For Gold. And a Worthy Foe (Azhani)

[Kyme Reinhilde]

With the setting sun's silhouette barely visible over the city, the Nights Doorstep, a quiet place by day, burst into activity. Drunkards dragged themselves into taverns, single (and some married) men snuck into brothels, and some lost and curious youngsters look about the street, eagerly drinking in the decadent and unruly atmosphere.

Tonight, however, is destined to be more chaotic than the rests. For tonight, the Duke of Gordan holds his annual prize fight. With a generous three hundred gold pieces for the winner and one hundred for the runner up, crooks of all sorts and many traveling warriors would show up at the fight.

Kyme was no exception.

Dressed in her signature black and white dress and with Ignis belted to her waist, she stood on top a nearby tavern's roof and watched the scene unfold with interest.

First a large stage was setup, nearly forty by forty feet, it gave the combatants plenty of room for maneuvering. With no ropes to bound the sides, it's clear that falling off the stage is one means of losing. The various fights soon surrounded the stage, eagerly listening to the announcements of the herald boy and the arrival of the noble. A richly dressed man, perhaps a bit gaudy if the five rings adorning his various fingers were any indication. Nonetheless, he definitely has the means to cough up three hundred gold for her.

As the registration began, she leapt off the roof and easily blended into the crowd. Her inordinate beauty still drew some admiring glances, but the general populace was far too focused on signing up. It would be a struggle to even get her name signed up it appeared, as the throng of unruly masses did not take anyone forcing their way through well. But of course, she didn't come unprepared. Watching from afar, she watched as a black-robed elder, one of her prodigies in disguise, wove his way through the crowd, signed up for her, and exited without a trace.

Now she waits.

Soon a trumpet sounded and disappointed groans were heard through the remaining masses, who were unable to get their names in on time. But this prize fight had no room for the weak.

Wasting no time, the first round started immediately. It would be an elimination round. In which twenty-five fighters at a time were ushered onto the stage. Amidst them, only eight would remain, the rest either knocked unconscious or tossed off the stage. After two such rounds, the sixteen remaining fighters were allowed one on one matches, randomly selected by the luck of the draw.

The elimination match had been easy. She kept to the corners, letting those burly man brawl it out, and easily knocking off those foolish enough to charge at her. There was no need to even draw Ignis against such boorish competition.

The remaining matchups proved a bit more of a challenge. Her first opponent, a unusually hairy fellow, appeared a hybrid between some beast and man. Nonetheless, his inhumane strength proved little match for her speed and a little wits.

The next opponent proved better, and the next, even more so. But still, what were crooks and travelers against a Master Assassin?

Finally, by midnight, the final battle was about to take place. Trumpets and drums played all the more loudly, announcing the impending championship fight. Perhaps this final match would prove a challenge.

[Fa'raazhin Azhani]

Azhani was still new to Terre de Conte, but one thing that meant the same anywhere was a crowd. She'd been sitting in a tavern when she was eavesdropping on a group of men talking about some sort of...competition. That was all it took to catch her interest. The truth was, she hadn't done much in Terre de Conte besides pursue the princess. Not that she didn't enjoy Anactoria's company, but she was in need of some fun of a...different variety.

Though she hadn't listened much to the rest of the men's conversation, she had kept a close eye on them and followed them as they left. All Azhani knew was that there was a large stage set up and people were signing up for...something - whatever the stage was for, she assumed. She stood with her hands on her hips, watching as people rushed to get their names on a piece of paper. She wasn't interested. Whatever it was, Azhani was sure she wanted to participate, but the details were all just a waste of time to her for now. She stood against a wall, arms crossed, and watched a man signing up.

As soon as the man had finished and was triumphantly walking away, Azhani left the wall and began following him, bumping into a redheaded woman on the way. She put her hand on the knife at her hip and as she approached him, she wrapped her arm around his throat and tossed him into an alley. She quickly twisted one of his arms behind his back and held the knife to his throat. Then the interrogation began.

First, his name. Then, just what the hell was going on?

Apparently, it was some sort of fighting tournament. Now Azhani was interested. Apparently, there was a prize for first place: 300 gold. Not that the gold interested her - she was a princess; she had plenty, and whatever she didn't already have, she could steal - but she did love fighting and competitions. Put them together, and she couldn't resist. Azhani twisted the man's arm, breaking it, then knocked him out cold before he could scream. She sheathed her knife and left the alley, now with a name and a purpose in this...tournament.

