Steroids

The clang of Fernando's staff striking the arena floor echoed through the stands. With a flick of his wrist, the origami crane at its tip unfolded, transforming into a shimmering paper tiger. The beast, crafted with intricate detail, roared silently, its paper form crackling with a faint, electric glow. Rylan's eyes narrowed. Paper magic that mimicked other elements? Interesting.

She sidestepped the tiger's pounce, the paper beast dissolving into a flurry of white flakes before reforming a few feet away. Rylan launched a bolt of lightning from her fingertips, the crackling energy arcing towards the paper tiger. It struck true, the electricity momentarily disrupting the beast's form. But it rematerialized within seconds, its paper fangs bared.

Frustration gnawed at Rylan. Fernando, his confidence growing, sent another paper construct at her – a serpent, its scales shimmering with a fiery iridescence. It lunged, snapping its paper jaws. Rylan rolled away, the searing heat singeing the leather of her armor. This wasn't going as planned. Fernando's control over his paper magic was impressive, his constructs relentless and adaptable.

Sweat dripped down Rylan's face, stinging her eyes. She needed to get close, disrupt his control over the paper. But every time she tried to approach, a new origami beast materialized, blocking her path. The crowd roared, their cheers a cacophony of confusion and excitement. Elian's voice, a frantic yell lost in the din, reached her ears for a fleeting moment.

Desperate, Rylan reached into her satchel, her fingers closing around a familiar object. A throwing knife, its tip etched with a faint rune. With a flick of her wrist, she launched it at Fernando, aiming not for him, but for the staff in his hand. The knife struck true, the rune glowing momentarily before shattering the staff.

A gasp escaped Fernando's lips. The paper constructs all dissolved, fluttering to the ground as lifeless flakes. But before he could react, Rylan was on him. A surge of electricity crackled through her hand, coursing through the metal gauntlet she wore. She slammed her fist into Fernando's chest, the electricity erupting in a blinding flash.

The boy screamed, thrown backward by the force of the attack. He landed with a thud, his body convulsing as the electricity danced across his form. Rylan didn't give him a chance to recover. With a guttural yell, she channeled a burst of flame, her fist turning into a fiery gauntlet. It was a desperate move, one that left her drained and vulnerable, but it was all she had.

Her flaming fist connected with Fernando's face in a sickening crunch. The smell panting, her breath ragged, her vision blurry. Her unorthodox tactics, the combined use of flame and electricity magic – abilities she hadn't revealed to Elian or anyone else – had secured her victory, but at a cost. Her body ached, her magic reserves depleted. She stumbled back, adrenaline fading, and collapsed onto her knees, the cheers washing over her in a distant wave.

She had won. But the victory felt hollow in the face of the scorched imprint of her attack on Fernando's face. This wasn't the victory she'd envisioned, not the one she'd promised Elian. Shame and exhaustion gnawed at her as she stared down at the unconscious boy, the taste of burnt metal and victory clinging to her tongue.

The metallic tang of blood still lingered in Elian's throat as he navigated the throngs of students, desperate for a bathroom break. Every muscle in his body ached in sympathy with Rylan's grueling battle. He found a secluded corridor near the back of the arena, the cheers and jeers muffled by distance. Relief washed over him as he spotted the familiar sign – Men's Restrooms.

He pushed open the door, the stale air thick with a peculiar odor. It wasn't the usual mix of disinfectant and… well, other bodily functions. This was something different, a sickly sweet scent that sent a shiver down his spine. He wrinkled his nose, hurrying towards a stall at the far end.

Just as he was about to close the door, a muffled groan erupted from the next stall. Elian froze, his heart hammering against his ribs. Was someone hurt? He hesitated for a moment, then knocked tentatively on the wooden partition.

"Hey, everything alright in there?" he called out, his voice barely a whisper.

A tense silence followed, punctuated by a series of rattling coughs. Then, a voice, gruff and raspy, answered back. "Yeah, just peachy." It was laced with a barely suppressed edge of pain.

Elian frowned. Something wasn't right. Curiosity gnawing at him, he finished his business and stepped out of his stall. He peeked over the partition of the next one, his breath catching in his throat.

Inside, crammed into the small space, sat a boy. But "boy" didn't quite seem to do him justice. He was built like a bull – broad shoulders straining against a sweat-drenched shirt, powerful arms crisscrossed with bulging veins. His silver hair, damp with perspiration, stuck out from beneath a headband. But it was his face that truly startled Elian. It was contorted in pain, his jaw clenched, a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin.

