SAPR

by Scipio Smith

Maybe You Should Just Stop (New)

Maybe You Should Just Stop

“Yang,” Blake murmured. She placed one hand upon her heart. “She must be so disappointed.”

“She’s got a right to be, if she is,” Applejack said. “You were right, and I was wrong; she had that one in the bag. Umber couldn’t stop her with her whips, and once it became a fistfight … there was no way she was gonna lose before that semblance came into things.”

“I wonder why she didn’t just use that semblance at the start of the fight,” Fluttershy murmured. “I mean, it seemed pretty unstoppable.” She shuddered. “People with semblances like that always seem so scary.”

“Let’s not rush to judgement, Fluttershy, darling,” Rarity said. “After all, a lot of people would say the same about Starlight’s semblance, but she’s a dear.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“As for your other question,” Blake said, “it seemed like she might have been explaining that to Yang before she dropped her off the edge of the battlefield; it’s a pity that we couldn’t hear what she was saying. Although she might have been just gloating over her victory.”

“Perhaps,” Rarity allowed, “but given that she didn’t simply use her semblance at the very start of the fight in order to freeze her opponent solid, I prefer to think that she is at least something of a good sport.”

“Not so good that she let the better woman win,” Applejack pointed out. “If you feel like your semblance is too strong and it would be unfair to use it, then fine, but then don’t use it, take the loss if you come up against someone better than you in every other way. If you swear off using but then keep it around for when you’re about to lose otherwise … that don’t sit right with me.”

“For better or worse, semblances are a part of who we are,” Blake murmured. “What … is impressive and worrying in equal measure is that … it feels like a semblance like that, which is so powerful, should be an absolute drain on her aura, and considering that she didn’t have a lot of aura left … it didn’t seem to consume any aura at all.”

“That ain’t no thing,” Applejack said. “My semblance doesn’t burn any aura either.”

“Is that unusual?” Mom asked.

Blake looked past her mother and down the line at Applejack. “Are you saying that her semblance is passive?”

“'Passive'?” asked Mom.

“Most semblances need to be consciously employed by the person they belong to, and there’s a cost in aura for doing that,” Blake said. “When I use my clones, for example, then it costs me aura to do it, albeit not a lot, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to use my semblance as much as I do. Some semblances, like Applejack’s super strength, are always on; she’s always got super strength, she can’t turn it off.”

“And it don’t cost me no aura neither,” Applejack said.

“But passive semblances only affect the person who has the semblance,” Blake protested. “Your super strength impacts you; it doesn’t impact anyone else—”

“It does when Ah hit ‘em,” Applejack said.

Blake snorted, smiling a little. “Alright, point, but you understand what I’m saying; the idea of a passive semblance that is also an attack … I’ve never heard of a passive semblance that affected others before.”

“I have,” Shining Armor said. “Although you’re right, it is rare, but then, passive semblances are pretty rare in themselves. But there’s a specialist, Captain Ebi, that has a semblance that brings good fortune; doesn’t cost him any aura, always on, and it impacts his teammates as well as himself.”

“Lucky him,” Mom said.

Cadance looked at her, eyebrows rising.

Mom smiled.

Cadance’s lips crinkled gently upwards.

“And besides,” Applejack went on, “if ain’t a passive semblance, then what’s with the sunglasses? I think she can’t turn it off, so she wears the sunglasses normally so that she doesn’t go around freezin’ folk all over the place, and then she took the sunglasses off when she wanted to let Yang have it.”

“She can’t turn it off?” Fluttershy asked. “Put like that … she doesn’t sound so much scary as she seems … I feel sorry for her. It must be awful having a power like that, and you can’t do anything about it.”

“She can wear sunglasses,” Pinkie pointed out.

“Sunglasses are marvellous, Pinkie dear, but not always fashionable,” Rarity said.

“They ain’t always practical, either; Ah’m guessin’ she doesn’t have much fun in the dark,” Applejack pointed out. She paused. “Mind you, she’ll probably win this whole here tournament, so maybe that’ll take the edge off.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Win the tournament?” Twilight asked. “You think she’ll win the whole thing?”

“You don’t?” asked Applejack.

“No way!” Pinkie cried. “There’s no way that she’ll beat Rainbow Dash!”

“And what’s Rainbow gonna do when Umber down there takes her sunglasses off and looks at her?” Applejack inquired softly. “Ah ain’t sayin’ that Ah like it, but … that darn semblance of hers is lookin’ pretty unstoppable from where Ah’m sittin’.”

