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Forged in the Fires of Competition

Strongarm

The home looked like any of the ordinary house in Corona. Walls were made of a white stone that seemingly had been crafted entirely from a single block. Windows were barricaded by wooden panels that could swing open from the inside with opaque glass sitting in a frame that was shaped like the Incendian emblem. The second floor had a balcony and a rooftop patio where clothing could be hung to dry. Apart from the fact that it was missing any form of plants hanging from the windowsills or crawling up the walls, it looked like just any lower-middle-class house in the Sunrise District of Corona.

Hunter knew better.

Clutching the parchment in his large paws while still quietly in disbelief that this Station still used parchments and quill, he compared the address on the sheet to the house directly in front of him. There were no street addresses so all he could tell from the instructions was that it was the only two-storey home that had a chimney and no plants in the eastern side of the Sunrise District. A glance to his left and right down the street confirmed that this was the only building that fit the description.

“This has to be it,” he rumbled, his voice a soft tenor that seemed a little too youthful for his seven-foot tall, three-hundred and fifty-pound frame. The muscled lupine absently scratched the top of his head, ruffling the short black hair with blonde roots that sat between his large, triangular ears. His bright green eyes skimmed the instructions one more time before lifting his gaze to the big door made of blackwood in front of him. There were no doorhandles so, with a deep breath, he lifted a fist and knocked as loudly as he could.

A firm hand fell on his left shoulder, making him immense tense up. Behind him on his right, a meaty forearm wrapped around the back of his neck acting like a cushion was the intimidating Wood. Wood’s took no pains to hide his Havenese origins. All of his bulk was covered in a black, sleeveless hexweave shirt trimmed with red. Long, baggy pants of similar design that fit well with his long, serpentine tail, covered his thick thighs and strangely digitigrade stance. Due to the odd formation of his clawed feet, he went without shoes. A contrast to Hunter’s thick, heavy, steel-toed military combat boots. At least they shared the same sort of style in terms of pants as they both wore camouflage pants though Wood’s was made more for snowy expanses while Hunter’s was the typical olive green shade.

“Don’t worry,” Wood said encouragingly, flashing him a smile from his reptilian features. “I’m sure he’s going to be a nice guy.”

Hunter flicked his ears forward as he heard movement from the other side of the door. “I’m not worried about how nice he is. I’m more worried about how crazy we’ll sound.”

A tiny slot slid open at about eye-level on the door and a pair of sky-blue eyes surrounded by a mask of white and orange fur pierced by black stripes peered back at them.

“What?” came the greeting snarl.

Hunter fought the lump that had formed in his throat to croak out a few words. “Mr. Strongarm? Roran Strongarm?”

The feline eyes rolled and the slot immediately slammed.

“Wait!” Hunter cried. “We need your help!”

There was a second of hesitation then the slot opened again, those eyes staring accusingly at Hunter. “Listen kid. I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what your dreams may be. I don’t care who you know. I’m not helping you fulfill your dreams of being a blacksmith, making a weapon that’ll help you avenge your mother’s death or whatever. Go away.”

Hunter quickly turned the parchment he held over so that the Tigris could see the writing on it. “Sir! I come on behalf of Aria Valkyrie! She needs your help locating a particular artifact.”

Silence.

Then a loud scoff. “Valkyrie? She’s still around?” The grinding of the metal slot as it drew to a close urged Hunter to desperation. “I don’t care, kid. If she didn’t even figure it worth her time to come to her herself, then I don’t see why I should entertain this bullshit request. Go home, military boy.”

Wood stepped forward and grabbed the slot before it could be slammed shut. “Hey!” barked the Draconis. “This is a matter of life or death, man. We need to know where FireFeather is.”

One last moment of silence.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” spat Roran at length. “Go away and leave my property. I’m not opening this door.”

Then, a cheerful, seemingly innocent voice came from the other side of the door.

“Let me help!”

Roran visibly balked and staggered back as the sound of the locks being undone rose from behind the door. He barely managed a ‘what the?’ before the door sprang open and slammed into him, sending him staggering back.

On the other side of the door was a red-furred Wulfun that was at least two feet shorter than Hunter - atypical for his species. Beaming brightly, his blue eyes currently shimmering with mischief, Jack Denver Clarke’s spiky hair was cut neatly and almost in a mohawk etween his large ears that seemed too big for his frame. With his crimson fur, compact frame and tail that seemed too long for his body, he almost looked like a Vulpunus were it not for the shape of his muzzle and origins. The wolf’s tight, lean body was compressed beneath a black hexweave shirt and a white hexweave jacket without sleeves so the black sleeves of the shirt could poke through. Skinny, blue jeans wrapped around his legs while his feet remained bare. Across his shoulder were two swords slipped into their scabbards; one running diagonally across his back and the other horizontally just above his tail.

“I was wondering where you’d gotten to,” Wood chuckled, completely ignoring the fact that his friend and schoolmate had somehow managed to appear on the other side of the door.

Hunter would’ve been surprised if this was the first time the ‘Red Lightning’ had done something like this but after being introduced to the roguish and puckish wolf, he had come to anticipate such things. Apparently Wood and Skye had developed a sixth sense of when JD would pull off something just as surprising and Hunter thought he was getting to that point.

A big, furry paw seized the door and pulled it open, revealing Roran Strongarm in his full, mostly naked glory. The Tigris was about Hunter’s height and might have been as strongly built once but the years had softened the edge around his muscles. A little paunch had developed over the primitive underwear he wore but the shadow of a six pack was still there.

“Who are you and how did you get into my house!?” growled the tiger.

“This’ll be good,” Wood snickered, stepping inside casually. He had to fold his large, webbed wings just to fit through the door. “What was it this time? Open window? Underground basement opening? Did you sneak in with the latest delivery?”

JD beamed brightly, tail wagging behind him. “I came in from the chimney.” Still holding his friend’s gaze and grinning, he let out a soft cough, a cloud of soot erupting from his muzzle.

“The… chimney?” Roran stammered. “The chimney that leads to my underground forge? You came down that, went into my basement and then came back up from there?”

“Yessir!” JD responded cheerily. “Incidentally, you really should clean out your chimney more often. There was an incredibly dangerous amount creosote buildup in there that is highly flammable.” He reached into the pockets of his jacket and handed Roran a small canister. “Here, I got you this Chimney-Sweep-Spray. It’ll help break down that buildup. All you’ll need to do is dust off the remnants afterwards.”

Roran took the canister with great confusion on his face. “Thanks…?” Then he turned to the other two who just gave him a shrug.

Again, if this had been the first time that JD Clarke had somehow managed to sneak into a restricted area while offering helpful advice to the proprietors and guards afterwards, Hunter would’ve been shocked. However, the number of times Hunter had stormed off from the group in a huff, locked himself in his room only to find JD already fluffing his pillows, hanging from the ceiling with some hot chocolate or in his closet ready to offer him a change of clothes had worn on his reservoirs of surprise. At this point, he fully expected the crimson Wulfun to just appear out of nowhere at any given time.

And it had only been about two months since they had first met!

“So now that we’re all here,” JD asked cheerfully, “would you kindly telling us about FireFeather?”

Roran’s features immediately soured and he pushed past the much smaller wolf and marched off to the back of his home. “Absolutely not.”

Hunter caught the sharp edge to JD’s blue eyes; a glint of the edge of a knife or the sun catching the tip of a blade as it flashed through the air. Even as his friend’s features remained friendly and innocent, that flash was a killing blow.

“That just means you know about it.”

The towering, shirtless Tigris froze. After a few short seconds, his heavy, broad shoulders sagged and he turned to the trio with an exhausted look on his face.

“Look. What do you three want?”

Hunter marched forward, once again holding out the parchment. “Introductions first. My name is Hunter Hart. Military combat engineer that formerly worked on the HHHC Immanent Armageddon. This is Wood Bladebreaker and JD Clarke. They’re students from Pinnacle Academy. I’m currently contracted as their craftsman.”

Roran glanced out one of his windows. It just so happened that the enormous, floating campus that was Pinnacle Academy was visible hovering across the cityscape. The edifice of technological marvels that was originally from Haven stood in stark contrast to the more… primitive homes and structures dotting Corona. The fact that the six-mile wide campus could actually hover in the air was proof of this.

“Right,” he sighed. “All part of the exchange program the Generals thought about, right? The best and brightest of Haven take a year in each of the Stations to build ‘relationships’. Political hostages.” The muscle Tigris dragged a large, wooden chair from beneath a table and sat down. “So what? You have to write a report on me or something?”

“Will you stop being an ass for a second and just listen?” snapped Wood. “You’ve heard about the plague of spontaneous combustions wracking all of Incendius?”

“Who hasn’t?”

Rumors and news outlets all over Haven had practically whipped up a frenzy about this plague. Concerned parents had protested sending their kids from Pinnacle to Incendius where they could suddenly explode into a fiery conflagration. Ultimately, the school’s Board of Directors and even the Generals had decided that the threat was negligible and allowed the mobile academy to warp into the Station of the Sun. Hunter had even heard many of the students boasting about how they will get their passing grade by solving the ‘Incendian Incendiary Crisis’.

“Is that what this is about?” Roran asked lazily. He cupped his chin on the palm of his paw, regarding JD and Wood with a half-lidded gaze. “You boys want to make solving the plague as your school project or something and think I can help somehow?”

“Do you even know anything about how Pinnacle works?” growled Wood.

“No but I know enough about how Haven treats everyone as ‘special’ and tells them they can do anything, giving them everything on a silver platter and letting them live their lives without ever dealing with any sort of suffering.”

Wood’s blue eyes flared up and he took a step forward but JD quickly pulled him back.

“Pinnacle awards grades based on achievements,” Hunter explained. “Students are free to pursue any studies that they want and the teachers and professors are available for any classes or lessons that they wish to attend. Examinations and attending classes can only get you so far.” He nodded towards his two charges. “Show him your rubrics.”

Calming slightly, Wood lifted his right arm while JD mirrored the gesture. Arcane runes lifted off their forearms and formed a dossier in front of them made out of glimmering, red light; red because both of them were currently sitting at a miserable ‘UG’ or ‘Ungraded’. That was worse than an ‘F’. Their points were so low that the system didn’t even bother giving them a letter grade.

“Achievements like attending classes gives minimal points,” repeated Hunter. “But it’s what you do with the knowledge that gets you the big points. Like if you manage to brew your own Liquid Fire Grenade, you get more points.”

As an example, JD hopped up on the table Roran was leaning against and scrolled through the rubric. Under the section for ‘Alchemy’, there was an entry for brewing Liquid Fire Grenades. The first instance of it offered an incredible 10 points but the returns were grew lower and lower as more were brewed. The achievement for brewing one thousand Liquid Fire Grenades by the end of the year was worth only a single point.

“The rubric is constantly changing,” Hunter continued. “The professors keep assigning points to individual achievements and they document it in the rubric. Past achievements from past year’s students are also in there.”

“And where do I come into this?” Roran sighed. “That book report?”

Wood growled, flashing his fangs at the Tigris. “It has nothing to do with our grades. Fuck, we’re doing this on our school time. We’re saying we’re coming to you to help with this crisis when we could be using it getting an actual passing grade.” He marched over and slammed his hands on the table. “People are dying because they are exploding. We…” He hesitated a moment. “Aria believes that the people dying could be related to some sort of ritual that is using people’s pain and suffering as they explode for something bad and you might be able to help because of some magical sword called ‘FireFeather’. She once called it the -”

“Talon of the Fire God,” Roran finished with a sigh. “Adrammalech’s Pinion or, to some, the Archfire Blade.” He rose from his seat, glowering at the three. “It’s a legend. Nothing more.”

“Aria doesn’t believe so,” Hunter said. “She said that during the Purge of Time, they actually fought for it. Apparently a lot of the Chronomancers here on Incendius were looking to harness it’s power.” He locked gazes with Roran fiercely. “She sent us to you because apparently the last time it was seen was in the possession of the Last Chronomancer during the Burning Rebellion.”

Roran’s left eye twitched. “That was a long time ago.”

“Thirty years. But you don’t forget anything like that.” Hunter took a step forward, gesturing toward Wood and JD. “These kids have been terrorized by war as well, Roran. Fifteen years ago, the Fall of Haven robbed them of their childhoods. JD was barely three years old when he suffered a crippling injury that meant he couldn’t walk. Ever. It was only through a miracle of technology and magic while under constant fire from war that he is standing here now.”

“I made do,” JD said with a shrug and a cheerful smile. “Wish I could’ve grown the extra two feet most Wulfuns have but I’m at least glad I can walk.”

“Wood lost his father,” continued Hunter.

“And I Fell,” Wood stated.

Roran immediately went rigid. “What…?” he whispered.

The green Draconis reached up to his waistband and took out a seemingly innocuous handaxe. He slammed it onto the table, the curved blade biting into the wooden frame. Terrifying, purple energies seeped out of the weapon, a black miasma oozing out of the weapon.

“I bore a shit tonne of resentment for my dad,” growled Wood. “Carried it for the five years until the Fall ended. The Mother Goddess supposedly gave me a goddamn Valor that represented my old man when he died at the start of the conflict. Couldn’t stop hating him for leaving us alone. Corrupted my Valor and turned it into a Sin. Been carrying that for nearly fifteen years since the Fall began.”

Roran’s eyes narrowed. “By rights, I should kick you out for what you did to my table.”

Wood grinned savagely. “Try it. Let’s see how much of Corona I can take out while I’m at it. Not to mention the international incident it’ll cause.”

Pulling Wood back, Hunter said, “My point is that these kids have been traumatized. You’re not the only one carrying a burden here. But we can stop more people from suffering and shouldering even more.”

“By finding FireFeather,” sighed Roran. He snorted softly and glanced away. “You make pretty speeches, soldier.”

Hunter let out a soft groan. “But it won’t be enough?”

“No.”

“Then let me put it another way.” He brought up the round shield that was hanging on his left arm. Gripping a hidden compartment, he pulled at a pommel hidden amongst the device, retrieving a longsword that was much longer than the shield could possibly hold.

The silver blade was connected to a simply, gray pommel with a single chain attached the hilt of the sword to the shield. The edges of the weapon were jet-black, consuming all light around it and keeping it completely unreflective. Hunter buried the sword into the table in front of them, the sword slicing right through the wood with ease.

“You’ll have to pay for that…” growled Roran, falling back to his seat, unimpressed.

“Whatever,” Hunter grunted, slowly swiping the sword downwards at the table. The blade cut right through the wood, meeting no resistance whatsoever. “When we were coming over here from Haven, we were hit by a vision. A vision of a disaster. Of the God of Fire returning and turning the world to ash. It’s my job to equip these guys with the best weapons possible because they could be the ones to save the world. The best I can do is attach a matter convert to a sword and shield.”

Turning back to Roran, he said, “Please. Even if you can’t tell us about FireFeather, at least help me make something better for them.”

The Tigris sighed and ran a paw through his hair. “Mother Goddess… I swore I wouldn’t be dragged into stupid heroics again…” A bitter smile touched his lips. “But you can’t forget me, can you?” With a heavy sigh, he locked gazes with Hunter. “Look, I don’t know where FireFeather is exactly. But I know someone who might.”

All three of his guests leaned forward intently.

“Who?” they demanded in unison.

Roran took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Rahl… the former number one blacksmith of Incendius.”

Crafting in Modern Times

“So Rahl - no surname - was formerly the number one ranked official blacksmith on Incendius according to the International Blacksmith League,” Tanar said, hurrying behind Aria. As usual, he had his enormous tome in one hand while his even larger Valor - Chaosrender - consumed his entire right arm. The black and red weapon acted as an artificial limb after he had lost his actual right arm a long time ago. While fully mobile, the Leomian preferred not to use it simply because it was almost as tall as he was and its long, bladed claws were far too sharp for the delicate act of moving pages of the magic tome he held in his left hand. He used his own magic to turn the pages.

Aria Valkyrie, Templar of the Church of the Tower and wielder of the Valor Gungnir, paused momentarily, he high heeled boots clicking loudly against the polished, marble floors of the cathedral. She turned to face Tanar, her amethyst eyes glimmering brightly while her brows knitted together in confusion. The long, black coat she wore billowed gracefully with the movement; even the subtlest movement acting like a picturesque scene befitting a masterstroke painting.

“The IBL has some rather confusing rankings,” she said in a voice that seemed to perpetually being singing soft melodies. “If Rahl was the number one ranked on Incendius, where did he sit on the international level?”

Tanar grimaced, his yellow eyes drifting back towards his book. “Undetermined. See, as soon as Rahl reached number one on Incendius, he was meant to take an assessment to determine his international ranking. This assessment usually has the IBL ask the candidate to make something really fantastical and have it appraised. Rahl went on a quest for ‘inspiration’ and never came back.”

Aria turned back towards her destination, her long, platinum blonde hair waving like a silken cape behind her head. “Do we know where he went?”

“After the Lost Incendian Fleet.”

For the second time, she balked and turned to Tanar in utter confusion. “Seriously?”

