"I'm feeling fine," you tell the Announcer. "So, unless my opponent has any objections...?" You pause and look over at Altria.
"I do not," she replies.
You nod. "Then I'd say we're good to go."
The Announcer grins. "I was hoping you'd say that." He raises the microphone, and his voice. "You heard it here, folks! By mutual consent of our two finalists, we're skipping the intermission and going straight to the final round!"
As the crowd applauds, Altria enters the ring.
DRAGON-SOULED KNIGHT-IN-TRAINING: ALTRIA DRAKE
This is it. Your last fight, your final opponent. Defeat her, and you'll go home a champion in your very first tournament - the World Tournament, no less. Even if it's only the Under Tens Division, that's worth some serious bragging rights. Of course, if you lose, you'll have to go home and tell your Dad that you made it all the way to the finals, through a bunch of opponents who were alternately big, tough, fast, and/or skilled, only to lose to a girl half your size. A girl who can punch through inch-thick synthetic stone tiles and is resistant to magic, maybe, but a girl all the same - you know your old man well enough to know that's the main thing he'll take away from it. Likewise for Larry, and as for the girls... yeah.
With all that in mind, what is your bold plan to avert years of shame and teasing?
In the course of this tournament, you've fought the human, the half-human, and the inhuman, the treacherous and the merely tricky, the mystically-empowered and the mundanely (if incredibly) skilled. Yet in almost every match, you've had some sort of clear advantage. If it wasn't your pure physical size and strength, it was your ability to wield your life-force as sword and shield, and if it wasn't either of those, it was your magical talents. While there were a couple of fighters who could be deadly perilous for you to face in a true fight, and several more who would at least have required more effort to take down outside of the ring, within the bounds of the tournament you've generally had the edge.
And now? Now you're up against an opponent who appears to have a ready counter for just about every trick you've used to date. You may be bigger, but you've seen firsthand that Altria's aura-enhanced attacks are the equal of anything you can dish out, and that she has the ability to take that level of punishment in return. She has within her a wellspring of mystical energy that may very well exceed your own, and which will also handily protect her from most attempts at magical attack or manipulation. You could always turn into a giant again, you suppose, but something about taking that approach again feels... wrong. It's not the idea of re-using a trick that puts you off: you've pulled out grappling techniques in half your matches; you've pitched energy blasts at two different opponents; and you've released your aura at full power twice now, with another use likely imminent. It's just that you really want to fight Altria on something like even terms.
Fist against fist.
Aura against aura.
Power against Power.
May the last one standing win.
"Fair warning, Mister Harris," Altria says as she raises her small fists. "I will be going all out from the beginning this time, so guard yourself."
"Give me your best shot, Miss Drake," you reply. "I'll meet it in kind."
She pauses. "You mean that? No sorcery?"
"No spells, no tricks - no technical wins, unless it's the kind of opportunity only a great fool would pass up." You're tempted to add the words, 'I am not a great fool,' but the idea of speaking that phrase sends a chill down your spine for some reason, so you pass on it. "I intend to fight you until one of us gives, and it won't be me."
Altria smiles. "It won't be me, either."
You match her smile with a confident smirk, and settle into your own stance.
As if sensing what's about to come, the Announcer carefully steps back from the ring. "Very well, then. Fighters, are you ready?"
You and Altria both nod.
"Viewers, are you ready?"
There is a thunderous cheer. You can't make out any individual voices, but you're sure that Briar and Cordelia, at least, are cheering for you.
"Then let the championship bout of the Under Tens Division Finals of the World Martial Arts Tournament - BEGIN!"
