Tunde went through the first five fighters like a blade through butter, crushing them with his fist and aura alone as the entire pit kept screaming his name. Slightly breathing heavily, Tunde flexed his somewhat sore fingers, the linen wrapped around his hands now bloody but not with any of his own. A light sheen of sweat covered his form as he cracked his neck, waiting for his next opponent.

  “I’m not sure which is more impressive,” Ifa began as Tunde continued his stretching, “the fact that you took them down without Ethra sight, or that you’ve been going nonstop without a break, especially against the fifth opponent.” Tunde turned his gaze to the crowd, who kept chanting his name in a frenzy, braying for the next opponent to come face the wolf.

  “They were half-trained lords,” Tunde replied.

  “No, they were trained for duels, for a slightly honorable form of combat, not for the ruthless manner in which you’ve been exploiting their weaknesses, again, without Ethra sight,” Ifa reminded him.

  “If I want to get better, I have to learn not to rely on gifts,” Tunde responded.

  “I think you’re making a mistake. Ethra sight isn’t a gift, it’s a part of your bloodline and you, in turn. You can’t lose it if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Ifa said with exasperation. Either way, Tunde would prefer to train his instincts to spot faults in his opponents rather than depend on an Ethra-powered ability.

  “There’ll be time for that, not just here,” he said.

  “Then again, those brain-dead idiots failed to present one tangible battle art whatsoever. Heaven have mercy on whoever forces you to use the boundless Asura art,” Ifa intoned.

  Tunde chuckled. “Their auras couldn’t even take shape, showing just how little practice they’ve had honing their auras and sense of identities,” he said.

  “Agreed, and yet, I can’t help but think this is all just a ploy by the pit owner to lure you into some sense of strength,” Ifa warned.

  “You should know better than to think I’ve fallen for it. No, I’m simply waiting for when he sends his true fighters,” Tunde replied.

  He could feel Ifa’s approval within his mind, the sentience more than impressed with his work as the announcer spoke again.

  “The Dark Wolf has torn through our first five fighters, his fang ripping mercilessly through them without so much as a pity. Can he sustain this form against his next opponent?” he cried as a loud roar broke through the pit with frenzied excitement. “Introducing our next fighter, he—” the announcer said, pausing as if being told something.

  “Honored guests, I believe there has been a slight change in fighters!” the announcer said as a ripple broke through the pit.

  “That can’t be good,” Ifa intoned as Tunde nodded slightly, staring at the large door where the contestant would pass through.

  “Due to an emergency, the Red Fist of Shimmersteel will not be available. Instead, the pit will be giving you a delight of a fight tonight!” the announcer shouted. “Honored guests, you all know him, the reigning champion of the pit, the one who stands above all with his fists held high. Honored guests, one and all, rise and give your respects and lumens to the one and only creator of the victorious fist style, the Iron Champion!” The roar nearly shook the very foundations of the pit itself.

  “This is treachery,” Ifa hissed as Tunde said nothing, feeling the raw presence of the champion who stepped out of the now-opened doors. From the moment he stepped foot on the sands, Tunde knew he was fighting a true cultivator of renown. His aura, pouring out in a palpable mix of blue and silver colors, licked his skin gently, the raw presence he had somehow rippling the air almost imperceptibly around him as Tunde took a stance immediately.

  Tall and lean, with no ounce of wasted muscle that hadn’t been sculpted and shaped through years of training and cultivation. He had full black hair tied to the back, bright blue eyes, and a jaw with trimmed black beards along with a bright smile.

  “This is no lord,” Ifa said as Tunde agreed.

  “Shrouded to lord realm; heavens know what realm he truly is,” Tunde responded to Ifa.

  “Ethra sight,” the both of them said at the same time in agreement as Tunde’s eyes took on the black and white irises it took whenever he used the bloodline technique of his.

  “Greetings, Dark Wolf, I am known as the Iron Champion of the victorious fist style,” the champion said as Tunde nodded before bowing at the waist.

  “Honored Highlord, I am the Dark Wolf of the dark fist style,” Tunde responded as the man’s eyebrows went up in surprise.

