The arena was a large, circular colosseum, 50 meters in diameter, and its ancient stone walls rose high into the sky, an albeit decayed reminder of some long-forgotten empire. Still, the field of battle within it was anything but straightforward.

The ground sloped subtly but steadily in from the edges toward the center, creating a slight yet undeniable incline. They would have to fight uphill and downhill, continuously losing balance while shifting from high to low ground. The slope was leading down into the middle of the arena to a yawning 6-meter pit that had its bottom lined with jagged rubble. This no-man's-land indeed was hazardous, and one wrong step just might send a fighter tumbling into a dangerous trap where loose boulders were lying in a threatening over-set at any minute.

Seven large stone pillars dotted the battlefield, each about two meters in diameter, eight meters high, and worn smooth by the constant battery of countless ancient battles. Dotting the battlefield were seven massive stone pillars, ancient and worn, remnants of a bygone era of grandeur. Each was about two meters in diameter and towered eight meters above the ground. These "Pillars of Seven" weren't just obstacles-they were opportunities. A well-timed leap could give higher ground or at least a moment of cover, while the more adventurous might attempt to scale them, using the crumbling stone to spring a deadly surprise on one's opponent. Yet two of these pillars were fragile, with cracks spidering through the foundation. One well-placed strike could send it crashing down, crushing everything in its path.

Those solid walls of the arena had crumbled in several places, allowing breaks in the stonework that afforded further tactical opportunities for defensive positions and hidden corners where a combatant might retreat, launch an ambush, or simply get out of the unremitting pressure exerted by his opponent. One part of the wall even overhung slightly, a perch for those who were quite brave or foolhardy enough to take the risk.

Yet there was more to the arena than physical deterrents alone. Beneath its surface lay a plethora of devious traps that would help turn the tide of battle one way or another. In unmarked spots on the floor, trapdoors would spring open and belch fire in the form of roaring pits erupting in furious blaze for several short seconds before sputtering out. These flames-when they came unexpectedly, uncaring, and without haven for the unwary.

The arena floor is cut across by shallow water channels, with their clear, ankle-deep streams crisscrossing the battlefield. Harmless-looking at first sight, they were rapidly to become treacherous underfoot water making slick and unreliable ground that obliged fighters to make their way circumspectly lest they slip at a critical moment.

Along the outer edge of the arena were raised platforms about three meters high. For those talented enough to find their way onto these platforms, the high ground became advantageous for attacks or a defensive perch. But leading up the walls to these platforms were smooth and slick-not easy to climb amidst combat pressure. Getting there was as much of a challenge as holding the position once achieved.

If the ever-changing landscape wasn't enough, even the arena seemed to take on a life of its own. From time to time, gusts of wind would tear across the battlefield, generated from maw vents in the ground. Tearing across the arena at various intervals, these winds threw a man off balance and veered projectiles, turning precision into chaos. Yet another layer of capriciousness was lent by the flickering torchlight that lined the walls. The long, fluid shadows extended across the battle-scarred area, and darkness and light played trick on trick with the eye, occluding visibility at the worst moment or concealing a foe behind a pillar or amidst the broken stone.

But this was no ordinary arena it was a living, breathing battlefield, and the terrain itself was at least as much a foe as the fighter standing across from you. Here, victory would not go outright to the strongest or the fastest but to the most adaptable, who could weave his way around twists and traps and make use of them to his advantage.

---

Knuckles Shi stood in the dimly lit corridor, just behind the iron gate at his starting position, his feet on cold stone and grounding him at that moment. The hum of the crowd reached his ears, incredibly muffled by the thick walls of the Colosseum. He was breathing slowly and deliberately to further the rhythm of his heartbeat. He flexed his fingers over the hilts of his hammers, his weapons of choice in a weight that was all too familiar and reassuringly so.

Today, he had on his Oni Knight armor, the crimson plating gleaming weakly in the meager light of the torches. For now, the Vizard mask-strapped at his belt kept its snarling demon visage still. He didn't need it yet, but he knew once he had it on, he would go the whole nine yards into that ruthless mindset that went along with it. Now, he wanted his senses sharp, and clear.

He reached up with a sure hand and cinched the straps of his gauntlets tight. Every inch of his equipment had been fussed over, the armor cleaned, dings hammered out, joints oiled for smooth ease of motion. His hammers felt weighty on his back, slung by heavy leather straps-one a warhammer with a flat, blunt, awful face, the other a cross of an axe and hammer, built for crushing and cleaving in equal measure. Both had seen their share of battle.