Blake had to admit, as much as she didn’t really want to, that Applejack had a point. Umber’s semblance might be difficult for her to live with, but at the same time, it also seemed to be pretty unstoppable. Yang hadn’t been able to do a thing about it once Umber had turned her semblance upon her. She’d been frozen, and Umber had been able to do what she liked to her. How was Rainbow, or Pyrrha for that matter, supposed to do any better? It was as though Umber had been born with an ‘I win’ button, and she deigned to not use it … unless she was in danger of losing.

Put like that, Blake could see why Applejack found there was an air of condescension around the whole thing, whether or not it was warranted.

Every semblance, every thing, everyone has a weakness. No one is invincible — sorry Pyrrha. Everyone can be beaten in the right circumstances.

It’s just a question of working out how.

Rarity got a compact out of her purse. She opened it up with a click, took out the powder puff, and started touching up the blush on her cheeks. After a second or two, dabbing at her right cheek, she paused. “Suppose that someone took a mirror out onto the field with them, perhaps they could persuade Umber Gorgoneion to look into it and freeze herself?”

“That might work,” Applejack said. “Except that even if you could take a mirror in with you, she’d freeze you too, as well as herself, and then what?”

“Do you think…?” Twilight began. “Umber wears those sunglasses so that nobody else is affected by her gaze, except when she wishes it so. Which means that she has to be looking directly at her target, no interruptions, in order for her semblance to have any effect. What if the opposite is also true, what if her opponent needs to be looking directly at her? Maybe all that Rainbow would need to do in order to be safe from her semblance is to put her goggles on?”

Applejack snorted. “Well, that makes it seem a lot less unstoppable.”

“It’s a theory,” Twilight said.

“A theory from you, so Ah’m inclined to believe it,” Applejack replied.

“Hmm, I’m not sure,” Blake said softly. “Not because of a lack of faith, but because … those are very thick sunglasses she’s wearing, the kind that wholly hide the eyes. I don’t think Rainbow’s goggles are opaque enough to do the trick.” She paused. “But I think you might be onto something, that you need to be able to see her just as she needs to be able to see you.”

“But she can see through her own sunglasses, right?” Pinkie asked. “I mean otherwise … she wouldn’t be able to see anything.”

“Maybe she’s using her aura to see for her?” Fluttershy suggested. “I mean, not see, but … I’m sure there are people who can use their auras to sense things.”

“It’s possible, but it’s not sight in the normal sense,” Shining Armor said. “It’s more like sensing presences; it’s short range, and really only any good for knowing that someone you can’t see is sneaking up on you. I think Miss Gorgoneion was acting as though she could see Miss Xiao Long.”

“So we’re back at obscuring,” Blake sighed. “Or not. I suppose we should hope that it is, because I don’t think that anyone who might go up against Umber can fight blind, especially not with the noise of the crowd making it impossible to hear anything. Merely obscuring their vision would be a lot better.”

“But if it doesn’t work,” Twilight said, “if it’s not enough, then … then it isn’t enough.”

“We just don’t know enough about her semblance to do more than speculate,” Blake said. “She’s managed to keep it hidden up until now, and we’re left to guess as to how it works exactly.” She paused. “I guess that whoever else ends up fighting Umber has reason to thank Yang for forcing her to unveil her semblance, rather than have the surprise sprung upon them, instead of her.” She paused again, for a little longer. “Not that that’s likely to be much consolation to Yang herself.”

---

“WHAT?” Nora cried, rising half out of her seat, gesturing with both hands towards the arena. “What was … there’s no way that can be legal, right?”

“There’s nothing illegal about using your semblance in a tournament,” Ren murmured calmly.

“There are semblances, and then there’s … that!” Nora declared. “That’s just … that’s just not fair! Did you see, her aura didn’t even go down!”

Pyrrha had, in fact, noticed that. It was one of the things that had caused her to lean forwards, hands clasped together beneath her chin, watching Umber Gorgoneion.

Quite a semblance; Pyrrha wasn’t sure if she would go quite so far as to call it unfair, as Nora just had, but it was certainly formidable.

Between the fact that Umber’s aura hadn’t gone down and the fact that she had taken off her sunglasses in order to use her semblance, Pyrrha was fairly certain it was a passive semblance. And yet, to be so powerful, and to impact others, not just herself…

Formidable indeed.

