2 Crucible, Part 2

Loud cheering erupted from the people sitting underneath the red banners I knew belonged to the Warrior's Brigade. As the largest of the three groups, their roars naturally drowned out the booing and complaints of the other two schools.

"The warrior's path then," the half-giant said.

He nodded approvingly at me like I knew he would. It wasn't hard to guess which school he favored as his 'Conan the Barbarian' vibe easily gave him away.

"Normally, an examiner matching a challenger's skill level would be chosen for their opponent..." He waved his hand forward, causing the other two items in the air to disappear in a shower of broken glass that dissipated into the wind like they had been nothing more than a mirage. "But as you are the apprentice of Divah, it is assumed that you are already among the fit... so I shall be your crucible to test if you are worthy for admittance."

He drew the broadsword from the scabbard strapped to his back, and the sight of the curved black blade—which was twice as thick and twice as long as the one I carried—caused intense pain to prick my chest.

No, I wasn't afraid of his weapon. Divah made sure to punch the fear out of me during my preteen years. I was just experiencing the phantom pain of an injury I earned earlier today; one I'll probably earn again before the Crucible was finished.

I suppressed the shiver that came with that memory and asked, "Is this a duel-to-the-death kind of setup?"

"For you, very much so... That is the price paid by those who seek adventure and fail to prove they are worthy of it," the half-giant answered. "However, as our strengths are hardly equal, you need only draw my blood to pass the Crucible."

Yeah, I figured this was the case. Only the challenger risked death in the Crucible. If it were anyone else, they'd probably have had second thoughts right about now. After all, taking on a giant's descendant no matter how diluted his blood without the proper giant-slaying tools was suicide. Not me though. Death and I were old friends, the kind that barely looked up when one drank from the other's flagon of chili mead.

I glimpsed my reflection in my sword's blade as I raised it—wavy dark-brown hair framing a round tan-skinned face with eyes that were a darker shade of blue than my opponent's, and a lopsided smile that seemed far too confident under current circumstances.

'My nose is itchy…'

"I am Doomsday," the half-giant introduced himself.

'I think there's a booger in there too…'

He must have noticed that I hadn't cowered at hearing his name, so he brandished his broadsword forward with one hand to force my concentration back on him.

I am Doomsday," he repeated.

Nope, that wasn't a threat. It was his actual name.

'I wonder if people will notice if I try to scratch it…'

"For those my Executioner's Blade deems unworthy"—the nostrils of his hooked nose flared as he bared sharp, pearly white fangs at me—"I am their doom personified."

Now that was a threat and a pretty damn good one too. Honestly, I'd be shaking in my boots if I wasn't so conscious of my itchy nose.

"Divah says the same thing…" I gave in and did my best to stealthily scratch at the rim of my nostrils. It wasn't a complete victory but the relief was instantaneous, allowing me to concentrate on this half-giant who looked kind of downcast that I wasn't as intimidated by him as I should have been. "Let's do this, Master Doomsday!"

I'm not sure which of us struck first, but I do remember the crowd going wild after we exchanged one savage sword blow after another.

His blade was bigger, his swings heavier, but I parried each one with the finesse and skill of the well-trained student of a celebrated master swordswoman. Although I wasn't a swordmaster myself, I could at least drag this fight out until I learned all I needed to learn from Doomsday.

Yep, I wasn't looking to win this battle. Rather, I was sure I would lose it eventually. There was just too big of a difference between our current skills and stats. And, with each parry, block, or counter, I learned more and more that I wasn't a match for him. Not yet at least.

"You do not disappoint, Will." Doomsday swung his black-edged blade into the space where my head had been only a half-second ago. "The previous challenger did not last this long."

"So, how many—"

I ducked underneath another savage sideward swing.

"—challengers have you—"

Quick as a snake, I darted forward and thrust my sword at his foot only to discover that I couldn't penetrate through his thick green skin with just a light jab. This was good to know.

"—beaten this year?"

I dove to the right just as his curved black blade came crashing down on me. Luckily, I noticed early on that he was favoring his right leg, and that was something I could exploit soon.

