Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius crossed his arms, watching and brooding. As the match's results correlated to the level of danger to his life, he had to pay attention. If the situation turned grim, he would attempt to flee.

The Blackroot fighters had unveiled two spirit stones, clearly intent on using them.

Khyber Crystals were troublesome and volatile power sources. Mishaps with them were common-- explosions would occur as a result of rough transport or mishandling... Sometimes even shifts in temperature or ambient mana would render the crystals inert.

Sometimes it increased the size and lethality of the resulting explosion.

The Artificers of the Kingdom and the Eastern States far preferred more stable mana crystals for their power cores. Still, because of their abundance and power efficiency, they were commonly used by the forces of Bael Turath-- a nation informally known as the Demon Barrens.

As Sol Invictus had some influence there, they were able to import a reasonable amount of the red crystals at an acceptable cost.

It was commonly understood that the Tyrion Empire was the oldest and most influential human culture in the Realm. However... demons and devils had existed for far longer than humans had. Modern Turathi magic was developed from abyssal and infernal magic, modified for use by mortal hands from spells and techniques hundreds of thousands of years old.

With that volatility in mind... using the crystals without a focus or tool was reckless and potentially self-destructive.

The warriors of the Blackroot Warband did not want to wage a fair fight against Guild Letalis. They wanted to win.

Archbishop Crucis' voice resounded throughout the coliseum, "GUILD LETALIS!! By decree of the Church of the Eternal Flame, I ORDER you to defeat these heretics!! The GLORY and HONOR of Tyrion rests in your hands!!"

As the match gong rang, the Blackroots crushed their crystals into powder. Sprinkling the mana dust upon themselves, Maboc began to chant... and the two were covered in spheres of black fog.

It was dark magic, as Tycon had predicted. The dark ⌈Mana Ward⌋ barriers would effectively reject both Tanamar's holy arrows and Zenon's divine wind spells...

Tanamar fired three useless mana arrows at Deathshaper Gruffydd... the light of each, swallowed by the magical shields. Zenon's condensed spinning spheres were just as ineffectual against Riftwalker Maboc.

The mute Gruffydd moaned and screamed in pain, the sands rippling from where he stood. His inky black tattoos glowed white through his barrier... and thick, ivory-white bones pierced outward from his flesh. Within moments, the Deathshaper had transformed into a skeletal bear, twice Tanamar's size. Instead of meat and entrails within the bone cage, the shadowy fog of Gruffydd's ⌈Mana Ward⌋ roiled within.

It was an interesting ability. The bear wasn't quite undead... it was an external construct made of mana-materialized bone, with Gruffydd well-protected inside of it.

Tycon glanced over to Sorina... The Deathshaper's style of fighting seemed to be what the Calculator was trying to do-- except Gruffydd could manipulate his exoskeleton freely.

The massive bear loosed a shrill, high-pitched shriek, the stands vibrating as the Tyrions in the crowd screamed in horror, covering their eyes and ears. With a heavy bone claw, it swung a deadly blow at Tanamar.

It seemed the silver-haired footman was a half-second too late to dodge it... perhaps preoccupied by Gruffydd's ear-splitting roar.

Tanamar flew backward, hitting the sand hard, tumbling and rolling. The crowd gasped in collective fear... but Tycon had seen Tanamar drop his physical bow and form his holy lance in time to block the attack's force. Sliding upon the sand was certainly uncomfortable... and the Iron-Rank physique strengthening his arms might have been tested, but he was not so easily defeated...

...or so Tycon hoped.

"⌈Wind Walk!!⌋" Zenon shouted, casting his movement-increasing spell on his duo.

The Skeleton Bear crashed two heavy paws into the ground, flinging up mud and dirt... but with his agility enhanced, Tanamar was able to roll and flip out of the way. Getting to his feet, the young man formed two holy pila out of mana, hurling them at his theoretically defenseless opponent.

The spears found their marks in between the bear's rib bones-- the shadows inside erratically swirled and twitched, as if in pain. Unfortunately, it did little to slow the bear's movements, and another lunging claw swipe took Tanamar off his feet. The footman spun backward through the air and smashed face-first into the coarse sands, causing a murky cloud to billow up and hide his form.

Popoto Potata Pota had covered both eyes. Athena watched in horror, tears already beginning to stream down her cheeks. Sorina was shouting obscenities, tears also falling freely. Though the two in the arena could not hear her, she was desperately pleading for Tanamar to rescue her earnings.

Tycon glanced at the nearest exit. The path remained clear, enough.

The Blackroots' ⌈Mana Ward⌋ needed to be broken... either a burst of damage had to be high enough to break its hardness or Letalis needed to wait for its effectiveness to weaken over time. By then, Maboc and Gruffydd, both, would be suffering from mana fatigue-- or worse.

If Zenon and Tanamar could hold out long enough, they would gain the advantage. They just had to survive, until then...

...

Centurion Zenon Skyreaper shot his arms upward, palms to the sky. He focused his mana into a more powerful ⌈Wind Sphere⌋. He could sense Maboc's ⌈Mana Ward⌋ growing weaker... All he had to do was break it-- just one of them, either would do... Then, he and Tanamar could defeat them, one by one.

"The Flame burns ETERNAL!!" Zenon's eyes grew hot, burning blinding white with mana. He felt his head begin to ache as he pushed both himself and his faith to his limits.

"Tch. Praise the statistically implausible bonfire!!" Maboc scoffed, "You are a JOKE, Librarian Zenon!"

It was useless talk from someone who was about to die. Zenon had heard such things all his life. There was no reason that mere words would affect him when he was being serious.

Zenon could feel the twitching strain on his arms and back as he muscled his sphere forward... "DIE!!! HERETIIIIIC!!!"