The Fal'mor hit the ground with a splatter. Black acid showered the centre of the pit, disintegrating everything it touched. Tucking himself behind his shield, Aramir leapt back, the metal alloy flickering blue as the rain of black droplets struck its surface.

Blackblood. The vile substance made up most of the creature's body, oozing out of its flesh through its pores. A single drop on Aramir's skin would melt through flesh and bone. A spoonful of it in his bloodstream and he'd disintegrate, slowly and painfully, from the inside out.

Looking up at the creature, he swallowed. He'd listened to the Teachings – heard the recounts from his grandfather. Reality, however, was far more chilling.

Fal'mor were supposed to be monsters, with cavernous maws, thin, wretched torsos and spindly limbs that could change from sharp, slashing claws to fists like hammers in an instant. The stories about them had frightened Eliah so much as a child that she'd created them in her dreams. But the nightmare creature in front of him looked more like a grotesque fusion between monster and man. Its round head seemed to have no features, and its shoulders and torso devolved into a bulging, writhing mass of thin, elongated limbs that made Aramir's skin crawl.

Cold sweat trickled down his temple. Ignoring the tremble threatening to overtake his hands, Aramir raised his spear and held it at the ready – watching. Waiting.

Something told him that to make the first move was to invite death.

Red lights blinked to life on the Fal'mor's smooth, featureless face. Silently, it surveyed the arena, head twisting all the way around on its neck like a bird's. He flinched as it spotted him. A crescent-shaped split, dripping with blackblood, appeared beneath the pair of beady red eyes. Raising itself higher on its mass of wriggling appendages, the Fal'mor let out another scream.

Dripping black tendrils flew at him, faster than he could fathom. Ducking underneath them, Aramir ran. Three made a grab for him and missed. A fourth cut off his path. He batted it away with his shield and stabbed.

The watching crowd let out a roar.

The injured limb flailed madly. The spear embedded inside it flickered blue. A gush of red fluid bled from the wound as the flesh around it bubbled like a pot reaching the boil. Aramir grimaced. So the stories were true - aeonite could cut through blackblood after all.

The Fal'mor shrieked in fury.

With a sudden jerk, the limb retracted, wrenching Aramir's spear from his hands. He cursed – and raised his shield as another set of tendrils whipped through the air. They twined around each other, fusing together to form a tentacle as thick as the trunk of a small tree. It smashed into his shield like a battering ram.

Blue light flashed as Aramir was launched sideways across the pit. He hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. Numbing pain flared up his side.

'Aramir!' cried Eliah from somewhere above.

'Get up, son!' bellowed Regis's voice.

Gritting his teeth, the youth got to his feet. His shield was miraculously unbent – courtesy of the aeonite blended into the steel – but something on that side was definitely broken. There was no time to figure out what. A second whip of merging tendrils lashed out at him. Aramir dove out of the way. Blackblood cratered the ground behind him.

Rolling to his feet, Aramir drew his sword. A third merged appendage swung at him. Shield raised above his head, he dropped under it and spun. With an arc of blazing blue metal, he severed the limb. A fountain of red sprayed the air.

The remainder of the tentacle spasmed, the blackblood beneath its surface bubbling and bulging, turning harmless and red as it flooded out from where the aeonite had sliced through.

Aramir smirked.

The Fal'mor recoiled.

The crowd began to cheer – and was quickly cut off. An ear-splitting screech resounded throughout the arena, the pitch high enough to force even the most stoic of spectators to cringe and cover their ears. Aramir staggered and swore, fighting the urge to drop his sword and clutch his head. Eyes watering, he kept his gaze on the enemy.

Blackblood bubbling like magma, the Fal'mor wrapped its limbs around itself. They melted back into its bulbous body, until all that was left was an innocuous-looking ball of oozing black slime with a cut across its surface that wept a stream of red. Its red eyes swivelled across its flesh, seeming to flicker as they zeroed back in on him.

It paused.

Aramir's eyes narrowed. He adjusted his grip on his sword.

The Fal'mor launched into the air. With a series of hideous cracks, six long multi-jointed legs shot out from its torso. One ended in a bloody stump, but the tips of the other five were as long and sharp as a javelin – and they were aimed right at him.

He froze, paralysed by fear for just a fraction of a second. But as his mind regained control of his body, he knew it was a fraction of a second too long.

The world seemed to move in slow motion as Aramir turned to run. He knew it was futile; there was no way he'd escape. He could try to block the worst of it, but his shield wouldn't protect him from all five strikes, and even if the legs didn't get him, the blackblood would.

The sword in his hand felt heavy. If he was lucky, he could do what his grandfather had. He'd only have to lose one limb.

It was a horrifying thought.

The Fal'mor was upon him. Instinctively, Aramir guarded. The first leg hit his shield and bounced off. The metal flickered blue – and suddenly faded. Then a second spear-like limb grazed past. Black liquid clung to the edge of the shield. The metal alloy began to disintegrate. As the final limbs came for Aramir's head and chest, he knew it was over.

