Devil in the cage

"Blood! Blood! Blood!"

The distant cheers whenever Larian and his opponent traded blows and cuts made the crowd well in excitement.

Larian swayed from the exhaustion. He stared at the broken sword in his arms, on habit he immediately rolled and picked a new weapon off the floor.

His current enemy was another pair of werewolves which had black and white fur respectively. 

The wolves were vastly different from the first pair Larian had fought. From the white wolf's head multiple eyeballs were wide open. Just from the front Larian could count 8 eyes staring at him. When the wolf flipped or ran , several eyeballs kept locking onto Larian from the back of its head.

It's counterpart on the contrary was entirely blind. It bled from it's hollow eye sockets, but from the precise movement and reaction it was deadly precise in sensing Larian's position. Larian could only guess that its other senses were enhanced.

There was something about the pair that made the fight much more difficult.

Their teamwork in flanking and swift repositioning gave Larian a hard time. Larian attacks would miss often and he had to give chase for his attacks to gain any chance of landing.

Larian pranced around the battlefield against the dynamic duo and fell into their rhythm. As he swung, he practised the first strike of the Sword art. 

To separate each movement he imagined from his completed Shinki Style, Larian decided to name each part of the combo. This was to facilitate the transfer between each blade when he needed them.

His first blade was the Draw. It was the hidden attack on unsuspecting opponents, it was part of how Larian had always been taught.

Sending the blade out like a hidden surprise, it lightly sliced the black werewolf. Now the white werewolf pounced on his back, ready to punish Larian for attacking presumptuously. But Larian whipped back and executed his second strike of Shinki Style.

The second blade was like a Serpent. It was the numerous attacks that seem to encompass multiple attacks into one, allowing Larian to hit multiple targets with versatile movements. It was the multihit aspect he practised which would twist and coil around the opponents.

The blade which was obviously aimed forward, twisted back into the incoming werewolf. Caught unexpectedly, the beast flinched as Larian's blade found it's mark and gouged out a coiling pattern on the wolf's arm.

Gaining an advantage, Larian didn't turn back and gave chase to his initial target. His next swing created mirages that looked like multiple swords randomly swiping at it's target.

He was now practising his third blade, the Deceiver. It was an attack meant to create space, either by gaining them by limiting attentive opponents or losing them by blocking the path. It was to cover Larian's lack of a movement technique.

Against the swift werewolves who dodged most of his strikes, the fake cuts manifested from his blade made the werewolves overexert themselves over his illusions with no substance in them.

With every swing Larian would advance towards the running werewolves. Unknowingly the werewolves were getting enclosed to one side of the arena.

The sight of one man cornering two beasts twice his size seemed absurd, but the wave of sword strikes made this swordsman menacing.

Larian's blade gave a glint of bright blue. Enwreathed in his blue energy, Larian drew his blade at great speed for an instant and fired off a wave of light and cutted into the white furred werewolf, dyeing it blood red.

This was his forth blade, the Reacher.

Larian's mastery over the strikes was lacking compared to how he saw in his head. Imagining a piece of art in your head to actually painting it is entirely different.

These were techniques he had some experience in. But now it didn't follow the practised path he had trained. They followed through ruthlessly without care for its beholder. Simply attacking gave his palms sweaty blisters.

The white werewolf dropped to the floor and his entire body soaked the blood off the floor turning him entirely red like a sponge.

Watching the light in the wolf's eyes go out, Larian felt indifferent. In a life and death fight, there must not be any hesitation.

The enraged mate of the werewolf went into a frenzy as it gave a blood curdling howl. It charged, ignoring the illusions and immediately came close to Larian, its gaping maw nearly encompassing his entire head.

Against the charging beast Larian steadied his feet. Assuming a pose with the blade on the front, Larian held his weapon with both arms.

Feeling his entire body weight on the blade, Larian stomped forward.

It crashed against the beast like a train smashing into a concrete wall. The beast fell under his weight and slid beneath his feet with its head cracked open.

It was quick to lose its bodily sensation and it laid on the blood stained floor, slowly twitching as its life seeped out of itself.

The familiar rattling of the gate opening rang out. Larian didn't turn back as he continued. If the beast survived then so be it, he didn't care if it sought revenge after the fight so long as he kept getting opponents to improve his blad Larian was happy.

Entering the next arena, the size reminded Larian that he had only completed his third fight. 

But walking through the arena alone left him in a somber mood. Star not being by his side meant that his training with the sword would take longer since he was a part of the reason Larian managed to innovate the complete sword art.