With a deep breath, he let himself have a moment of stillness until the fight began. Then, clanking and groaning with the sound of gears, the iron gate in front of him began to rise high enough for Knuckles to step through, at least revealing the arena beyond. Knuckles stepped forward, crunching his boots against the sandy stone, his eyes immediately scanning the battlefield.

The first thing he noticed was the ground sloping down to the center pit. He knew that fighting on uneven ground would call for exacting work from his feet. The pit itself was a hazard, serving as it might either as a trap or as a weapon, depending upon how the fight went. He'd keep clear of it unless he had no choice, or unless he could bait his opponent into it.

His eyes moved to the seven tall stone pillars that stood scattered in the arena. Pillars of Perfect for fast cover, yet dangerous. Two of them appeared much weaker than the others. If the combat pressed them close to one of those, a well-placed blow could send the entire column crashing down, but he would have to time it just so. Could they be used to herd Kon, pin him between stone and hammer?

He noticed the spots where the outer wall had broken down to form his plan of action for using them to his advantage in positioning. Defensive retreat? Maybe. More likely a place to catch one's breath, or lure Kon into a bottleneck where the hammers would do the most damage.

Fire pits would be trickier to use. The very fact of their unpredictability made them just as much a danger to him as to Kon. He could not rely upon those too much. He'd use flickers of flame only in case the fight got longer, which would be used to distract or disorient Kon, but never make them his primary plan.

And then there were the water channels. Slippery. Dangerous. A quick dash through them would hinder anyone, including himself. But if he could force Kon into those streams, the man's agility would be encumbered. It could create an opening.

Knuckles exhaled slowly. "Footwork and positioning," he whispered to himself, a plan already formulating. The raised platforms along the edges would come into play, but he doubted Kon would make a run for those early on. Not with the slick walls leading up to them. No, the real danger was the randomness of the wind gusts. Knuckles had fought in this arena enough to know the sudden bursts of wind could offset even the most calculated move. He'd have to time his strikes, waiting for the wind to pass before committing to an attack.

His brow furrowed beneath his helm as he thought of his opponent. Kon. He hadn't seen the man since their last sparring match, and Kon was never one to sit idle. What setup would he be running today? He usually favored mobility—lighter armor, and quick strikes. But had Kon adjusted his strategy along with the changing face of the arena? Was he coming in light for speed, or heavy to stabilize against the wild cards of the field? Knuckle gut felt Kon was going to be using those pillars and broken walls for all they were worth, hitting fast and from unexpected angles.

But that won't save him from my hammers, Knuckles thought, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He flexed his shoulders, feeling the now-familiar tension in his muscles as he ran through his strategy in his head. If Kon tried to play the long game, Knuckles would bring the fight to him. Push him toward the pillars, force him into the water channels. Pin him, corner him, overwhelm him with sheer force.

Just keep him moving downhill, Knuckles reminded himself. If he could control the terrain, he could control the fight. He glanced at the central pit again. Perhaps they'd lure Kon into that pit and finish the fight before it even had a chance to begin.

With a full-on opening of the gate, the roar boomed through as Knuckles Shi stepped into the arena. His muscles were coiled, his mind sharp, and his heart stable.

Now, let us see what you are made of today, Kon.


WC 1639/2500

Seven was a foreign country, holding a culture unique to its own just as Sin had shown Kon months earlier, but the question on his mind was what had brought him to these hostile 1grounds full of fantastical beasts and fearsome fighters. Curious none other then a summons to pit his mettle against a foe whom he had encountered many times of at this point, a challenging adversary that he had fought more then once, it was none other than Knuckles Shi, who had since garnered a reputation within the fighting pits of Seven, his fighting talents weren’t the only thing that drew Kon’s attention to the man but also the reformation of his guild, Sleeping Calamity who the Rune Knights had been keeping an eye on at a distance. Their ability to stay under their radar was hope enough that he needed to gain their support in times ahead. But undoubtedly conflict would ensue between them before Kon could get a straight answer as to whether he could receive the support needed from Knuckles and his posse. Of what little he knew about the arena itself, he had learned that much of the arena was cramped and full of obstacles all but removing the benefits of his ranging talents which had bested Knuckles many times over. As a result, the chance to test Miharu’s skills with the bow would be limited relative to his own but he would make the most of the opportunity even if it meant defeat or transitioning over to Hirota’s blade-based talents. “Had he chosen this particular location for their reunion?” He thought to himself as he glanced upon the entrance to the arena itself, concealing his matte black frame beneath his strider cloak only allowing specks of his white hair from his head to protrude from the sides of his hood.