The lion gave her an exasperated look. While only at a young twenty-two years of age, Tanar was far more mature than most and it showed in the soft lines around his muzzle and the severe look behind his half-moon glasses. His long, coppery hair was tied back in a ponytail, joining with the mane that he had cut short so that he was left with a short goatee off the tip of his rounded chin. His lean build was mostly hidden by the black coat of a Paladin while a pauldron shaped like a snarling lion’s head on his left shoulder marked his rank as part of the Paladin Order.

“People have gone on wilder quests,” Tanar said bluntly.

That was what Aria liked about Tanar. Despite being assigned to be her ‘assistant’ while clearly being a thinly veiled attempt by the Church to keep an eye on the remaining ally of a particular rogue Chronomancer, Tanar was honest. He was upfront at the very beginning that he was to be her jailer in the worst of times and her voice of reason in the best. The Church didn’t fully trust her after Harm Chronos’ actions during the Fall of Haven. Tanar was to keep them informed of her activities. At least that was how it was meant to be. Over the past few months, she felt that a sense of camaraderie had formed between the young lion and the rest of their little group. He made it clear that his primary focus was the good of Tower Thirteen, not the Church.

To her knowledge, he had yet to tell them about this quest of theirs to stop the resurrection of Adramalech.

That reminded her a lot of Harm.

“Remind me about the Fleet,” she asked.

While not entirely a ghost story, the Lost Incendian Fleet was a tale passed down for generations amongst sailors over the centuries. Starship captains would often claim encountering or seeing the fleet and taking it as an omen. According to the tale, during the Second Demonic War, the 5th Incendian Fleet was desperately trying to make its way through the Void to reinforce their home. However, they got lost along the way. Or they were attacked. Or cursed. No one really knows. Whatever the case, every now and then there would be stories of an entirely intact fleet in perfect formation appearing somewhere in the Void with typical, ancient Incendian design before vanishing.

Logic dictated this was impossible. The Second Demonic War occurred over four thousand years ago. No one would have been able to survive that long. The fleet’s power supplies would have decayed long ago as well.

Yet, tales of the ghost fleet were so prevalent to the present day that the Incendian Navy refused to name any fleet the ‘5th Fleet’.

“As to why Rahl went after it, no one knows,” Tanar said with a shrug. “The theories suggest that Rahl believed that Chaos-infused Incendian metal might be the materials he needed to really wow the IBL. Others just think Rahl was crazy.” He shut his large tome and slotted it back to his hip, hanging by a silver chain around his waist over his black Paladin’s coat. “According to Hunter, Roran believes that Rahl knows where FireFeather is.”

“And Roran thinks so because…?”

Tanar lifted two fingers of Chaosrender. “One, Rahl was a pragmatic person and he would’ve known about FireFeather. He wouldn’t have gone chasing after it without any solid lead. Rahl also only disappeared about twenty years ago, a full ten years after FireFeather’s last sighting. Third, Rahl specifically asked Roran about it the last time they met and he disappeared shortly after that conversation.”

Aria nodded in understanding. “So Roran suspects that the enigmatic blacksmith would have considered researching FireFeather over the Lost Fleet. It must say something that he chose to chase ghost stories over the legendary Talon of the Fire God which has been proved to exist.”

“Exactly,” Tanar said. “Which brings me to my second point. If Rahl decided to go after the Lost Fleet over FireFeather, it must be because he either thinks the Lost Fleet has more value or…”

“That the Lost Fleet might relate to FireFeather,” Aria concluded. “Clever.” She turned towards her assistant and shadow - the Paladin assigned to her by the Church to keep an eye on her activities. “And how are we supposed to find Rahl?”

Tanar pointed past her to the reception desk they were just heading towards. “That’s why we’re heading to the IBL headquarters here on Incendius. JD, Hunter and Wood tried to ask the IBL for information but they were declined.”

Aria lifted a meticulously crafted eyebrow. “I’m surprised the Red Lightning didn’t find a way to sneak in and take the information.”

Tanar offered a little smirk but his leonine features quickly split into a grin. “He tried. He was thrown out by a pair of automatons.”

She laughed a little. The image of that persistent and annoyingly cheery crimson Wulfun being thrown out of a building was hilarious. Like the rest of the party, she had gotten used to the Red Lightning’s constant disappearances and equally spontaneous reappearances often with something that would help comfort anyone that was troubled. One time, she recalled she had a rather irritating discussion with Kane who had - once again - called her out on her refusal to bear a child and pass on her Angelic heritage. She had stormed out.

JD had spontaneously appeared and, without saying a word, gave her a hug.

That was all.

Just a hug.

And it helped.

“And Roran couldn’t help?” she asked.

“He has retired from the IBL so all of his credentials have been revoked.”

She turned towards the reception where a single human woman waited for her patiently. “Which leaves us. A Templar and Paladin to throw around our weight.”

Though one could argue that, these days, the might of the Church had been severely diminished. When the Third Demonic War began - considered the opening volley of the Fall of Haven - , Haven was directly attacked, the seat of the Church of the Tower was severely damaged. Corruption in the various branches of the Church was exposed as Paladins Fell and Church officials became corrupted by the demons or their existing corruption was exposed. It was common to see former members of the Church leading demonic armies. Even after the Demonic War, other Church officials became greedy with the loss of Lumire and tried to seize power. Cults and separatist factions formed, tearing apart the world.

Since the Church had been the military and stabilizing power for so long, Tower Thirteen suddenly found itself facing the very same forces that had once defended and then some. It became clear that a large portion of the Church had been corrupted a long time ago and the Demonic War offered them an opportunity to act.

Calling themselves the Custodia Goetia, the Church separatists enslaved demons instead of working with them. They were the third faction in the world-wide war. The Goetia worked in the shadows. Using former priests, governors, nobility and even entrepreneurs to sow chaos and discord all over Tower Thirteen.

A group of civilians who organized a resistance for the people pushed them back. These people eventually united Tower Thirteen into a cohesive force and became known as the Generals. Those same Generals now rule as a governing power. Military experts and leaders while simultaneously acting as governing rulers, the Generals promised that once the Stations were stable once more, they would secede power.

That was ten years ago. Tower Thirteen remained divided though not as tumultuous as it had been when the War ended. Some Fallen - like Wood - were accepted back into society. Demonic defectors were similarly welcomed. A stark contrast to a time when they were often ostracized as the corruption of the Church and its often stringent demands painted them as immediately evil. There was still stigma around them much like how distrust was cast towards anyone bearing the Church’s crest.

Aria clutched her chest, closing her eyes briefly and recalling the final words of her life-long friend as he stood at the base of the Chrysalis shard on Haven. Dark energies from demonic forces were seeping up the blue-green crystal and threatening to hit the Core, the very heart of the world. Harm turned to her, giving her this sad look and apologized to her.

Then he sacrificed himself to destroy Chrysalis and save Tower Thirteen.

That brought back memories of the start of the war when, Lumire, the supposed Eternal Propheticus Primoris and leader of the Church of the Tower was assassinated by the Custodia Goetia. He was well loved. Lumire’s death gave way for the ambitions of the Church’s upper echelons to become known and exposed the corruption for all to see. Blind faith compelled countless members to follow their chosen bishop, chaplain or cardinal into campaigns that would turn them into zealots.

It was only at the shattering of Chrysalis that everyone given a second to reflect on what had happened and the enormity of the war. The Generals rallied the citizenry together and mounted a counteroffensive that pushed back the Custodia Goetia, quashed any other separatists and cleaned up any remaining demonic forces.

Lumire’s death began the Fall while Harm’s sacrifice began it’s end.

Yet despite all this, the Church, the very organization that she worked for, still viewed both of them with a level of distrust. Church officials always hated how Lumire advocated for unity, equality and removal of the Church from government decisions. They despised Harm for being the last remaining Chronomancer and practically immortal. Aria still firmly believed that Lumire’s death was orchestrated by the remaining Church officials or at least they didn’t do anything to stop the Goetia from killing him. They demonized Harm for destroying Chrysalis, a holy site to their religion despite the threat it posed to the rest of Tower Thirteen and his sacrifice in performing the act.

She had to chuckle a little to herself. While she was still a devout follower of the Mother Goddess, she couldn’t bring herself to believe in the same ‘Church’ that now struggled to remain in power and continued to wrest power from the Generals. Her eyes had been opened to the fact that worshiping the Mother Goddess was not the same as being devout to a mortal-made orthodoxy.

Straightening herself, she marched up to the receptionist’s desk, fully expecting some resistance to her request.

“Good morning,” she greeted curtly. She quickly made the typical greeting sign of Incendius; starting with a balled fist pressed against her heart, she lifted it to an open palm to her lips to kiss her fingers and then lifting a single finger up into the air. The receptionist didn’t return the gesture. Typical as the traditional greeting was something that was introduced by the Church. Sad to see that such traditions were quickly fading. “I am Templar Aria Valkyrie. I would like to request access to your records.”

The receptionist, a dainty woman dressed in a long, white dress complete with an apron and a bonnet, bowed to her lightly. “A pleasure, Lady Valkyrie. Public records from the IBL are accessible through our many books and media in our museum or gift shop.” She gestured to her left which led to the museum itself. “Admission is free for those of the Paladin and Templar Order.”

“Thank you,” Aria answered. “But I am more interested in not-so-public records particularly pertaining to the whereabouts of the blacksmith known as Rahl.”

The woman expressed a bit of surprise but maintained her uncannily cheerful smile. “Ah, the great mystery of the former number one blacksmith of Incendius. We have an extensive exhibit about him in the museum including his greatest works and the mystery around his disappearance.”

“That’s all well and good but where is he now?”

“If we knew that, then there would be no mystery, would there?” answered the receptionist sweetly.

Growing irritated, Aria said, “Listen, I am on official business. Is there someone I can talk to about this matter? Lives depend on the answer.”

The woman maintained her sickeningly sweet disposition. “I’m sorry, Lady Valkyrie. But information about the location of the blacksmiths and their activities are limited to the blacksmiths themselves. It would not do well to overtly advertise what members of the league are doing or working on as that would defeat the purpose of the competition.”

“Doesn’t the IBL keep tabs on them?” Tanar asked.

“No,” answered the woman cheerfully. “All the League does is facilitate the competitions between blacksmiths and determine their official rankings. That is all. We do not govern or track members.”

The Leomian’s yellow flashed with agitation. “Sounds more like you’re profiteering off the hard work of others by giving them a venue to show off their skills while selling merchandise and making showcases you charge people to see.”

Aria gently grasped Tanar’s shoulder and pulled him back. “Tanar, that’s enough.” She nodded towards the receptionist. “Thank you for your time. We will be leaving now.”

She started walking back with Tanar hot on her heels. It was only when they were outside of the cathedral-turned-museum did either of them speak.

“That was a waste of time,” Tanar snarled.

“On the contrary,” Aria answered with a soft smile. “We learned exactly how to get to Rahl.” With a gesture, she motioned for him to get into the carriage that was waiting for them. She told the driver to take them to the Firebrand Inn. “Give me a moment to collect my thoughts,” she told Tanar. “I need to formulate a plan.”

It only took fifteen minutes to get to the Inn. After paying the driver, the two Church officials entered the stone facility and bypassed the common area. They went straight up the steps to the third and top most floor where they had rented out what could be generously called the ‘penthouse’. Really, it was just the entire top floor which would have been the attic of the home but renovated to have more lightning, plumbing, beds and some decent amenities.

The rest of the group was already there.

“Any luck?” Alexander Clarke asked. JD Clarke’s father, the towering red Wulfun was the typical seven-foot, muscle bound wolf that most Wulfuns were. His black hair had a forelock of gray showing his age. Other than that, he looked like what JD would have become had his injury and subsequent recovery not stunted his growth. Which was unsurprising because JD was technically Alex’s clone. A clone with a 10% variation. Alex was homosexual and rather promiscuous. This meant that he never wanted to settle down with a partner. He still wanted a child, though, so he had himself cloned. The result of Jack Denver Clarke.

Like his son, Alex was dressed in typical Havenese fashion. A long, hexweave jacket that would have fallen down to his knees lay behind him on the bed he occupied. His large, lean, muscled figure was compressed beneath a tight-fitting gray-silver shirt with the number 69 on the breast. Similarly tight-fitting compression pants covered his muscled thighs. Unlike his son, however, he preferred to wear shoes; a pair of Havenese kicks with light-up laces.

“Moderate,” Aria responded. “We weren’t going to get any information from the receptionist. She wouldn’t let us meet with anyone else. Apparently, information on other blacksmiths is kept only amongst other blacksmiths.”

“That’s what she said to us yesterday,” Wood Bladebreaker grunted. He lay on his bed, arms crossed behind his head. Just past him, a big, burly, bear that was the very definition of a bodybuilder punched his own fist with a grin.

“Then I say we charge into the place, take what we can and if they won’t give us any information, we resort to light torture,” Kane Fen announced. It was any wonder how the cheerful, bright and clever JD could be related to Kane. They were apparently cousins. Alex had divorced Kane’s aunt and Kane was the spawn of Garrison Fenn. Though Alex retained an amicable relationship with his ex-wife, he was far closer with Garrison and his son. The latter of which lived with the Clarkes due to some sort of falling-out between Kane and his father.

Kane, at least in Aria’s opinion, was an agent of chaos. The big black bear towered over everyone else, nearly reaching eight-feet tall and being built like a tank. His short hair was styled forward in a spike that he touted as his ‘horn’ and every week, he would dye it some ridiculous color. This week, it was ‘Medium Turquoise’. The triangular crest of nutty brown fur on his chest which would have matched his natural hair color had similarly been dyed. He wore a pair of shockingly short, red shorts that left nothing to the imagination of his sizable package and a big, olive green utility vest that he kept open. His feet were covered by enormous steel-toed boots. There was a white tattoo on his left forearm made of indiscriminate swirls that was enchanted to constantly change shape every day.

She would have dismissed him as a disgusting rogue and never associated with him if she hadn’t seen first hand just how much he cared about those around him particularly Alex and JD. He was protective of them in his own way. It was in his eyes and the way he stood. Even now, he stood in front of the one window that faced the streets while facing the entrance that led to the loft.

Across from the bear, a human held up his hand with a stern look on his face. “No, just… no, Kane,” Rayne Noam said sternly. The Physical Education teacher from Pinnacle was lean, strong and had darker purple eyes than Aria. On the surface, he could have been an Angel with how perfect and pale his skin was but she knew better. All Angels were female and Rayne couldn’t be father from one. He was actually a Demon Prince but one that had defected during the Fall of Haven.

His jet-black hair was tied back in a ponytail that hung down to the small of his back. A tight-fitting hexweave shirt with no sleeves wrapped around his chest, revealing his ripped and powerful forearms. A pair of blue sweatbands were wrapped around his wrists and a pair of baggy, black cargo pants acted as a stark contrast to the shirt as well as the flipflops that covered his feet.

“The IBL is a powerful organization despite what they claim,” Rayne continued. “They have thousands of investors and hundreds of corporate sponsors worldwide. Pissing them off is a surefire way to get yourself banned from all sorts of products and making yourself an enemy to corporations. You wouldn’t be able to step foot of Xaos without being hunted down by one of their bounty hunters.”

“Then what do we do?” Hunter chimed in from where he sat behind a machine he was tinkering with. It looked like a portable turret. “I don’t suppose you know anything else we can try, Roran?”

The Tigris they had recently recruited was munching on some lunch a short distance away. Roran merely shook his head.

The slim figure of another Tigris floated into view. He gently picked up a pastry with slender fingers, claws extended and lifted it to his muzzle. Skye King regarded the delicacy for a moment before turning towards Hunter with a gentle smile on his muzzle, green eyes shining. Skye was another student at Pinnacle like Wood and JD but unlike them, he was far more focused on magic as a testament to his preference to hover everywhere instead of walking. Aria had never met anyone with such vast magical reserves though that could be because Skye practiced Spirit Magic - a form of magic generally frowned upon by the Church but with said organization’s decline, had seen a little bit of a resurgence.

Skye, originally from Miasma, had a slim figure that many would think caused his fur to wear him. He barely had any definition and given that he chose to go around wearing a brown leather vest with little else and a pair of denim jeans, many commented that he sometimes look malnourished. That was just how Skye was, however. Any nourishment he consumed, he directly converted into magical energies for storage, leaving little for his physical body but the bare minimum. His brown hair was cut at shoulder length with a single braid left hanging on his left side with some colorful beads woven into it. He wore similar bead bangles and necklaces, a sign of his heritage.

“The answer is in what Lady Valkyrie said,” Skye intoned. “Only other blacksmiths know what Rahl could be doing.”

Kane jumped to his feet. “So we kidnap another blacksmith and torture him for -”

“No!” both Rayne and Alex snapped.

“I don’t suppose we can just ask the other blacksmiths?” Hunter asked.

Roran shook his head. “If there’s anything IBL members guard more heavily, it’s their opponent’s secrets.” He waved a turkey leg at the silver Wulfun. “The way the IBL works is that you can challenge any league member three ranks higher than you. If you win against them, you take their rank. So it’s common for a competitor to know all about the guy that is two or three ranks above them and then challenge them. They keep this knowledge close to their chest because if someone else were to challenge them - like the guy in second place - then they’d have to adjust their strategy.”

“So what do we do?” asked Hunter.

JD suddenly thrust a finger into the air from where he was lying on his back in his bed. “I sense a premise to participate in the Blacksmith Games!”