When she heard trumpet, she was sure that signaled the start of the competition. The first round was apparently a free-for-all elimination round. That suited Azhani just fine. While everyone else wanted to knock each other off of the stage, she was more concerned with pickpocketing anyone who made the mistake of trying to hit her. By the end of the round, sixteen people had broken bones and missing purses.

Her first few matches were a disappointment, to say the least. Her first opponent was a lanky man who looked less than...stable and appeared to enjoy the company of a pair of cleavers. She looked to the noble fat cat who seemed to have no problem with this. Despite his...enthusiasm, the man obviously not traned to take on someone of Azhani's...particular skill set. He couldn't touch her, and the more he missed, the angrier he got; the angrier he got, the wilder he swung; the wilder he swung, the more he missed.

It was a vicious cycle.

Azhani decided to break it by breaking the man's arm. He dropped one of his cleavers, and in one quick move, Azhni picked it up and sliced off his other hand. A little unclear of the rules, she kicked him off the stage for good measure. Besides, he had almost gotten blood on her clothes. Her second opponent apparently wasn't ready for this kind of competition and simply forfeited. Her third opponent at least fought valiantly, but proved no match for Azhani's merciless tactics.

The final fight. At least, that was what the man told Azhani when he had to order her to pay attention and get on stage. She did as asked and faced her opponent with a none-too-interested look - a redheaded woman who almost barely looked familiar. Azhani reminded herself, no matter how lackluster the competition had been before now, she couldn't underestimate this woman. This was a competition, after all, and the only thing she loved more than competitions was winning them.

[Kyme Reinhilde]

"Ladies and gentlemen, we present you the final match! Two new combatants fight this year! First, the flame-maned swordswoman who dethroned last year's victor, KYME! And on her right, the mysterious close-ranged fighter, who have chilled even this audience with her brutal and effective techniques, we present to you BASTA!!"

Accompanied by musicians, the announcer bellowed out the introduction at the top of his lungs. The audience cheered, though some disappointed mutterings were heard. Both Kyme and Basta were new to this ring, and as such, not heavily bet on. It appears quite a number of men have lost their wallets because of the two.

Not missing a beat, the announcer continued. "For honor! For glory! And, for the grand prize, THREE HUNDRED gold pieces!' The cheering got louder as the audience was slowly riled up. "LET THE FIGHT BEGIN!"

The trumpet gave one last blast, signaling the beginning of the round, and then the night was quiet save for the murmurs of the audience.

Kyme inclined her head toward her opponent, a modified bow of sorts. The name Basta didn't sound familiar - that could be a good or bad thing. But those oddly composed blue eyes...she could swear she've seen them somewhere.

But now was not the time for such ponderings, though her previous matches proved nothing more than warm-ups, there was no doubt in the assassin's mind that this final opponent could hold her own. She had watched the semi-finals. Basta had proven herself incredibly fast, but perhaps more so, to the point. It was clear that her opponent, who would behand a fellow competitor, was used to something other than the training grounds. That suit her. A battle-hardened opponent. Interesting indeed.

She drew her sword in one smooth motion, and, deciding to use her advantage of superior range, launched the first attack. She dashed, sword-arm before her with the weapon just over her shoulder in preparation for a diagonal slash.

Of course, it would be silly to think that her opponent, who would have had plenty of time to react despite Kyme's speed, could be hit by such an attack. As such, upon reaching strikable range, the slash would only be a feint, followed through by several quick horizontal slashes in opposite directions.

[Fa'raazhin Azhani]

Kyme? Azhani crossed her arms and studied her opponent. Kyme... Of course. A red haired woman named Kyme. Azhani knew her. Kyme Reinhilde. She was the leader of the Assassins Order - a group a children playing an adult's game as far as Z'hakaat was concerned. Azhani herself had seen Kyme a few times. She'd never sat down and had a conversation with her, but people rarely did with their competition. Not in their line of work anyway.

When you lived in the world of the underground, things that were generally unknown to the public were common knowledge. Kyme Reinhilde, leader of the Assassins Order. She was known for using a sword with fire magic. This didn't bode well for Azhani. She was completely confident in her ability to win - though she made it a point never to underestimate people, she didn't have a much better opinion of the Assassins Order than any other of the assassins in Z'hakaat - but that was part of the problem. Azhani was trained to kill, not to fight.