  “Good thinking, on the style I meant,” Ifa said to him.

  “How did you know?” the champion asked, clearly surprised.

  “And that too,” Ifa added.

  “You don’t look like any sort of lord, not with that potency of aura,” Tunde replied as the man rubbed the back of his head a bit.

  “I apologize. I simply wanted to see what manner of cultivator broke the pit’s record for fights. Five cultivators in less than five minutes, even I didn’t break that when I was a lord,” the champion responded. “But I swear on my soul not to take my strength or techniques past the lord realm, and this fight will be a duel between two lords alone,” the champion said as the crowd booed, clearly looking forward to a one-sided beatdown. Tunde felt the soul oath snap around the champion, who flexed his muscles calmly.

  “Fighters, prepare!” the announcer said as Tunde imbued his body, cosmic Ethra running through his very form as he prepared for the fight, the champion merely flexing his muscles.

  “Begin!” the announcer shouted.

  *******************************

  From the first move of the champion, Tunde felt the true battle begin. Ethra sight revealed all possible moves he could take, and they were a lot. His mind filtered through them in the blink of an eye, but that was more than enough for the champion to get close to him, fist swirling with aura slamming into Tunde’s side. The blow jarred his body, but it broke nothing. It was a wake-up call for him as Tunde used the force of the blow to propel himself into the air, grabbing onto the fist before bringing his leg down on the champion’s head with a slam.

  A hand was there to block the hit, grabbing onto his leg with seamless fluidity and tossing him into the air. Tunde quickly gained control of his senses, steadying himself with his aura as the champion was right next to him, his aura shaping itself into a fist. Tunde’s aura flared around him into the shape of a snarling wolf, placing pressure on his surroundings with the force aspect of his concept.

  It slowed the champion down for a second, and Tunde took complete advantage of it, fists imbued as he dropped a punch on the champion's face with a resounding crack, driving him like a nail into the sands below. Breathing heavily just a little, with his Ethra sight on, Tunde watched as the champion drew himself out of the sands, a wide grin on his face as he spat blood onto the sands, the crowd cheering wildly.

  Arms stretched out, he spoke, “We can’t keep the crowd waiting!” he proclaimed, and they cheered in return.

  “Well, you wanted a good fighter, now you have one,” Ifa said dryly as Tunde clicked his tongue, shooting at the champion. He landed a few feet from the champion, who kept the grin on his face as he spoke, “I see you’ve trained your fists and imbuement well enough, good. Perhaps we exchange a few light techniques?” he asked.

  Tunde blinked, unsure about telling the champion that his aura would ‘eat’ his. He shrugged as the champion nodded with satisfaction, the smile leaving his face. Tunde felt danger as aura began to coalesce around the champion, shining as the announcer’s voice broke the air. “Are we about to witness one of the fabled techniques of the champion?” he screamed.

  “Tunde,” Ifa warned, as Tunde immediately layered his body with aura, watching as six blue aura projection fists formed in a circle around the cultivator, burning with raw power.

  “Few cultivators have tasted my Six-Style Flowing Fists and lived to tell the tale,” the champion said with a grin.

  Tunde nodded as his aura flared to life around him, Tunde shaping it into a palm as he fed it more and more aura, and then a bit of essence flame as well, making it burn brighter. The champion laughed, a sudden wind picking up around them as it began blowing at the sands, causing a whirlwind of raw power around them. Tunde fed the technique he just created more essence flames as it began to grow more tangible, the champion doing the same as well.

  Everything was drowned out between them; nothing mattered except this moment as Tunde stilled his nerves and then shot forward the moment the champion did as well, both of them clashing in an explosion of aura and essence flames. The force slammed Tunde backward into the script formation that protected the audience from the battle, the barrier flashing in and out of existence as he slumped to the ground.

  His hand was numb, his aura sputtering in and out as the champion laughed from where he knelt, one arm bleeding seriously. He glanced at it and then at Tunde, standing straight even as one arm spurted blood continuously, staining the sands below his feet.

  “Interesting, a lord with this level of refined aura. I’m impressed,” he said. Tunde glanced at the arm. “We might as well end it here and now,” he said, indicating the bleeding arm.