Aria smiled. “Indeed. The only way we’re going to get that information is if we have someone join the league, challenge the top blacksmiths on Incendius and get them to give us that information. That sort of gossip is useless to competing blacksmiths because Rahl is no longer in the league but you can bet they would never give up that information willingly unless justly… coerced.”

Wood shook his head and gave a helpless shrug. “Sounds convoluted but okay.” He glanced to Roran. “So are we renewing your license or what?”

The burly Tigris with half a turkey-leg in his jaws shook his head vigorously. “No way! There’s a reason I quit the IBL.”

“Roran would be the obvious choice,” Aria agreed. “But he would also be the most vulnerable. People would still have information on him and know his techniques. We need someone new. Someone they would never expect.”

Her eyes drifted across the room to…

… Hunter.

The silver Wulfun’s eyes boggled.

“What!? Why me!?”

Forged Registration

“I hate this.”

A powerful paw pushed Hunter forward, forcing him to stagger towards the receptionist desk. The fact that the same woman was manning the desk just a day after they had been thrown out because JD had tried to break into their archives wasn’t lost on him. Now, he was approaching the desk with a stack of parchment for his application into the International Blacksmith League. The ‘encouraging’ paw belonged to none other than Roran. The majority had decided that his application would be far more readily accepted if he had a former top-tier blacksmith alongside him.

“Remind me again why you decided to quit the IBL?” he asked, purposefully slowing his pace. Roran didn’t let him delay for more than half a second.

“The IBL is more about showmanship than the quality of your work,” Roran grunted. “Your rankings are based through two key metrics; how much product you sell or the results of an actual fight pitting your equipment against another blacksmith.” The Tigris clucked his tongue. “After being forced to constantly market myself just to stay ahead so that someone with more ‘charisma’ doesn’t overtake me, I just had enough. I make my shit for people to use not so that it’ll sell.”

“So it’s pay-to-win,” Hunter observed with a sigh. “Good thing the only thing we need is information.”

“Just remember that you’ll have to start at the bottom. We’re not getting that info easily. We need to start making stuff that get you in people’s sights.”

Hunter grinned brightly. “Already got a few things in mind. Havenese technology is sorely needed here.”

Lumire the Eternal Propheticus Primoris had been a stout advocate for the equality across the world and had been pushing for the free distribution of technology amongst the Stations. However, some Stations were far more prepared for the burst of technology than others. That was why not every Station was on the same level of development as Haven. Giving farmers and people whose most readily available mode of transportation was a horse the kind of technology that involved lasers and hovercars would only invite disaster.

But with the death of Lumire fifteen years ago, such exchanges were stalled particularly because the Church of the Tower made an - admittedly valid - point that the ready access to such technology gave their enemies more firepower. These days, the Generals were trying to encourage each Station to ‘find their own technology tree’ but it was hard going when the people of Incendius were often lacking in any sort of educational institution.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” grunted Roran. “Many view Havenese technology with suspicion. Didn’t save them from the demons. It took a Chronomancer, the death of the Eternal Prophet and a bunch of civilians to repel them.”

“That’s true…” Hunter muttered miserably. He finally reached the desk and set down the forms. In a loud voice, he announced, “I’m here to apply for membership to the IBL.”

The woman at the desk smiled at him sweetly. “I’m sorry,” she said, immediately causing him to deflate. “But this is the reception desk for entry to our museum. If you would like to apply for membership…” She gestured towards the stairway to her left. “… please proceed to the second floor and follow the signs.”

There were visible signs and posters saying as much. He could’ve died of embarrassment there and then. Tail tucked between his legs and ears folded, he grabbed his papers and made his way up the stairs, Roran right behind him. Thankfully, no one was there to witness his humiliation.

The second floor was a little more… office-like. There were cubicles arranged in rows but only a few of them were manned. Roran explained that it wasn’t every day that new blacksmiths signed up. Here on Incendius specially, most blacksmiths underwent training under a local master and just inherited their forge as they went on. Few signed up for the glitz and glamor of the ‘professional’ circuit.

“Why?” Hunter asked, taking a seat in the waiting area. Apparently, he had to wait to be called. “I would’ve thought there’d be more people eager for fame.”

“That’s the Havenese way of thinking.”

Incendians were ambitious in their own way but few ever defined success as fame, fortune or even extravagant wealth. Most were content to be successful in their chosen craft. If people noticed and showered them with praise, it was a bonus but not requirement to be deemed a success.

“Keep that in mind when you make your pieces for the competition,” Roran said. “You have to know your audience. When you’re competing against other Blacksmiths, you need to remember which audience you’re catering to. You’re not going to win over an Incendian audience with a flashy machine of divine origin from Haven.”

Hunter tilted his head to one side and then to the other. That statement revealed some bias within himself; a inherent assumption at the superiority of his home Station and that everyone would be grateful for their help. He had to admit he saw a little bit of that from Kane and Wood. Even Aria though she was a little more reserved.

“If I’m going to make it far enough to learn about Rahl, I think I’ll need to keep that in mind,” he responded. Looking to Roran, he said, “Any other advice?”

Roran rubbed his broad chin thoughtfully. “Here on Incendius, we have a saying. ‘Never burn brighter than a home’.” That bought a frown from the silver Wulfun so Roran explained. “Your spark of ambition, your goals, should never consume your entire life or else everything will turn to ash.”

“I thought that would be a comment about burnout.”

“It could go both ways and more.”

One of the bureaucrats called them over and they headed over to his cubicle. The weary looking raccoon regarded them but his eyes immediately drifted to Roran. Only then was there a spark of recognition and surprise.

“Roran Strongarm?” asked the man. “Looking to re-register?”

“No. Not me.” Roran pushed Hunter down onto the chair in front of the man. “This guy. A Havenese combat engineer looking to make a name for himself.”

That weariness entered the man’s eyes again. “Another ambitious handyman from Haven thinking you can make your mark here on Incendius because, comparatively, your technology is far superior to ours and you can churn out pieces faster than most blacksmiths?”

There was that bitterness that towards Haven that Roran hinted. Scathing and clearly borne from experience. Anyone else with any less patience would have snapped back at the man for being so insulting and judgmental. Hunter, however, had been trained to have military-level patience and kept calm.

“No, sir,” he responded curtly. “I’ve been told I have a talent for this and want to try my hand in it.”

“I see,” sighed the raccoon. “Just to let you know, critics here on Incendius do not take too kindly to foreign products. You are better off starting in Haven.”

“I’ve told him,” Roran responded, clapping Hunter’s shoulder. “And that’s why I’m going to be training him. This kid actually hunted me down and said he wanted to learn all about all forms of blacksmithing in the world and combine them into one, unified standard.”

The bureaucrat lifted his eyebrows. “Typical Havenese thinking. But…” He sighed and took the stack of parchments from Hunter. “… if that is what you want, fine.” The man skimmed the papers, taking a quill, dipping it in an inkwell and writing down notes on the pages every now and then.

“Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Hart,” the man said as he flipped a page. “You’re aware of the rules, right? A fraction of your profits are going to go directly to the IBL. You are expected to submit to an annual review of your finances.”

“Just like taxes,” Hunter laughed.

The raccoon was not amused. “Another Havenese concept.”

A glance at Roran signaled the Wulfun’s confusion. The Tigris explained that Incendius had no concept of taxes. Funding for common services such as trash pickup, road maintenance or even the guards keeping the peace was all maintained by communal trust. While townships had their elected officials, those officials were there to serve the people. They were given a home, respect and their wealth was derived from their own businesses but not their position of leadership. Even in Corona, most of the security and maintenance of the city was provided by the Church which based much of its labor from devout volunteers. But with the fall of the Church, the Generals were introducing a more centralized government…

… which clearly wasn’t approved by most.

“Alright,” sighed the raccoon as he took the papers. “There is just the matter of your application fee.”

“I don’t suppose you take Haven Express?” Hunter joked. “It’s a credit card.” The raccoon gave him a flat stare. “Didn’t think so…” Plucking a leather pouch of coins, he placed it on the table and pushed it towards the raccoon. The man counted the coins and with a nod and then handed Hunter a stone badge.

“Here is your badge of office for the IBL. Your first assessment will be a year from now. Good luck on your future endeavors.” Everything he said was delivered in a monotone drone like he had done this spiel a million times before.

Hunter took the badge, offered a small smile and some thanks and then left the building alongside Roran. He spun the tiny badge in between his fingers.

“So… where to from here?” he asked.

“Now, theoretically,” Roran began, “we start working on making some pieces that would make enough of a splash to start advancing your rank amongst the IBL.” He said all this with only a single finger raised. “Then, depending on how well you rank, you can maybe start speaking with some more high-ranking blacksmiths. If not, then we officially challenge someone until you can advance to someone that does know.” Only then did he lift a third finger. “Then, finally, find Rahl and from there, the legendary sword that’s supposed to end the plague causing random people to explode.”

“Simple enough,” Hunter groaned. “What should we make first?”

Before the bulky Tigris could respond, there was a loud burst of sound and color. For a second, Hunter feared that it was another person spontaneously combusting nearby and was halfway to drawing his sword, when he saw the first leaf of confetti fluttering in front of his eyes. Trumpets blared around him as more and more pops exploded around him while confetti showered them both. Somehow, through all the noise, he managed to catch Roran’s very loud groan.

A burst of black smoke exploded from the white, cobblestone ground about twenty feet away from him. Two rows of black and red-clad men and perfectly pressed uniforms marched out from behind the smokescreen, stepping in unison while their trumpets honked out a terribly loud tune. Those two rows faced one another, tilted their brass instruments into the air to form a procession.

Then out stepped three men, passing underneath the arches of instruments. Spearheading the trio was a squat, muscled Lutrish; a brow-furred otter dressed in head to toe with black armor that was tinted in fiery red. Every part of his armor was made to look menacing. Joints flared up to look like flames. A snarling face of a lion or some feline beast was emblazoned on his chest, eyes and fangs glowing red. The very tips of his fingers were pointed, angled and ending in ember-red claws. His crimson eyes matched his armor perfectly.

Behind the otter was a much smaller, much slimmer young man. His golden-blonde hair was perfectly oiled and slicked back to reveal his pointed Window’s Peak. Pale skin that was almost ghostly only served to accentuate his angular features and high cheeks that were powdered with a ridiculously bright, red blush. The collar of his clothing was large, frilly and made out of lace, framing the back of his head like a halo. Similar frilled edges emerged from the cuffs of his long, black coat and poked out from his waist like a dress. The tight-fitting clothing only made him look even slimmer than he actually was. This man seemed to absorb the sounds and fanfare around him with glee, smiling and waving an the few people on the streets that were regarding him with confusion.

The last person to bring up the group was a tall, regal Avios - an owl subspecies. He was regal, dressed in a double-breasted navy blue suit with golden buttons. His whole body was a little more well-built than the middle man and his big, yellow eyes were bright, aware and was the only one of the three that clearly watched Hunter and Roran even through the single monocle he wore.

The trumpets finally ended and each of the trumpeters stomped their feet in unison before standing fully in attention. The three men spread out in front of Hunter.

“Oren,” growled Roran.

It was the pale man that regarded Roran with a haughty gaze. Despite only barely being six feet tall, the man looked up at the towering seven and a half-foot Tigris with a look of superiority. Just a few feet closer and Hunter was fairly sure that he would have had to crane his neck at a right angle to meet the man’s gaze.

“Roran Strongarm,” responded the man in a high-pitched, grating voice that had to be strained. “When I heard that you had walked into the IBL building, I knew that our destined competition was finally at hand!”

With a flourish, he pointed his entire arm at Roran while his other one was flared out behind him. “I hearby formally challenge you to a Blacksmith Battle!”

Roran groaned loudly… before lifting his paws into the air, revealing that he wasn’t holding anything. “No badge, numbnuts. I didn’t re-register.”

Hunter lifted the stone badge in his paws. “I’m the one that registered. Roran is just here to help me through the process.”

The man - Oren - regarded Hunter for a few seconds, his composure deflated. Then, straightening, he loudly announced, “Then I shall challenge you!”

Hunter slowly tilted his head to Roran, confusion all over his face.

“This asshat, is Oren Grimflare,” explained the exhausted Tigris. “He considers himself my rival. Even though I was ranked 10th on Incendius and he was the 13th and I had an undefeated record against him.”

“All of those victories were merely preludes to our fated confrontation!” Oren squeaked loudly. “I was holding back! I was concerned that you would be broken and humiliated if I had ever unleashed my true talent against you! But now that you have had your sabbatical, you have no excuse but to unleash your best on me!”

“Get it through your head, you helium-voiced dickwad!” Roran shouted, tapping the side of his head. “I. Am. Not. Competing!”

“Then I shall defeat you by defeating your protege!”

Roran threw his meaty arms into the air in defeat, groaning loudly in frustration.

Hunter regarded the poor guy with pity and turned towards Oren to try and diffuse the situation. “No offense, Mr. Grimflare, but I have no interest in fighting you or even proving myself against you. I’ve just barely started. How about we just go our separate ways and -”

“Coward!” shouted Oren. “You will accept my challenge or all will know that you have failed and you will never make a profit on Incendius ever again!”

“Dude! I just started!” he protested.

“Then you will never make a profit at all!”

Hunter was baffled. Then he recalled Roran’s warning that the IBL was all about showmanship. It occurred to him that the top members of the IBL probably had to craft extravagant personas to market themselves and sell more of their products. It was a lot like watching those ‘professional wrestlers’ back on Haven.

“Alright,” he rumbled to himself softly. “If that’s how you want to play it…” Lifting his muzzle and taking a deep breath, he replied in a huge bellow. “You want a fight, little man! Fine!”

Roran flinched and turned to him in shock.

“My flames will leave you charred and begging for my mercy!” Hunter shouted loudly. “Your age-old rivalry with Roran and your countless defeats will be like nothing compared to the humiliation that I will deliver! It’s going to be so bad that you are going to retire!”

Oren beamed brightly as he realized that Hunter was finally starting to play along. Given Roran’s personality, the older Tigris probably never actually engaged in any of these theatrics which likely led to Oren’s frustration. The fact that he kept losing to Roran probably made things worse.

“You will regret those words!” the slim, black-clad human exclaimed. “Bring your best because a month from now, you will regret ever choosing your mentor to be that cowardly tiger!”

Hunter snarled. “A month? What’s wrong? Need that long to write your will? To knit all of your lace collars!? We fight in a week!”

The moment those words came out, Hunter immediately realized the mistake he had made. He barely knew anything about Incendian culture or blacksmithing and now he was going to compete the 13th ranked blacksmith on the entire Station. But, the challenge was made.

And Oren grinned brightly.

“Very well! A week it shall be!” exclaimed Grimflare. “One week from now, it shall be your works against mine!”

“Standard competition rules!” Hunter barked even though he had no idea what that meant.

“Agreed!” shouted the Oren back. “Prepare to lose!”

“Prepare to retire, old man!” he snapped back.

With that, Oren snapped his fingers and his entire procession turned and retreated, trumpets blaring again. It took them a whole ten minutes to leave the street. Thankfully, the confetti seemed enchanted to disappear so that it didn’t leave a mess.

Hunter never got a second to breathe before two, big paws seized his shoulders and spun him around. Roran pressed their noses together, eyes wide in terror.

“What the fuck did you just do!?”

Five Alarm

Pinnacle Academy’s crafting classes were considered a gateway into the International Blacksmith League. Students who pursued three years of the courses were granted an internship amongst a master blacksmith the IBL recommended and would get full sponsorship by the IBL with a discounted application fee upon completion of the internship. Naturally, the classes in general were tailored to the Station that Pinnacle was currently occupying.

Wood regarded the sixteen inch piece of black wood in front of him with a grunt of disapproval, a knife and a little pick in his hands. Around him in the workshop, other students were slowly craving their wands with the runes drawn on the holographic board at the front of the class as reference. A few had already completed their project, showing off the fruits of their labors by waving the wands and generating a little flare of red light from the tip of the wands.

For him, however, the work was far too precise, far too… finicky.

“This is stupid,” he grumbled softly, leaning down towards the wand and rolling it to its side. “Remind me again why we’re doing this?”

JD who stood beside him lifted his own wand to eye level. His was far cleaner than Wood’s mangled device. It looked completed as well. “Because you suggested that if we’re to support Hunter, we need to learn as much about crafting as possible. Particularly Incendian crafting.” He turned towards Skye who stood on his other side, a pile of twenty or so wands already sitting next to him. Wood regarded the slim Tigris with barely contained jealousy and disdain.

“How’s this look, Skye?” JD asked the far more magically attuned and knowledgeable feline.

Skye looked over and examined the wand from a distance. “It looks good, JD. Except this part…” He pointed at one of the runes. “Instead of ‘firelight’ you carved ‘fire-right’.”

JD’s features immediately brightened. Wood knew that expression and immediately ducked. “Perfect!”

The chaotic crimson wolf turned away from both of them and immediately waved the wand, triggering the runes. A small burst of flame immediate erupted from the wand but at a 90-degree angle from the tip to the right of the weapon.

JD frowned for a second and he twisted the wand a few degrees left and right, seemingly focusing the flame until it was a single line of blue fire. Then, he reached over to Wood’s wand and used the tip of the flame to burn the remaining runes into Wood’s project. The Wulfun waved the second wand and it let out a soft, red light from the tip.