When Azhani fought, the fight ended when the other person stopped breathing. A fight with a skilled assassin was too risky. The moment Azhani drew a weapon, she ran the risk of killing someone if she won or dying herself if she lost. Either was unacceptable. She was here for Anactoria. She couldn't do anything that would sully her reputation anymore than it already was and risk hurting Anactoria by association.

Azhani returned Kyme's nod. As the fight began, she hoped that she could avoid armed combat long enough to come up with some sort of plan to win without drawing her knife, but she wasn't so lucky. Kyme was quick to draw her sword, and Azhni swore under her breath. She wouldn't draw her knife, but she wasn't going to sit still and allow herself to be cut to ribbons. She refused to kill or be killed.

Law of nature: When you can't fight, you run. Without wasting a moment, Azhani turned on her heel and ran away from the attack. Her eyes scanned the stage. She needed a plan. She was out of time when she reached the edge of the stage. She hadn't come up with anything. What could she use? She turned around. Kyme. She dashed back towards her and slid, swiping her leg at her feet. Without missing a beat, she pushed herself away, rolling away and jumping to her feet.

[Kyme Reinhilde]

Why was she just dodging... The assassin thought as her strikes became faster still. Basta has easily read through her feint it appears. But that mattered not, Kyme prided herself in speed as well as technique. Neither, however, was coming to her aid at the moment.

The problem was apparent - her opponent matched herself in speed. And, as long as Basta continued to only evade, she would be unable to strike her mark... This fight was not in her interest. There were no shadows or leverage points for her to use. While she had manage to fall her past foes by merely being faster, when faced with one just as fast, in an environment utterly unconducive to the majority of her trainings, Kyme was left with few options.

This, however, does not mean the situation boded well for her opponent. Realizing that she could not bring the brunette down with a clean stroke, Kyme quickly changed tactics and focused on the secondary winning condition - knocking her out of the ring. Her slashes, from each aiming to kill, struck instead from every direction, in essence encompassing Basta within her range. Every time the bandit attempted to dodge to the side, she would strike there, forcing her to draw back instead. And, within seconds, the other fighter's back was to the edge of the stage.

I have you trapped. Kyme thought, but she read no panic in those ever-composed blue eyes. There was only one route of escape, and that was directly through her. As expected, her opponent charged. Foolish. Does she expect to bring down the armed assassin with bare hands? No, that cannot be it -

Having anticipated some trickery in the charge, she leapt up just in time to avoid the sweep. Landing on one leg, she made a smooth circle one-hundred eighty degrees and dashed. While her opponent jumped to her feet, her katana was already slashing through the air. Basta would be forced to leapt backwards, she calculated. And, should she do precisely that, Kyme's left-hand, already drawn back, should catch her in the stomach with a follow-through strike.

[Fa'raazhin Azhani]

Azhani certainly wasn't having fun trying not to get cut. Normally, in situations like this, she was comforted by the knowledge that she had a plan, but here there was none. There was nothing around that she could use. The environment was completely stale. She'd already thought of using the stage itself, but it was too low. She couldn't use its bottom, and destroying it didn't help anything.

Azhani was trapped. She'd always considered herself a quick thinker, but she was working under at least two handicaps here. ...No. No, she was wrong. This was exactly the kind of situation she thrived in. She loved fighting. She loved the thrill, but sometimes love of fighting alone wasn't enough. This wasn't just some competition to win some gold; this was a life-threatening battle with a trained assassin. If she was going to win, she needed to think fast and act faster. More importantly, she needed to remind herself just why she couldn't lose.

As she stood, Azhani felt somewhat...renewed. She felt an odd pang in her chest - not just the rapid beating of her heart due to the adrenaline. This was different. It was almost painful, but in that moment, she was able to see Kyme's sword coming straight for her. It was...different than usual. It almost seemed...slowed down. Without questioning the lucky break, Azhani wasted no time grabbing Kyme's arm and stopping her blade. She spun and flung the redhead to the ground, slamming her face into the stage with one hand while holding her sword arm with the other. She'd promised herself she wouldn't kill, for Anactoria's sake, but there were plenty of other things she could do to win.