  The champion laughed, flexing the arm as he grinned widely. “This is nothing for someone of my realm,” he said as truly, Tunde watched the bleeding lessen rapidly, wincing.

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  “I thought I was supposed to be special when it came to healing?” he asked Ifa.

  “The higher the realm, stage, or rank of cultivation, the less basic things such as healing or injuries impede cultivators,” Ifa replied.

  “Besides, I’m surprised you haven’t started absorbing his aura,” the sentience continued as Tunde blinked, dawning on him as he grimaced. “I haven’t used it in a long while,” he replied.

  “The path of the void devourer consumes all life. You chose to be the devourer of voids and life, a bit grim as compared to the path of the pathfinder,” Ifa reminded him.

  Pathfinder, devourer—the two sides of the cult of the abyssal walkers. Where one sought to find new pathways to the near-infinite realms in the cosmos, the other sought to devour those who threatened it. Frankly, the path of the devourer suited his battle arts, and it never did occur to Tunde that he could fuse the two together into something better.

  He sighed as he flexed his muscles. “The path of advancement and cultivation isn’t a journey of a year; it takes a dozen lifetimes, and you have all the time in existence,” Ifa said. Tunde gathered his aura again as the champion did the same, watching as Ethra began to form on his opponent's arm as well.

  “Strength Ethra,” Tunde said, realizing how the shrouded Highlord could match his strength as well.

  “Perfect to devour,” Ifa said.

  They moved with the instant speed all lords possessed, Ethra sight helping Tunde dodge the blow that exploded from the fist of the champion as he grabbed onto his arm, cosmic Ethra siphoning the strength Ethra within much to the champion’s surprise, who dropped a kick to his ribs in an attempt to escape the hold. Tunde’s other hand was there, palm opened and covered with aura to block the kick while releasing the arm he was siphoning and allowing the clash of leg and palm to throw him backward, spinning through the air. He landed calmly, instincts screaming at him to dodge the blow that would either have caved his head in or blown it right off as he rolled through the ground.

  “What did you do?” the champion asked as his Ethra and aura flared to life around him with raw power, Tunde’s eyes widening. This was the peak of lord rank for the champion, a realization that the Highlord hadn’t even been pushing himself to the peak of just what he could as a lord.

  Tunde felt the aura pressing in on him as he exploded with his aura in turn, the dark grey power he possessed taking the shape of a howling wolf, sending ripples across the space between them. As the champion growled, preparing to release another technique that glowed on his arms, Tunde gathered Joran’s Wrath, realizing that this had gone from a simple spar to a full-on fight for his life.

  “Show me the limits of your cultivation!” the champion boomed, shooting towards him. Again, for the second time that night, Tunde was left reeling as both their fists clashed, Joran’s Wrath barely doing more than skin damage as they began to exchange imbued and projection techniques in a flurry of activity.

  The formation barrier blazed in and out of existence, catching any stray technique or projectile coming towards it. Tunde pushed Ethra Sight to its limit in an attempt to catch up to the techniques and movements of the champion, weaving in and out of blows that were more or less lethal to him. He was in the moment, feeling the familiar warmth in his chest as the danger and thrill of the battle settled back on him like a storm of emotions he had been craving.

  This high, the exultation, reveling in the thrill of a battle that was as close to life or death as he would ever have at the moment. A dodge, a narrow aura blade escaped, an attempt at crushing the champion's arm—the battle raged on for what felt like hours rather than a few minutes as the very sands kept being blasted through the air. Tunde could feel the tug of the relic, could feel the tiny prick of existence that was the Ethralite, who was currently safe with Sera, pondering curiously as to what was happening.

  They were reaching a crescendo, the battle growing more furious as more attacks began to connect between the two of them. Ethra Sight and instincts interwoven together with such seamless fluidity that where one ended and the other continued was unknown even to him. Not that he could be bothered with such, so long as they obeyed his every command and wish. Tunde’s breath labored as the strain of the battle began to tell on his body. It was obvious to him, in that deep, secluded part of his mind that analyzed the battle, that the champion was better than him.

