Roy was just about to announce the final duel between Brask and Zehrina, hoping to get this whole insane tournament over with, when a booming voice shattered the relative quiet.
"Wait!"
All heads turned. "Fishthen," Roy's designated name for Kaelor, still in his comically oversized human disguise of a wrestling singlet, trench coat, and fluffy bunny slippers, strode forcefully into the center of the dueling ground. His nine-foot frame, even in human form, radiated an aura of barely contained power.
He pointed a massive, accusatory finger directly at Belaris, who was now sitting up by a tree, dabbing at a cut on his lip but looking remarkably, almost supernaturally, recovered from his earlier two-hour slugfest with Warrex. The bruises and swelling from that brutal encounter seemed to have vanished as if they were never there.
"Before the final, so-called 'main event'!" Fishthen bellowed, his voice echoing off the trees like a thunderclap. "I humbly request a battle! I want the buff human over there! The one who looks like he eats iron for breakfast and shits ingots!"
A wave of stunned silence washed over the onlookers. Belaris, looking surprised but not entirely displeased at the challenge or the colorful description, slowly got to his feet. He flexed his enormous, sculpted arms, a predatory grin spreading across his face. The speed of his recovery was unsettling; few beings could bounce back from such punishment so quickly.
Eryndra raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. "Damn, Belaris, you heal fast. What's your secret? Did Greg slip you one of his magic rings?"
Greg merely offered a smug, enigmatic smile, saying nothing.
Brask considered Fishthen, then Belaris, then shrugged with an air of detached amusement. "Fine. A bit of extra entertainment before the grand finale. Belaris, are you capable?"
Belaris cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp and dangerous. "More than capable. Always ready for another dance."
Roy stepped forward, a worried frown creasing his brow. "'Fishthen', are you sure about this? Belaris is a beast. And no magic, got it? Purely physical. We don't want to give these guys any more clues about what you can really do."
Fishthen erupted in a joyous, almost manic roar of laughter that sent birds scattering from the nearby trees.
"No magic?! Captain, you wound me! But these… rebels… they are otherworlders like yourself, are they not?" He leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a booming whisper. "They won't know the difference between my natural aquatic prowess and a few… subtle enchantments, yes? A little water manipulation is hardly true sorcery for a being of the deep! Just a bit of splashy fun!"
Roy sighed, rubbing his temples. This was getting out of hand. "Fine, Fishthen. Subtle water stuff. But if you start summoning tsunamis or giant kraken, I'm pulling the plug. Serenity will drop a very large, very heavy net on you. Understood?"
Fishthen's grin widened, revealing rows of terrifyingly sharp, albeit currently human-looking, teeth. "Understood, Captain! Oh, this will be glorious!"
He practically skipped to the center of the field, his bunny slippers flapping ridiculously with each eager step. He shed the trench coat with a theatrical flourish, revealing the surprisingly well-fitting wrestling singlet beneath, its fabric straining against his immense, disguised physique.
Belaris met him there, equally eager, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. The size difference was still significant, Fishthen towering over him, but Belaris radiated an aura of unshakeable confidence, born from his extraordinary natural talent and rapid healing.
"Let the carnage begin!" Fishthen roared, not waiting for any official start.
He exploded forward, not with human speed, but with the terrifying, unnatural velocity of a creature accustomed to moving through dense water. Streams of water, drawn up from the deep groundwater beneath the forest floor by some unseen manipulation, coalesced around his feet, slicking the grass and propelling him across the ground as if he were swimming through the air itself. He covered the distance to Belaris in a single, breathtaking surge.
Belaris, his eyes widening in surprise at Fishthen's sheer speed, barely had time to raise his arms in a defensive posture before Fishthen's first blow landed. It wasn't a punch; it was a full-bodied collision, like being hit by a runaway whale. The impact sent Belaris skidding backward a dozen feet, his flip-flops flying off in opposite directions as he struggled to maintain his footing on the now slick grass.
"Hahaha! Too slow, little human!" Fishthen cackled, his voice ringing with pure, unadulterated joy.
He was a whirlwind of gleeful aggression, each movement powered by those subtle, almost imperceptible currents of water that seemed to flow from the ground around him, guiding his limbs, amplifying his strikes. He lunged again, a massive fist whistling through the air. Belaris, recovering his composure with impressive speed, ducked beneath the blow, his own fist shooting out in a powerful counter-aimed at Fishthen's ribs. It connected with a dull, meaty thud, but Fishthen didn't even flinch. He merely grinned, a terrifying, sharp-toothed expression of predatory delight, and brought his other hand crashing down like a warhammer.