Up until this moment, Pyrrha would have rated Weiss as having the most powerful semblance of all the finalists. She was no longer so certain of that. What would even Weiss do if Umber turned her gaze upon her?

And what will I do, if the draw falls that way?

“Yang had that!” Nora went on, bubbling over like an unwatched pot. “Yang totally had that, and now—”

“And now, she doesn’t,” Ren said, calmly but not wholly without sympathy. “Getting angry on her behalf … might be what she wants, but I doubt it. All we can do now is be there for her in whatever state she’s in.”

Nora pouted. “Well, I feel like getting angry on her behalf; doesn’t what I want matter?”

“Not in this instance,” Ren said, as he got up. “Shall we go down and meet her as she comes out?”

“I don’t know; are that girl’s teammates going?” Nora asked. “I don’t want to be rubbing shoulders with them all smug and celebrating. Or with her either, for that matter.”

“She has a name,” Ren pointed out.

“Doesn’t mean I have to use it,” Nora replied.

“Yang will probably be disappointed if we’re not there,” Ren observed. “So come on, and try to stay calm and not start any fights. Keep your emotions in check.”

“At least I have emotions,” Nora muttered.

Ren either didn’t hear that, or else he decided to pointedly ignore it; he began to leave the stands, heading down the steps that led, eventually, to the mouth of the tunnel which led to the arena. Nora followed after him, a slightly sullen look on her face and an even more sullen drag to her step, while looking as though she was trying very hard to ignore Umber’s Shade Academy teammates.

Fortunately, perhaps, they seemed to be ignoring her too. Pyrrha watched them all leave for a second, before turning her attention to the arena, where Umber Gorgoneion, sunglasses back on her face, was standing in the centre of the hexagon, basking in the acclaim of the crowd as the platform lowered to collect Yang.

“Poor Yang,” Penny murmured. “Maybe it’s a good thing that Ruby wasn’t here for this.”

“I think Yang might have liked to have had Ruby here for this, especially now,” Jaune murmured.

“She has Nora still, at least,” Pyrrha said. “And Ren, for whatever that may be worth.”

“Yeah,” Jaune said. “He’s not exactly … what he says makes sense, but … yeah.”

“I’ve never heard of a semblance like that before,” Penny said. “It’s really powerful, huh?”

“Yes,” Pyrrha murmured. “Although it would be nothing for you to worry about. Your Freedom is the perfect counter to a semblance like that.”

Penny was silent for a moment. “I … yeah. Yeah, I suppose it is, isn’t it? Although, even if I used my semblance to free myself from her semblance, wouldn’t she just freeze me again by looking at me?”

“And then you would unfreeze yourself again, and round and round,” Pyrrha admitted. “But, hopefully, in the space between unfreezing yourself and being frozen, you would find some way to end the battle in your favour.” Pyrrha smiled. “Perhaps you should be in this round, instead of me.”

“Actually, it would be instead of me,” Rainbow reminded them as she ambled up behind their seats. “Which was the plan, until … stuff happened.”

“But if we’d stuck to the plan, I probably wouldn’t have found my semblance,” Penny pointed out as she turned in her seat to look at Rainbow Dash.

Rainbow winced a little. “That … is maybe true, sure.” She drew in a deep breath. “Well, we finally know who the underdog is.”

“Her?” Jaune said, his voice rising to approach a squawk. “You think she’s the underdog, with that semblance?”

“It’s got nothing to do with being an actual underdog,” Rainbow explained. “Any more than I think Weiss is evil because I say that she’s the villain of the tournament—”

“Is she still?” Pyrrha asked. “I think she started to win the crowd over with that last battle.”

“That’s redemption; it doesn’t disprove what I said,” Rainbow replied. “The point is, it’s not about what kind of people we actually are; it’s all about how the crowd sees us. The hero, the villain, the underdog, they’re not reflections of ourselves; they’re creations of what people see out there in the arena and what they think they know about us outside of it.”

“So who’s the hero?” asked Penny.

“Pyrrha is,” Rainbow said, as though it were obvious.

Pyrrha sighed. I was afraid you might say that.

“Well, of course she is,” Penny said, “but why—?”