Altria lights up like the sun, and comes flying at you on that same afterburner-like plume of reddish-gold energy you saw her use to knock Berserker out of the ring. You bring your own aura to Maximum Power, raise both arms to block-
Standing over Altria is either an impossibly beautiful boy in his early to mid-teens or an exceptionally lovely young woman who just happens to have a boy's manner and sense of style. He, or she, has long hair that is - except for a single loose, curiously eye-catching strand - bound up in a crown of braids and a bun at the back of the head, and wears what appears to be a cross between the formal, royal blue robes of an ancient king, and the gold-traced silvery steel of half-plate armor. The face is Altria's, several years older, relaxed in sleep, eyes closed and gauntleted arms crossed. The regal phantom carries no weapon or shield, but there is a sense of painful absence where a sword might be worn. About the slumbering figure stand three female figures, two of whom you immediately identify as Great Fairies - with those gossamer wings, that impossible hair, the ethereal beauty and pervasive aura of magic, they can be nothing else - though the third, clad in a darker, heavier gown and not obviously bearing wings, might possibly be a mortal. If so, she's clearly a magic-user.
About the fey women are other figures, most the faceless silhouettes of men in varying forms of ancient armor, though there is also a woman in an elaborate gown - and with all of them, there is again that sense of loss and longing and regret. In front of one of the armored men stands a boy in his teens, big-boned, not really good-looking, sort of a general air of loutishness - except for his smile, which is clearly that of someone's big brother. A couple of the other shadows have similar figures before them, but these are just as hazy and indistinct, and there are many spaces left unoccupied. The old man who Briar disliked is there as well, no longer wearing his stunning t-shirt and shorts, but the full, formal robes, tall, crooked staff, and pointy, broad-brimmed hat of a Wizard. There is no shadow-figure behind him as there is with the boy - it's as if he's part of both groups. He is also grinning in a way that you KNOW means he can see you.
You'd be terribly worried about that if not for the DRAGON.
The beast is immense, and looms above and about the entire assemblage, small plumes of flame erupting from its muzzle with each casual breath, while an aura of furnace-like heat and crushing power radiate from it like light from the Sun. Its scales are crimson, thicker, harder, and more resilient than any armor worn by man, reinforced by the sheer intensity of the monster's being so that even modern weapons would be so many flung pebbles cast uselessly into the path of the unstoppable force contained within. The Dragon's eyes burn with an inhuman intellect, and like the Wizard:
IT.
SEES.
YOU.
Gained Traumatic Memories F+
For your part, you feel many of the same things that you did when your aura clashed with Kahlua's. To your right ride the warrior-women, furious and free; to your left, the legion of monsters raise their weapons and bare their fangs at the looming threat of the Dragon. The black-armored king of thieves, warriors, and monsters raises high his own sword, and the Beast... is different? It's still recognizeable as itself, with an aura every bit as terrible and inhuman as the Dragon's, and a bellow of challenge as thunderous as the great red wyrm's own roar. Yet, instead of the trident-wielding tusked titan you have always seen in your bleakest dreams and waking visions, now you sense that the Beast stands on all fours. It digs at the ground with black hooves that strike sparks as steel against flint, the wild hairs of its dark coat bristle like a forest of knives, and its tusks are even more massive, beggaring those of elephants and mammoths.
The rest of the vision-figures fade, but the two monsters remain. The Dragon hangs in the sky, great wings defying gravity even as it prepares to dive like a fiery meteor, while below, the Beast gathers the might of eternal stone and volcanic fury unto itself as it readies a charge.
Gained Aura of Power C+
Gained Maximum Power F+++
-and then you are fighting Altria again. Though your guard buckles under her first-strike assault, it doesn't break, and you're able to spin her outstretched arm to one side as you take a shot in return.
The next thirty seconds see the most intense, brutal fighting you've ever personally taken part in. Altria moves like a rocket and strikes like a runaway train, but if you're not fast enough to match her, you're a long way from being overwhelmed, and you hit at least as hard. Altria's blows connect more often, but you're larger and less injured to start with, so you're better-able to absorb that punishment than she is to take those attacks of yours that get through. You can hear the Announcer shouting, but the words aren't important, and don't register. You can feel stone cracking under your feet, but you ignore the disturbance, because it's not important. You can hear the spectators roaring names and encouragement, but you put the thousands of voices out of your mind, because right now, they're not important either.