  Cultivation, tempering, techniques—Tunde might have the superior concept, but when faced with the experience and literal strength the champion had, it was proving almost pointless. He gave himself space as he gathered another Joran’s Wrath, this time imbuing it with his essence flame and aura, the dark grey power shaping itself to the image of a lion on his fist. The champion nodded, taking a stance as his entire body blazed with blue and silver power, forming into the shape of a man to cover his form.

  “Joran’s Wrath,” Tunde declared.

  “Victorious Touch,” the champion replied as both of them shot towards each other, clashing in an explosion that shocked the barrier into full existence, the audience mute as they trembled, eyes wide.

  When it cleared, the dust settled and the sands rained down. Then a loud roar broke through the air.

  “Cultivators and citizens of Shimmersteel!” the announcer started, “The impossible has happened, the battle of true lords has come to a conclusion. Here is your winner, the latest champion of the pit, the Dark Wolf!” he screamed.

  Tunde stood over the heavy breathing form of the champion, heaving himself as his broken arms began to heal, eyes wide and confused.

  ****************************************

  Sera was on her feet and out of the room she had been left it the moment she heard the winner of the duel. Heart pounding and nerves almost at their limits, she kept one hand on slaughter as she made her way towards the office of the pit owner with the Ethralite creature safely sequestered with the folds of her robes as well.

  Marching hastily towards his office, she paused as the two guards at his door halted her, hands on their weapons. They were lords, but that hardly mattered, she could cut through them before they even realized they were-. Sera paused as she blinked, wondering why that line of thinking was the first thing that came to her mind. She was there to ask about their earnings and how she doubted the ‘champion’ was a lord, the way he fought, the strength of his aura that had reached even where she had stayed was telling.

  Camly removing her hand from slaughter, controlling herself, she spoke calmly. “I’m here to see your boss, I’m with the dark wolf” she said, “we know who you’re with, the answer’s still no” the one on the left a tall yet lithe looking guard said, the one on the right merely staring at her. “I’m being nice” she said as they chuckled, gripping their weapons harder, preparing to draw it at a moment’s notice when a brief flash of aura from within the room had them freezing.

  They withdrew their hands, parting and opening the door as Sera walked in, th door closing behind her and staring into the eyes of the large man that occupid the seat. “you know what realm I am, blood user?” the man asked her as Sera stifled her surprise, nodding reluctantly, “good, now seat down, your companion and my idiot of a champion would be here soon neough” he grumbled, eyes flashing.

  Sera obeyed, not willingly, but obeyed all the same.

  ********************

  “You let me win,” Tunde said from behind the champion, who had stopped his disguise of limping as they were escorted back to the office of the pit owner. The champion glanced behind him with an amused smile, all traces of injuries gone from his features, which was amazing considering that Tunde’s bones still ached from their clashes.

  “Is that what you think?” the champion asked, taking a glance at the guards who walked ahead of them, moving at a steady pace. Tunde gave no reply, merely waiting for the Highlord to continue. “I saw a lord who deserved the win. Of course, if I were to employ my full and true strength, it would have been another matter entirely. You don’t look like you’ve seen the true might of a Highlord,” the champion continued.

  Tunde snorted inwardly at the assumption, saying nothing to correct him. Who would believe a mere lord had seen masters fight it out and lived to tell the tale anyways? Instead, he spoke, “The thinking of the venerable Highlord astounds me,” he said, bowing at the waist as the champion chuckled.

  “You say you came from the borderlands?” he asked as Tunde guarded his expression.

  “I never said I came from anywhere, venerable Highlord,” he replied.

  The champion chuckled as they turned towards the door leading to the office, the two guards bowing at the waist at the sight of the champion. “Well, you’re not from Shimmersteel, that much I know,” he said as he opened the door, “because I’d have known a lord of your caliber,” he finished as Tunde closed the door behind them.

  He spotted Sera, seated meekly on a chair, and raised his eyebrows in surprise, his eyes going to the man sitting at the desk.

  “I owe you an explanation,” the man said as Tunde inclined his head, watching as the champion reclined on another chair with a sigh of relief. “But before that, here’s your earnings,” the man said, depositing not just Tunde’s gold aurum card but another one as well.