Bringing himself to a jog Larian went towards the arena's center. This was his forth battle, if experience taught him anything, he knew whatever ahead had won four previous fights as well.

Ready for anything, Larian awaited the gate's to open. But there was no sound.

Larian remained alert and his instincts made him look down. On the blood puddle's which he stepped on, he noticed ripples. No, it was rumbling. Something big was coming in and the sound of it's footsteps was getting greater and louder.

The footsteps felt like they were right in front of Larian but its intensity kept getting larger and stronger until each step made the floor under Larians feet tremble.

A head of a bull stitched into the body of a human giant. It was a minotaur the size of two men who stepped out of the shadow.

Craning his head up to look at the facial features of the monster, Larian could see the familiar red aura radiating off the contestants of the arena.

Combined with its heavy huffing gave it an overbearing presence similar to the Oni. 

'Round two in the name of redemption.'

Facing an enemy in an entirely different weight class has already been proved to be a disadvantage. 

'No more Star. But I won't lose!'

Larian took the initiative and aimed at the Minotaur's eyes with the Draw. The Minotaur barely flinched and ducked lightly and allowed the blade to scratch it's forehead.

Expecting a retaliation Larian took a step back and fell back. But nothing came back.

The Minotaur simply stood still and knelt. Leaning on it a giant battle axe with its left shoulder.

Quite confused, Larian moved closer and the beast simply allowed his blade to cut him up. Of course, in the face of a free battle, Larian didn't aim for any of the minotaur's vital points.

By the time enough wounds had accumulated and the minotaur was covered in its own blood, did the gate freely open.

Larian, although feeling quite lucky about advancing past the fourth stage, shivered at the thought of the person behind this situation. 

A minotaur two men high who create tremors with each step. Who would be able to convince or command such a creature to lose the round?

Before entering the fifth stage he noticed the crowd ahead was especially silent. Not silent enough where there was no noise, but unlike the loud cheers for blood they almost seemed pious. 

They were all chanting in rhythm. The silent echoes were not in any language Larian could understand.

'What the hell is this?'

Entering the stage, Larian looked down on the ground. There were grill's for its flooring.

*Shhhh…

The constant pouring of blood from his pathing was flowing down the grills into an endless pit down below. Looking forward he saw 8 different entrances where the blood flowed like a sewer down the drain.

This is where all the blood of the dead has been draining out from.

In the very center of the arena he saw a red devil whose arms were handcuffed in a thick iron block, the metal mask tied around his neck and mouth made Larian remember that it was the same demon he saw on his first day he entered this place.

This was it… The fight to qualify for the monthly fight. Larian was not aiming for the chance to go free. Instead he wanted to qualify to find Star again, he was sure that with Star's talent he would improve his sword style.

'Migel and his partner lost to this guy… I will probably lose, but I have to learn as much as I can from this fight.'

Larian kept his blade out of the devil's sight and prepared his quick draw. Holding his sword at his hip in a composed stance, Larian advanced closer to the Devil.

"Ahh… You're finally here."

A voice spoke into his head. Larian recognised it as the Devil in front of him intuitively.

"The last contestant directly gave up without a fight. Was that your doing?"

Larian could barely see the devil's expression but he somehow felt like he was smiling under the heavy metal mask.

"The key that we have been looking for… I've heard alot from your white haired friend."

The image of Star surfaced in Larian's mind.

"Star's already fought you?"

The devil stood up right and the thick metal grill creaked slightly from his weight.

"I heard interesting things about him… About how you are able to remove the curse that binds me. Am I correct?"

Larian felt slightly hurt that Star would sell out information about him to a stranger like a devil, but since it got him to the final stages Larian didn't dwell on it for long.

The devil walked close to Larian, he could look into the devil's dark pupils under the mask in the dimly lit arena.

The two contestants stared into each other's eyes for a while. Larian lowered his eyes and looked into the contraption that held the metal blocks together. The mechanism was thick and bulky and at first glance one would assume that it was the only thing holding the devil back.

Back Larian could sense under the metal block the multilayered suppression system that must be controlling the devil. 

Larian lifted his hands to touch his metal collar, if such a small piece was able to twist his muscles according to the vampire's wishes, how severe is the binding of the devil for them to use giant chunks of metal?

Consolidating the information in his head, Larian decided to answer the devil.

"That's right. I assume you'd want me to remove the bindings and it is certainly possible. But why would I do that?"

The devil spun and swung the giant metal block on his hands onto Larian's head.