All that's important is your opponent, and the fight.
Fifteen seconds in, you notice Altria's aura flicker. Twenty seconds in, it's starting to shrink, though you can sense her trying to force it back up. Twenty-five seconds in, the girl's energy is wavering like the flame it resembles. Thirty seconds in, Altria is visibly panting, struggling to keep her power up and the pressure on.
In deference to her, you're not doing much better. Truth be told, you're kind of surprised that you're still able to keep your technique going - your ki and mana reserves have plummeted alarmingly, and your own aura is starting to diminish. You have five seconds, ten at the absolute limit, before it collapses. The question is, will that be enough to outlast Altria's dragon-powered aura?
Ten seconds.
That's all the time you have before your mystical reserves are tapped out, and you're left with no defense against whatever power your opponent might still be able to bring to bear. If your aura fails first, you'll have lost the match; it's as simple as that. By the same token, however, if Altria is the one whose power gives out first, the victory will be yours without question. For that matter, even if both of you lose your powers at the same time, you'll be two basically ordinary human kids - one of whom happens to have several inches of height and a significant amount of mass over the other.
So you press on, striking as often and with as much power as you can, making Altria block rather than dodge, forcing her to burn more of her power to withstand your attacks. You have committed yourself to this course. You gave your word, and you will keep it - this began as a test of power, and it will end as such. There will be no spells, no trickery, no exploitation of the rules. You will fight, with everything you have. Even if it hurts, and you are left a bruised mess for days; even if your muscles strain and your bones crack, you will grit your teeth and you will fight on! You will strive for victory, and you will not stop until you have achieved it, or been sent to oblivion's embrace!
As you reach this resolution, your aura flares just a bit brighter than before.
Gained Honest F
Gained Maximum Power E
Gained Warrior Born F
The fists continue to fly, and with each blow, you can't help but notice that Altria's strength is diminishing - though at the same time, you are beginning to feel the force of her strikes more acutely, as the protective properties of your aura falter. The blonde begins to tremble visibly, and then shake. After about six seconds, she suddenly flares her aura in a manner similar to the jet-like propulsive bursts she's used previously. It's a bit like being caught in a strong, hot wind, but while it pushes you back a few steps, dries your eyes, and makes your skin tingle, it has no actual harmful effect. When you stop squinting, you find that Altria has moved back roughly the same distance as you, and is channeling all that remains of her aura to her fist.
"My apologies for that maneuver," she tells you with a slight, penitent nod. "I hope you will not take it as a violation of the terms you offered, but I needed the space."
"It's fine," you tell her, lowering your own aura to conserve what wisps of energy you have left. "What are you planning to do with - that?" You nod at her glowing knuckles.
"I am at my limit," the blonde admits in a quiet tone that you doubt anyone else in the now-hushed arena can hear. "I cannot rightly concede a fight simply because I am tired, but it would be foolish of me to ignore the fact that if we continue this match using mundane methods, I will be at a severe disadvantage."
"...a final attack," you conclude. "One shot, win or lose."
She nods. "Prepare yourself, Mister Harris."
"Call me Alexander, please. Mister Harris is my father. And like I said before, Miss Drake" - and as you speak, you echo her action, focusing your remaining power into your right hand - "give me your best shot, and I'll meet it in kind."
There is a pause as she glances at your hand, and then she smiles. "If I am to refer to you by your given name, it seems only fair that you do likewise with me."
"Fine by me, Altria."
"Very well, Alexander. Now, be ready, because here I come!"