Azhani held Kyme down with the force of her entire body. She had heard the stories. She was well aware of the assassin's affinity for setting things ablaze, and while she was fully prepared to face that, she wasn't going to make things easy or comfortable for the woman. "Let's see how hot you are now," she said as she dug her knee into the back of Kyme's neck and bent and twisted her arm at the shoulder.

[Kyme Reinhilde]

She wasn't going to evade? A single thought crossed Kyme's mind as her sword rapidly approached the bandit. The strike, a feign, was slower than usual, perhaps only so by fractions of a second, but detectable to the trained eye. Had she guessed my intentions?

The question quickly answered itself as the world spun before her eyes. The next series of events were fuzzy to her - all she knew was pain. Soul-wrenching, incredible, pain.. Her body hurt in a thousand places. But her arm, god, her fucking sword arm felt like it got ripped off by the maw of an angry dragon. Dislocated, no doubt. Even now, her opponent rides upon her back, like she’s kind of conquered animal…

But Kyme would not be Kyme if she were going to give up after a couple bruises and a broken shoulder. Being smashed into the stage hurt, but it made her remember something crucial. She was an assassin. She might be a skirt-chaser and a lover of luxuries, but she was, chief and foremost, a lethal weapon trained to kill. So busy had she been pursuing frivolous activities that she had almost forgotten that fact.

But no more.

With renewed determination, she forced herself to concentrat. Her opponent appeared to be sure of her victory, so much so she would speak in the middle of the fight, and that, was precisely the opening she needed. Fire, unseen flame flowing through her veins, gathered onto her dislocated arm. Any other would have chosen to shield their entire body in an attempt to throw off Basta, but not Kyme. No, an assassin doesn't fight to minimize injuries or pain, and assassin only strike to inflict maximum damage. Before the dark-haired fighter had a chance to release her grasp, Kyme had scorched skin and the tender nerves underneath. Her fire, when concentrated to small regions such as her arm, could melt metal in approximately three seconds, its damage against unprotected flesh would be many times that.

Slammed into the ground, she could not see her opponent's reaction, but the noticeably weaker force pinning her down told her all that she needed. Perhaps Basta had flinched, or ever so slightly shifted her center of gravity. Whatever it was, it gave Kyme that split second opening to push herself up a couple inches with her left hand, and, using her knees, flipped herself on top. She held down Basta's uncharred hand with her left and kept the girl below her in a manner not dissimilar to what she herself had been subjected to. Of course, she knew this position would not last. Unlike Basta, she hadn't the weight or strength to hold the other down permanently. But that wasn't the goal.

Spreading her fire thin all about her, she burnt at a temperature akin to a small blaze. But that heat was more than enough to set Basta's clothing aflame. Her own dress was not spared in the struggle, but Kyme had other things to worry about than mere decency.

She could not lose. The three hundred gold pieces were a tempting reward, but they were not the reason for her presence. There was a reason she had given her real name for this tournament. As the recently named Leader, Kyme doesn't yet command the same respect as the old leader. Although she had taken down a few tough cases and the Order continued to flourish under her watchful eyes, Kyme knew she had to make her name resound even louder than what her Master's had been. If she were to lose here, it would be more than a disgrace. The whole Underworld would know before day break that she, Kyme Reinhilde, the undefeated prodigy of Azrael, had fallen to an unknown. The Order would be perceived as weak and its reign threatened.

She would not allow that to happen. Even if Basta breaks every fucking bone in her body, she would stand her ground. This match had proved tougher than what she had expected, but Kyme thrived against challenges. She had used the full extend of her powers a bit late, but better late than never. Basta had given Kyme a good run for her money, but she had failed to bring down the assassin in one hit. And now, fully invested into the match, she would teach the bandit what it means to be a Master Assassin and to never hit a girl in the face again.

Kyme tried her best to hold down the bandit below her. But with one arm incapacitated, that proved a difficult venture. But seconds later, Kyme knew she would be unable to continue her hold. Dropping Igins with her now useless sword arm, she quickly leveraged herself off of the ground, and, as soon as she released the brunette's arm with her left hand, picked up her katana before leaping back cautiously. All the while she kept her fire up, just in case the bandit would make any another attempt to grab her. Once standing, she quickly sliced through the unnecessary parts of her clothing. And, drawing back her fire, put out the bits still aflame. Charred though the stripes still clinging to her were, they were at least enough to guarantee her basic decency.