“Because Mistral hasn’t worn the laurels in forty years, and they’re really mad about it,” Rainbow said. “Because Pyrrha’s the best chance they’ve got, or at least, she’s got the story to make her the best chance that they’ve got: the Champion of Mistral, representing Mistral against the best of all the other kingdoms. Sure, she’s not from the right school, but at this point, I think they’re too desperate to care. Plus, she’s really good — and everyone online thinks she’s really nice, and really cute too.” She winked. “Rough luck, Jaune.”

Jaune shrugged. “I mean, they’ve got eyes, so…”

Rainbow went on. “So she’s the hero, because she’s the one that people are rooting for to succeed. Weiss is the villain, unfortunately, because of all this stuff with the SDC, and people didn’t like her because of her last name, even if that is changing a little bit. And now, it turns out that Umber is the underdog, because she’s from Shade, who do about as badly as Haven, only they don’t make so much fuss about it, and who would have expected a Shade student to do well? I mean, she’s come out of nowhere, semblance or no. Hero, villain, underdog.”

“Very interesting,” Pyrrha murmured. “But not particularly pertinent, I fear. Not compared with—”

“Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?” Arslan asked as she sidled down the row of seats on which Pyrrha and the others stood, followed closely behind by Medea and Reece.

“We were about to get back to talking about Umber’s semblance,” Pyrrha explained.

“Mmm, that’s what I thought,” Arslan muttered. “I think they should have banned her, like they would have done in Mistral.”

“Really?” asked Penny. “They ban people because of their semblances?”

“Not as a rule, it’s not like they’re handing bans out left, right, and centre,” Arslan replied. “But when they’re silly things like that, then yes. I mean, you can just use that semblance and win the fight, where’s the sport in that? There’s no skill, there’s no contest, it’s barely worth the other person turning up at all. And that fight just then, Umber did her best, but Yang was having the best of it until, suddenly, bam! Semblance! Then nothing else mattered. Who wants to watch a fight like that?”

“The crowd don’t seem to have minded,” Rainbow pointed out.

“A crowd that doesn’t have enough Mistralians in it,” Arslan declared. “An unsophisticated crowd.”

“Uh huh,” Rainbow muttered sceptically. “Sure, it’s a powerful semblance, but … semblances are a part of who we are, and once you start saying that some semblances are … it doesn’t sit right with me.”

“All of my hard work counting for nothing because of something she was born with doesn’t sit right with me, either,” Arslan replied.

“Arslan isn’t talking about discriminating against her because of her semblance,” Reece interjected. “Only … it does make the competition a little lopsided, doesn’t it? And as entertainment, it lacks a little, don’t you think? The crowd are cheering now, but if Umber had taken her sunglasses off and frozen Yang in place as soon as the announcer said 'go,' what do you think they’d be saying?”

“Arslan may not be talking about discrimination, but I fear that she has suffered it,” Medea murmured. “I know the Gorgoneion family; at least, I know her sisters quite well, and I know her parents, but Lady Umber … I know not at all. I didn’t even realise that they had another sister; they never mentioned her. I wonder if that semblance is why: a semblance that she cannot control.”

“She seems to control it alright,” Arslan said.

“By wearing sunglasses all the time like some blind sightless creature who doesn’t want to scare the children with what is behind the glasses,” Medea replied. “Hardly ideal.”

“It is hardly ideal for her to be ignored by her family,” Pyrrha murmured.

“No,” Medea allowed. “No wonder she has turned her back on Mistral and embraced Vacuo and Shade Academy.”

“She seems to have landed on her feet,” Arslan said. She turned away, resting her behind upon the edge of the stands as she looked down at Pyrrha. “The question is, what are we going to do about it?”

“Well,” Jaune began, but then stopped, with a glance at Arslan.

Arslan smirked as she folded her arms. “Holding out on me so that I get knocked out?”

“If you have an idea, Jaune,” Pyrrha said softly, “then please, share it.”

“I don’t know if I’d go so far as to call it an idea,” Jaune admitted, “but … her semblance doesn’t cause a drain on her aura, it seems to be passive, but it clearly doesn’t work through her sunglasses. What if the opposite is true, what if in the same way that her view being obstructed obstructs her semblance, at the same time obstructing your view of her would do the same thing?”

Pyrrha leaned forward a little. “You think that wearing sunglasses will stop her semblance?”

“I’ve got a very stylish pair you can borrow if you wish, Lady Pyrrha,” Medea said.

“You can borrow mine, Arslan,” Reece added.