“Brilliant!” he exclaimed.

Jack Denver Clarke, the master at improvisation and making the best out of a bad situation. Even Skye was impressed that JD had managed to make what was effectively a blowtorch. To his credit, the Wulfun’s arm shone and his rubric let out a soft chime.

“Congratulations!” exclaimed the squeaky little avatar shaped like anthropomorphized tower. “You’ve received points from your professor for creating an ad-hoc wand! You’ve received another point for helping your fellow classmate finish his project! Additional comments are: showed great practical use of crafting.”

JD beamed at their professor and waved at him. “Thanks, Professor Flint!” Both Wood and Skye had to duck away from the blowtorch that the Wulfun was swinging around as part of the gesture.

Admirable as that was, two points was not enough to get them out of the ‘NG’ grade. Even with the vast volume of wands Skye was making, he was just at an ‘F’. Most of the other class was hovering over a ‘D’. The year had just begun so they had time but everyone else generally started at the same line. JD, Wood and Skye, however, started at rock bottom.

There was a reason for that.

As Wood reached down for another piece of Burnwood to carve, he watched from the corner of his eyes as other students whispered spells to reforge the wood as they needed at a whim. The three of them had to resort to manually using knives and whittling tools. A short distance away, other students were burning the words for firelight by infusing their will into the wands themselves. Again, the trio needed to carve them by hand.

Each of them had a different reason.

Due to his nature as a Fallen, any magic Wood attempted would automatically corrupt whatever he cast into a dark more sinister version. Control over exactly what would happen to the corrupted magic was random and often relied on his mood at the time. Not to mention that anything he created with his magic wouldn’t meet the criteria of the assignment and likely just lead to wasted time.

JD was fully incapable of using magic whatsoever. Due to his injury as a child and the extreme cybernetic implants that allowed him to walk and function, his magical abilities were non-existent.

Skye, on the other hand, relied on Spirit Magic and outwardly refused to use the Illuminus Weizar unless it was necessary. It was a choice, yes, but one he was proud of. Using Spirits for his spells generally made anything he cast more powerful but also meant that the Spirits he entreated for those spells would have their energy drained. Given that Spirits were sentient and had a will of their own, he was less inclined to use his magic carelessly. While he could use the Illuminus Weizar as well, he insisted that its use ‘made the Spirits scream’.

Spirits were not weapons, he recited constantly, they were partners and should not be ignored.

Wood sighed and began whittling away again. Thankfully, he was fairly adept at cutting things down to a more manageable size. Being a member of the Green Draconis race, he was naturally born with the ability to breathe a highly corrosive acid. The class didn’t restrict them on how to forge the Wands of Firelight - Pinnacle taught free thinking - which was the reason why JD got points for his creative means of crafting his first wand. A little exhale and he shot a short jet of green acid onto the lump of black wood in his hands. Naturally, he was immune to his own acid so he was free to smear it around the slab and let the acid do the rest. Every Draconis was expected to know how to use their elemental breaths by the time they reached adulthood and Wood was no exception.

Once he had the wand shaped the way he wanted, he glanced at the clock. That took less than a minute. An idea sprang to mind.

“Hey JD,” he announced, tossing his friend the half-finished wand. “Carve the runes into this for me, would ya?”

JD snatched the wand out of the air without even looking, his attention still on the blowtorch in his other paw. He then quirked an eyebrow at him. “Will that really complete the assignment?”

“I figure we work it like a factory.” Wood grinned a jabbed a thumb at his chest. “I make the wand body and you carve the runes. Share the points between us?”

JD glanced over at their professor who nodded in approval. “Sounds like a plan!”

By the end of the hour-long class, they had at least forged fifteen wands together. Between, them, they had earned another eight points so that was an addition four points to both of their rubrics. Still upgradeable but closer to their goal of passing the year.

Skye had mastered the art and moved on to the second lesson of crafting Wands of Flame Shot.

Once they were done, the trio checked their rubrics to see what classes were currently available. While the professors all ran their classes at a set schedule, a student’s interests and their classes were completely fluid. Anyone could drift in and out of any class. Many such classes needed to be taken from the beginning or had prerequisite studies while others could be picked up from anywhere. This was how Pinnacle taught its students. Exams and tests could be taken at any time for any subject and could be retried as many times as needed throughout the year. If you had the knowledge, you could get the points. If not, take the classes to prepare for the exam and harvest some points while you were at it.

“There’s an Introduction of Pyromancy Runes in five minutes,” Skye exclaimed eagerly. “Might help Hunter if we knew some runes that he’d carve into his weapons.”

“I think I’m done staring at arcane letters,” Wood announced, stretching his arms and wings while popping his shoulders. “How about a class on Incendian geology? Maybe if we find him some rare materials or something, it’ll actually help him make something decent?”

JD simply said, “I’m hungry.”

The two taller college students gave their much shorter colleague a blank stare before exchanging knowing smiles. If ever there was a mediator between Wood’s brash and often headstrong decisions and Skye’s more conservative and reserved nature, it was their short friend.

“I could eat,” agreed Skye. He tapped his arm and showed the rubric. “I think there’s actually a place downtown near Roran’s workshop that is sponsored by Pinnacle.”

“Meaning?” Wood quipped.

The Tigris showed him the floating panel of shimmering light. “Meaning, we get points alone from eating there. You get a whole ten points for eating their ‘Volcano Steaks’.” Seeing the glint of ambition in his eyes, Skye quickly said, “But you need to be careful. Apparently, it’s one of the spiciest dishes ever served in all of Corona and you have to finish the whole six ounce steak.”

The bulky Draconis flashed his friend a grin and flexed an arm. “Bitch, please. My acid breath can melt through any spice. Let’s go!”

“I think I’ll just stick with something a little more… sedate.”

They made their way to the gondola station at the edge of Pinnacle’s campus. Large, teardrop-shaped carriages hooked up to a secure, constantly rotating line carried students and guests between Corona and Pinnacle. A short wait later and they were jumping into the six-seater gondola, watching casually as they made the trip once again down to the ground. The blistering light of the Sun Spire shone to their right while the majesty of the rest of Corona and Incendius stretched out to their left.

As much as Wood would outwardly dismiss the beauty of the Station, there was no denying that there was something peaceful and picturesque about the tiered white city giving way to rolling plains and dense forests. It was incredibly different from the constantly busy lands and skies of Haven where flying vehicles and hypertubes carried people from one floating island to the other. Compared to the perpetually busy landscape of the 13th Station, the Station of the Sun was comparatively quiet.

Beneath the idyllic surface, however, there was still a level of sin and corruption. For so long, the Church of the Tower had attempted to present itself as this pure and paragon of civilization that everyone should strive to emulate. That just forced the evils behind this facade which only allowed it to fester. On Haven, the ‘taste’ of evil was tainted by a constant sense of pride. The reason people back-stabbed, killed and denigrated other people was for the prestige it gave which was fundamental in Havenese society.

But here on Incendius, it was more… primal.

There was barely any pretense. Someone who was evil would rarely try to justify themselves as doing it for the ‘greater good’. Morally gray areas were few and far between. A man was either a thief or murderer and nothing else. He wasn’t sure if it was just how the Station’s people had been brought up to believe of some strange level of herd mentality. Either way, the Station’s sin ‘tasted’ more… pure.

The gondola ride was just about fifteen minutes long. They disembarked into a crowd of students looking to return to campus and Incendians eager for a tour of the famous traveling school. Conveniently, the gondola station was adjacent to the main road which allowed them to make a beeline for the Sunrise District. While they could have taken a horse-drawn carriage they had limited funds. Pinnacle’s thirteen-year educational program was designed to teach them responsibility both financially and as part of the wider community of Tower Thirteen.

Established ten years ago after the end of the Fall of Haven, no class had yet to fully complete the program. The first class was due to graduate in three years while Wood, JD and Skye were ‘first years’. Though all three of them were in their late teens - with JD being the youngest at eighteen years old and Skye being the oldest at nineteen, they would only graduate from the program when they had reached their thirties.

Wood recalled stories from his mother boasting about how she had already established her own company and hit the workforce when she was twenty-one years old. But that was all before the population of the world had been cut down by almost two-thirds and global defenses had been reduced to next to nothing.

The Generals had established the 13-year-program - dubbed the ‘Next Generation’ - as a way to unite Tower Thirteen’s myriad of cultures and give the next generation an appreciation of each Station, reduce systemic racism and get rid of national borders. History classes taught them that the Fall of Haven’s impact was felt in more than just the 13th Station. While the Third Demonic War ended in just two short years, the three years that followed was rife with political struggles, national instability and the collapse of the Church of Tower’s hierarchy. After the long five years, the Generals took power and identified that it was through the divisions of the Stations that most of the damage was done. While it was the demonic invasion that provided the spark that lit the explosives, the stockpile of hatred, ambition and sin had been brewing for centuries.

By the time he was done with his brooding, they had reached the relatively less upscale Sunrise District. The streets were more cramped here than the wide, highly-decorated plazas of the upper districts. Much less color. Still, it was are busier and as Wood used his brawn to carve a way through the claustrophobic crowds, he was reminded a little of his home of Haven.

Skye excitedly pointed them to the restaurant that was on their rubrics; the Spicy Boar. The sign above the door displayed a cartoonish boar’s head but instead of tusks, there were some form of peppers sitting out of its muzzle. Judging by the light of the Sun Spire, it was just a little afternoon so the crowds were not as crowded as one would expect during a lunch rush.

They entered the restaurant and took up one of the tables in the middle of the establishment. A busty Vulpunus waitress approached them a short while later and asked for their orders. JD ordered something called the ‘Firbar Skewers’ while Skye ordered a soup which was strange to Wood given the temperate climate of Corona. True to his word, he ordered the Volcano Steak. They flashed their rubrics at the waitress who swiped a card, acknowledging their requests and taking the funds out of their student accounts.

Wood had enough time to take in the musty wooden surroundings filled with the scent of working men and women before the food arrived.

“That was quick,” he commented when a six-ounce steak with very little marbling and covering in so much spice that it basically had a crust of red powder. All of that sat on a bed of mashed potatoes.

“We pride ourselves in our speed, cutie,” the waitress said with a wink. “Enjoy! Tell me when you’re finished and I can give you the points.”

Skye pressed his paws together, bowed and said a quiet prayer to the Spirits that gave up their energy for the meal. It was his custom. JD picked up one of the twenty skewers that looked like typical meatballs covered in a shimmering, crimson sauce and whimpered a little. He took a bite out of one of the meatballs and his eyes immediately lit up.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “This is kind of sweet! I mean, sugary. Little bit of heat but mostly sweet!”

Despite having nothing else on those skewers, JD was able to munch on them with ease. Opposite to him, Skye took the wooden spoon he was given and delicately slurped at the aggressively red, milky-looking soup broth. There appeared to be pieces of pork swimming in there alongside some vegetables. Skye’s features immediately paled before turning crimson as he gasped and waved a paw over his tongue, his whiskers on edge.

“Spirits, that’s spicy!” he gasped, blinking away tears.

“Really?” Wood asked with a laugh. “Damn, now I can’t wait for my steak.”

The knife he was given cut through the steak with ease, giving out a loud, satisfying ‘crunch’ as it cut through the crust around the steak. He took a bite out of it and was instantly hit by the first assault of spices. It wasn’t the kind of spice that one would immediately associate with ‘heat’. They were more the flavorful spices. He detected cinnamon, lots of salt, rosemary and a cacophony of others that he could feel in the back of his nostrils and smell shortly afterwards. After a few bits of chewing, the juices of the meat somewhat mellowed out the crust’s overwhelming taste… but that only gave way to the actual heat. Ordinarily, he would have been table to take that kind of spice but because the earlier barrage had opened up his taste buds and left them exposed, the heat crashed through his weakened defenses and immediately made him gasp. To his horror, he realized that because this was a steak, he couldn’t just swallow it. He was forced to chew through the dense and juicy slice of meat until it was soft enough to swallow.

Once he did, it burned all the way down and he was left gasping.

“Having regrets?” Skye teased, fighting his own spicy-reaction.

Wood managed a toothy grin. “Not a chance.”

Then he looked down at the remaining steak in front of him and felt his stomach rebel in protest. No one ever accused him of being a quitter. Where many others who had Fallen would have succumbed to despair and taken their own lives or committed themselves to cartoonish villainy, Wood remained steadfast in his determination to do the right thing. Even if that ‘right thing’ was not necessarily what others thought was ‘right’. Despite his stomach screaming at him that his next bowel movement would likely be hellishly punishing, he still took another slice of the steak and chewed it while keeping his gaze firmly planted against Skye’s own eyes. To his friend’s credit, Skye slurped up the noodles while similarly maintaining the gaze.

All the while, JD continued to happily munch at the spicy-sweet meatball skewers he had been given, humming a nameless, cheery tune to himself with his long tail wagging behind him like a banner.

Half of the steak was finished before Wood slammed a fist into the table, panting and his tongue dripping with saliva. All pretense of keeping up any sort of machismo were gone. Even Skye appeared to be openly weeping as he slurped up the noodles.

“Do you guys need help?” asked JD innocently.

Both of them lifted their hands.

“No,” Skye gasped. “I will not submit you to this kind of agony.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about that…” The crimson Wulfun reached over his shoulder, drawing the paper-thin, pure-white blade of Validation. Skye was delirious from overheating to erect his defenses so he didn’t have any time to react before JD gently but quickly slipped the nearly-invisible blade just below the Tigris’ jawline. There was no external damage. The weapon didn’t seem to breach the skin but Wood knew that the damage was completely metaphysical.

Strangely, Skye blinked a few times in surprise. The reddish hue to his cheeks faded.

JD extracted his blade and tilted his head to the side. “Better?”

“Yeah…” the shaman mumbled, rubbing his jaw slightly. “What did you do?”

The crimson wolf’s long, flag-like tail waved excitedly behind him. “I temporarily disabled the nerves that are connected to your taste buds. I’d say you’d have about thirty minutes before it starts coming back. Tanar’s anatomy classes really help.” He spun his blade casually in his paw as he turned to Wood. “What about you, Wood? Need me to numb your taste buds?”

Pride demanded that he decline the offer but Wood was suffering and all he could do was nod before offering his neck. It showed his level of trust of the wolf that he would let JD stab him with Validation. The longswords were made out of Etherium and as most people would know, Etherium was as brittle as glass. However, in JD’s hands, the scalpel-like weapons were far more dangerous.

Validation. The twin swords that Hunter had made for JD just a little over two months ago. Since JD couldn’t use magic, he had spent years finding ways to manipulate Force and Spirit energies - the raw energies used to fuel magic. He had become so skilled at these that he could manipulate his Force energy into pure crimson lightning that he could throw from any point in his body at whim. That was why he had gained the moniker ‘The Red Lightning’ amongst his friends. His more dangerous ability, however, was the ability to utilize Shukuchi.

Taking this into account, Hunter had crafted Validation for him. Etherium was generally used in magical devices to channel any forms of magic. When exposed to Fire Magic, the metal would burn like charcoal. Throw some Water Magic at it and it would liquefy. When exposed to JD’s raw Force energy, it was as hard as his will. By infusing it with his Force energy he could make the otherwise brittle Etherium practically indestructible.

When he applied his Spirit energy to it, however, the blades became ethereal. They could not cut through physical matter but they could deal damage to someone’s nervous system and disrupt the flow of magic throughout their bodies. That was why Hunter had Validation made as thin as possible because even the slightest mistake in his incisions could cause irreparable damage to any individual’s ability to cast magic - a sever disadvantage in modern society.

The weapon completely complemented JD’s background and story. Accompanied by the anatomy lessons from Tanar, the Red Lightning was comparable to a battlefield surgeon.

Thinking about it, Wood realized just how much thought Hunter had put into the weapon and the other weapons he had crafted for the other two students. Between Cataclysm and Fleeting Dream, Hunter had managed to build weapons that complimented the stories of their wielders.

Wood felt compelled to make sure the budding blacksmith succeeded in the IBL after Hunter had made such magnificent tools for them.

Wood didn’t even feel when Validation slipped into his flesh and temporarily severed his connection to his taste buds. The burning sensation in his muzzle just faded to a distant memory, like his brain knew it was there but just couldn’t come to terms with the fact that it couldn’t feel it. That was all he needed to eagerly devour the rest of the steak. Though it was very strange not to taste his food, he was nevertheless grateful that he could finish it.

When he was done, he called for the waitress who was genuinely surprised that they hadn’t asked for any refills to their drinks. She congratulated them on their accomplishments and waved a card over their rubrics. Wood scored a very healthy ten points for his endeavor while Skye got seven. JD got five.

They were still in the ‘NG’ grade but given they had only been on Incendius less than two weeks, it was… something. It still depressed him that the majority of the students were already at least at a D. The grading system had a bit of a steep curve, though. It was relatively easy to get a passing grade but to get from a C to a B required greater feats of excellence and by the time people started attempting B to A, the number of achievements logged in the rubric that were even remotely achievable by the average student was wearing thin. Getting from A to the coveted S rank required feats of incredible achievement like creating an entirely new spell or coming in first in some national competition. Getting from S to O was next to impossible.