Such a low degree heat wouldn't have been enough to kill or maim, but the damage was done. Although she, with one arm gone and standing in scanty pieces that were already drawing hoots and wolf whistles from the audience, was far from ideal condition, Kyme knew she had won that round. Basta's hand, having been in direct contact with her arm, would not be used again anytime soon, she was sure. And, still aflame, she doubted the bandit had much fight left in her.

But experience taught her to never underestimate an enemy. Sheathing her sword, she stood with one arm and two legs ready against any encounter. The pain of her right shoulder gnawed with every little movement she made, but she ignored the pain and the temptation to try and re-locate her shoulder. She could not afford any openings right now. She cannot lose this fight.

[Fa'raazhin Azhani]

Pretty fucking hot. Azhani regretted taunting the woman as she felt a searing pain in her right hand. She let go immediately, cursing herself for getting so sloppy. She really thought breaking Kyme’s arm would be much easier than that. Her mistake. She shook her hand to assuage the burning sensation, but it did nothing to heal the pain. It wasn’t the first time Azhani had burnt her hand, but it certainly was the most painful. She was only lucky she was wearing gloves. Her glove hadn’t absorbed all of the heat, but had she been barehanded, she was sure the damage would have been much worse than what it already was, and that was more than enough for her.

She had given Kyme an opening to turn the tables. It was times like these that made Azhani wish she actually had some sort of active magic ability. She was stronger and faster than any normal human, but that barely helped when her opponent was shooting lightning bolts and fireballs at her. Where was her ability to summon weapons at will? Where was her ability to fling people around like ragdolls with some telekinetic spell? Where was her ability to set people on fire? When she didn’t feel Kyme’s flames letting up, she regretted asking that too.

Mental note: No more questions during fights.

It seemed like every time Azhani thought of something, something even worse happened. When she'd thought of being burned, she had been, but to a much greater degree than she'd been prepared for. When she thought of setting people on fire - which she had never even expected Kyme to do - she had indeed had her clothes set on fire. She was beginning to see a trend. Everything that she thought about happened, only it turned out having greater consequences for her than she'd imagined. She wondered then: Just how much could her mind manipulate? Was it her actions, or Kyme's? She decided it wouldn't hurt to imagine Kyme letting her go. That couldn't go wrong for her, could it?

Azhani struggled to get free. It had become clear to her before that, physically, Kyme was no match for her. Had it not been for her fire, Azhani would have completely broken her arm, and who knows what else. She tucked that bit of information in the back of her mind as she concentrated on getting free. Not only was she pinned down now, but her clothes were on fire. She was really beginning to hate fire. Lanterns, torches, campfires – she hoped that one day, and one day soon, the world would develop an alternative form of lighting. The burns were nascent, so the pain had yet to sink in, but she was sure that it would soon. She had until that instant to come up with another plan. Now, Azhani had never been on fire before, but she had known someone who had, and she knew that the best thing to do was to put the fire out immediately. Rolling on the ground would do it. She desperately wanted to and intended to the moment she was free – after all, being on fire was in no way fun – but at that moment another thought clouded her mind: Kyme wasn’t immune to it.

Fortunately, it took only a few seconds to break out of Kyme’s hold – her lack of an arm didn’t hurt – and it also helped that, at the moment, Azhani had several advantages. First of all, a katana was a two-handed weapon. Kyme wouldn’t be using it any time soon, and if she tried, it’d be about as effective as fighting with a butter knife. Second, Kyme was out of the use of an arm, while Azhani only had an injured hand. She may not have been able to grab anything or punch anything, but her arm certainly wasn’t useless. Furthermore, she was ambidextrous. Kyme may have had her sword, but Azhani was an expert in dual weapons – namely the kukri she had yet to draw. Gods forbid Kyme gave her a reason to draw them, but she still had a pocket ace. And last, but certainly not least, Kyme thought Azhani would put out the fire.

Things seemed to be going from bad to worse for Azhani, but for some reason, she didn’t feel…anything. There wasn’t a negative emotion to be found anywhere in her mind. She was still…having fun. As strange as it was – after all, she was on fire – she didn’t feel discouraged in the least. This wasn’t about…pride or money; this was simply about her. She wanted to win, more than anything, just because she wanted to win. Just because she was having fun. It was…insane, she thought, but it felt…right. She couldn’t imagine doing anything else at the moment. Despite all the reasons it should have been wrong, Azhani didn’t care. She liked this feeling, this thrill. Even if she was on fire and couldn't use her right hand, she liked it. To an extent, she didn’t even care who won or loss. This was why she thrived. She didn’t concern herself with the details or the pain she was in; all she was interested in was the fun.