“How do you know that I don’t have my own sunglasses?” Arslan asked.

“Because you don’t dress like the sort of person who has their own sunglasses,” Reece replied.

Arslan opened her mouth for a second. “Okay, you happen to be right, but still.”

“Sunglasses might do it,” Jaune said. “Or goggles like Rainbow Dash. I hope that that’s enough, because the alternative is something like a blindfold, which I’m almost completely positive would do it, but…” He looked at Pyrrha. “Could you fight without being able to see anything?”

“I fear not,” Pyrrha said softly. “I have never had to in the past; Chiron attempted to teach me how to fight in the dark with no light, but those lessons focused upon using my ears, and—”

“All you’ll hear out there is Three Lions on a Shield,” Arslan said.

“Indeed,” Pyrrha said.

“You could just cover your eyes with your shield,” Penny suggested.

“All it would take would be one slip,” Jaune said. “And then … frozen, just like Yang.”

“Not to mention the fact that I still wouldn’t be able to see,” Pyrrha added.

“It would be better to have something that would … would stay on Pyrrha’s face,” Jaune said. “All of this is assuming that what’s true for Umber is true for her target; it might not be.”

“If it isn’t, then she’s unstoppable,” Arslan muttered. “So it’s worth a try.”

Perhaps not completely unstoppable, Pyrrha thought, wondering if she could use her semblance even after Umber had frozen her with her own semblance. After all, she didn’t need to move her body in order to use her semblance; although she sometimes did, it wasn’t strictly necessary. So long as she could think, so long as she had aura, then she could, or at least she ought to be able to, use her semblance. She could continue to assail Umber even if Umber had frozen her solid.

If I were willing to reveal my own semblance, I could bludgeon her with Akoúo̱ from a distance, still or not.

If I were willing to reveal my semblance, as Umber has revealed hers.

Am I? Am I willing to throw away my advantage to win a tournament?

Yes, yes, she was, was the answer to that which lay in Pyrrha’s heart, and wasn’t even particularly difficult to find there. This was her last tournament, and she wanted to win it; she was happy to leave the arena behind, but that didn’t mean that she wanted to slink off, having been defeated at the last. If she lost, if Arslan or Weiss or Umber Gorgoneion turned out to be better than she was, then she would accept it with all the grace that she could muster.

But she was prepared to give it everything she had to avoid that. Even reveal her semblance to the world.

“At least neither of you are going to have to fight her in this round,” Jaune said. “Maybe … maybe we can find out a little more about how her semblance works before the next set of matches begins.”

---

As Yang stepped onto the platform, which had dropped down to pick her up, she considered that perhaps she ought to be a graceful loser and offer Umber her congratulations on a match well fought.

The trouble was, she didn't really feel like it right now.

And, in fairness to Yang, Umber didn't seem inclined to be a gracious winner, either, what with the way that she was completely ignoring Yang, standing with her back to her as she soaked up the love.

Although Yang didn't know what the crowd was cheering so hard for; that had been a—

Yang cut that thought off, snipping it like Crescent Rose slicing something’s head off. She didn't want to become some kind of bitter person who held a grudge about something like this.

Was she upset? Yes. Did she have a right to be upset? Also, yes. But did she want to shoo it or let it fester? Tempting, but probably not.

And besides, Professor Ozpin had said, when he told them to go and fight in the tournament in spite of the grimm horde and all, that they were doing a good thing by keeping the people in a good mood. That being the case, she probably had some obligations to try and be a good role model.

And so, as Umber stood with her back to Yang, arms up, basking in the glory of her triumph, Yang walked around her until she stood before her victorious opponent.

She held out her hand. "Good fight."

Umber's eyes were hidden behind her sunglasses, which combined with her still, almost frozen face to make her expression unreadable as she looked down at Yang's hand.

"Yes," she said. "It was, wasn't it?" She turned away, without taking Yang's hand, and sauntered off in the direction of the tunnel.

Yang's eye twitched as she fought to prevent her hands from knotting into fists.

"At least I tried," she muttered under her breath.

Umber was met at the mouth of the corridor by her team, but Yang hung back until they had, in a crowing huddle around their leader, departed into the darkness of the tunnel itself.

Yang only followed once she felt like the distance between them was sufficient that she wouldn't have to hear any gloating — or at least not too loud anyway.

When she did follow, she found Nora and Ren waiting for her in the shadows.