He'd been stupid to try and take the Rite. Eliah and Regis had known it all along. He'd just been too complacent to pay them any heed.

He grimaced. So much for passing on the first try. Sorry, Eli. Sorry, Da...

A third voice echoed in his head. 'Kill that Fal'mor, Aramir.'

'Sorry, Runa...' he whispered.

A sudden rush of warmth flickered across his skin.

The Fal'mor's legs struck him.

'No!' shrieked Eliah's voice from above.

Searing pain wracked Aramir's flesh, and the world exploded into a flash of blue light.

─ ☼ ─

The spectator rings erupted into chaos.

'What in Oblivion was that?'

'I can't see a bleedin' thing!'

'Magic. It had to be!'

'Which of those godscursed menials is interfering? I'll kill 'em!'

Hal swallowed, the outrage coming through loud and clear despite the spell separating him, Regis and Eliah from the crowd. They were right: it was magic, but it hadn't come from a menial. He lived with them, trained with them – he knew the feel of their magic well.

Most of his fellows had but a mere ember of power. A select few were capable of drawing out small flames. Hal, in comparison, was a ball of roaring fire. But this was far beyond the kind of power even he could produce.

If Hal was a roaring fire, then the power radiating through the arena was the result of an oppressive sun. It rolled through the air in waves, the pressure alone sending shivers across his skin. The average Seren wouldn't be able to feel it, let alone tell where it was coming from, but to Hal and any other menial with the strength to sense it, the caster's presence was as blinding as the light that was emanating from the pit.

Terrified, he turned to face her.

Eliah screamed, kicking and flailing as Regis struggled to hold her back. 'Let go of me! Aramir – I have to – '

'What?' snarled Regis. 'Save him? What are you going to do? Jump into the pit so the Fal'mor can kill you too?'

'That's not what I – ' She let out a noise of frustration and changed tactics. Face red with exertion, she tried to pry herself out of Regis's grip. 'Godsdammit, Da! Let me go!'

'Don't be stupid, Eliah! There's nothing we can do for him!'

The girl bit her lip. Her eyes narrowed. She balled her hands into fists.

Hal went stiff. An ache spread through his bones. The pressure in the air had increased tenfold.

'You don't know that,' muttered Eliah.

The aura was so strong, Hal couldn't breathe. With a gasp, he started towards her. 'E—'

A triumphant roar from the crowd cut the menial off. Instinctively, Hal turned towards the pit. His eyes widened. His jaw went slack.

Aramir knelt in the centre of the arena, his face screwed up with pain. But he was unscathed. Whole. Alive. Searing blue light radiated from the aeonite painted onto his flesh. Burning him. Protecting him.

'Aeon's Blessing...' Hal whispered in awe. Titans and Rite-takers had been painting it on themselves since the Godswar, but in three hundred years not once had they managed to invoke its power. So why...?

The thought trailed off as he realised that the pressure that had been squeezing his lungs had eased.

No, he knew why.

As an inexplicable feeling of dread sunk into his gut, Hal stole a glance at Eliah.

The girl was frozen, gold eyes wide as both she and Regis ceased their struggle and stared down at the pit. Her skin was flushed. She was sweating a river. Hal had no doubt that the aeonite hidden beneath her leathers and furs was glowing as brightly as the sun above.

He'd been there when Regis had brought her to the Tyrants as a babe. He'd seen the Blessing on her skin. He'd snorted in derision when his mother had suggested they name the girl after Taiten because of it. After all, Taiten had been born over three hundred years ago, and while the Seren called themselves one of the four "Immortal Clans", Hal knew that only the Aeren truly lived forever. One hundred years of life was all a Seren had in them. It was impossible for Taiten to be the girl's father.

Or so he'd thought.

Aramir didn't have a drop of magic in his blood, yet the Blessing was radiating with it. The boy was a good fighter, sure, but Hal highly doubted that the Goddess herself had seen fit to grant him Her protection. Eliah, on the other hand...

Hal knew what the girl was capable of, he'd been the one to advise Regis on how to suppress her powers when they'd started manifesting out of control, and after seeing this display, he finally understood why they had chosen to keep her existence quiet.

Magic as oppressive as the sun.

He eyed Eliah sidelong. Maybe she really is the daughter of —

'Taiten! He's returned!'

The shout came from the other side of the arena. It was quickly echoed by someone nearby.

'Taiten!'

'Taiten!'

Around the spectator circles went the cry, until every member of the gathered Clan was beating their chests, stomping their feet, and bellowing the chant in unison.

'TAITEN. TAITEN. TAITEN.'

Hal listened to them chant, a sardonic smile spreading across his lips as he wondered what the crowd would do if they discovered that Taiten himself had once been a user of the most powerful magic he had ever felt.

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All content and illustrations ©Jax L. P. (@JaxCreation) on 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒑𝒂𝒅. All rights reserved. Please contact the author if you are reading this on another site or under a different account name.