"I've dispatched four challengers in the last three months..." Doomsday swung his blade wide in a hundred-eighty-degree sideward arc. "None of them had chosen the sword as you have. They thought they'd survive me longer with traps and spells."

"They obviously"—it took both my hands to block this would-be deathblow—"picked wrong!"

I pushed back against his one-armed strength and blew his blade away. This gave me an opening to launch an attack. It was a trap, but I leaped toward it anyway just to see what he would do. With my sword raised high, I launched myself at him—and then felt the crushing blow of his sword hilt smack me in the side. He'd moved his right foot forward inhumanly fast and caught me just before I could strike him down. The hit was bad. Tore the wind from my lungs and caused my knees to turn into jelly.

"Smart bastard..." I backed away from him while one arm rubbed at the biting pain in my side. "Made me think... you injured your leg... that you were vulnerable... on your right side..."

"Pretend inferiority and encourage arrogance," Doomsday stated matter-of-factly.

"The Art of War..." I guessed.

Hah! It was freaking ironic that we were both following the advice of the same book. Although I had a different tenet in mind; 'Know thyself, know thy enemy... a thousand battles, a thousand victories.'

I planned to win this Crucible long before we hit that thousandth mark though, and I was nearly done with my preparations. There was just one more thing I needed to check for.

One, two, three, four—our blades sang in the air and then screeched against each other as metal crashed against metal over and over again.

'Come on, Doomsday… Give me just one opening... I'll even take another trap—there! Finally!'

The end to that last flurry of blows caused our blades to lock together. We each pushed against the other in a tug-of-war of strength while sparks flew between us. He would eventually wear me down and win as I didn't have the stamina he had in buckets. So, instead, I chose to move things along to their expected ending.

I gave way to his forceful push and stepped back, allowing him to drive his sword forward. In that brief moment between life and death, I called on every bit of magical energy I kept in reserve and forced all of it into my left fist which I then shoved straight into Doomsday's exposed chest.

Divah called this combination of martial skill and arcane art the 'Fist of Havoc' because of how it caused havoc to a target's insides just as it did on their outsides. I'd yet to master the skill, but even half-assed it was pretty freaking strong.

The roar of a thunderclap assaulted my ears as my fist exploded against Doomsday's pale green chest. Bright blue sparks flew between us as the air blasted outward in all directions. I almost believed I might have done it after all without needing to do the other thing. However, when the dust had settled, Doomsday stood over me with a wide, mocking grin plastered on his face.

"All that effort and not even a drop of blood to show for it," he teased.

That matter-of-fact tone of his annoyed me even though I knew I'd get the last laugh in the end. I was sure of it. The big black bruise on his chest was proof enough that I'd just gotten the final piece of intel that would be of great use later.

"Magic... this is not the tool of a warrior," Doomsday spoke in a distasteful tone.

"I never said..." I dropped to one knee while trying to catch my breath. My lungs felt like they were on fire. "...I was a... warrior."

"Pity..." Doomsday raised his broadsword high with one hand. "It seems Divah has proven to be a poor educator."

I could barely lift my sword. That's how fatigued I was, which I knew was the backlash from using a skill I was too low-level to wield effectively.

"Will Wisdom..." Doomsday gazed down at me with pity. "You have been weighed. You have been measured..."

I glared defiantly back at him while hoping he could see it there in my glower; the promise that no matter what he did next, this fight between us was far from over.

"...and you have been found wanting," he finished.

Then, while a great number in the audience gasped at his intent, Doomsday plunged the tip of his Executioner's Blade into my chest—and all went dark.

I died. Then darkness took me, and I strayed from thought and time until the pain in my chest, intense and all-consuming, vanished in the seconds it took for me to blink my eyes open once again.

"Freaking Hel... It feels like I died," I said, and then added, "again..." in an undertone.

"That is what they all say when they first arrive," said a familiar low-rumbling voice.

I turned my gaze on the green-skinned face of the half-giant who'd killed me twice today, and a single thought blazed through my mind. 'I'm going to win round three, you big green bastard.'