Passing through the rows of would-be attendees, flashes of gold from his arms revealed his unintentional wealth to the youthful denizens who began to clutch at his torn and ripped cape begging for the equivalent of table scraps to the former general. Recognizing the futility of ignoring pleading of the poor but equally understanding the allure of wealth to the masses, kon lowered to one knee allowing his damaged cape to gather dust up the cloth and met the children eye to eye asking them in his robot voice to provide him with a single rock and he would give them everything they could desire. Some ran off, others remained in place, those that left to return moments later each had various size stones from a pebble to the size of their own head. Revealing his golden limbs almost in full, Kon laid his hands upon each stone and split them equally amongst the group that first took his attention away from him. Though he had performed one good deed, it would not go unpunished as a result, to make a means with what he might have brought upon these children, he offered them an alternative to the gold, a full stewardship under his wing whether it was as a Rune Knight squire or beyond however they would need to remain loyal to him.

A generous offer to be sure but he had just offered effectively indentured service to minors, something with soured the mood between the trio, Kon, Miharu and Hirota with the latter of them experiencing such hardships. His own request heralded none of the misfortune that those two had felt and would likely be nothing but an improvement to what was expected of their lives to come. The thoughts of the children were certainly mixed with roughly half surrendering the gold and the other running off with their bounty. Rising to his mechanical feet, Kon addressed his troop asking them to go to the closest Rune Knight outpost where he would meet them following the interaction with Knuckles. Fortunately for him, the crowds within the tunnels towards the arena were rapidly diminishing and yet the effects of his mantle continued to impose its pressure upon those around him, with increasing strains being audible as he moved through the various fighting pits to his own designated location.

Perhaps he would be thought lesser for relying upon the assistance of another but he would reject all claims as he drew upon what was the entrance to the fighting grounds with violet magic spiralling around him as a bow formed within his left hand while his appearance began to adopt that of Miharu Qinren, a woman who had barely entered adulthood before her unfortunate demise as a result of Qinglong. A sharpshooter with a passion for fighting those who relied upon faith to push their beliefs. Beneath this facade, the numerous augmentations and abilities lay only a few millimetres away. Though even with all of these powerful gifts, they would still be on a timer restricted by way of their tether to the real world, exhaustion was still a real foe even for someone with an immortal body. Recognizing Knuckles as one to take the initiative at the slightest of opportunities they had agreed to transform ahead of time lest they encountered some form of shenanigans being at play. The brief glimmers of his golden prosthetics swiftly diminished as the pale white skin and long flowing clothing replaced his gruff appearance.

Gates opening before them, a scowl grew upon their shared face as their vision adjusted to the harsh sunlight that lingered to their left. It appeared that their fight would be commentated by a duo who harboured knowledge beyond what was realistically expected of people in their status and profile. Revealed with such bravado by announcing first Knuckles and then Kon who was being substituted in for by Miharu Qinren, an elven archer from Sin. A partial truth but one that was terrifyingly close to reality, yes she was there in his place, but at the same time, he was still fully cognizant of what was going on around them. Ensuring that there was no confusion, with their only free hand, Miharu plucked a component from the side of their torso and threw it at the speaker near the commentator burying it into the archaic setup. Still speaking in their feminine voice, Kon temporarily took control of his body once more. “I’m afraid to say, I’m still here, Miharu is just joining us in this little exercise today.”

Confusion now resolved, Kon and Miharu, two spirits that were working as one in their body took stock of their surrounds while Hirota lingered in the back of their shared consciousness ready to relieve Miharu at a moment’s notice if their opponent drew upon them. A reality that would all too likely occur once the bell toll was rung, as if offering them time to explore their environment there seemed a significant delay between the address and initiation. It was unlike most other areas which he had fought, desolate, full of what seemed purposefully built traps and hazards alongside places that remained as obvious points from which one might assume purchase. What had become of Knuckles in the time between when they had last meet and now, did that refusal to improve his magical abilities continue to persist or had he grown as an individual, that was something they would find out together reinforced by way of the mana distortion field that emanated from their head diminishing one’s magical prowess one which Knuckles would have been experiencing since Kon had entered the arena grounds. Blood was all but assured to be spilled today the question though would it be Knuckles or Kon’s own artificial blood?

Note: Due to the Mana Distortion effect from the Crown of Starlight all spells cast by everyone in the topic excluding the user cost an additional 50% mana.

1282/2500