"Sorry, guys," Yang said, with a sigh in her voice. "Looks like thus is the end of the line for Team Iron."

"Hey, hey, come on," Nora said, reaching out for Yang's shoulder. "You have got nothing to apologise for. You fought a good fight, and if it hadn't been for her stupid semblance—"

"Maybe," Yang said. "Probably. But she did have that semblance, and she used it on me, so … here we are."

"Yeah," Nora muttered. "Here we are. But keep your chin up, okay? You've got nothing to be ashamed of."

"You fought well, showed your skill, and for what it might be worth, I think the crowd found nothing in you to disapprove of," Ren added. "As Nora said, you've nothing to be ashamed of."

"Aww, thanks, guys," Yang cooed, reaching out to wrap her arms around their shoulders and pull them into a side hug. "You’re the best teammates I could ask for, you know that? And the best friends too."

Nora smiled as she took Yang's hand. "Yeah, we know."

"And now," Professor Port's voice rose above the sound of the crowd, "let's have the draw for the third match of this round!"

Yang, Ren, and Nora manoeuvred around, still bound by Yang's arms around them, to look up at the screens as the portraits of the four remaining contestants began to spin around and round. With only four remaining, it was a lot easier to pick out Pyrrha's red hair, or Rainbow Dash's many colours, or distinguish Arslan from Sun as they rolled around and around before coming to a stop.

"The next match will be between Pyrrha Nikos of Beacon and Arslan Altan of Haven!" Professor Port declared as the crowd went wild.

---

"Oooh," Terra murmured, leaning a little closer to the TV.

"Oooooh!" Adrian cooed in imitation, leaning forward in Saphron's arms, while he waved his arms enthusiastically.

"'Oooh'?" Saphron asked. "What's this oooh?"

"Aye, love, what's up?" asked Cable.

Terra looked from one to the other. "You … come on, Dad, I expect that from Saphron, but weren't you paying attention at all?"

"Not really, no," Cable admitted. "You know I stay out of your mother's way when it comes to this kind of thing."

Terra shook her head, before flipping her attention between Saphron and her father. "It's the fated rivalry!" She declared. "Arslan is Pyrrha's best and most persistent challenger, she's contested Pyrrha's tournament finals, and now, here they are, meeting again for the last time before they both retire from the tournament circuit. This … this is the culmination of a story that's been going on for years."

"So it'll be a good fight, then, you think?" asked Saphron.

"I certainly hope so," Terra replied. "Because it'll be pretty disappointing if it isn't."

---

"Arslan Altan, huh?" Sky Arc said. "The one who soloed an entire team of four in her first round match?"

"Mistralians always make the best and bravest," Kendal said quietly — but not so quietly that her words went unheard.

"No, they don't; what kind of a thing to say is that?" demanded Sky. "Although, sure, this Arslan girl has shown she's pretty tough."

"But Pyrrha's never lost a fight, right?" asked River. "Isn't that what Jaune and Sunset said? She's … the Undefeatable Girl."

"It's 'the Invincible Girl,'" Violet corrected her from where she sat on the floor at the foot of the sofa. "Also the Evenstar, the Princess Without a Crown, and the Pride of Mistral Reborn."

"Well, there you go," River said. "Someone with a list of nicknames—"

"They're called epithets."

"No one likes a know-it-all, Vi, especially not pregnant women prone to extreme moods," said River sharply. "My point is, someone with epithets" — she leaned forward, putting a lot of emphasis upon the word — "isn't going to have any trouble from someone named Arslan, even if she can beat four people at once; those people weren't Pyrrha."

"I don't know about that," Aoko muttered from where she knelt beside the settee. "The livechat is lighting up about this fight. Apparently…" She tapped a couple of keys on the keyboard of her sleek, silver laptop. "They're rivals."

"'Rivals'?" Sky repeated. "How can you be rivals with someone who always beats you?"

"Because you keep trying, I suppose," Aoko said quietly. She tapped a couple more keys. "Yep, that's it, she keeps trying."

"And keeps on losing," Sky said. "Not what I'd call a rivalry."

"You called Petunia Thorpe your rival yourself when you were trying to get me to join your bowling team,” Kendal pointed out. “But, as I seem to recall, you’ve never once beaten her.”

"That," Sky said, "that is completely different; I will get her one of these days."

"I'm sure Arslan Altan tells herself that too," said Kendal.