There was a joke on Pinnacle that the ‘O’ rank was actually caused by a computing error. A student a few years ago tried to break the system by achieving so much that they broke the counter on their grade which caused the system to reset back to ‘zero’. The faculty couldn’t very well say this student got ‘zero’ or ‘NG’ again so they made it the ‘O’ rank. Students called anyone who achieved the O grade as ‘Overachievers’.

For Wood, however, his grade was secondary to the impeding threat on the horizon and the location of FireFeather.

Skye suggested they stop by Roran’s workshop so after they left the Spicy Boar, they wandered the Sunrise District, taking the long way to the their ally’s home. It was not hard to spot as amongst the home, it was the only one spewing smoke from its chimney. Wood still marveled at how JD managed to sneak through that very same chute and make his way into the blacksmith’s home.

Wood was the first to reach the door and lifted his hand to knock when he noticed the door was open. Curious, he pushed the door open, his keen, leaf-shaped ears picking up the sound of metal being struck from the basement. He followed the sounds with JD and Skye tailing him. In the dim light of the basement, features illuminated by the orange glow of a live forge, Hunter worked shirtless with Roran watching gruffly from a short distance away. Hunter had his goggles on and his army pants but little else, showing off his strong build born from years in the military.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, appraising the silver Wulfun’s sweaty body. “Why are you using a traditional forge? Wouldn’t you use your matter converters for this?”

Hunter, ears folded back, lowered the hammer and lifted his goggles. He let out a soft wince. “Apparently, the IBL looks more favorably on you if you use traditional blacksmithing methods native to the Station you’re competing in. Using other techniques from other Stations, while impressive, could actually be to your detriment.”

“Wouldn’t that defeat any advantage you might have?” Skye asked. “And why are you even competing in the IBL? I thought our plan was to make sure you signed up and make enough of a name for yourself that you are seen as worth for the information on Rahl?”

Roran growled and seized the back of Hunter’s head with his massive paw. “Because this moron decided to get caught up in the showman ship of Oren Grimflare and accepted his challenge! Now he has to compete and come up with something in a week or be so badly humiliated in the IBL that it’ll take years for him to recover!”

Wood flinched. “What!? Hunter!? Why?”

Hunter shrugged helplessly. “I thought it was all part of the show…”

Skye stepped forward, holding up his paws. “Hold on. Slow down. Tell us everything…”

?

Mark IX

A week went by faster than expected.

Hunter barely had enough time to understand the rules of an IBL competition while also building weapons for himself and his two other competitors and maintaining his duties as a the official smith for four students of Pinnacle. There were quite a few sleepless nights especially leading up to the competition but Tanar’s magic was able to at least displace some of that. The Paladin could transfer some of his weariness to someone else that was not competing, allowing them to sleep off Hunter’s exhaustion while the combat engineer worked through the night to finish the three weapons.

When the day finally came, it was met with a lot of fanfare. Oren Grimflare spared no expense to herald his ‘final triumph’ against Roran Strongarm. Throughout the week, there were fliers, announcements and heralds inviting everyone to the arena where the battle would take place. To add insult to injury, Oren had chosen the biggest and most extravagant area in Corona - the Corona’s Crown Coliseum.

By far the most technologically advanced arena in all of Incendius barring some in the Sunless Lands, the ‘Triple C’ as it was colloquially called had huge floating platforms for the most wealthy patrons. The vaguely oval-shaped arena had enough seating for about ten thousand people and it was packed to the brim. Magical screens showed the audience what select drones wanted them to see. As it was held in the height of noon, the canopy that would have protected it from weather was drawn back. At the very center of the arena was a large square, slab of concrete magically enhanced to avoid wear and tear from the battle. On opposite sides were bullpens for the different teams. Between the bullpens with ring-side view of the arena and placed on a lifted dais were the three judges.

“That’s Erick Von Darkmoth,” Roran said, pointing to the large, barrel-chested human at the center of the three judges. His dark beard was bisected by a ‘T-shaped’ crest of gray running from the underside of his bottom lip down to the tip of his beard. It almost looked like a hammer. “He’s the Number 3 Smith on Incendius.”

“My fight attracted the Number 3?” Hunter asked. “Should I be honored?”

“Not really,” grunted the Tigris. “Chances are, Oren pestered him to oversee the competition just to make sure its recognized in the League.” He pointed at the other two. “That Viperion on the left is -”

“Salashi Omeris,” Hunter finished. “She’s the Headmistress of Pinnacle. Yeah, I remember.” He glanced over at Roran. “Another one of Oren’s attempts at grandstanding.”

“You’re learning,” replied his mentor with a wry smile. “The last one is Faraday Cleat.” The Avios was of the peacock variety and was dressed in the clothes with the same black and purple colorations that Oren favored. “He’s a close friend of Oren’s right-hand-man, Godfrey Deshant. You can bet he was put there to influence the others.”

“That might be difficult,” Aria said, her arms folded while she examined the judges. “I’ve known Salashi for years. She has favoritism for her students. But she is fair.”

“Probably why Oren had her added to the panel,” replied Roran. “If we fail even though two of her students are competing, then it’ll just cement his victory.”

Hunter gulped loudly as he looked at the case he was carrying that held the weapon he had pulled together in the past few days. A firm paw fell on his shoulder.

“Remember,” Roran said, “have faith in what you’ve crafted. It’s not about you anymore. It’s about what you’ve made. Let it speak for you.” The Tigris turned to JD and Wood who would be competing. “That goes for both of you. Remember, you’re being judged not on whether or not you win the fight. It’s how well you display the qualities of your weapons.”

Wood nodded grimly. “Got it.”

JD, however, had a distant look on his features and snapped back to attention the moment he realized everyone was looking at him. “Huh? Sorry. I was somewhere else thinking about those skewers I had at the Spicy Boar. Mind repeating that?”

Not encouraging at all.

He hoped, at least, that Wood would win them one fight. Then that would get them to a tiebreaker where he would have to fight against Oren directly. He was fairly confident his military training would give him the advantage against Oren.

Thunderous music erupted from the speakers all over the arena, the anthem of the IBL. An announcer’s voice boomed shortly afterwards, welcoming everyone to the match and introducing the judges.

“This is it,” breathed Hunter.

“Defending his position as the 10th ranked Blacksmith on Incendius is Oren Grimflare!” shouted the announcer. The crowd cheered. There was a whole row of women bearing their bare breasts and bellies with Oren’s name painted on their stomachs. Oren’s associates were introduced as well, Arwin was the Lutrine otter with the black armor while the butler-like owl was Godfrey.

“And challenging him today is Hunter Hart from Haven!”

He expected boos and jeers but he was surprised when the cheering continued. These were cheers for his bravery and the entertainment that his challenge would bring. When his name was announced, he stepped out of the bullpen and took up his position on one side of the arena. Oren’s team was already positioned on the other end. One by one, Wood and JD were called up to his side. He eyed JD in particular, hoping that his friend would at least be a little more focused.

To his surprise, the crimson Wulfun had that incredibly worried look on his features. His brow was furrowed and his eyes were laser-like in their focus. For a moment, he narrowed his gaze then blinked a few times as he tried to comprehend what he just saw. JD looked about to say something when the announcer abruptly spoke.

“You know the rules!” boomed the announcer. “Best of three rounds wins the competition. Each competitor only fights once. This is a non-fatal competition based on displaying the features of the piece that the blacksmith has created. Are we clear?”

Hunter nodded fiercely and Oren made a dismissive gestured to indicate that he understood the rules.

“Very well! Blacksmiths! Send your first fighters out and let’s showcase your pieces! First up, the defender! Oren Grimflare!”

Of the three on the opposite side of the arena, the Lutrine otter stepped forward, grinning broadly with his heavy, black metal helmet in his arm. Without any prompting, Oren turned towards the crowd with a flourish. In one hand he had a wand that allowed him to amplify his voice much like a microphone.

“Ladies, gentlemen and everyone in between,” he exclaimed, waving his hand through the air while keeping his back to Hunter. “Let me introduce you to my Grimflare Armor Mark IX!”

“Mark IX?” Wood rumbled under his breath. “He didn’t even bother making anything new and just improved on an existing design?” He gave Hunter a sidelong glance. “I don’t know about you, but that’s borderline insulting.”

Hunter grunted and shook his head in response. “We’re only here to find out about FireFeather. Nothing else. Let him have his moment of glory.”

Oren continued on his introduction while the otter flexed and showed off the armor for all to see. “Unlike previous versions, the Mark IX_, is made of a lightweight material that doesn_’t compromise defense for speed and flexibility. This improves on the mobility of previous iterations especially with the additional boosts of speed it gives to its wearer! Furthermore, it has been equipped with an Incendian Physics Engine to absorb and convert the Force energy generated from abrupt turns and kinetic impacts into usable power.”

Hunter’s eyebrows immediately shot up. PhysEns were military-grade technologies that were a recent development. Ever since the Void became incredibly dangerous to traverse after the Fall of Haven, scientists had developed a form of faster-than-light travel known as the Light Enhanced Acceleration and Propulsion Drives - LEAP Drives. This allowed starships that were often incredibly large to make the jump across to the Stations within hours whereas it would have taken days ordinarily by shooting through the Void at speeds faster than light. The rapid deceleration of such immense ships had to be countered by something and that was the Physics Engines. A merger of magic and machinery, Physics Engines allowed the rapid acceleration and deceleration to be contained and for anyone making use of the LEAP Drives to avoid the repercussions of such rapid travel. This, of course, was separate from Warp technology which was often equipped on bigger, bulkier ships. LEAP Drives were built for short trips from adjacent Stations while Warp technologies allowed crossing even vaster distances.

Every Station had its own version of the PhysEns with Havenese versions being the most advanced. Incendian versions tended to be a little more primitive with a rapid loss of energy as a result of its use. They were typified by unleashing bursts of energy that almost appeared like wings after use. Still, Incendian Physics Engines were as big as a house in the best of times. To build one that could fit into a suit of armor… That was an engineering feat usually reserved for the more advanced Stations.

There went any advantage Hunter could have had using advanced technologies.

To exemplify this, purple flames suddenly erupted from just behind the otter’s shoulder blades. He was launched forward, bolting straight for Hunter. JD and Wood immediately lept to the defense but before impact could be made, there was a sudden burst of purple flames from the otter’s left shoulder and left arm, suddenly changing his trajectory. The PhysEn immediately activated and there was burst of crimson flames from the otter that caused all three of them to back away to avoid being singed. Such a maneuver would’ve shattered bone and liquefied organs but the warrior simply flew to the left before once again changing directions with ease. Each time he switched directions, the Engine activated and there was a burst of red flames from around him, a miniature, spherical explosion.

“Shit…” Hunter breathed.

This was the level of smithing and crafting that the top ten Incendian smiths worked on. A pit began forming in his stomach and his confidence began waning. Then he shook his head and remembered what he was doing this for. Rahl needed to be found. FireFeather needed to be found.

“On top of it’s usual defenses, _”_ boasted Oren, “my Grimflare Armor Mark IX is now capable of storing and regulating the user_ ’s body heat, ensuring that they remain at a cool and moderate body temperature at all times. The armor uses excess heat to maintain its power and gives off heat if the wearer enters colder temperatures. Perfect for warriors out in the cold wastes of the Darkened Lands or in the dark sands of the Sunless Lands!”_

A cheer ran throughout the audience. Even the judges were nodding in approval as the otter performed some really impressive aerial acrobatics throughout the air. As Oren finished his boasting, the otter landed and easily removed his helmet, revealing that he was unscathed and showing off a dazzling grin. Hunter’s throat started getting dry.

“As you can see, my associate Arwin Helter is perfectly safe and healthy!” Oren shouted, bearing a bright, triumphant grin. “The Mark IX_! The pinnacle of Grimflare ingenuity!_”

Again the crowd broke out into cheers. Their approval was deafening.

Then Wood moved.

Someone shouted but it was too late to stop the handaxe from sailing through the air and slicing the wooden wand in Oren’s hand in half. The stunned blacksmith immediately dropped the smoldering pieces of wood, letting out a little girlish scream as he did so. The metal handaxe that was engraved with runes and looked like it had multiple pieces of machinery fused with it landed on the arena floor just behind Oren.

Wood glanced over to Hunter for a second before storming forward. He held out his right hand, a metallic glove covering everything from the wrist upwards. As if by magic, a jet of flame erupted from the base of the axe. It launched itself off the ground and immediately came flying back to Wood who snatched it from the air.

“You’re not the only one who can make a piece of equipment with with a highly compressed Incendian Physics Engine on it, Oren!” Hunter barked, holding a similar want to his muzzle.

Oren’s eyes boggled as his eyes settled on the axe in the advancing Green Draconis’ hand. Sure enough, attached to the base of the blade where it met the haft was a small glowing disc letting off a soft, crimson glow. A lattice of red lines emerged from the disc like the wires of a circuit board and ran all over the blade and handle.

“But here’s the thing,” continued Hunter. “Your Mark IX armor doesn’t compensate for the rapid waste of energy expended by your Engine when it’s activated. You can tell it by the big burst of flame when it’s activated. The difference with my piece is that it uses 99.95% of the energy caused by rapid deceleration to fuel the weapon!”

A hushed silence from the entire area.

JD elbowed him. “Tone it down with the technical stuff,” whispered the crimson Wulfun.

“Right,” he whispered softly. “Sorry.” Turning back to Oren and empowered by Wood’s bravado, he announced, “That means that all Wood has to do is keep on swinging and Cindarc will keep absorbing the residual heat from all the momentum to generate fire!”

Now the crowd was grasping Hunter’s ingenuity. The judges were clearly impressed. Even the stoic Erick von Darkmoth lifted one bushy eyebrow. An elbow to the side from JD told him to continue and talk up Cindarc.

“_Cindarc _isn’t just the lightweight handaxe, however,” Hunter continued. “It’s the glove that Wood is wearing. It uses a special mental interface and Psychomancy runes to allow its wielder to psychokinetically control the trajectory and velocity of the weapon!”

Before JD could remind him to ‘dumb it down’, he clarified by saying, “So with the glove, he can direct Cindarc to go anywhere he wants as long as he’s within a two mile radius of the weapon!”

To prove his point, Wood threw the handaxe into the air and then folded his arms. He cocked his head at Arwin as the handaxe started orbiting around him with ease, leaving a trail of fire all around him. Once it had built up enough momentum, the flames fully engulfed the weapon. Through the magic of the glove and the weapon, the flames transformed into a roaring, dragon. It soared through the air, bringing gasps and cries of surprise from the crowd.

Cheers of amazement erupted from the stands. Exhilaration filled Hunter as his hard - albeit rushed - work was getting recognized and seemed to cause even a well-established craftsman like Oren to pause.

“Time to bring it home,” he muttered to himself. “Finally, you might ask what Cindarc might do with the left over energy that it may accumulate. Well, I’ve learned from my mentor, Roran Strongarm, that fire doesn’t just burn.” He hated namedropping but Roran had specifically told him to do it. It would help sway judges and the audience. “It can be used for healing purposes as well.”

From the judge’s table, Salashi nodded in approval. One of her opening speeches at the start of the school year was to emphasize that while Incendius was the Station of the Sun and the home of Pyromancy, she emphasized to her students to look beyond the simplistic view that fire could only cause destruction. That part of his speech was designed specifically to appeal to more liberal-minded members of the audience.

Wood caught Cindarc. The aura of flames around the axe was immediately absorbed into his gauntlet, streams of flames funneling into the metal. There was a burst of steam from three ports along his forearm. Three canisters filled with crimson liquid popped out. Wood took one of them, popped open the lid and poured the fluid down his throat, making a show of flexing his arm as he did so.

“Residual energies are converted into a carbonated, nutrient-infused beverage that’s not only designed to reinvigorate the consumer but to also taste fantastic!” Wood took the two remaining canister and tossed them casually towards the judge’s table. Faraday Cleat - Oren’s man on the inside - didn’t bother to take it but Von Darkmoth and Salashi took the canisters. Von Darkmoth took a large gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hairy hand. He nodded in approval. Salashi took the lightest of sips and giggled at the taste.

“The energies are converted into canisters and the beverage through special matter converters,” Hunter said, regarding Oren challengingly. “Minimal loss of materials from energy to matter and with the ability to be self-reliant and heal yourself in battle. This ensures that the fire of Cindarc isn _’t only powerful but it is long lasting.”_ He turned towards the judges, spreading his other paw towards Wood and his creation. “Cindarc_, the Fire that lasts longer and tasted even better!__ ”_

That tag line took an entire afternoon to workshop.

Thankfully, the crowd ate it up. More than a few were eagerly pointing at the drinks the judges had and licking their lips. A glance over at the bullpen revealed a thumbs up from Roran. Regardless of whether or not they won here, Hunter’s brand would be elevated. That would win them points with the IBL. Even if they couldn’t get past Oren, maybe they could at least impress higher blacksmiths to helping them.

“And there you have it folks!” bellowed the announcer. “The Grimflare Armor Mark IX versus Cindarc! You’ve heard our craftsmen’s introductions, now let’s put them to the test! Fighters, take your positions!”