Azhani wasted no time jumping to her feet and charging at Kyme with full force. Her back ached. The back of her tube top was rapidly deteriorating, and she knew that she wasn’t hurting anyone but herself with this, but she refused to give her an opponent an opening by trying to put out the flames. She thanked every god she knew that her pants were made of a much thicker material and, though her legs still burned, the flames hadn’t caught to her skin yet. She was taking a gamble, but she didn’t feel fear, and the pain only urged her on. Her heart pounded with excitement as she leapt into the air and thrust her knee towards Kyme. As assassins, she knew that she and Kyme both had been trained to expect the unexpected, but how out of the realm of either was a flaming knee to the chest?

As she landed, she lead into a roll with a crouch, moving away from Kyme. She stopped only after she felt her back stop burning and pushed herself to her feet with her good hand. Unfortunately, pants were still on fire and she had to pat the flames out with her hand. Her pants were scorched. Although they were still long and baggy, the large burn holes did little to cover her thighs down. Glancing down, she sighed in relief, thankful that at least the crotch area was intact.

[Kyme Reinhilde]

Despite her still throbbing shoulder, Kyme didn't drop her guard. If her past experiences have taught her anything, it was that her opponent thrived on the unexpected. First the duck and roll, then the grab, and now, no doubt hoping to catch her off guard, a flying knee to the chest. The attack was admirable, to say in the least. Only two types of people would have attempted the offensive while alight with fire – a fool or a true warrior. Her opponent was clearly the latter. Basta has guts, she has strategy, and she has the skills to back it up. Any other would have fallen for the unpredicted attack, but she had seen it coming.

Although Kyme didn’t anticipate the particular attack, remaining on the defensive allowed her plenty of time to block. Slamming her good arm into the side of Basta’s bent leg and turning to the side in the same motion, she redirected the knee sideways and avoided the blunt of the impact.

And she didn’t stop there.

Unlike her opponent, who seemed to focus more on reacting and less on planning, the flame-maned assassin liked to think several steps ahead. The same approach has won her countless hands of cards and bets of various kinds. A master gambler, she would often take on the appearance of holding a bad hand, only to reveal a killer when her opponents foolishly bet all that they had.

The same principle applied to her fighting style as well.

As soon as she realized she could not bring down Basta with a simple slash, Kyme had been baiting. The katana, after all, was a two-handed weapon. There was no good reason why she should have swung at Basta one-handed. The bandit, keen as she was, had obviously taken advantage of the weaker swing. Admittedly, Kyme didn't expect to suffer so severe a blow - a broken arm, but her goal of subsequently setting Basta on fire had been accomplished.

The plan of course, didn't end with the fire. Although Basta had so darlingly struck again, Kyme knew her opponent's aggression could not last. At one point or another, the bandit would have to pause and put out the fire. That second was what she sacrificed her arm for.

Basta had been smart enough to roll away from her as soon as her knee was blocked - the roll helped put out some of the flame. But although the dark-haired fighter had managed to kill two birds with one stone, she seemed to forgot one crucial detail: while she was rolling on the ground, there was no way for her to accurately and timely monitor her surroundings.

Kyme, as Basta perhaps expected, did not take the time to relocate her shoulder. Rather, she pursued the bandit, purposely slowing her speed to mask her already faint footsteps. There was no need for the extra speed, running, after all, was much faster than rolling.

The second Basta straightened, Kyme had charged. Not pausing in her steps, she twisted her upper body a perfect one-eighty degree in preparation, and, using the momentum of her dash, leapt into the air. With flawless form, she delivered. Her kick, gathering speed and power as she sprung through air, connected with the side of Basta's head with a sickening crunch - the latter appeared to be examining her pants, a fatal mistake.

A perfect jump spin hook kick, her master would have been proud.

Kyme's own heel stung from the force of impact - the damage inflicted against her opponent's temple would have knocked an ordinary fighter out cold. But Kyme knew not to underestimate the bandit. And thus, she hardly planned to stop with a simple kick.

