Legend of Ransera

ϟ After some unforeseen circumstances and some much needed rest and recuperation, Barakael found himself back in the training arena. It would be the final test before Aya would feel truly and irrevocably certain he was ready for the Sand Dragon League. Today would be his chance to show her he was ready. As she took her seat within her spectator box, both her left and right hands flanking her sides, she nodded to the lion cub standing in the center of the arena. With a nod of acknowledgement, he took a deep breath and called forth Fulgur Ruina. Soon, several hooded figures would enter the arena, each taking up position at a cardinal point. In unison, they would begin to flood the arena with aether, and Barakael witnessed the arena's transformation into a lush jungle setting.

Where the sand-colored walls were erected, lush and vibrant trees and rainforest stood in their place. He stood in a clearing and was surrounded by the growing canopy of massive leaves and branches. Even the scent of the jungles of Ecith wafted into his nose, and the sounds as if he had been transported there echoed in his ears. The elaborate and masterful fabrication felt as real as it looked. He used to watch the senior gladiators train this way, but to be able to experience it for himself was truly unreal. Calling forth his pact weapon, he readied himself for the trial to begin. Wasting no time, the sounds of charging footsteps came running at him. It was clear to him that multiple footsteps were coming and that the Chimera style was the first one to be tested.

Soon, multiple orkhan illusions came charging out of the darkness of the jungle from different directions. Matching their charge, he rushed the group, his mace crashing against the phantom enemies. One after the other, bash after bash, the illusionary orkhan would dissipate after being struck. He remembered the maneuvers taught to him, keeping himself in a circling rotation to catch them as they approached him to attack. Dodge rolling out of harm's way, he would ensure none of them could get the jump on him. The good thing was that these were simple constructs, and the threat of real danger wasn't at the forefront of his mind, though it didn't mean he should be lax in how he went about it.

As the last of them fell before his mace, the next round was coming, and this one required the Phoenix style as faster shadowy figures came rushing from the jungle trees. This meant he had to be faster than the incoming enemies before him, striking them all with rapid attacks. Calling on the aid of the wind spirits around him to wrap around his feet in order to augment his speed, he glided quickly in quick succession, taking out as many as he could. Parrying each attack, he fought his way through the horde, pivoting on his heel to face them. Without hesitation, a varnish became active upon his mace, flames igniting around it, burning through the shadow figures as he danced around the battlefield.

For each one that fell, it seemed that three more took its place. He quickly deduced that this was going to continue until Lady Aya was satisfied with his performance. As he turned to tear through them once more, he almost lost his head as a shadowy figure almost cleaved it clean off his shoulders. Luckily, he was able to have the wind aid him in time to block it. Smashing the figure into the ground, he sprinted forward, using his mace to make a path. The faster he fought, the more phantoms that appeared to stop him. "You aren’t making this easy for me, are you, mistress?" he whispered.

She wasn’t making it at all easy for him, as several attacked in a uniformed fashion, delivering strikes and slashes in coordinated precision. As fast as he was, with the help of the wind allowing him to move faster, he still sustained cuts from the attacks he was unable to deflect, but it would take more than that to bring him down for good. Focusing on the moves he remembered from Vatali's demonstration, he fell into a rhythm that would allow him to deal with the influx, and it seemed that's what Aya wanted, as the shadows began to dwindle the more he attacked them. Before long, as he delivered several rapid smashes to the last shadow, he let out a sigh and then looked to where he figured Lady Aya was and smirked, his bronzed mahogany brown skin riddled with cuts and scratches.

"Lets end this." he growled, flourishing his mace in his air. Though he was surprised by the final apparition. His eyes widened when he watched a phantom of himself form. "Thats what I'm talking about!!!!" he exclaimed, lunging right at the phantom, only to be matched by the phantom mimicking his rallying cry. The Dragon style was now being tested, and Barakael collided against the phantom of himself with great force, clashing maces together; the clang of it echoed throughout the fabricated jungle.

Given the skill he held with his weapon of choice, it was an odd sensation at first to be exchanging blows with a copy of himself, but he knew that there was no better opponent to combat with than himself. The two met each other with brutal swings, each trying to cave in the chest or skull of the other. He was learning that the phantom knew the same moves he did, and so he would have to think out of the box if he was going to come out on top. The whole point of the Dragon Style was to be as brutal as possible, just as a dragon would in crushing its enemies, and he began to think of the platinum dragons and how they would go about it.

When the phantom went to smash him across the face, he ducked, bringing his mace down to crash into its knee, giving him the opportunity he needed to pull out a win. The phantom buckled, allowing Barakael to unleash a brutal assault. The gladiator came at the phantom with everything he had, landing swing after swing, each one laced with as much force as he could muster. The final blow came with Barakael taking its feet from under it with a sweep of his mace, and using that same momentum, slamming it down onto the phantom's face. It reached up to grab him, but ultimately dissipated before it could make contact.

Heavily panting, golden pupils watched as the illusionary jungle began to vanish from sight, Lady Aya sauntering her way into the arena, her left and right sides flanked by two massive lions, one male, the other female. "That will do my little lion prince." she approved, the female lion coming to rub up against the exhausted fighter. "You will dominate the Rookie circuit of the Sand Dragon League, of that I have no doubt." she complimented, petting the male lions as it too came to nuzzle the exhausted Barakael, licking his sun-bronzed skin. "Now come, you must be famished, and you'll need your strength and rest. Only three days till the opening ceremonies for the Sand Dragon League, for your debut in the arena."

Together, the two would walk out of the arena and back through the courtyard that led to the rest of the living spaces of the estate. Within the spectator's box, however, another stood, disgust on his face as he watched them leave, only to be interrupted in their loathing by another. This hate you have for the kid is a little unhealthy, dont you think? the new figure asked, only to be scoffed at by the loathing one. What's unhealthy is not knowing when to mind the business that pays you, Veltali. they hissed, causing the larger male to throw his hands up in surrender.

I honestly dont see why you have such a hate for him, he's done nothing to you Esrador. he inquired, the bulky male coming to watch their mistress walk Barakael to the kitchen to be fed. He was born, that is insult enough as it is. Let alone her grace spending so much effort on such a vermin.......just like his father. Esrador seethed, turning sharply on his heel to leave. Veltali moved so that the other could leave, shaking his head in disbelief. You would think as the kid's uncle, you'd have just a bit more sympathy for the guy, but I guess a hurt pride isn't so easily mended with time even if you are family. ϟ

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"Vastian Speech"
"Tallenese Speech"
"Vallenor Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"