Wood stepped back away from the the center of the arena while Arwin did the same, purple flames shooting from the exhausts of his black and purple armor.

“Remember, this is a non-lethal exhibition match,” pressed their host. “You will immediately be disqualified if the judges deem your actions to be far too aggressive. If your craftsman’s equipment is destroyed, it is an automatic victory to the other blacksmith. If you are pushed off the arena and fall to the ground, you lose. Again, your objective here is to showcase your equipment. Keep that in mind and let’s have a good match!”

Wood rolled his shoulders, a menacing grin on his muzzle.

Hunter couldn’t help but feel excited and thrilled as he stepped off the arena and back into the bullpen. When the match had started, all he had wanted was to beat Oren and get as much information about Rahl from him. Now, seeing the reaction of the crowd, a secondary desire had blossomed; he wanted to make a name for himself in the IBL. Even amongst the other engineers in the military, he was just tasked with creating approved equipment. This was the first time he had actually created something that deviated away from the schematics and be praised for it.

He wanted to win.

“Fighters ready?” bellowed the announcer.

Hunter held his breath.

The entire arena fell silent.

JD’s eyes narrowed. “He’s going to charge…”

“Fight!”

True to the smaller Wulfun’s prediction, Wood spread his wings and immediately charged at Arwin. Oddly enough, the otter did the same though Arwin was naturally propelled faster than the Green Draconis. Arwin’s purple flames exploded from his shoulders and feet, crossing the distance between the two in less than a few seconds.

“Right,” JD whispered.

Arwin immediately changed direction, shooting off their right. Wood swung his axe - which he held in his right hand - but missed, leaving him exposed.

“Attack from behind.”

The otter circled his opponent and then launched himself at Wood, crashing against the Draconis’ broad back. Wood, being a Fallen, was far more resilient than the average mortal but he was still knocked forward a few steps.

“Launch off.”

Both feet pressed against Wood’s back, Arwin launched off his opponent, purple flames shooting from his heels and sending Wood crashing to the ground. The otter soared into the air and held a holding pattern to watch what Wood would do.

Hunter glanced over to JD. If this was the first time the Red Lightning had shown his odd knack for predicting people’s movements, he would’ve been surprised but he had seen first hand his fellow wolf’s uncanny intuition that bordered on precognition in battle. This level of perceptiveness and observation was something he shared with his dad, Alex, though Alex’s was at a far more advanced level. The practiced Illusionist could accurately predict what you were saying and copy your exact words and inflections at the same time you were saying them. The Clarke family had their own tricks.

A gasp from the crowd immediately called Hunter’s attention back to the fight. Wood hurled Cindarc over his shoulder, sending it flying out like a boomerang. Arwin immediately dodged the sloppy attack but in that second of distraction, Wood was able to get back onto his feet and take up a defensive position. Arwin must have recognized that Cindarc’s greatest weakness was that it needed to build momentum to fully be effective and if Wood was distracted, he couldn’t fully control it. He completely ignored the flying axe and charged back down at Wood. Even as Cindarc came slamming down on his back and sides, the flaming axe hadn’t built up enough power to deal more than minimal damage to the Mark IX armor.

Wood was forced to bring up his arms across his face to protect himself. A punch wreathed in purple flames slammed into Wood’s forearm. The audience winced. The dragon was forced back a few feet from the impact alone. Wood’s Fallen resilience prevented his forearm from shattering. Arwin didn’t relent. He threw punch after punch, jets of purple flame erupting from his elbows to accelerate his attacks. Wood was pushed back closer and closer to the edge of the arena.

Hunter gnashed his fangs together and leaned forward. “Come on, Wood!”

“Boom,” was all JD said.

Without warning, Wood suddenly grabbed one of Arwin’s arms. The otter immediately tried to lash out with his other arm and the dragon seized that as well. Grinning at the Lutrine, Wood pressed a foot against his chest and flipped him into the air, launching Arwin over his head -

BAM!

… where Cindarc immediately came crashing against the otter’s stomach like a fiery red meteorite. Another gasp erupted from the crowd as the otter was hurled clear off the arena and sent out of the ring. Wood released his opponent, letting Arwin fly off and guarantee him the win. Hunter cheered, pumping a fist into the air as Wood swaggered forward, catching Cindarc and dusting off his hands arrogantly.

JD rushed past Hunter.

“Wood! Turn around!” he cried.

As was the case with the dragon, overconfidence was his undoing and Hunter remembered too late that Arwin’s armor had a Physics Engine. Meaning…

The screens showed Arwin hovering about a foot off the ground, flat on his back, having stopped himself while purple flames kept him aloft. Wood saw the images and just managed to turn around before Arwin launched himself back into the fray, crashing into the dragon and lifting him up into the air. Cindarc dropped from Wood’s grip, falling uselessly on the ground.

Hunter cried out, raking his claws against his furry cheeks in terror. This was terrible. They were moving too fast and even as Wood commanded Cindarc to follow, it wasn’t nearly fast enough to keep him from being pummeled by Arwin’s relentless, enhanced punches as they soared higher and higher.

The cameras kept the audience zoomed in on the two as they flew out of view. Wood recovered from the shock of the surprise attack and began slamming his fists against Arwin’s back even as the otter knight attacked with increasingly devastating punches. Perhaps Arwin realized that he wasn’t going to win by keeping them in the air because he abruptly turned in the air. While he was protected from the sudden change of velocity, Wood was not. The green dragon gasped, blood squirting out from between his fangs. Arwin spun them in the air and released his opponent. Before gravity could fully take hold, he held both his paws out in front of him.

“Wood!” Skye cried.

A jet of purple flames the size of a horse exploded from Arwin’s palms.

CRASH!

Wood slammed into the arena. With the ground being magically protected from damage, he took the full impact of the high-velocity fall.

“How is that non-fatal!” screamed Alex, waving to the judges. “Open your fucking eyes! That would’ve liquefied anyone else!”

“This is clearly biased!” agreed Aria. “Someone call a medic!”

JD shook his head. “They’re not going to do that,” he said grimly. Hunter turned to his friend for clarification. “Faraday wants Hunter completely humiliated so he’s willingly to overlook any extreme measures that Oren’s goons are going to go to to make that happen. Von Darkmoth doesn’t care. He was brought here against his will and will only vote in favor of the majority.”

“And Salashi?” Hunter pressed. “She’s your headmistress.”

JD locked gazes with him. “Exactly. She knows what Wood is. That means she knows he can take this abuse.”

True enough, as the dust cleared, Wood was revealed struggling to get to his feet. For a brief moment, his eyes flashed red; irises, pupils and sclera all burning crimson and a few red veins creeping out from the corners of his eyes. Thankfully, it didn’t get past that and he calmed enough to immediately catch Cindarc. Burst of steam exploded from his gauntlet and he grabbed one of the canisters, downing its contents right in front of the audience. Miraculously, white flames exploded from his body, soothing over his injuries and burning them away.

Arwin visibly balked in the air and even Oren’s jaw dropped in shock. Faraday slammed his hands against the judges table.

“That is absurd!” bellowed the Avios. “That sort of magic is cheating! He should -”

WHAM!

Von Darkmoth’s huge hand slammed against the back of the bird’s skull and smashed his beak into the table.

“Quiet,” rumbled the titanic, dark-skinned smith. “Hart clearly showed us how his equipment could create a healing elixir. If you had bothered to partake in it when the dragon gave us a sample, you’d know that.”

Wood smirked and grabbed another canister, throwing it to Faraday whose beak was bloodied by the assault. “Here. You look like you need this.”

The judge sneered and threw the canister aside, casting his own healing spell to wash over his wounds. To add insult to injury, the crowd began cheering. Not for Arwin’s aerial acrobatics but for Wood’s recovery and clear display of Cindarc’s capabilities. Hunter breathed a sigh of relief. He was back on even grounds… at least he thought so.

Arwin slowly lowered himself back to the ground. Both combatants were now on edge. They had a better gage of one another’s abilities and they were not going to underestimate each other again. Wood wasn’t going to just stand there and stare off at his opponent. He began spinning and flipping Cindarc through the air, building momentum and friction, flames slowly engulfing the weapon. Arwin recognized this as a threat and took a whole twenty seconds to come up with a plan of attack.

The otter charged but immediately zipped to the right before abruptly changing directions to the left. Like a jagged bolt of purple lightning, he dashed across the field, closing in on Wood while keeping his path of attack unpredictable. Wood was too slow to keep up.

WHAM!

An attack came in from the left, causing Wood to spin around and slash wildly in that direction.

BAM!

Another attack, this time a lower gut punch from straight on. Wood staggered back.

WHAM! BAM!

A two-punch attack directly to the back of both of Wood’s knees, forcing him down to the ground. In desperation, Wood hurled Cindarc into the air, missing Arwin entirely. The otter came in for another attack only for a glint of metal to flash from the corner of his eyes. Cindarc came shooting from his right, forcing him to retreat. The handaxe was orbiting Wood like a high-speed planet, protecting him as it encircled him in a tight, protective ring.

This was exactly what Arwin was waiting for.

The otter kept a good distance while holding his paws up to the downed Draconis.

BOOM!

A burst of purple fire erupted from Arwin’s palm, slamming right into Wood. The dragon wrapped is wings over his body, protecting him as much as possible. This was a mistake. Now Wood couldn’t see where Arwin was attacking from, letting the otter close the distance and keep firing. Even with Cindarc protecting him, he was slowly wearing down Wood’s defenses and burning his wings.

“How is this not torture!?” Rayne shouted. The Pinnacle Physical Education teacher was halfway out of the bullpen when both JD and Skye had to stop him. “Salashi! You know this is cruel! Call off the match!”

“Fucking hell, Wood!” roared Kane, cupping his paws over his muzzle. “Don’t tell me that fucking river rat has got you on your goddamn knees! If I knew it would be this fucking easy, I’d have you sucking my dick sooner! Get-the-fuck-up!”

That did the trick.

Cindarc’s speed suddenly picked up. Crimson flames exploded from the spinning handaxe as it built its power and intensity. Even as Arwin continued to pepper Wood with attacks, the axe was uninterrupted, its flames growing bigger and bigger. It seemed like a race between the two. Could Arwin wear down Wood before whatever attack the dragon had built up could manifest?

The axe’s flames grew bigger and stronger, a curtain of red fire touching the arena floor and washing over Wood like a tornado of fire. Wood was suddenly out of view and Arwin continued to launch blasts of purple flame at the spinning storm of flames to little effect. The otter got closer, focusing his fire more and more.

“It’s over,” JD mumbled.

Without warning, Wood’s arm launched out of the flames, his green scales getting burned in the process. His huge, clawed hand grabbed Arwin and pulled the stunned otter right into the storm of fire. They were both plunged out of view. Even the cameras couldn’t see what was happening in the inferno. Burst of purple fire occasionally erupted from the fire for about a minute. Then the flames began to move as the sounds of close combat continued. They inched backwards… then forwards… then side to side. Like the two were dancing within the tornado.

Another minute passed…

… then the flames abruptly died and Cindarc dropped to the ground.

Wood huffed, soot shooting from his nostrils. He was battered, bruised and burned but he dropped Arwin to the ground. Strangely… the otter’s armor remained intact and he didn’t show any signs of damage.

“What… What just happened…?” breathed Tanar.

It only took a second for a realization to hit Hunter. “He… He suffocated Arwin.” Feeling the eyes of the Paladin on him, he locked gazes with the Leomian and said, “Fire needs oxygen and fuel to burn. The fuel was provided by Cindarc but the oxygen… it was being consumed in the tornado that he created. Wood created a whole vacuum inside that firestorm. He pulled Arwin inside and let the otter exhaust himself until he blacked out from lack of air.”

He turned towards Wood, in awe at the Fallen. Anyone else would have also slipped into unconsciousness especially since the firestorm had started a few minutes before Wood and dragged Arwin into it. Wood’s resilience was really on display.

And that… that was why he lost.

“And the winner is Oren!”

Wood balked and spun towards the judges. “What!? I won! He’s knocked out!”

Salashi nodded grimly, the judges unperturbed by his outburst. “Yes but on display was your capabilities, Mr. Bladebreaker, not your weapon’s.”

The dragon staggered back in surprise. “But… but…”

“Your task was to put Hunter’s work on the forefront of your battle not your victory,” she continued. “While you showed us that his weapon does have incredible utility, it was only because of your own abilities that you were able to utilize them.”

Faraday smiled haughtily. “I don’t know how you managed to survive as much punishment as you did but clearly the amateur’s weapon could not have protected you from it. While you were able to recover, the point is moot if the average person would not have been able to survive the assault.”

Erick Von Darmoth closed his eyes, a sign of finality. “You lost this, young one. Accept it.”

As medics came to rush Arwin to recovery, Wood let out a shout of frustration and stormed over to the bullpen. The crowd was cheering for Oren even though the opposite blacksmith threw Wood a dirty look. The dragon gave Hunter an apologetic look as he closed in.

“Sorry…,” he sighed. “I got caught up in trying to win that I forgot to put Cindarc first.” He regarded everyone else. “I’m sorry everyone.”

Hunter smiled at him gently, pressing a paw on his shoulder. “It’s okay. You did an amazing job. I learned a lot from it. Maybe if I had made Cindarc better, you wouldn’t have had to rely on your skills to offset it.”

Roran stepped over to both of them, his paws resting on their shoulders. “It’s a learning experience for both of you. And proof of why I left this goddamn life behind me. Real life doesn’t care about bullshit like this. Weapons kill or they don’t.”

Hunter turned towards the next competitor. JD stood off to the side, right next to Wood, and was applying some burn salve onto his injured friend’s wings. Wood smiled down at the smaller Wulfun and then turned to Skye who was applying some healing magic to his other wing, thanking them both.

“I think we should forfeit,” he sighed softly. “I wasn’t ready for this. The weapons I made aren’t made for display…”

JD looked up. “Don’t say that, Hunter. You did a great job with these! You made them in a week! That’s saying something.”

“The judges don’t care how quickly I made them,” he barked angrily. “Hell, that’ll probably count against me!” He regarded the judges table as they were writing down their findings and final scores. “I… I should just tell them I’m giving up.”

The smaller, crimson Wulfun stepped in front of him. “No way!” JD puffed out his chest. “Have faith, Hunter. I’ll show you that what you made is more than enough to put Oren in his place.” He gave Hunter a dazzling smile. “If anything, it means a lot to me how much thought and effort you put into it. You really made it with me in mind.”

Hunter was dumbstruck for a second, a light blush appearing on his cheeks. “Well… I made both of your weapons with each of you in mind. I made Cindarc as a clone of Vulcan so Wood can use all his techniques without… you know… all the Fallen stuff. And with you…”

The young wolf clapped his side lightly and playfully. “Exactly. And that’s what counts.” He turned and gestured towards the stage. “Come on. Let’s show them how you can run circles around even the best of blacksmiths.”

Conflagration

Hope was such a fleeting thing. The moment JD saw the results of the match, he had immediately turned to Hunter, seeing the light of hope fading from his friend’s green eyes. Knowing Hunter was raised in a traditional Havenese household with strong military ties had instilled this dogma of not revealing his feelings as a man. However, the Clarke Family had always been talented Illusionists; an off-shoot of psychomancers who focused on making people believe things that were not there to the point where they knew how to stimulate people’s nerves and organs into believing these illusions. His dad, Alex, was so good at this that he could make people believe they were drowning and even have their lungs convulse as if they were being filled with water or their brains shutdown from lack of oxygen even if they were standing out in open air.

However, ever since JD had lost his ability to cast magic at a very young age, he couldn’t even cast the simplest of illusions. What he focused on instead was fundamental psychology and psychiatry. He could pinpoint exactly where a nerve cluster was on a person or dig deep into their psyche and uncover deep trauma the person didn’t even know they had. All as long as he had enough time to observe them, of course.

Since he had been working with Hunter for the past few months, he knew the taller Wulfun very well. Right now, he knew that despite the lack of tears, Hunter really wanted to cry.

So he injected hope into him and those around him.

He took Hunter by the paw and dragged him up to the arena as the announcer declared it was time for the second round.

“JD…” began the Wulfun.

“You can do this,” JD insisted, smiling up at his friend. “Trust me. Trust yourself.”

Hunter couldn’t meet his gaze. “Easier said that done.”

He turned fully to face Hunter and beamed brightly. “Listen, no matter what anyone says, I want you to remember that you’ve barely had enough time to work on this. You were thrust into this competition without knowing the rules, with barely a week to prepare and you got people excited about your piece! In fact, I’m sure as hell the military would want a piece of Cindarc.”

Hunter’s ears perked up slightly but he didn’t respond.

“And you had the tenth most accomplished smith on Incendius worried there.” He gently punched Hunter’s shoulder. “And you’re not even done yet! You’ve still got me and Conflagration!”

With a flourish, he turned around and drew the two swords that were sheathed over his shoulder. The crimson blades were thicker and heavier than he was used to but he had enough time to work with them to get a good idea of how they worked and felt. At the pommel of each blade was a long, silver wire that was attached to a pack over his shoulder no bigger than a small backpack. Similar wires ran down his spine and down the back of his feet, ending at the base of his heels. The rudimentary exoskeleton restricted his movement and agility more than he’d like but it was workable. Certainly brilliant for something that was cooked up alongside three other weapons in less than a week.