Then Elian noticed it. A small vial clutched in the boy's hand, the glass tinted a strange shade of blue. The sickly sweet scent intensified, emanating from the vial. An unsettling realization dawned on Elian. That wasn't sweat on the boy's face – it was a telltale sign of overheating, a side effect of some potent enhancement drug.

Before Elian could react, the stall door swung open with a bang. The silver-haired boy stumbled out, his legs wobbling slightly. He towered over Elian, easily six-foot-seven with a presence that filled the small bathroom. His eyes, the same icy blue as the vial he clutched, met Elian's.

The silver-haired boy stared at him for a long, tense moment. Then, with a grunt that sounded suspiciously like a sigh, he turned and walked away, his broad shoulders brushing past Elian in the narrow space.

Elian stood rooted to the spot, a cocktail of confusion and apprehension churning in his stomach. Who was that guy? And what kind of magic… or was it even magic… was he using? He had witnessed Rylan's brutal victory firsthand, the taste of a questionable win still lingering on his tongue. But this… this was something entirely different, something far more sinister.

Elian exited the bathroom, his mind replaying the scene. He needed to tell someone, someone he could trust. But who? Res wouldn't understand the intricacies of performance-enhancing drugs, and the teachers… well, Elian wasn't sure if they were looking the other way or simply hadn't noticed.

As he walked back towards the stands, a heavy cloak of suspicion settled over him. The second day of the Arcana tournament was over, but it seemed the real battle – a battle beyond spells and shields – had just begun.

The roar of the crowd seemed to vibrate in Elian's bones as he pushed his way back through the throng of students. He scanned the arena, his gaze finally landing on the combatants. One was a caricature of a hero – a hulking figure clad in gleaming silver armor, emblazoned with the crest of the Silvercrest Dominion. His opponent, in stark contrast, was a girl barely scraping five feet two. Her nimble form, clothed in simple robes the color of saffron, betrayed her origin – Zera of the Sunfire Dominion.

The mismatch was evident from the first exchange. The silver-haired giant, who Elian now knew was named Gregor, lumbered around the arena like a battering ram. Zera, fueled by agility and bursts of blinding light magic, danced around him, her movements a blur of golden light. She rained down bolts of condensed sunlight, each one leaving a sizzling scorch mark on Gregor's armor.

But Gregor seemed impervious to the pain. He roared with each blow, fueled by an unnatural strength. He cornered Zera against the edge of the arena, his fist the size of a melon raised high. Elian's heart lurched in his chest.

"Give it up, pipsqueak!" Gregor bellowed, his voice distorted by the helmet. Zera, her face contorted in concentration, channeled a burst of blinding light, forcing Gregor to shield his eyes. She used that moment to dart away, weaving through his lumbering attacks.

Gregor, frustrated, abandoned tactics. He lunged at Zera, his fist aimed at her stomach. The blow connected with a sickening thud. Zera doubled over, a choked gasp escaping her lips. Her body convulsed as she vomited onto the dusty floor, a scarlet stain blossoming amidst the swirling dust.

But just as she bent over, a glint of defiance flashed in her eyes. With a flick of her wrist, she slashed a hidden dagger across Gregor's outstretched hand. A deep cut opened, revealing not the crimson of blood, but a sickly blue liquid bubbling beneath the surface.

A hush fell over the crowd. The herald, his face pale, stammered into his microphone. "Hold! What… what was that?"

Gregor roared in pain, clutching his bleeding hand. The blue liquid sizzled against his silver armor, leaving smoking scorch marks. The truth hung heavy in the air – Gregor, the seemingly unstoppable warrior, was a fraud, fueled by forbidden enhancements.

The silence was broken by a booming voice. A stern-faced woman, clad in the blue robes of the Arcana Council, materialized on the arena floor. "Gregor of the Silvercrest Dominion," she booed, her voice laced with icy fury. "You stand accused of using prohibited performance enhancers! You are hereby disqualified from the tournament!"

Gregor, his bravado shattered, looked like a deflated balloon. He mumbled a weak protest but was quickly escorted out of the arena by crestfallen Silvercrest officials.

The crowd erupted in a mixture of cheers and jeers. Zera, pale but defiant, looked up at the stands. Her eyes met Elian's, and a flicker of a smile crossed her lips. It wasn't a victory smile, but a smile of vindication, a testament to the resilience of the underdog.

Elian returned her smile, a wave of relief washing over him. Justice, however imperfect, had prevailed. But the lingering image of the blue liquid in Gregor's wound gnawed at him. This wasn't just about a single disqualified fighter. This was about something far more sinister lurking beneath the surface of the tournament, a shadow that threatened to engulf the spirit of fair competition. The fight might be over, but the real battle, Elian knew, had only just begun.