Larian immediately leaned back but the devil sweeped Larian's leg and he fell on the grill floor.

Pressing the metal block on Larian's chest, Larian felt the weight squeezing his chest in. He felt his chest compress and he felt out of air.

"How about I not kill you?"

The devil tried to read Larian's expression but contrary to his expectations Larian's face didn't show fear or anger.

There was simply indifference.

Larian moved his mouth for the devil to read them.

"Do it."

…

The devil blinked his eyes for a short while. Then the metal pressing on Larian started to shake.

Larian felt his ribs straining from the weights but he remained composed. Larian was sure that since the devil wanted something from him, there was no way he would kill him.

After what felt like a torture, the weight was removed. Surprisingly the devil was laughing.

"Haha… Interesting. Tell me what would you want from a devil?"

Larian thought wandered.

There were many things he wanted.

Asking for assistance to fight Shinon? But he could not trust in the devil to keep his word.

Perhaps power that he could impart into a human like how the vampire's could with their blood vials. How would he pass anything to Larian without removing the bindings?

Larian looked around him. The crowd did not seem to care about the arena, their devotion to their chants seemed to be crazed.

Did they not care about what was happening in the arena? What was the difference between this central box and the ones leading to it?

There was a lot Larian was still unaware of. He didn't have to make his decision prematurely.

"I'll decide when I master my sword art."

If there was anything Larian needed now, it was to perfect the completed Shinki Style.

The Devil raised one of his eyes.

"It's obvious what most contestants wish for when they try to defeat me. They yearn for freedom out of this constant cycle of fighting and bleeding."

"Besides the rare few who come for revenge like your Starry friend, you only wish for strength in this place? What good is strength if you are perpetually stuck?"

"Unless… you already have a way out."

The devil squinted his eyes to try to scrutinise for anything outstanding from Larian.

"But you are so… Weak. How would you ever find a way out?"

Larian picked himself off the floor and prepared his stance.

"I guess we'll find out when I'm done mastering my sword art."

With that as his last words to the conversation Larian charged towards the devil.

He executed the fifth sword he imagined from his head. A body double split from himself, it was composed of runes which were written from the Divine Arm's talisman Shiro had taught him.

If he could control flying armaments with them why could he not control an entire human body?

Sweeping with his deceiver the Split Doppelganger took form that was entirely identical to Larian.

Although Larian's proficiency in illusions had not reached an advanced level, with a good level of understanding of the shape and form of an object he wanted to manifest, his illusion evolved from simple sword strikes into a human body.

Another reason was the sculpting lessons Larian had partook in while he stayed with Kait. The memorizing of fine details in a body figure had managed to turn Larian's illusion realistic.

Swinging forward with his doppelganger, a sword wave rose up. It flew forward at the devil like a torrent and sweeped him in its sharp embrace.

Surprisingly the devil dashed forward against the wave. As Larian watched the beast rush forward, quickly accumulating grievous wounds on its exposed flesh. The huge metal block swung at an impossible speed and smashed into Larian and the flimsy doppelganger.

***

*Clang!

Larian was tossed back into the metal cage.

His fight with the devil was unimpressive and short lived. The devil's metal bracers that were meant to hold him back were instead used as a weapon and with every swing, Larian would be sent flying across the arena.

Each hit shook his arms to the point of  soreness even when Larian blocked the strike.

Sitting in his cage Larian's head still felt blurry from the impact.

'This… is going to take some time.'

Larian sat upright and held out his crooked blade.

There was something that he never thought he would take for granted. The katana that Shiro gave him had never once bent or deformed. If it was one of the only things she had taken from the Isles when she left, it must have been very important.

"Migel. Are you there?"

"What is it, little lad? You came back woke this time. Something happened in the arena?"

Larian shook his head, but realised that Migel might not be able to see much in the darkness. Despite his lethality in the fight he still suffered the same weakness as Larian.

"Nothing. I just wanted to know how you get a hold of your armour here. I was entirely stripped when I first entered. I'd fare much better with my gear."

"Ahh so that was it. I completely forgot that you were almost naked when we fought. You'd have to request it if you get invited for your performance in the fights."

Invitation? Larian touched his neck. He secretly hoped that he would never have to go through that experience again. The feeling of your entire body going numb from the neck down wasn't pleasant, to say the least.

But he understood how the weapon was essential for his fights so he had to get them back as soon as he could.

Lying on the cold metal cage Larian let the fatigue of the arena settle in. He fell asleep quickly with the chill as his only blanket.