“You built these things, tested them and had me comfortable enough with it to compete in a week, Hunter,” he said, glancing over his shoulder once more time with a smile. “Leave the rest to me. All you have to do is talk it up.”

Hunter barely lifted his head. “I don’t know if I can…”

His heart broke but he powered through it.

“Then let me.”

JD took the wand from Hunter and stepped up to the edge of the arena, towards the judges. The announcer had stated that Hunter’s team would introduce their works first.

“Hi everyone,” he announced, the crowd falling silent. “My name is Jack Denver Clarke. I’m from Haven. Eighteen years old and I can’t use magic.” He turned around and lifted his shirt and jacket slightly to show the brutal pink scars that ran up his spine. “When I was young, barely three years old, the Fall of Haven happened. I didn’t know what was happening. I could barely even walk. I celebrated three birthdays huddled in fear from the demonic invasion and battles happening all around us. Then, when I was six, something bad happened. My spine was destroyed. I couldn’t use my arms or legs anymore. It was only thanks to modern technology that I recovered but I’m basically part metal now. Oh and this is my maximum height. I can’t grow up to the seven feet of the average Wulfun.”

There was a few murmurs of pity and surprise amongst the crowd. Salashi nodded, having known of JD’s medical condition with his acceptance into Pinnacle. Faraday was unimpressed and Von Darkmoth’s features were an unreadable mask.

“Because my spine is basically made entirely out of metal and most of my nervous system is synthetic,” JD continued, “I’m completely incapable of using magic. I can’t cast spells using my own energies. While I can trigger runes and spells embedded into other artifacts easily enough and I can make those runes, I can’t use any spells that almost everyone takes advantage of every day. That changes today.”

He swung the one of the swords in the air. “Hunter Hart made me these two swords, Conflagration. Together, they let me use a variety of prepared spells. Where most artifacts of this kind are programmed for one or two spells, the beauty of Conflagration is that it is connected to this exoskeleton you see here…” He gestured at the wires running up his arms and legs. “… and reads them to identify which spell from the Art of the Fiery Fist to use!”

To demonstrate, he swung the sword through the air, making stabbing motions and kicks at the same time. To finish, he thrust his right-hand sword forward. The exoskeleton glowed briefly and a jet of fire erupted from the tip of the sword, quickly shaping itself into a fireball that traveled to the other end of the arena before dissipating.

“If you don’t get what this means,” JD said. “It -”

WHAM!

“It means that anyone can use Pyromancy!” shouted Faraday, stunning everyone. “Even those that are predisposed to Hydromancy or any of the other opposing schools of magic will be able to wield the powers of fire!” His Avios’ eyes were wide and he was grinning in excitement. “This revolutionizes the art!” He gestured wildly at Hunter. “Boy, where does the energy for the spells come from? Tell me, quick!”

Hunter was stunned for a second.

JD grinned and tossed him the wand, having it land on his shoulder which the bigger Wulfun quickly snatched up.

“Well…” Hunter began, still a little shakily. “Just like Cindarc_, it uses residual heat and momentum to build energy. Since the Art of the Fiery Fist requires you to move your arms and limbs to simulate the runes of Pyromancy -_”

“You could perpetually generate energy and use it indefinitely!” Faraday shouted excitedly. “Goddess above! This would also mean we would reduce the risk of anyone facing magical backlash or becoming an animortis so long as they are capable of generating enough movement! This is amazing!”

Salashi was being brightly. “Indeed. In creating a tool that assisted the handicap of young, Mr. Clarke, you could have just inspired a renaissance of hybrid technology from Haven and Incendius.” She glanced over to Erick Von Darkmoth. “Incendius doesn’t use exoskeletons, does it?”

“The technology is completely alien to us,” responded the adamant smith. Despite his stoicism, JD could detect the small changes in his tone, the slight smile on his lips and the way he was leaning forward and how his arms - while remaining crossed - were a little more relaxed. The man was excited.

“You realize what this means, don’t you?” The headmistress said, turned back to JD. “It means you no longer have an excuse to avoid those Fiery Fist classes. I expect you to start attending them, Mr. Clarke.”

JD grinned sheepishly then snapped his fingers as if remembering something. “Oh! Here’s the best part! In case you don’t know or forget which spells to use…” He waved the swords through the air a few times to generate momentum and energy for the weapons. Once he was satisfied, he gripped the hilt of the blades a little more tightly. Fiery light erupted from the flanks of the swords, generating a long, flat ribbon with arcane runes dancing across it. It was like he had two banners attached to his swords.

“An entire lexicon of the most common techniques in the Art of the Fiery Fist!” Faraday shouted. “That’s brilliant!”

“Faraday!” shouted Oren.

The Avios shot him a foul look. “Oh shut up, Grimflare.” He gestured at JD - or more specifically the swords. “Don’t you understand what this means? The practical applications? The fact that this could be applied to all other schools of magic?” He made slicing motions through the air. “He doesn’t have to apply this to Pyromancy. Theoretically, it could be reconfigured to generate energy for Hydromancy, Geomancy, Psychomancy, Aeromancy! Anything! So long as he keeps moving and keeps the swords with him, he can cast any myriad of spells!”

Hunter stammered a bit. “I… I’d have to program it to have those spells but… yes!” His voice began rising with excitement and confidence. “That’s totally doable! In effect, you could have an entire library of magical techniques in the palm of your hand!”

“You could even change the device from a weapon to a simple wand,” Salashi commented. “This would not only make it lighter but also enable more day-to-day use. So long as you could keep a charge, you could cast spells without taxing your own reserves.”

“Exactly!” Faraday exclaimed. “We could have construction workers making buildings with Geomancy! Firefighters dousing flames and farmers manipulating their crops or the weather without ever growing weary!” He pointed straight at Hunter. “Sell my the patent!”

“Faraday! That’s enough!” Godfrey barked from where he stood next to Oren. “You cannot buy the patent of a blacksmith’s work. All patents are owned by the blacksmith or, in the event of their death, the IBL.”

The owl Avios stepped forward, sweeping the cape that was draped over his left shoulder and arm back to reveal that voice-enhancing wand. He pressed it against his throat to allow his announcement to carry across the rest of the crowd. The screens began focused on him. JD ignored his opponent for the moment and watched Hunter carefully. The combat engineer that often suffered from bouts of self-doubt was now on a stronger foundation. The fire was back in his eyes and he was standing with his chest puffed out.

Good. That allowed JD to focus back on the fight.

His eyes went over to Godfrey, that look of worry crossing his features again.

“Your work may have many applications,” announced the Avios, pointing at Hunter. “But it is nothing compared to the elegance of Oren Grimflare’s Darkfire Eye_!_” He gestured at the monocle that sat around his right eye. “With a simple look…”

A beam of black and purple energies suddenly launched from his eye, striking the ground right next to Hunter’s foot. The engineer flinched and jumped back but JD didn’t even twitch. He had seen that attack coming.

“… I can incinerate anyone in my field of vision in an instant.” He bowed tauntingly before tossing the wand aside. “But let us not dwell on mere formalities. Come, cripple_. Let us see what you are capable of even with your handicap._”

JD nodded towards Hunter, signaling that it was time for him to fight. The bigger Wulfun retreated to the bullpen while the announcer reiterated the rules. The Red Lightning fell back to his side of the arena as the crowd began counting down the seconds before the round began.

“Three…” counted the announcer.

“Two!” shouted the audience.

“One,” JD whispered to himself.

In that instant, he moved, leaping to his left just as beam of black flames slammed into the ground where he had been standing. There was no time to think or even register how close he had come to being incinerated. He just had to keep moving. Jumping through the air, he flung his swords wildly, building momentum as he did so. The patented black-purple flames of Grimflare shot through the air, just barely missing him by mere inches.

He kept his eyes directly on Godfrey, watching his movements as he danced around the arena and closed the distance between them. His course took him jumping behind the Avios… who merely twisted his neck around much like how owls would in the wild. The moment he was directly behind his opponent, Godfrey merely twisted his head around in the other direction and followed his path to complete a circle all around Avios. A confident smirk was on Godfrey’s features as sweat dripped off JD’s crimson fur and the Wulfun landed on his feet after completing the full circle.

“Tired yet, boy?” taunted Godfrey.

JD glanced up at the Avios. In a voice loud enough to carry to the judges and for nearby crowds to hear, he said, “You know, if I were you, I’d be insulted being the scapegoat for your blacksmith’s ambitions.”

The Avios arched one eyebrow. “Exactly what is that meant to mean?”

“For someone who has his vision enhanced, you’re pretty blind.” JD propped himself up on his swords, using them to lift him back to his feet. “You were given the worst of the two pieces of equipment to ensure that you lost. All to make sure that Oren gets to fight Roran’s protege in the tiebreaker match. Because let’s face it, it’d be so much sweeter for him to win personally than to make a clean sweep against a new and upcoming craftsman, right?”

Pain immediately exploded from his left knee and he crashed back down to his knees. Black flames burst from his pants, burning into his fur and forcing him back down. He caught himself on his swords and fought through the pain.

“What does a pup like you know about these competitions?” barked Godfrey. “Besides, it matters not whether or not I was given anything inferior to the Grimflame Armor Mark IX. It just proves that anything Oren makes is leagues superior to whatever your loudmouthed engineer could make!”

“So you think you’ll win this, huh?” JD demanded.

“You’re already on your knees. That’s a foregone conclusion.”

Shrugging off the pain, JD immediately go to his feet as if he had never been struck even though his left knee was still smoldering. “Okay. Then allow me to point out some critical flaws in your Grimflare Eye.” He lifted one finger while still holding his swords. “One… Despite all your attacks, you didn’t notice what I was actually doing.”

Godfrey’s brow furrowed. “What…?”

“You didn’t notice that all my dodges were actually movements of the Art of Fiery Fist. Particularly…” Without warning, fiery images of JD in the various positions around the arena in a circle appears, causing the audience to gasp. “… the Circle of Fire move.”

Before Godfrey could say anything, each of the fiery clones launched forward, darting at the Avios and immediately exploding upon contact. The judges - even Erick - was on the edge of his seat as a dozen fiery clones collided with the Avios and erupted. Singed black feathers were thrown off in directions as the avian butler was thrown from side to side. When the last clone was done, Godfrey was burned and damaged but still standing.

He, however, only had about a foot between himself and JD.

“Secondly,” announced the crimson Wulfun, sliding a finger underneath the monocle and pressing it against Godfrey’s eyes, forcing the eyelid shut, “it’s entirely dependent on your vision. If you can’t see, this thing is useless.”

Godfrey flailed, pushing him away.

In the instant, his eye was open and a burst of black-purple flames erupted from the monocle. Crimson lightning danced all over JD’s body and he immediately vanished, the beam of fire missing him entirely. Conflagration’s blade was suddenly pressed up against Godfrey’s neck from where JD stood, back coolly to the Avios while facing the judges.

“There’s also a good whole second where you’re blinded by the beam of fire that you launch,” JD continued. “Every burst you fire is a whole second where you’re vulnerable.”

“Cheater!” Oren shouted. “You said you can’t use magic and you just teleported!”

JD grinned at the blacksmith. “I said I can’t use magic but I never said I was helpless.”

Godfrey used that moment to turn -

… but JD was far faster. Lightning fast, the Wulfun spun around and swung his blades but with utter precision. He coolly spun in place and sheathed the two blades of Conflagration in one, smooth movement. Blood exploded from Godfrey’s legs arms and chest, a dozen or so slashes appearing all over his body. The Avios tumbled to his knees.

“And one last thing…” the Wulfun said, spinning something golden in his fingers. “If you’re going to equip someone with a deadly weapon, don’t attach it to a flimsy golden chain.”

The Grimflare Eye was in his paw.

“At least if you disable the power pack on Conflagration, I still have my swords,” he continued. “Two of them, in fact.”

He turned towards the judges, tossing the monocle onto their table.

“In conclusion, out of the two weapons, Conflagration is clearly better.”

All three judges nodded in agreement.

“Agreed,” grunted Von Darkmoth. “There is no competition. Hart is the winner!”

The crowd cheered. Instead of basking in the moment of glory, JD immediately turned around and drew his sword again. He summoned the lexicon from the weapon and performed a few motions before sheathing the blades again. A soft, white flame engulfed his paws which he immediately began applying to Godfrey. The medics were rushing towards them both but his healing flames were already closing some wounds.

“You’re right, you know,” grumbled Godfrey. “Oren does want to fight your blacksmith personally.”

“And he gave you the crappy piece of equipment to ensure that happens,” JD agreed, taking a step back as the medics propped Godfrey up on a gurney. “Let me guess, you wanted to prove him wrong and not throw the fight?”

The owl let out a soft, barking laugh. “It would have been sweet in its own way. Oren’s obsession with defeating Roran has clouded his ability to make anything greater than what he perceived to be superior to whatever Roran has created in the past. The Eye and his Armor are all designed to humiliate Roran. Nothing more.” As he was being taken away, Godfrey said. “And it’s all because…”

“Roran managed to get rank 10 before he did and retired before he could take it back. I figured.”

JD turned and strode back to the bullpen where he was met with cheers, pats on the back and a very grateful Hunter. The bigger Wulfun swept him off his feet and gave him a very tight hug, causing the smaller of the wolves to let out a squeak.

“I can’t believe you won!”

“You didn’t just win, cuz!” barked Kane. “You demolished that guy!”

Grinning shakily, JD extracted himself from Hunter’s bear hug and patted the bigger wolf’s arm. “I only won because Oren wanted him to lose.”

“Bullshit!”

“No, I’m serious,” he interrupted before Kane could continue. He glanced from Hunter to Roran. “Guys… Hunter, Roran… Oren wants nothing more than to win against you both. He’ll do anything to that effect.” Glancing over his shoulder at the judges’ table, his eyes settled on Faraday. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Faraday’s outburst was orchestrated.”

Hunter shook his head in confusion. “All for what? For him to win against me?”

JD’s turned a worried gaze back towards his friend.

“To win against Roran.”

?

Grimflare's Conviction

Palatable tension hung in the air. No one ever expected an amateur craftsman from Haven would have the 10th most prestigious blacksmith in all of Incendius down to a tiebreaker. If JD hadn’t revealed that this was possibly an orchestration by Oren to bring about the most humiliating defeat ever to Roran, Hunter would have scarcely believed it himself. He was still struggling to wrap his head around the possibility as he prepared for his own fight.

He mentally prepared himself for possibly the toughest fight in his short career as an independent craftsman. Part of him wished he was back to following orders from his superiors, just listening and executing without ever letting himself drift into wondering how things could be better. Then he recalled how he felt as the crowd cheered for him, how they marveled at his inventions and even how Faraday blurted about the genius of his works even if it might have been contrived.

This was not something he wanted to give up.

“Alright,” he told himself. “I’m ready for this.”

A heavy hand patted his back.

“Kick that smarmy bastard’s ass,” Wood growled. “Turn this on its head and humiliate him instead.”

Oren had backed them up to this wall. That was his mistake. His victory wouldn’t be complete without Roran’s complete humiliation but by working up this entire spectacle, he had left himself open for one hell of an upset.

JD nodded from where he stood beside Wood, smiling brightly, hope shining in his brilliant, blue eyes. “You can do this, Hunter. He’s scared. He wanted this fight but he didn’t think it’d be this close.”

Wood’s fight may have ended in a loss but it was clear by the crowd’s reactions that Cindarc was a big seller. Godfrey had chastised Faraday after his outbursts. Maybe the Faraday’s reaction was meant to be orchestrated but they had still turned the crowd in Hunter’s favor.

Roran gripped Hunter’s shoulder tightly. “No matter what happens, you cornered Oren. Don’t let him catch you off-guard and go for the kill. Still, don’t be too shaken if he runs his mouth.”

Hunter nodded firmly and thanked his friends and mentor. Then he turned and marched up the stage. Oren did the same from the other side of the arena.

“And here we have the tiebreaker match in this match filled with twists, turns and surprises!” exclaimed the announcer. “In this corner, we have the defending number 10 craftsman of Incendius, Oren Grimflare! And in this corner, we have the challenger and newcomer to the IBL, Hunter Hart from Haven! Let’s kick it off with Master Grimflare!”

Oren stepped forward, presenting himself to the judges. In one, smooth motion, he drew the rapier that he had hanging by his side. As expected, it had a long, thin blade made of some sort of black metal with the faintest glimmer of purple along the edges. Its hilt was a dizzying spiral of twisting metal that vaguely formed the shape of a single tongue of flame. Light, balanced and fitting Oren’s hand perfectly, he swung it through the air and it barely made a sound. Purple flames erupted from the guard of the sword and encased the blade entirely.

“This is Darkstar_,_” he announced in a strangely calm and reserved tone. “The blade is made out of a black mithril and shadowsteel alloy to preserve a light weight while simultaneously maintaining durability and allowing it to generate a special blend of darkness-infused fire. Thanks to the infusion of darkness into the fire, it will burn whatever it is that I target and nothing else.”

He waved the sword in a circle over his head. Where the sword passed, the purple flames seemed to leave an imprint. Five fiery echoes of the sword hovered over his head like a spiky halo.