The kick had sent Basta flying through the air, and she charged the bandit. No matter how strong Basta was, there was no way she could sustain so forceful a blow to the head without being at least momentarily dazed. And that was the opening she looked for.

Like a streak of crimson lightning, she rushed the bandit's fallen body. Rising her leg again mercilessly, she sped the falling process along with an axe kick straight to the forehead. Finally, for good measures, she straddled Basta's still frame, keeping one knee on each of her arms just in case the bandit could somehow recover from repeated head injuries. She drew her sword.

"Do you yield?" She asked, the razor-sharp edge of Ignis held at Basta's throat. Kyme didn't want to slay the bandit; it would be a waste for the world to lose so strong and brave a fighter. But for the Order's sake, she wouldn't hesitate to do so if the answer came out to be a no. Violets stared into sapphires, speaking clearing about her willingness to kill. Surrender, she thought, don't force me to kill you.

(OOC: Imo, that's gg. Any false moves and Kyme will slay Azhani. However, seeing that I too, do not like to godmod, send me a PM if there's anything wrong with how the series of events took place, like where Azhani could have possibly interrupted the combo.)

[Fa'raazhin Azhani]

Azhani had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she rolled away. She couldn’t examine, but she could see – glimpses – Kyme. She assumed she was following her, but there was nothing she could do. She had to put out the fire or risk losing more than just part of her clothing. She knew she couldn’t worry about putting out the flames and countering Kyme at the same time.

She couldn’t prepare for the strike she knew was coming, so when it did, the pain was the kind you wished you could tune out. She thanked the gods that it was harder to break her bones than that, but her jaw still hurt like hell. She felt that odd beating in her chest again. She watched Kyme race towards her and prepare to kick her again. She watched it. She began to lift her arm to do something – anything – to defend herself, but at the last moment, something stopped it. She felt the foot to her face again, and her head spun as the next thing she knew, she was staring up at Kyme.

I should have won by now, she thought. That should be me. That was her. She remembered when she’d broken Kyme’s arm, she’d had the perfect opportunity to end the fight, but she hadn’t. She had done the same thing Kyme was doing now – she’d given her opponent a chance. It was a mistake both of them had made too easily. But Azhani had something Kyme didn’t – a weakness. She had a handicap that she had been fighting with the whole time, a cross that only she had to bear. She had made a promise, and though she was a thief and a liar, a promise made to Anactoria was slightly different than a promise made to anyone else.

I can still fight. I can still win. But at what cost? Her hand, her jaw, her legs – her entire body hurt, and although she could ignore it and keep fighting, she couldn’t change the fact that she was broken. If she wanted to win, her only option was to stop being so emotional and end the fight, but that would require her to break her promise to Anactoria; and what was the alternative – to simply give up and dishonor herself and her country? Her comrades in Z’hakaat would never allow her to let it down if she lost to some Assassins Order trash, especially not if she surrendered. She could never face her father with that, and…she was afraid he’d never be able to face her…

"A Ha'zhansin's job is to protect.”

That was what she had been taught. It was her duty both as a princess and a Ha’zhansin to put her feelings aside and do what was best for her people. What was best for them now, she thought, was to have their princess and Ha’zhansin. She was the only one they had. She carried the weight of that responsibility alone, and if she were to toss away her life now, it would cause even more chaos than her forfeit.

“ I promise you that while I'm in Terre de Conte, I'll certainly try not to cause too much trouble. I think I'm beginning to like it more and more here..."

That was right. This prize fight was one thing, but Azhani was part of an even bigger competition – one that she was also desperate to win. Was her “fun” really so important that she would give up her life before she had even accomplished anything? She had a chance here to make things better – to help her kingdom and to…possibly find someone she cared about. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d wanted to so badly either. She was torn between death and dishonor. It was funny. She was a thief and a killer; what honor did she have left?

Azhani clenched her fists, and though her right hand bled and burned with pain, she could barely feel it over her inner turmoil. She had never wanted to kill someone more. She did her duty because it was just that - a duty - but never had she felt she would enjoy killing someone as much as she would Kyme at that moment. But she knew that wouldn't solve anything. This wasn't Kyme's fault. She was a capable fighter; that was all. Azhani was the one that had given up the moment she'd decided to fight with anything less than full force. If she were going to hate someone, it should have been herself.

