Bianca stared across the ring at Tanker, a formidable, hulking figure whose sheer presence alone was enough to sow doubt. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her mind racing. Should she attack, or hold back, trying to decipher his impenetrable defense? Her nervousness, a cold, unwelcome guest, clawed at her stomach. (Should I keep sizing him up, or just chop him down? Maybe I can go for his arm with no palm; I think it's his weakest part. But I can't just stand here. It would be bad if he acts first.)
With a burst of resolve, Bianca broke the stalemate. She moved in a dizzying zigzag pattern, a tactic meant to disrupt his rhythm and prevent him from predicting her attack. To her surprise, Tanker didn't move an inch or even shift into a fighting stance. He just stood there, his eyes, like unblinking stones, calmly tracking her every elusive movement. Confused but committed, she continued her charge, closing the distance rapidly. Her target: his exposed, palm-less arm.
As her sword descended, Tanker's skin rippled, hardening instantly. The blade struck, but instead of cutting flesh, it met something akin to reinforced steel. It didn't even leave a scratch or a mark. Bianca recoiled, stumbling back, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"I'm still waiting for your attack," Tanker drawled, his voice bored, as if he hadn't felt a thing. His nonchalance ignited a furious spark in Bianca. She charged again, a whirlwind of frustrated strikes, but the result was always the same. Each time her weapon made contact, his body preemptively hardened, rendering her efforts futile.
The crowd watched in silent despair, a collective understanding dawning that Bianca's fight was becoming hopeless. Even Rider, despite his deep-seated desire for her success, felt a cold dread creep in. (Please, hang in there, Bianca,) he thought, clutching his knees, trying to find a glimmer of hope in her relentless, but ineffective, assault.
From his royal chamber, Azreal's breath caught in his throat. His mind raced, picturing the terrible things Tanker, a man capable of such callous disregard, could do to his daughter. He clamped a hand over his mouth, trying to rein in his paternal alarm. Beside him, King Neon offered a silent, understanding glance, acknowledging Azreal's pain before returning his gaze to the unfolding battle.
In the ring, Tanker finally tired of Bianca's fruitless attacks. As she moved in for yet another strike, he raised his massive leg and delivered a mighty kick directly to her gut. The force of the blow lifted her off her feet, sending her flying across the ring. Azreal cried out her name from the chamber, a raw, uncontrolled sound of paternal anguish, before clamping his mouth shut, struggling for composure. King Neon, witnessing Azreal's unfiltered worry, simply held his shoulder, offering a silent comfort as he continued to watch the fight.
Bianca lay crumpled on the ground, a gasp escaping her as blood rushed from her mouth. She clutched her stomach, her body wracked with agonizing pain. Tanker's footsteps were slow and deliberate as he advanced. "Just a little touch, and that's all it took to bring you to your knees," he sneered, drawing his sword. "I haven't even drawn my own weapon yet. Please, don't give up."
Fuelled by defiance, Bianca forced herself upright, glaring at Tanker through a haze of pain. "I'm not done yet, you freak!" she spat, her voice raspy. "I promised that you would eat your words, and I mean what I say!"
Before she could fully regain her balance, Tanker's massive left hand, the one with no palm, lashed out. It connected with a brutal punch to Bianca's face. The blow was so devastating that the entire crowd reacted with a collective gasp of horror, except for Aingo and Zack, who watched with their own distinct, unreadable expressions. Bianca collapsed, her vision blurring, a high-pitched ringing filling her ears. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through her as she tried to escape Tanker's looming shadow.
But Tanker was too fast. He grabbed her by her hair, lifting her easily. As her feet dangled uselessly, her hearing and sight slowly returned. "You're lucky I punched you with my left hand," Tanker gloated, his face close to hers. "If it was my right, you would have been dead by now."
Bianca, bleeding from everywhere, spat a mouthful of blood onto Tanker's face. "Fuck you," she choked out, defiance burning in her eyes.
Enraged, Tanker swung her body across the tournament ring with immense force, sending her crashing hard onto the sand. Rider, his voice barely a whisper, murmured, "Please, just give up." The crowd watched in horrified silence as Bianca lay broken, struggling for breath.
Tanker stalked towards her again. Bianca, noticing his approach, tried to reach for her sword, desperate to fight, but it was too late. Tanker scooped her up by the neck. "Let's see how much pain a lady can handle," he snarled. He slammed her back down, then grabbed her arm, and with a sickening crack, broke it. Bianca's scream tore through the arena, a primal shriek of agony that made the crowd recoil in quiet horror. Azreal, in the chamber above, sank into his chair, covering his face, trying desperately to calm himself, as King Neon placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
In the ring, Tanker continued his brutal assault, breaking more of Bianca's bones. Her screams continued, each one a dagger to Azreal's heart. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He pushed himself to his feet, about to call off the fight, to announce Tanker the winner by forfeit, anything to stop the agony.
But before he could utter the words, a flash of movement in the ring caught his eye. As Tanker brutalized Bianca, her eyes had glazed over her sword, which lay just within reach. With a surge of desperate, adrenaline-fueled strength, she snatched it up and, with a guttural cry, plunged it directly into Tanker's exposed hand.
A collective gasp swept through the arena. Tanker recoiled, stepping back, staring at his bleeding hand in disbelief. Bianca, unable to even stand, looked at him, defiance blazing in her eyes. "Didn't have time to harden, I see?" she rasped, blood trickling from her lips. "I'll just keep piercing your entire body. So, please, come at me."
Tanker's face contorted into a furious frown. He flung the blood from his hand, the wound already beginning to close, new skin forming over the cut. "You will regret that," he growled, drawing his own massive sword.