“With this, I can generate multiple constructs with the sword acting as a conduit for my creativity. It is only the limited by the imagination of the wielder.”

Hunter glanced over at the judges. Surely they would notice that while this allowed for great flexibility, it was highly dependent on the wielder. Darkstar itself had fairly limited capabilities.

“_Darkstar _is also infused with my patented Grimflare Venom_._”

Hunter’s tail was instantly on edge and he fought the urge to spin around to Roran. They had discussed at length about the technique that had propelled Oren high amongst the ranks of the IBL. Most of Grimflare’s career had been trying to one-up Roran and one of Roran’s greatest achievements was perfecting a ‘stacking fire’. Called Building Flame, Roran’s weapons were infused with the ability could actually empower existing flames to become bigger and fiercer just by hitting them. That could mean a simple campfire could be ignited into a full-on bonfire by just hitting it with a hammer. In the battlefield, ammunition fired at an existing fire could cause it to expand as if it had just found a fresh patch of oil.

To counter this, Oren had developed his Grimflare Venom.

A faint smirk touched Oren’s lips seeing Hunter’s panic. “As you no doubt know, my Venom marks anything its flames touches. When a few seconds have passed or when a certain number of strikes with the Venom have been made, all of the Venom explodes with damage proportionate to the amount of times it has been struck. _”_ He ran his hand gently over the fiery blade of his rapier. “Darkstar has an upper limit of ten strikes. Anything more would be considered_ … gratuitous. Maybe even fatal.”_

“Three strikes is fatal!” barked Roran. “You’re basically injecting explosives into someone’s bloodstream! You’re cursing them to explode after a few seconds!”

“How is that not fatal!?” echoed Rayne. “That shouldn’t even be legal!”

The judges didn’t move even though Salashi looked worriedly over at Hunter. Faraday was looking very pleased with himself. Even the crowd was somewhat subdued. Oren’s biggest fans offered a few cheers but that quickly died out as they all knew just how deadly Darkstar really was… and they wondered why Oren would even bring such a thing to this match.

Hunter could only imagine how it would look like if he was obliterated by Oren right now. The upstart blacksmith from Haven thought he could actually win against a top Incendian blacksmith. His overconfidence and arrogance reduced him to a bloody, singed smear.

Calming himself from the impending threat, Hunter stepped forward as Oren bowed towards him mockingly

“This is Wildfire_,_” he announced, gesturing at the small shield on his left arm and the fiery red sword in his right. The shield looked like it was built out of several crimson leaves stacked over one another in a brilliant, flaring pattern almost like a flower. It was barely big enough to cover his forearm. The sword itself was a bright crimson in color and shimmered like flames were contained within its blade. It had a simple hilt with a single black gemstone embedded into its base.

“L_ike my other weapons, it is capable of absorbing residual heat from its environment and momentum it builds from mere movement to generate fire._” To prove his point, he swung the sword through the air and, as before, the blade itself burst into flames once enough heat was generated.

Oren visibly scoffed at the repeat performance… or at least he thought it was a repeat performance.

“Wildfire consists of two components, though. The sword…” Red light danced between the gemstone of the sword - now burning red - into the targe sitting on his arm. An instant later, the individual ‘leaves’ of the shield broke apart, connected by a network of fiery red lines and a field of red energies, becoming a full tower shield that protected his entire body. “… and its shield.”

Erick von Darkmoth unfolded his arms slightly.

“The more energy I generate…” Hunter continued, spinning his sword in his right paw. “… the bigger and more powerful the shield becomes.” As he spoke, the shield grew bigger and bigger, the leaves peeling further and further away until they encircled him entirely in a dome of protective energies. The more he spun the blade, the bigger the dome became. “With it, a single soldier can protect others.”

The crowd was cheering in awe and applauding. It was the complete opposite of Oren’s purely offensive Darkfire. The contrast between the two could not be more obvious.

But he wasn’t done.

“There’s more,” Hunter announced. “Because excess energy can be extracted and…” There was a hiss from his shield. A single canister popped out from the lone disc that remained on his forearm, the core of the shield. He stuck the sword into the ground and tossed the canister onto the ground. The glass shattered, bursting into a flurry of crimson petals. Red light danced around the petals and quickly coalesced into a single shape.

“Is that…” Salashi began.

The automated turret immediately began shooting bullets high into the air.

“Just like Master Grimflare,” Hunter said, smirking at Oren. “Wildfire can also manifest equipment for the wielder. I’ve currently got it programmed to construct a minigun turret, a flamethrower turret, a rocket turret, shrapnel mines and an explosive drone.”

To prove his point, he extracted four more canisters from Wildfire’s shield, the barrier of crimson energies around him fading as he extracted more and more energy from it. He tossed them around the arena. True to his word, the canisters each generated a different kind of automated defense.

“From the safety of the shield, a single soldier can create an entire defensive position,” Hunter concluded. “You _’ve heard of a one-man-army? Well, how about a one-man-fortress? That’s what_ Wildfire is!_ ”_

The crowd cheered and as the arena was cleared of his constructs, Hunter could hear many of them openly encouraging him to hold his own against Oren. He took up position on the opposite side of the arena to Oren, sword and shield at the ready.

Oren took up a fencer’s stance.

“Alright, folks! This is it! We’ve seen what each blacksmith has brought to the table. Now let’s settle this once and for all! Who will win? The Number 10 Blacksmith of Incendius, the Master of Shadow and Fire, Oren Grimflare or… The newcomer from Haven, Defender, Healer and Soldier of Flame all in one, Hunter Hart!?

“Ready? Three!”

“Two!” cried the crowd

“One!” Hunter shouted.

He immediately brought up his shield and began swinging Wildfire’s blade through the air, trying to generate as much flame and power as possible. Oren strode forward, swinging his rapier through the air and generating purple flames in the shape of echoes of his sword. Those swords shot forward, immediately angling for Hunter’s shield.

The Wulfun naturally lifted his shield to defend himself. The flames struck the metal with a loud clang but didn’t quite explode even as the indigo flames dispersed. He noted the little smear of purple goo on his shield, however. Grimflare Venom.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Four strikes on the shield. Ten was the maximum and three was apparently fatal. He needed to generate as much power as he could before the Venom went off. Hunter immediately started running, his thick legs and years of military training coming into use as he dodged and jumped over Oren’s ranged strikes. As he did so, he immediately transfered all power generated from his sword into his shield. The leaves spun and spiraled around him, forming a protective sphere just in time…

BOOM!

Huge purple flames exploded just ten seconds after the last strike. The force of the blow sent him crashing to the ground, close and closer to the edge.

CLANG!

He barely got over the shellshock of the explosion before the sound of another of Oren’s shadowy swords struck his shield.

“The key weakness of your cute little toy,” chastised the more experienced smith, “is that you rely heavily on a single source of energy. The power required to generate your supporting equipment and defend yourself is the same. So if you are forced into the defensive with no opportunity given for you to generate your flames then you will never reach your full potential.”

CLANG! CLANG!

Hunter realized the danger he was in and immediately jumped to his feet and began swinging Wildfire wildly, guessing he must have looked completely ridiculous as he did so. Oren just kept on chasing him at a slow, casual pace, constantly peppering him with ranged, flying swords.

He wasn’t going to just sit there and let himself be used as a pincushion, however. Hunter was slowly closing the distance between them. Oren must have recognized that range was his advantage. If Hunter got in close, his longsword would have more heft and defense than his rapier. Not to mention if he surrounded the more experience blacksmith with his turrets, then he could quickly gain the advantage.

BOOM!

Another explosion knocked Hunter back, dealing little to no damage thanks to the presence of his shield. The instant he found his footing, he began bolting again. Movement and momentum was the key here.

Oren lost control of his flying swords the moment he hurled them through the air. He couldn’t fully control their trajectory so if Hunter kept moving, he could avoid getting struck.

CLANG!

He blocked the sole bolt of shadowy fire that struck his shield and when it exploded ten seconds later, he was barely staggered. Grinning to himself, Hunter closed the distance between them.

Then Oren’s eyes flashed. He abruptly crossed the blade across his body. Purple flames exploded from the edge of the blade, extending the reach of the weapon to at least ten feet. Hunter’s momentum wouldn’t let him stop in time. Oren just took three steps forward and lashed out with the extended blade.

CLANG!

Hunter’s shield took the entire blow but he was still forced back from the sudden strike. Stunned by the attack, he was left vulnerable to five of the other swords that were still overing over Oren’s shoulder. He blocked them all but now that was six blades that struck his shield.

“Oh no…”

BOOM!

The explosion was, by far, the biggest yet and he was hurled a good three feet into the air. He crashed hard on the ground, pain shooting up his back and his ears ringing from the explosion. Somehow, through it all, he could still hear Oren’s mocking words.

“Yours is a weapon that takes time to build to its true potential. If not given the opportunity, it is little better than a paperweight.”

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

Hunter blinked a few times. Three purple blades were embedded into the ground next to him.

“Hunter! Run!” Aria cried.

He barely had enough time to get to his feet when -

BOOM!

… he was hurled through the air and send crashing towards Oren. This was exactly what his opponent was waiting for. Again, Oren extended the length of his blade and lunged forward. Hunter caught the blade on his shield, sparks flying from the impact.

“What I would’ve give to have tested out Darkstar against Roran’s Signal Flare or his Burning Horizon,” sneered the blacksmith. He swung the blade back and struck back again. “But I guess I’ll just have to settle for incinerating his protege!” A third stride and then Oren jumped back.

Hunter scrambled to his feet.

BOOM!

Then his shield exploded. Without any energy to protect himself with, he felt the full brunt of that three-strike explosion. Fire seared his skin and the force of the blow slammed his forearm against his chest. His entire arm rang and shook, the feeling currently numb but he could tell the pain was just coming.

This was a hopeless battle. He couldn’t generate a shield and his supporting tools at the same time. Oren was keeping up the offensive forcing him to be defensive. Eventually, one of them would run out of strength and all signs were pointing to Hunter being the victim.

“Hunter!” JD cried, making Hunter’s ears perk up. “Use the explosions to your advantage!”

He glanced over his shoulder, noting the distance between himself and JD, or particularly the edge of the arena. Inspiration struck and he grinned from ear to ear. A quick thumbs up at his friend and he turned back to Oren who was posturing as if to welcome him to his doom. Hunter lifted his shield and spun the blade behind him, generating momentum and energy for his shield.

Oren shook his head and glanced over to the judges as if to encourage them to call the match before someone got hurt. With a dismissive wave, he flung his flying phantom swords at Hunter. He paused for the briefest of moments as Hunter didn’t take any pains to dodge the blades, merely blocking them.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Three blows and still Hunter advanced.

Oren’s smugness faded slightly as he threw another three at Hunter.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Seeing the wulfun continue his advance, Oren finally turned fully to his opponent and lifted his hand, three swords hovering over his fingertips.

“What are you doing!?” he demanded.

He launched all three.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

And again, Hunter blocked them all.

“You realize if I shoot you one more time, it’s game over?” Oren shouted, one last blade hovering at his fingertips. “Even your shield won’t be able to survive a ten-dose explosion from my Venom!”

Hunter peeked a little past his shield which had yet to activate. “Then do it, you pussy.”

Oren sneered but didn’t dare to throw the blade.

Perfect.

Hunter counted to seven and just as he hit the eighth second, he immediately turned around, activating his shield. The petals of his shield formed a cone-like shape in front of him and -

BOOOOOM!

The explosion from Oren’s shadowy blades was intensely focused out of the cone. Hunter was immediately propelled backwards - or in this case, towards - Oren. The stunned blacksmith immediately went to the defense and threw his last shadowy sword. Hunter slashed through the air with his own blade, deflecting the blade and getting a purple smear on his sword for his efforts.

BAM!

He crashed right into Oren, the two of them tumbling to the ground and sending everyone in the crowd to their feet. Even Erick von Darkmoth was out of his seat at the stunning move.

Hunter grit his fangs together and jumped to his feet. Oren was similarly up. They brought their blades up, the edges of their weapons at each other’s throats. Even through the pain, the wulfun grinned.

“Boom.”

Oren frowned… then he noticed the purple smear on the edge of the Hunter’s blade… the same edge that was just inches away from his throat. He immediately ducked away just as -

Boom!

The Venom exploded. Hunter’s sword was forced away from Oren but at the same time, the might of the explosion caused Oren to retreat, burning the side of his face and some of his hair. Hunter immediately pressed the advantage, charging forward and swinging his sword through the air. He wasn’t aiming to actually hit Oren. That was a dangerous move. Even clashing blades with the blacksmith meant inflicting Wildfire with the Venom and that could be damaging to the weapon’s integrity. No, he was swinging to keep Oren on the defensive which Darkstar was not meant for.

At least he thought so.

Oren snarled, clutching the burned side of his face. With a swing of his sword upwards, ten, purple spears jumped out of the ground and formed a defensive barrier in front of him. Hunter was forced back but he got what he wanted. A canister hissed from Wildfire’s shield and he immediately grabbed it. Oren scrambled to intercept but Hunter had already tossed the canister past his shield and right in front of him.

A large turret burst free from the canister. Oren let out a girlish cry and scrambled away as a jet of flame exploded from the turret. He barely escaped with his coattails on fire. The blacksmith angrily generated five phantom swords and send them crashing into Hunter’s turret. Ten seconds later, it exploded into a burst of fire and shrapnel.

From the smoke it generated, three more canisters came flying out. Two generated minigun turrets and the third was one equipped with a rocket. Bullets came screaming out at Oren who was forced to generate another defensive barrier appearing like three, purple shields of fire in front of him. Those shields were immediately shattered when the lone rocket blasted into them and sent him flying back.

The blacksmith staggered back. He swept his arm back defiantly, brushing away smoke and embers from around him.

Then he froze.

“You’re right, Oren,” Hunter said calmly. To his right was a line of ten turrets. To his left, another ten. All of them were aimed at Oren. “It does take time for Wildfire to ramp up. But when it does, it kicks up a goddamn firestorm.”

“If you’ll accept criticism,” continued the wulfun, “from one blacksmith to another.” He made sure to emphasize that comparison. “Your Venom is potent but you’ve done nothing to protect yourself from its effects. You burn with a passion, Oren, but all you’ve done is direct it on a single focus that it’s left you vulnerable from other angles even to the point where your own tools can be used against you.” He lifted his sword, pointing it directly at Oren. The shimmering red aura of Wildfire’s shield protected him and his turrets entirely. “Cut this shit out or you’re going to be stuck in the shadows forever.”

Oren Grimflare sneered… then he lifted his hands up into the air and dropped his sword.

He surrendered.

The crowd was in awe… stunned by the defeat.

But the battle was not by won based on who defeated whom. It was all based on what the judges said.

“Hunter is the winner,” Salashi announced. “He showed how versatile Wildfire is while also putting on display his momentum technology. The fact that he was also able to use Oren’s own techniques against its creator shows how resilient the weapon and shield is.”

“I had expected the sword to break or shatter the moment it was struck by just one instance of Grimflare Venom,” Darkmoth admitted. “But it did not. That shows excellent craftsmanship. While Grimflare showed various ways which his Darkstar can be used, it is clear that it does not have the balance of offense and defense that Wildfire does as we saw how easily his shields folded against a simple barrage. My vote goes to Hart.”

The two judges turned to Faraday who sat with his eyes closed, a frown on his beak.

The crowd held its breath. Even though it was clear who had won, they were still eager to hear what the avian judge had to say.

“Oren,” breathed Faraday softly, “Hart is right. Your singular focus on the one goal has left you vulnerable and open to new perspectives. That Hart was able to use your own technique against you in creative ways shows just how far back you’ve fallen. As we’ve seen over and over from Hart’s works, he is accommodating to its wielders and open to new avenues in his craft. He is not forcing everyone to dance to his tune but forming a harmonious chorus between weapon and wielder.”

Faraday lifted a feathered hand towards Hunter.

“Hunter Hart wins.”

…

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAH!”

Kane’s trumpeting bellow kicked off the cheers from the rest of the crowd.

Hunter finally let out the breath that he had been holding and fell to his knees in relief. Kane came barging down the arena, scooped him up in his huge, arms and swung him around in a big circle. The big bear then positioned Hunter on his shoulders and pumped a fist through the air. Fireworks exploded overhead and he had to wonder where they came from as it was in the middle of the day so such a display was useless. A glance over at his side of the arena showed Aria, Skye and Tanar were casting the spells to generate them. Rayne brought the others over as the announcer once again congratulated him and Oren.

“Oh! Let’s take a photo!” JD exclaimed, leaping forward and gestured for everyone to gather together. He held up his rubric, setting it to photo mode. Hunter couldn’t stop himself from smiling even when JD told them to all smile.

The ruberic flashed and JD immediately used Shukuchi to teleport beside Hunter, draping an arm around his shoulder and beaming brightly, somehow beating the moment of capture for the rubric and catching it before it dropped to the ground.

The crimson Wulfun showed them all the photograph.

“You did it!” Roran laughed, clapping his shoulder. “You actually won!”

“Welcome to the top ten, Mr. Hart,” Rayne said.

Top ten… Top then of all smiths on Incendius. And to think, just two months ago, he was struggling to get a single student to sign him up as a freelance craftsman.

“Couldn’t have done it without all of you.”