Sea of Corpses

His strike was deflected by the Earth woman, who was high enough in comprehension that Ghost Edge failed to cut through her earth-coated sword. The wind girl twirled around, swapping places with the earth girl to launch into several fast pierces aimed at Fate's throat.

Fate blocked each one with his greatsword, ending the last by catching her sword on his weapon's cross guard, whereupon he stepped forward, sliding the blade along hers and catching on her sword's cross guard.

Then he twisted, sending the weapon flying out of her hands and into the hands of the man she had just been fighting, spinning his greatsword and burying it into her jaw. Her eyes were hateful as they stared at him, not fading even as the light in her eyes did.

The man who caught the sword used it to hammer away at the Earth woman's defenses until he finally landed a lethal blow. She fell shortly after the Wind Embodiment, leaving just the Fire woman.

"Smother her!" yelled Dedru.

The seven men, including Fate, unleashed their Divine Reaches all at once, breaking through hers and smothering the flame that made up her body in less than a second.

Dedru shouted joyously and high-fived the other men the cinders disappeared, those less confident in themselves grabbing a sword or shield from the ground.

The empress waved her hand, and the next wave rushed out, a horde of waist-high, childlike creatures covered in black scales and with mouths that took up opened to reveal rows upon rows of sharp teeth. Unsettlingly, they lacked eyes.

His 'brothers,' the men from the Auburn Wastes, fought harder than he did, and equally as valiantly. They were like Autumn in that even after the hours turned to days, their attacks held the same vigor and strength as the start.

Only one among their group had the Speed Manifestation, two had Motion, and the rest were Strength. Destruction was a bit rarer among Embodiments, so the few among their people with that Manifestation had better things to do than kidnap breeding mates.

The two Motion Embodiments were definitely brought for a reason. They both had Manifest Powers that stole the movement of their enemies and granted it to them and their allies, increasing their speed while reducing that of their enemies.

The horde fights, like those childlike creatures mentioned earlier, were where these men really shined, taking from all of the creatures at once and turning their brethren into ruthless, swift killing machines.

The Speed Embodiment, Fate speculated, was brought along in case the person they wanted to kidnap tried to escape. He seemed to teleport across the arena, leaving afterimages that confused his foes as he attacked from all angles in the span of several seconds.

Even with such prodigious skills, this man was the first to fall after their fight with the Verfendans.

The man Joka knew as Nendren was the fastest of them all, but even Speed could not help against the overwhelming numbers of the wyvern bats they faced in round five.

The poor, oily-skinned man was lost under a cloak of hundreds of the scaly things, his frantic screams muffled by the hungry screeches of the creatures and the sickening sound of flesh being torn apart.

The other men, still fighting in their protective circle that Nendren's fighting style found too restrictive, managed to hold out and outlast the Magical Beasts.

Once again, the Motion Embodiments proved their value, slowing the creatures down and speeding up their allies. Many bats opened their mouths with the pace of a snail, only to receive a teeth-shattering punch before they could even blink.

That was the end of the first day.

After that, the fights blurred for Fate. Wounds accumulated and disappeared like they were fever dreams, his body going through cycles of pain and relief as he felled monster, human, and beast alike.

On occasion, one of his friends would drop from their wounds, never to rise.

On the third day, their numbers were reduced to four.

On the fifth day, that number dwindled to three.

On the sixth, only Fate and Joka still stood, the latter an endless well of rage and power as he took his grief out on his enemies. Losing six brothers in a single week was more common in this world than one would think, but it was a harsh reality all the same.

Joka lost another three fingers and was covered head to toe in gashes that ranged from an inch to three inches deep. His left arm was cut off just below the shoulder, and his left leg had a hole the size of a fist punched straight through it.

His right eye was gone, pecked out by a flying, scaled beast a few days before, and the other was stuck open permanently, the eyelid a scorched mess from a fireball to the face.

His chest and back were so slick from blood that it actually became an advantage, his enemies finding it hard to grapple with the large man, allowing him to slip out of their grasp and bash their heads in with his club-like fist.

But Joka kept going, slaughtering five foes for every one Fate bested, the two reapers claiming lives left and right until they were forced to wade atop the floor of corpses that now covered the arena.

Fate's Concept and Manifest Power were slowly becoming less effective as he fought stronger and stronger combatants, his situation only slightly better off than Joka's.

His left big toe had been severed by a swing of a Verfendan's sword, his left hand missing all five fingers and his right missing the pinky and ring finger.

His right leg was so littered with injuries that he had to limp along, doing his best not to trip on the treacherous footing afforded by the sea of corpses they stood upon.

A particularly nasty stab wound on his hip was scabbed over by what little Divine Energy he could pilfer or break down, but every time he overextended himself that wound would crack open and start pouring blood. He was more worried about replenishing his stamina with that energy than healing himself over and over again.

His left eye was closed shut under the accumulation of dried blood and sweat that dripped down from a cut on his forehead, and like Joka, he was so covered in blood both his own and not that it replaced the oil on his skin in making his muscles shine.

Every action he took left a trail of blood in his wake.

Even with the odds weighed heavily against them, they never relented, never stopped swinging, and never caved in. Each injury they received was paid back a thousandfold, every severed finger followed by the deaths of three or more of their foes.

Finally, as the sun rose on the eighth day, their troubles were over.