  Confused, Tunde picked up the two before turning to the man. “Congratulations, Dark Wolf. You’ll be the second, right after that ungrateful idiot seated right there, to fleece the fight pit of that number of lumens,” the man grumbled.

  “What he isn’t telling you is that he made a killing tonight as well, greedy bastard,” the champion grumbled from where he reclined, eyes closed.

  “How much exactly is in that card?” Tunde asked warily.

  “Just shy of five hundred thousand lumens,” the man said as Tunde blinked and Sera sucked in a breath.

  “And how much did the pit make?” Tunde asked again as the man simply smiled.

  “Enough for us to overlook the blatant false victory my sorry excuse of a champion gave you,” the man replied.

  The champion sighed, picking at the side of his face as Tunde watched him peel off a face skin, revealing an almost similar face but with deeper blue eyes and longer black hair. “Since you’ve proven your worth, I believe some clarity is needed, yes?” the champion with a new face said.

  The pit owner sighed, sucking on his pipe as he exhaled. “You may call me Bajun, head of the fight pits and Highlord of Shimmersteel,” the pit owner named Bajun introduced before pointing at the champion, who stared at Tunde keenly.

  Gone was the cheerful and jovial cultivator; in its place was a true steel-eyed Highlord, and Tunde felt his hackles rise around him. “And that man over there is the head of security for the entirety of Shimmersteel and honored member of Clan Acacia, Ujin Acacia,” Bajun said.

  “I knew we shouldn’t have come to the pit,” Ifa said with a sigh as Tunde froze.

  “You look like you’ve committed an offense,” Bajun joked as Tunde felt Sera tense too close to him. He assessed his options; running could and would be difficult in this situation with two Highlords. He could hardly fight against the champion, and with the capabilities of Bajun unknown as well, it would be nothing less than a beat-down at least and a death sentence at worst for him.

  “I greet the esteemed Highlords,” Tunde said, bowing at the waist.

  “You’re from Black Rock,” Ujin said, not a question, as Tunde nodded stiffly.

  “I see, and what does that new sect without even a single Highlord want with Shimmersteel?” he continued.

  “To simply learn and see how things are being done in other cities of the empire,” Tunde replied genuinely.

  “And what do you want?” Ujin asked again as Tunde stared at him with a hint of surprise.

  “I don’t understand,” he replied calmly.

  “You use a concept that is as lethal and as close to one infused with the affinity of destruction—an offense in itself to the empire,” Ujin started. “Not only that, but you’re walking around with a blood affinity cultivator as well. It is within my right to execute the both of you right here and now,” he completed.

  Tunde contemplated producing the medallion of the Talahan clan, indicating he was an acolyte of one of the members of its main branches, but paused; now was not the time. “I am Tunde Dark Fist of Sect Black Rock. On my soul, I swear that I and my companion simply came to explore the land with no ulterior motives,” he said as the oath assessed his words before settling on his soul.

  “I guess that settles it. While you may hide your affinity, your companion there is a walking ball of blood aura to those sensitive enough to the scent of battle,” Bajun noted as Sera froze.

  “I fought with you to see what kind of cultivator you are, and I can’t say I’m not impressed,” Ujin said, getting up before tossing a coin to Tunde. “Go to this inn, give them that coin, and tell them it’s from the champion. You will be afforded the best hospitality Shimmersteel has to offer,” he said as Tunde bowed.

  “We thank the Highlord,” he said solemnly, Ujin nodding.

  “Also, I will require your services tomorrow for a peak Tier 4 rift at the outskirts of the city,” he said as Tunde winced inwardly; nothing was ever free anyways.

  “It should be a good way to test the true martial skills of cultivators from Black Rock,” Ujin said as Tunde bowed again. “If it pleases the Highlords,” Tunde said meaningfully as Ujin waved his hand.

  “Of course, you may leave, unless Bajun has any reason not to?” Ujin said, asking Bajun, who shook his head.

  With another bow, Tunde left the room along with Sera, both cards within his void ring and a stony glare on his face. So much for not standing out.