"That is the king of Merra?" Selice asked now that they were away from him and in the coliseum's waiting room. Trist had been only a year or two older than Loy and a third of his maturity, which put him at the approximate age of three.
"Unless someone else comes along that's what this country is stuck with," Loy said, strapping the one arm armor he wore from the top of his right shoulder down to his wrist. Usually, he wasn't so cautious when fighting, but he had heard of Merra's strongest new talent who was currently undefeated in the kingdom's coliseums battles.
"But that's the last thing I want," Loy added as Beal strapped the armor down his back. "The dumb monarchs are so much easier to predict." Loy grinned, looking to the only source of light coming from a wide-open arch leading out to the battlegrounds.
"I don't know Loy," Cal said with his chin trapped between his fingers. "Something about him seemed suspicious like he was trying too hard to come off transparent, come off too naked."
"I mean yeah!" Beal said, tightening the straps too much and cutting off Loy's blood circulation. "Did you not just see the orgy?"
Loy straightened out his arm and the metal crashed into Beal's nose with a loud thud.
"Try to be more observant." Loy scolded, readjusting his armor. "You teenage brat."
Loy left Beal with a fresh wound as he gazed out at the battlegrounds. The dirt field was covered in a layer of red dust, and thousands of people stood fifty feet above him in the stands. A balcony twenty feet above the ground was where King Trist sat alongside his guests. He met Loy's eye and waved. Loy waved back.
Selice noticed the exchange and joined the prince. "Loy, why are we really here?" She asked, knowing there was a reason behind everywhere they had traveled to thus far and this was not likely just a stop for a fight or an orgy.
Loy smiled down at her. "Figure it out." He said as drumming started to signal his entrance. "I've got to put that brain to good use." Loy unhooked his necklace, calling his artifact to hand, and started to make his way to the center of the arena, but before Selice was out of earshot added, "And later I'll make good use of your body."
Selice's pout returned in full force, and Loy felt reassured by it as he went off into battle. Beal, who had heard the comment, went bright red, and Cal missed the comment as he was keeping careful watch of the prince and king.
Loy raised his arms up to the thousand of excited spectators shouting for him and walked to the jutted-out balcony where he faced Trist. The king raised his hands and Loy's opponent marched to meet him in the center of the field. The crowd's cheers turned deafening with the entrance of the all time favorite of the stadium warriors.
"Loy of Etilia!" Trist yelled over the cheers that started to die down. "We welcome you to Merra and we welcome your challenge!" The screams started back up and Loy addressed the crowed with a raise of his hand.
"And to Cyril of Merra!" Trist yelled, and the crowd erupted once again. "We welcome back our undefeated warrior!" The stadium's cheers exploded louder this time, and Loy took the moment to analyze his opponent. Cyril looked about 30, with slashes across his bronze face and nothing but lean muscles in his arms and legs. But it was the weapon clasped around his thin waist that gave Loy pause.
The king looked at both men below him with pure excitement in his eyes. "Begin!" He yelled as the crowd did too. Loy turned to his opponent, his ball and chain steady.
His opponent lowered his hands to his waist and started to undo his belt. Loy got concerned for a second thinking Trist perhaps mistakenly set him up for something similar to the orgy of before, but once the thin metal belt was in his opponent's hand, it uncurled into an iron whip with serrated razor-sharp edges. The man straightened it out with a whip of his arm and it stiffened to its more sword-like form.
Selice squinted her eyes, looking upon the scene. "Is that weapon like Loy's?"
"Yes," Cal answered but concentrated on Cyril. "Another artifact user."
Cyril wasted no time once his weapon was drawn to charge, and Loy stood his ground.
"And Loy's never faced one before," Cal added, seeing the men figuring out each other's strength in a stalemate. "That can't be good."
Just as Cal said the words, the man's weapon turned back into a whip and wrapped around Loy's ball and chain.
It happened so fast Loy didn't have time to react as Cyril jumped into the air, and almost yanked his weapon out of hand.
Loy managed to hold on but lost sight of his opponent in the sunlight as he dropped down on him from above.
Loy had just enough reaction time to dodge and the whip created a two-foot divot in the ground where he stood.
Selice's heart dropped seeing Loy get so close to getting struck down, but Loy smiled the most genuine smile he had since arriving here.
The prince ran at the man with the full force of a swing. Cyril dodged under the attack, and sliced up hitting the armor on Loy's arm with a loud clanging sound, then tugged down so the whip started to wrap around Loy's arm.
Loy cursed but used the power behind his muscles to hold steady against Cyril's strength.
"You're pretty good," The prince granted his opponent, feeling the serrated edges start to pierce and crack the metal of his armor. "How long have they been training you to inherit that artifact?"
"Long enough to beat you," Cyril grunted, springing into the air and freeing his weapon to attack Loy from above.
"We'll see about that." Loy grinned, seeing Cyril's silhouette in the sun, and swinging his ball and chain in his direction.
Cyril stiffened his serrated chain and blocked the ball from crushing his organs but it sent him flying to the side.
"I bet you've defeated a lot of men with that," Loy said, rolling out his shoulders and giving Cyril a lopsided smile. "But you haven't faced a prince yet." Loy jeered, his smile turning sinister. They charged each other at the same time and Loy's stance mirrored Cyril's perfectly, already adapting and predicting his next move.