And with that final yell she charges you, propelled not on jets of supercharged magical energy, but simply by her feet. Her glowing hand is held at her side, ready to strike - an obvious attack, easily read and predicted even by a fighter with only a little experience. You make no attempt to dodge or block; instead, you step forward into the blow, bringing your own aura-infused fist around in a powerful backhand punch. Like you, Altria does not try to avoid the attack, meeting it head-on, fist-first. Once again, you see the Dragon, or at least a faint shadow of it, wrapped around Altria's arm amidst a cloud of fire, roaring as it flies forward. Your own fist is enveloped by the ghostly golden nimbus of the Beast, bellowing fearlessly as it charges its opposite number.
Then your hands make contact, and everything goes white, followed by darkness.
Gained Power Fist F+
If you do in fact lose consciousness, it's only briefly; the next time you open your eyes, it's to find the many lights of the arena hanging far overhead, half-blinding you as you look at them unprepared. Wincing, you snap your eyes shut for a moment, and immediately have to fight off the deep, aching exhaustion that only comes when you've managed to completely expend your available ki and mana. Technically, you could still dredge up power at this point, but you'd be taking it from the critical energies your body needs to function - you may have actually done so on a very small scale with that last stunt, although that could just be the reaction caused by Altria's foreign energies penetrating your unshielded body. You can hear a muted roar coming from all directions, but cannot make out any words.
Your head hurts. Come to that, your everything hurts.
You need to get up. Yes, you were knocked down, possibly even knocked out, but you're awake again now, and from the feel of cold faux-stone against your back, you're still in the ring. That means there's a chance the fight is still on. It isn't over until the Announcer calls - no, it isn't over until you quit, and you. Do not. Quit. You will get on your feet.
And so, with a considerable effort, you make it to your knees.
Then you're hit by the triple threat of a headrush, an upswing in the noise of the crowd and that loudmouth with the microphone, and the toll of the sudden expenditure of energy making itself known. It's too much at once, and you fall on your face.
Embarrassing.
Also, ouch.
And sweet goddesses, you're tired.
Still, it's not a complete loss. Before you pitched over, you managed to catch a glimpse of Altria. She's on the opposite side of the ring, quite a bit closer to the edge than you recall her being when your fists collided - evidently your Power Fist packs quite a wallop. In contrast, Altria's "Dragon Punch" only knocked you back about half as far as you punch sent her flying, though when you take the difference in your sizes into account, yours may actually have been the weaker attack...
Regardless, Altria is down. She was moving a bit, but she definitely came out of that final exchange the worse off. Now, if you could just...
On some level, you vaguely recall that it's supposedly not a good idea to lie down after taking a blow to the head. Even if Altria didn't punch you there, faceplanting into the surface of the ring with no ki buffer, magical shielding, or mundane defensive maneuvers certainly counts as a blow - quite possibly two blows, depending on how badly you landed after the clash of fists. There's also the more urgent matter that staying down will likely cost you the match. As such, you resist the siren song of unconsciousness and drag yourself to a mostly-upright sitting position.
"-ack up, folks!" the Announcer says, voice coming into something resembling focus. "For a second there, I thought he was done for sure! Still, he needs to get to his feet to earn a win! Can he do it? Will he collapse again? Or will Altria recover first?"
You glance across the ring to your opponent. She's still down, but is slowly rolling over onto her stomach. Her expression is fixed, and her eyes shine with determination; in a brief glance, she communicates that even now, she will not and perhaps cannot give up. The match is still on, it's merely become a contest of wills.
Despite the urgency of the situation, you take a moment to breathe. Nothing good will come from rushing again, you tell yourself; at best, you'll just fall on your face once more. Best to take this a step at a time. To go far, go slowly, and all that mumbo-jumbo.
Altria is turned over, now, and has her hands beneath her.
Right, screw waiting. Gathering what strength you have left - as much of it mental as physical at this point - you lean forward, pull one knee up to your chest, and plant a foot firmly on the tiles.
Altria is on her knees, now.
You start to stand, and for a dreadful moment, you feel yourself waver. You can hear the crowd's collective indrawn breath.
