Chapter 96: Ch96 – Divine Judgement

Ryan towered over the defeated man, his chest heaving heavily.

Drops of mud dripped from his mace.

Ryan winced as he moved his shoulder.

Blood trickled from his mouth, to his lips, warm and metallic in taste.

Around him the rain continued its relentless assault.

Somewhere in the fog, Ryan could hear the clash of steel, grunts of effort. The wet thud of man meeting mud.

I need to help them.

Ryan tightened his grip on the mace and turned away from the blinded fighter writhing in the mud.

He moved forward slowly, boots squelching through the slick ground.

His eyes scoured what they could through the slit in his helm. Which wasn’t much.

The sounds of combat grew louder to his right. Two fighters—maybe three—clashing somewhere close.

Ryan adjusted course toward the noise.

Then he nearly tripped.

A rock?

Ryan stopped and looked down.

No. A body.

A knight lay face-down in the mud.

Mud. So much mud.

It was impossible to tell what colour the plate had been underneath.

One of ours? One of theirs?

Ryan knelt quickly, reaching for the figure’s shoulder to roll them over—

A shout cut through the mist ahead.

The voice was desperate.

“—CAN’T H—”

Ryan’s head snapped up.

James.

He abandoned the mud-covered knight and broke into a run.

His boots slipped and slid in the mud. It was nearly impossible to run. But Ryan ran anyway.

James needed help.

The sounds of fighting grew clearer.

Ryan couldn’t see them yet—just vague shapes moving in the grey.

I need to see. Need to know what I’m running into.

Ryan skidded to a stop and planted his feet.

“PULSUS RADIANTIS!”

Light erupted from his body for the second time.

The mist blazed white. Every droplet of rain glowed like a tiny star.

And Ryan saw everything within twenty meters.

To his left—

A knight brought their mace down in a brutal overhead swing. It crashed into another fighter’s helmet with a sickening crunch. The enemy crumpled to the mud.

And directly ahead—

James.

Navius stood before him, flames flickering from one of his palms. His red armour glistened in the rain.

And beside Navius—was another red-armoured grunt. Their shield and sword raised. Circling James from the side.

Two against one.

James moved desperately, trying to track both opponents. Half of his armour was blackened by fire.

The light faded. Darkness and mist rushed back in.

But Ryan had seen enough.

He charged forward, mace raised, boots pounding through the mud.

“JAMES!”

Shapes resolved in the fog ahead. Red armour.

Ryan didn’t slow down.

He crashed into the fight like a battering ram—mace swinging wide at the red-armored grunt’s back.

The grunt spun at the last second.

Ryan’s mace caught him across the shoulder instead of the spine.

The impact sent the man staggering sideways.

“Ryan!” James gasped.

“I’ve got this bastard!” Ryan shouted. “You take Navius!”

The grunt recovered and turned to face Ryan.

Not giving Ryan a moment to breathe, the red-armoured combatant thrust his sword toward Ryan’s unprotected armpit.

Ryan dropped his shoulder and ducked. Steel shrieked as the blade barely scraped by Ryan’s unprotected area, and across his pauldron.

The thrust carried the man too far.

Ryan seized the moment.

He surged forward and body slammed into the fighter, the impact rattling both suits of armour. Both dropped their weapons as they crashed together, each abandoning their blade to seize the other.

Gauntleted fingers locked onto wrists and forearms. The man tried to wrench Ryan’s arm aside, searching again for the opening at the armpit so he could use his hidden dagger, but Ryan forced himself inside the reach, driving his shoulder into the man’s chest.

They staggered in the mud.

Ryan hooked his leg behind the man’s knee.

For a heartbeat the fighter fought it, armour grinding against armour as he tried to regain control.

Ryan twisted and hauled with all his weight.

The man’s balance broke.

The grunt hit the mud hard.

Ryan went down with him.

The two armoured bodies slammed into the soaked ground, sending muddy water splashing up around them.

Ryan landed on top.

The red-armoured fighter reacted instantly, twisting his hips and bucking upward. The movement nearly threw Ryan off. One gauntleted hand clawed for Ryan’s helmet, trying to wrench his head sideways.

Ryan shoved his forearm across the man’s throat and drove him back into the mud.

The grunt snarled and drove a knee upward.

It smashed into Ryan’s ribs.

Air burst from Ryan’s lungs.

The man used the moment. His arm slipped free and his hand darted toward his belt.

Ryan saw the motion.

The dagger!

Ryan grabbed the wrist just as the blade cleared the sheath.