Belaris twisted away, the blow grazing his shoulder, sending a shockwave of pain up his arm. He could feel Fishthen's overwhelming physical strength, a raw, primal power that far outstripped his own, even with his prodigious natural gifts. And the speed! It was like fighting a tidal wave given furious, aggressive form.
Fishthen didn't let up. He was a blur of motion, appearing and disappearing within his self-generated currents of water, striking from unexpected angles with a joyous, almost childlike brutality. Each blow from Fishthen was a thunderclap. Belaris found himself constantly on the defensive, his own powerful strikes either missing entirely or glancing harmlessly off Fishthen's surprisingly resilient human-disguised form. The sheer, unrelenting pressure was immense. It was like trying to fight a hurricane with his bare fists.
"Come on, human! Is this all the mighty Bloodthrone Rebellion can muster?!" Fishthen taunted, his laughter booming. He swam through another arc of water, his fist connecting solidly with Belaris's jaw. Belaris staggered, stars exploding behind his eyes. He could taste blood.
A flicker of something Roy hadn't seen in Belaris before. Fear. Pure, unadulterated panic. This wasn't a brawl; it was a mauling. Fishthen was too strong, too fast, too terrifyingly happy about inflicting pain.
Fishthen sensed the shift. His grin widened, becoming even more terrifying. "Oh, yes! I see it! The fear! It's delicious!" He surged forward again, unleashing a flurry of blows, each one aimed to break, to crush, to overwhelm.
Belaris stumbled backward, his movements becoming frantic, clumsy. He tried to fight back, to land a decisive blow, but Fishthen was everywhere at once, a laughing, roaring tempest of destruction. The water streams around Fishthen were thicker now, almost like living tendrils guiding his assault. He wasn't just fighting; he was playing, and Belaris was his unfortunate, rapidly deteriorating toy.
With a final, desperate grunt, Belaris threw up his hands, his face pale and slick with sweat. "I… I forfeit!" he gasped out, his voice ragged and strained. "I yield! Stop! Please!"
Fishthen froze mid-strike, his massive fist hovering inches from Belaris's terrified face. His joyful expression instantly contorted into a mask of pure, incandescent rage. "Forfeit?! You dare forfeit against me?!" he roared, his voice cracking the very air.
The water streams around him churned violently, lashing out like angry serpents. "I was just getting warmed up, you pathetic human worm!"
He raised his fist again, clearly intending to ignore the forfeit and continue the annihilation.
"Pickled fish!" It was Roy this time, his voice calm but firm, cutting through Kaelor's rage.
Fishthen trembled, his entire body vibrating with suppressed fury. He slowly, reluctantly, lowered his fist, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. He turned his blazing eyes on Roy, and for a moment, Roy thought the disguised sea king might actually attack him. But then, with a visible effort of will that spoke volumes of his hidden restraint, Fishthen reined himself in. The violent water streams around him subsided, sinking back into the earth.
He let out a frustrated, guttural growl, kicking a nearby rock with such force that it shattered into a dozen pieces. "Fine!" he spat, glaring daggers at the now thoroughly cowed Belaris. "But next time, human, fight until you can no longer stand! A warrior does not simply give up!"
Fishthen stomped back towards Roy's group, his bunny slippers making surprisingly little noise on the grass, his earlier joyous aggression replaced by a simmering, grumpy frustration.
Roy let out a long, slow breath. "Okay," he said, trying to sound casual. "Well, that was… certainly something." He glanced at Belaris, who was being helped to his feet by a concerned-looking Greg.
Belaris just shook his head, still looking pale and shaken. He didn't meet Roy's eyes. The invincible brawler, the hero-tier talent of the Rebellion, had been thoroughly, terrifyingly outmatched and, more importantly, out-spirited.
The mental scoreboard in Roy's head remained unchanged, as this was an unsanctioned addition, but the psychological impact was undeniable. Team Roy now held a clear, intimidating edge in raw, unpredictable power.
The final duel between Brask and Zehrina would still decide the official outcome of their agreement. The air in the clearing was thick with anticipation, and a new, healthy dose of fear for the raw power Roy's side could unleash, even from its most… eccentric members.