Altria has one leg steady under her, and the other is-
You steady yourself, shifting your other foot forward-
Altria's foot comes down-
You rise-
"Amazing!" the Announcer bursts out. "A simultaneous recovery! Now there's something you don't see every day, folks! This match is still on!"
Oh, Din curse it. You can't avoid directing a weary, deeply-annoyed glare at the blonde. She meets it with much the same expression, and for some reason, you're put in mind of an angry kitten. Well, maybe a lion cub. Either way, it's cute, and kind of funny - though that may be your potential concussion talking. You chuckle briefly, and Altria's glare deepens, although you swear you see her lips twitch.
What now, tough guy?
You can't help it. The sheer improbability of this situation, that look on her face, the blows to your head, the exhaustion taking its toll - it just strikes you as too funny not to laugh. And so you do, that first chuckle giving way to a snicker.
Altria's mouth twitches again, and the way she's trying to be all serious and mature is just the most adorably funny thing you've seen since the last time Zelda got into your mother's makeup. You let out a short gasp of amusement - and then Altria looks down momentarily, as if to hide the laugh that escapes her now-smiling lips. At that point, it's like a dam burst: you can't stop laughing; and with each new guffaw from you, Altria starts to - good grief, she's actually giggling. There go all your illusions about British propriety, keeping a stiff upper lip, and all that rot.
Under different circumstances, you might be content to let things end here, and allow the growing spinning in your head to carry you away. However, the fight is still on. With an effort that involves not looking at Altria for several moments, you rein in your battered sense of humor, allowing one final snort of amusement to go free before you still yourself and look up. Altria appears to have done likewise, but you can see that she's waging the same struggle you are not to laugh, or pass out.
"One more time, Altria?" you offer, raising a fist.
"One more time, Alexander," she agrees.
Moving almost as one, the two of you stride forward, Altria's shorter but swifter stride matching up to your longer, slower one. Not that she's moving anything like fast, mind you; you're both exhausted, half-staggering as you advance. It seems to take forever before you're in range, and there's a brief moment where you both hesitate, as if unable to believe that yes, you can finally strike.
Altria throws a punch that is the pale, awkward, horribly clumsy cousin of the raging mana-imbued blow she hit you with just a minute earlier. You answer in kind, unable to muster the energy to joke about casting Fist - or perhaps fearful that if you do so, you'll both collapse in hysterics.
As predicted, without her aura to enhance her body, Altria's strength is quite normal for someone of her age, gender, and conditioning. In other words, it's not nearly enough to do more than slow down one of your punches when the two collide in mid-delivery; Altria's arm is knocked aside, knuckles doubtlessly sore, and your own fist passes the girl's nonexistent guard to strike, feebly, against her shoulder. Pathetic as it is, that amount of force is enough to tip Altria over backwards, and once she starts falling, she doesn't have the strength left to stop.
Somewhere, a bell rings.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" the Announcer roars. "I give you the winner of the Twenty-First World Martial Arts Tournament's Under Ten Division Finals, ALEXANDER HARRIS!"
The crowd cheers. As you take what you dearly hope will your final bows and try not to fall on your face, you notice several of the robe-wearing officials coming over, carrying... stuff. One of those enormous novelty checks, for starters, a couple of plaques, several large business-style envelopes.
Oh. An awards ceremony. Goodie. You really don't have the energy for this, you...
...are suddenly aware that you're starting to feel less exhausted. Also, there is a light. You look up to find Briar hovering above you, waving her wand and working a spell of healing. It's not her full-fledged pixie dust healing, but dear goddesses, it feels good all the same.
"Can't have you falling on your face after all that," the fairy says practically. "Least of all when it's likely to end up on video. And now that the fighting's over, it's perfectly fine if I heal you."
"Oh, god, no," Altria groans from where she lies in the ring. "Please, Ambrose, not the fairies again."
Er, what?