What seemed like a lifetime had passed, and Azhani had yet to say anything. Despite her whirlwind of emotions, she kept her gaze cold and even. She hadn't bothered to struggle in the least. Finally, after closing her eyes for a moment, she mustered up an answer. "Yes." That word seemed to destroy her entire world. She hated losing, but giving up was something else entirely. She had no interest in fame or prize money, but losing was never a good feeling. She felt weak and pathetic. Did she rely on her weapons that much that she was so helpless without them? Or was it the fact that she simply hadn't done everything she could? Or maybe, just maybe, Kyme really deserved o win. ...No, it must have been one of the other two.

[Kyme Reinhilde]

"Yes."

Relief flooded through Kyme at the answer. She had won. The dignity of the Order had been preserved. And perhaps, somewhere deep inside her mind, she was glad that she did not have to kill Basta, an opponent she truly respected.

After the judge verified the results, she drew back her blade and lifted herself off of the dark-haired fighter. On her ascent, she felt something that took away whatever pride she might have had at winning the difficult battle. There, strapped to Basta's sides, were two lumps, hidden by her clothing. Daggers of some sort. Unseen. Lethal.

If her opponent had drawn those blades when she first pinned Kyme, then no doubt the assassin would be the one lying on the ground right now...

She stared at the bandit, who did not appear to acknowledge her presence. Why? She had seen Basta's earlier matches; she had so mercilessly behanded an opponent. Why hold back? Why not stab Kyme straight through the heart the one opportunity she had?

An answer was not forthcoming.

It shouldn't have mattered. Whatever the reason, she had won. She was the one left standing. Basta had failed to seize her opportunity, that was no fault of Kyme's. But why did she feel no joy? No pride at her bittersweet victory?

Her strategy had paid off, but only because her opponent had refused to kill. That wasn't the way she planned it. The fight should have been ended readily, the victory apparent and decisive. She should have won because of her own skills and intellect, not because of her opponent's...mercy.

Perhaps it wasn't mercy at all. Perhaps Basta had some other personal reason for sparing Kyme. A promise. A vow. A religion of some sort. Regardless of the reason, the bandit had failed to deliver the fatal blow. And thus stood Kyme and not she.

But she hadn't win. She may stand now, victorious, but she hadn't win.

Kyme could walk away now. She could smile. She could wave at the audience that was going wild chanting her name. If she says nothing, no one would ever find out the truth. No one would ever know that her, Kyme, is the one who should have lost. Her face would be saved. The Order would grow stronger yet. But...

"I lost." She announced, sheathing her sword and walking away from Basta's prone form.

The judge looked upon her in confusion, "But she had conceded, you are the vict--"

"I said, I lost." She caught the men off with a menacing glare, repeating herself with more force this time.

The judge, having never seen such an occurrence in all his years of moderating the tournament, was at a loss for words.

The audience was beginning to murmur in confusion. The fight seemed conclusive. Why hadn't a champion been announced?

"You...?" The judge whispered, looking at Kyme in aghast.

"Go ahead. Announce it. Announce it to the entire Underworld that Kyme Reinhilde had been defeated." Her voice was cold, impassive, as if winning or losing made no difference to her.

"You are mad." The judge finally murmured, shaking his head.

"Announce Basta the champion before I slit your fucking throat!" She took a step toward the judge, her murderous aura making the man flinch. He gulped, cleared his throat, and conceded.

"Ladies and gentlemen! This year's tournament had finally came to a close! I present to you the strongest of the strong, champion among champions, this year's victor, Basta!"

The confusion only last a second. The audience, though not completely sure what had taken place up the stage, was all to eager to accept the decision. Only a few, who had placed their bets on the redhead, raged at the conclusion.

"Basta, Basta, BASTA!" They chanted.

Kyme leapt off the stage without another word. She picked up the prize money due to her, two hundred short of the three hundred she had aimed for.

Perhaps she would regret this tomorrow morning, when the adrenaline wears off and when everyone learns that she, the undefeated prodigy of Azrael, had met her match. It didn't matter. She didn't fucking care. The Order is her important to her - it's the one thing she had sworn to cherish and protect. But above all else, Kyme will be true to herself. She had lost, and no matter what the world thinks, she would not be awarded a false victory.

Perhaps the Order will suffer a blow. Perhaps many would rise to challenge its authority. So be it. She would face the consequences of her decision. Let those pests come at her... Whatever the cost, she would not lie to herself. Thus decided. Kyme slipped into the shadows.