The two men froze for half a second, locked in place.

Ryan’s two hands against the man’s dagger wrist.

The grunt’s other hand gripping Ryan’s pauldron, trying to shove him off.

The dagger hovered between them, trembling.

Rain hammered against their helmets.

Mud soaked through every seam of Ryan’s armour.

The grunt suddenly twisted his wrist inward.

Ryan’s grip slipped.

The dagger came down.

Ryan tried to jerk aside—

But he wasn’t quick enough.

The blade punched into the gap at Ryan’s waist, just above the hip where the breastplate met the upper leg.

Blade ripped through leather and padding… and flesh.

Ryan gave a guttural scream.

The grunt shoved the dagger deeper.

White-hot pain exploded through Ryan’s side.

Ryan slammed his forehead forward in blind fury.

Their helmets collided with a hollow clang.

The grunt’s head snapped back.

Ryan ripped the dagger from the man’s grip and hurled it into the mist.

Then he rolled away and staggered onto his knee.

Warm liquid poured down his side beneath the armour.

Ryan clutched his waist instinctively.

Blood seeped through his gauntlet.

And then, Ryan heard a shout.

“Ruptus Ve—!”

A sudden, violent blast of wind slammed into his back.

Ryan toppled forward, gauntlets sliding helplessly through the mud. His chest plate struck the wet earth.

“What—!” he squeaked out, looking up.

The mist around him ripped apart, twisting and howling in the unexpected gale.

To Ryan’s south, was Marcus. His focus was locked on an opponent infront of him, in Ryan’s direction. A throwing knife spun from his fingers, arcing straight at the deer-horned, silver-armoured fighter.

Ryan’s concentration was ripped back to the open plain infront of him.

Navius hacked his sword at James, who held his gauntlet up catching one of the blows.

Ryan’s eyes snapped to the red-armoured figure who was approaching him.

A dagger was clenched in one gauntleted hand, his boots splashed through slick mud as he advanced.

Then the man hurled himself at Ryan, body low, and dagger aimed for the weak gap at his side.

Ryan, on his knees, slammed his gauntlet against the coming blade, knocking it aside. But he could do nothing to stop the momentum of the man crashing onto him.

Mud splattered onto Ryan’s helm when the two bodies collided. Ryan fell over backwards.

A groan escaped Ryan’s mouth as the weight of the man and his armour pressed into his bleeding waist.

And then—the arena itself shuddered.

A deep, resonating rumble shook the ground.

The man slipped off of Ryan. Rocks clattered from the edges of the arena. Stone statues trembled atop their pedestals. Fire in the goblets leapt higher, flickering wildly.

The tremor grew, rolling across the arena floor in waves. The combatants froze mid-strike.

The red-armoured figure raised his head in confusion.

Ryan’s vision swam. Rain, blood, sweat, and mud entered his eyes.

Then, a sickening crack followed by a thud echoed through the arena—the sound of something heavy and immense slamming into the ground.

A heartbeat later, everything stopped. The shaking ceased almost as suddenly as it began.

A blissful moment of silence passed.

For a second, no blade met armour, no man cried out in pain. There was just the patter of rain.

Then—

“It is divine! The Gods themselves have spoken!” A man shouted.

Ryan turned to the source of the voice.

It was Marcus. He was on his knees, hands lifted toward the sky, voice ringing across the stunned fighters.

“It is Divine Judgement! Divine Judgement!” Marcus screamed again, rain streaming down his face. “A sign! An omen! The Trial is concluded!”

Ryan struggled to his knees, hand pressed against his bleeding side.

What’s happening?

Around him, every fighter still standing had stopped. Frozen in place. Each one staring at Marcus—No, behind Marcus.

Then Ryan saw it.

One of the twelve statues had fallen.

The massive stone figure lay toppled in the mud, a lightning bolt was shattered into pieces beside it.

“DIVINE JUDGMENT!” Marcus shouted. His voice cracked. “THE GODS HAVE DELIVERED THEIR VERDICT! THE TRIAL IS FINISHED!”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd beyond the mist. Gasps. Shouts of confusion.

Then Principal Helena’s voice cut through the chaos like a sword.

“CEASE COMBAT!”

“As overseer of this Trial,” Helena continued, her voice carrying across the arena with absolute authority, “I declare that the trial is concluded. The gods have spoken.”

Ryan’s opponent backed away slowly, dagger still in hand, but facing the floor.

“All combatants will disengage immediately,” Helena commanded. “Healers, instructors, enter the arena and retrieve the wounded immediately!”

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