the same as I remember it."
Darek slowly lowered his gaze.
In disbelief he stared at the ground beneath his feet, now completely cleared of sand.
The floor of the arena was made of ancient granite, yet nothing remained of its original color. Over countless battles, so much blood had seeped into the stone that the entire ground had taken on a dark, deep red. Not merely stains or traces. The granite itself seemed to have absorbed the color of blood, as though it had drunk it in over generations.
Countless gouges ran through the heavy stone plates. Cuts from blades, wide furrows from massive claws, and impact marks that scarred the ground like wounds.
Between the slabs, movement could occasionally be seen. A brief bulge. A faint trembling beneath the surface. Sometimes thin, dark strands even pushed briefly out of the cracks, crawled across the red stone as if searching for something, and then disappeared again.
Vines.
A few of them also hung down from the arena walls, as though they had begun to slowly overgrow this place.
"Try not to break anything here. Though with you two, I probably don't have to worry anyway," the Deputy Commander of the Order of Vanquishers said casually.
Darek was still staring at the exposed arena floor. In disbelief his gaze wandered across the dark granite. He had not expected anything like this beneath the sand.
Was all of this really blood? he wondered as his eyes moved across the red stone slabs.
In the next moment, the ground stirred.
One of the vines suddenly shot out from a crack and lunged at Pow-Pow and Darek at the same time.
Pow-Pow's eyes began to shine. There was no worry in his gaze, no caution. Only eager anticipation, as if he had been waiting for exactly this moment.
"Fuck!" Darek shouted.
Iris' Vision was still active. He saw the vine racing toward him clearly, every movement of its attack unfolding sharply before his inner sight. But knowledge meant little if his body could not react fast enough.
A flash of panic rose in him.
"Power Form Transformation!"
When Pow-Pow heard that, his expression shifted. A broad, almost challenging grin spread across his face.
"Don't you dare," Darek warned quickly.
In the next second, Darek's body began to change.
The transformation was subtle and almost silent. His posture became narrower, more fluid, as though his body were rebalancing itself. Muscles loosened, joints adjusted, and every unnecessary tension seemed to drain out of him.
He had already been able to see the currents of the air before. Fine movements flowed through the arena, sliding across the red stone floor and breaking against bodies and walls. Every movement left traces in the wind.
But now his gaze began to distinguish.
Not every movement held the same meaning. Some immediately lost their weight, while others stood out more clearly from their surroundings. Where the air tightened and energy gathered, Darek suddenly perceived more than mere motion.
He saw danger.
It was not a visible line that revealed an attack. Rather, it was an instinctive understanding of which movement was harmless and which could become deadly.
The world around him remained the same, yet his perception had changed.
A faint crack ran along his spine, as though his body were adjusting further to this new way of seeing. His posture became even more fluid, as if his body had decided to discard every unnecessary stiffness.
Amid the swirling sand of the arena, Darek now stood still, watching the movements around him.
For the first time, he did not only understand how something moved, but which of those movements were dangerous.
The vine was only a hair's breadth away from him.
Instinctively he threw his body backward, further than a normal motion should have allowed, his back bending almost unnaturally far just to avoid the rushing tip.
What the hell is going on? How did I do that?
For a brief moment Darek lost himself in the thought. Then he shook his head violently, as if he could simply shake the distracting thoughts away.
Focus.
Even as he moved, red dust gathered in his hand. The particles swirled together as if they followed his will.
Which trait should I give him?
Think, Darek.
The vine had already shot past him, but in the very same instant it changed direction. With an abrupt, unnaturally fast motion, it twisted through the air and targeted him again.
Shit. I'll never dodge that.
SHLASH.
The vine pierced Darek's still-bent body in the middle of his movement.
"Ahh, FUCK! The same damn shit every time!"
The tip burst out of his chest. From behind it had drilled through his torso and now protruded from the front.
Pow-Pow, meanwhile, was still in his standard form.
A smug smile lay across his face, as if the situation were little more than an entertaining challenge. With surprising ease he avoided the snapping vine by smoothly sliding beneath it.
The blood-soaked floor of the arena seemed to bother him just as little as the additional vines already pushing out of the cracks in the granite. Even the Vanquisher standing above them like an immovable force of nature barely seemed to impress Pow-Pow at all.
There was neither anger nor fear in his gaze.
It was something else.
Pure arrogance.
Pow-Pow embodied it in every movement.
Hubris.
"Alright then. Power Form Transformation!"
Darek stared at him in disbelief, his chest still impaled. Blood ran down his torso, yet in that moment he could hardly believe how unbelievably arrogant Pow-Pow still looked.
Even as he stood there, Darek threw the red dust he had already gathered in Pow-Pow's direction.
"PRIDE!"