Chapter 15: Chapter 15: Now Warrior Will Rise

Applause from the stands filled the air as the last three combatants battled one another across the ring of rocks. Dust swirled at their feet, lashed by biting gusts that flapped banners and filled the air with the scent of metal and sweat.

Two opponents sparred first. They came forward in flawless unison, each landing a kick that was aimed to shatter Ragnar’s defense.

Shhh–THUD!

Ragnar grasped both legs in his hands, muscles closing like bands of iron. The shock traveled through the ring but he was hanging on. A hard smile flickered on his face. With a sudden twist he pulled them sideways, and then landed a fierce kick of his own.

Thasssh!

One of the warriors flew back in reverse—straight into Ryuk’s open boots. The other had his throat clamped in Ragnar’s hand, the pressure triggering a gurgled gasp before Ragnar flung him away. Their auras flailed, power energy faltering as they stumbled backward.

A blur of motion swept the ring. Ryuk came in from the side and hit Ragnar on the jaw with a huge fist. The blow shook Ragnar’s head and sent him back several steps across the stone.

“Come and face the true fight,”

Ryuk yelled, his voice resonating above the crowd.

“I am the greatest fighter here.

Challenge yourself against me!

Ragnar took a swipe of the blood smear from his lip. “We will see who is strongest,” he said, his tone hard. “But striking behind—that is the move of a coward, Ryuk.”

The provocation fueled Ryuk’s rage. An aura glowed about him, fierce as a small sun.

“Then watch then,

old foe,”

Ryuk snarled.

“I’ll show strength!”

He flew upward and dove like a hawk, fist prepared for the finishing blow. Ragnar’s eyes clenched. Just when he dragged the nearest man in Ryuk’s direction at the last instant,

CRACK!

Ryuk’s punch landed squarely into the poor warrior’s chest, sending him crashing out cold in one punch. Ryuk was slowed only momentarily; he growled and, with a contemptuous shove, ejected the dead body from the ring.

A sharp whistle cut through the air. “Elimination!” the master guard bellowed. “Three remain!”

The arena was silent. The wind stiffened, introducing the taste of tempest. All eyes were turned to the remaining fighters—Ragnar, Ryuk, and the last one standing—knowing that the following minutes would see their future as the new Lord.

Ragnar took a slow, deep breath. He let the roar of the crowd fade into the distance, hearing nothing but the pounding of his own heart. He couldn’t waste energy; he would need all that he had to survive Ryuk’s fury.

The final warrior swung, fists and feet a blur. Ragnar met him head-on. They traded savage blows—body, face, ribs—each one thundering like a drumbeat. There was a flash of pain down Ragnar’s arms from parrying a double kick. His hold relaxed, muscles trembling with the effort.

Ryuk felt chance and pressed forward with murderous speed. He charged into the attack, golden aura aflame. The ring exploded in a storm of fists and feet. A rib-stomping kick sent Ragnar reeling backward; a shoulder-bashing punch sent him half-spun around.

Then Ryuk let fly a tempest of punches, slamming Ragnar and the other fighter back toward the far edge. Dustclouds rose where they landed.

The opponent struck Ragnar again, hoping he could finish him. Ragnar sidestepped to the left and kicked him in the waist with a raking side-kick. The blow sent him catapulting off his feet and crashed him headfirst over the line.

The guard’s whistle shrieked. “Elimination! Only two left!”

A thrill of expectation shot through the stands. The Master himself leaned forward, eyes glued, as villagers clasped one another’s hands. The destiny of the title now rested on a single duel: Ragnar and Ryuk, enemy to enemy.

Ryuk smiled more widely. “Finally,” he said, striding closer. “Just you and me.”.

He arrived low and swept Ragnar’s legs from under him. Pain coursed through Ragnar’s knee as he dropped. He hit harshly on stone, breath exploded from his lungs. Ryuk kicked once more, a vicious kick that sent Ragnar in danger of the ring’s edge.

Gasps rippled through the onlookers. Another try and the game would be theirs. Ragnar dug into the soggy stone, pulling himself close enough to place one foot over the line.

The wind howled. Even the Master rose from his throne, staring intently at the frantic struggle.

From the sidelines, Harold’s voice in the past shook when he told it to his son. “It was the time of fate, Luther. Everyone was waiting to see who would be the next Warrior Lord.”

Luther leaned forward, fists curled.

“What happened,

Father?

Tell me!”

Harold’s own fists curled into fists as he told it. “Your grandfather gathered all his strength. With a roar he flung himself up and hit out with one deep into Ryuk’s belly. The crowd was mad—many thought it the death blow.”

Ryuk staggered back, but hate glared in his eyes. His clever mind overcame the pain. “If I cannot outrun him,” he snarled, “I will outwit him.”.

Before anyone was even able to move, Ryuk broke the sacred rule. Dark energy flared on his arm as he summoned a long, silver staff—a forbidden weapon from the competition.

“No!” Luther exclaimed. “That’s against the rules. The rules—”

“I know,” Harold said in a mournful tone. “But greed cuts honor.”

Ryuk whirled and swung. The magic staff flashed like lightning and caught Ragnar full in the chest, sending him flying outside the ring. Stone grated where he struck.

The ring was silent. The whistle sadly blew one final, sad note.

Ragnar was beyond the ropes, beaten.

The Master’s countenance darkened in sorrow. Grumblings of indignation coursed through the crowd, but it was finished. Ryuk had won by deception.

Luther’s voice was trembling. “But Father—that’s cheating. He cheated. How could they have let him win?

Harold wheeled away, pain obscuring his eyes. “I shared the anger of all the villagers. But the Master. he said nothing. Perhaps even he was unable to undo what had been witnessed. And so.”

Harold’s voice trailed away, burdened with sorrow. “That’s how your grandfather’s path to Lordship was stripped from him.”.

He breathed deeply, the memory fresh in his mind after so many years. “But, my son, that was not the end of Ragnar’s story. Darkness such as Ryuk’s always invites a reckoning.”

Harold’s gaze fastened on Luther’s, burning and unrelenting. “And that reckoning… was only just starting.”

Because then…

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