Loy stepped forward with his footing, off-putting Cyril who had to take a step back. He swept his weapon at the prince's feet as he did, but Loy easily predicted the counter and jumped over it.
Loy charged this time, and the two met in a second stalemate before Cyril loosened his weapon and tried to get it around Loy's, but Loy unstiffened his ball and chain and wrapped it around Cyril's instead, pulling with all of his strength to send the man crashing down on his side.
Cyril managed to hold onto his weapon but suffered a bruised rib that he had to clutch. The man couldn't help but look his King, and Loy looked to Trist as well, who could have burnt cities to ashes with the hatred searing his face.
A true naked vision of the king, Loy thought, following up with another attack. Cyril stiffened his weapon and met the force of Loy's again, this time with all of his strength behind the assault. A huge clang radiated out all around the field, sending any spectator's hair flying backward as a power unlike attender had ever felt pulsated out from the collision.
Selice had to cover her eyes from the dust the collision unsettled.
"The kids at the village used to talk about the artifacts," Beal said, watching the scene in pure astonishment as a shrill ringing sounded from the weapons. "They said when two artifacts faced off against each other they created enough force to kill everyone around them."
"And all together, they'll destroy the world." Cal finished, recalling the famous warning.
Selice opened her eyes against the dust to look at Loy and Cyril's battle. Magic steamed off their weapons as they pushed against each other, Loy's white like a lightning strike, and Cyril's as dark blue as the sea before a storm.
Cyril's eyes narrowed looking upon the notorious psychotic prince. His power was noteworthy but what unsettled him most was the serenity he had about him. "Why do you smile like that?"
Loy shrugged his shoulders. "Because," He said, his token lopsided grin returning in full force though his muscles ached, "I'm having fun." Loy shifted the weight of his weapon to the side and Cyril rolled with it, almost snapping his ankles as he did. He gritted his teeth but looked up to the King's balcony.
His daughter watched on from above, her hands clasped together in worry, but she mistakenly stood in front of the king who made sure she knew of her place by activating the stone bracelet around his wrist that pulled her back from the slave stone worn around her neck. Trist held up the activation stone, making sure Cyril was reminded of what was at stake if he were to disappoint him.
Cyril gritted his teeth tighter and charged Loy again. His speed was fast, creaking cracks in the ground as he moved, and making his whip crash down with far more power than he had shown before.
A cloud of dust unloaded into the air, and Cyril looked satisfied until he felt a tug on his weapon and was pulled back once again.
Loy tugged on his ball and chain, before slamming it backward, sending Cyril flying.
In the air, Cyril repositioned himself and whipped down onto the prince, the razors slicing through the air so fast it created a breeze to either side of it.
Cyril smiled seeing his weapon wrap around the prince's waist, and just before he could flex his wrist to tighten it, he felt cold metal around his neck.
Cyril's weapon automatically relaxed as Loy's chain choked him of oxygen. He reached for the metal, but it was too late. It had already locked.
Loy's artifact glowed a bright white and hummed as it readied for Loy's command to end it all.
Selice's eyes gaped open. She had seen Loy use this ability before, Death Grip, as Beal had called it. Loy's chains clinked as they tightened around each other, cutting off Cyril's air completely.
Loy's eyes rimmed at the edges with red, looking upon his opponent, who no doubt would have killed him if he were in his position. He could assume it was Trist's hope all along, that Loy would have accidentally fallen in battle, leaving behind his artifact. His weapon tightened as a reaction to his thoughts, and Cyril could feel his lungs being crushed. It was dead quiet in the stadium as everyone awaited Loy's finale, which is why the scream of "Dad! No!" rang so clearly in the prince's ear.
Cyril shot his gaze up to his daughter, who seemed ready to jump down from the balcony to come to her father's aid. Trist let her scream, not wanting to lose his most competent artifact warrior yet, but not knowing how to stop Loy who was completely in the right to kill him by the rules of the coliseums.
Selice looked at the girl, who was perhaps thirteen. She had the same dusty brown hair as her father, but her's was curlier and her skin a dark brown.
The interruption made Loy pause. He looked over to where Beal was watching him, trying his best to come off ruthless and accept the necessity of Loy's actions, but the orphan couldn't help but sympathize with the girl.
The prince's eyes dimmed, as did the glow of his weapon. His chain retracted from Cyril's neck.
Cyril fell to his knees and stared up at the prince.
"I've left enough children in this world fatherless already," Loy spoke but looked at Beal.
Cyril massaged out the bruises on his neck and turned to his daughter who was still praying the prince spare her father's life.
Loy stepped past Cyril, recalling his weapon back to its necklace form. The audience was still, not knowing what this end meant when every other one had only stopped when one or both men laid dead on the field.
Trist regained his composure and quickly jumped to intervene. "We have our winner!" The king announced. "Prince Loy!" The audience cheered for Loy, and though the entertainment was exhilarating it was a great loss for Merra, felt none more than by the glowering king.
"No one has ever gotten that close to beating me in over five years." Loy said to Cyril, a smile breaking out as he felt the adrenaline that came from a good fight still in his body, "It'll be amazing to see what you become." Loy offered his hand down to the man.
Cyril kept quiet to the prince's words but looked straight ahead to the utterly displeased king and his relieved daughter. He got to his feet himself, brushing past the prince's unfortunate kindness.