Rouge came in, her tulle skirt flowing around her legs, rising and falling like waves to expose and then conceal her sandal-clad feet.

"Did I miss anything?" she asked.

"Two fights, but nothing important," Sky said. "Pyrrha's about to fight her rival."

Rouge frowned slightly. "A rival for someone who never loses?"

"Apparently," said Sky.

Rouge turned to the doorway, skirt swishing around her. "Mom, Dad!" she called out. "Pyrrha's fighting!"

---

By the lightness of the footsteps running outside, like rain pattering upon the roof of a house, Terri-Belle guessed that it was her youngest sister before Swift Foot burst in.

"Pyrrha and Arslan are up next!" she cried, one hand upon the varnished doorframe, her long flowing hair settling down behind her or over her shoulder.

Terri-Belle, sat at her desk, barely moved; she glanced up at Swift Foot, but did not move her head. Her hands stayed resting on the desk. When she spoke, her words were quiet, as if to speak too loudly would have made her ill. "I see."

Swift Foot blinked. "That's it? Pyrrha and Arslan are about to have their last fight before they both turn their backs on the arena, and all you have to say is 'I see'? And just sitting there? Aren't you coming?"

Terri-Belle breathed in and out. "No," she said, her voice not rising. "I have too much to do."

Swift Foot frowned as she walked into the room. "What's going on with you? Is something … what aren't you saying?"

Terri-Belle looked up. "What makes you think that there's anything going on, or that there is something I'm not saying?"

"You," Swift Foot said, gesturing at her. "Just … all of you. You were quiet at breakfast—"

"I'm often quiet."

"Not like this; you always listen even when you don't speak," Swift Foot replied. "Today, it was like you weren't even listening, and you look … you look a little sickly, to be honest. Are you feeling alright?"

No, Terri-Belle was not feeling particularly well; ever since her morning meeting with Father, she had felt as though she might throw up; if she had eaten very little at breakfast, it had been because she had felt delicate enough without trying to stuff a lot of food into an already unsettled belly. How could she be well, it having been put to her that Pyrrha Nikos, the greatest Champion of Mistral seen since the Great War, since the days when the Champion had served as valiantly in war as they fought fiercely in the arena, might have betrayed Mistral? How could she be well, being in receipt of such news? How could she eat and talk and watch her fight against Arslan Altan, knowing that?

"This…" She hesitated a moment, wondering if she ought to keep silent. But she did not wish to keep this to herself, and if Father's fears were true, then surely, they would need to face this peril as a family; Swift Foot was young, true, but the young had been called upon in the past to do their duty to mother Mistral; the time for Swift Foot Thrax to show her quality might arrive sooner than anyone had guessed. "This news from Vale," she murmured.

Swift Foot turned her head somewhat. "The accusations against Pyrrha's team leader?"

"And the earlier ones made against Pyrrha herself," Terri-Belle said. "Father fears they may be true. He fears that Pyrrha has betrayed us. Betrayed the kingdom."

Swift Foot stared at her for a second. "No," she said, not in disbelief but in flat denial.

"So certain?" asked Terri-Belle.

"Certain sure," Swift Foot responded. "This is … Pyrrha proved the falsehood of the earlier claims in single combat, to the death—"

"In which no one died, it could have been staged between them."

"They captured Cinder Fall last night, was that a scripted scene also?" Swift Foot demanded.

"I do not pretend to know everything that is going on in Vale," Terri-Belle said.

"But you think you know what is in the heart and head of Pyrrha Nikos, to judge it black?" Swift Foot said, her voice rising.

"I do not want this!" Terri-Belle snapped, rising to her feet even as her voice began to climb also. "I would give my right hand for it to be false. But Father fears it, and Father is wise, and Father … he has put the fear in me also. And now that he has done so, I cannot ignore it; for the sake of Mistral, I cannot ignore it, and…" She sighed. "Because I cannot say it makes no sense, I cannot ignore it. Perhaps Cinder Fall is a sacrifice spent to buy trust, perhaps she has an escape planned already, perhaps they are improvising desperately because their plan to bring down Vale failed."

"We are talking about a Champion of Mistral," Swift Foot reminded her, taking a step towards her. "She has an entry in the Red Book of the Colosseum. And she is a Nikos! The history of Mistral flows through her veins, the chronicles of Mistral echo with her name, that family could no more betray Mistral than they could cut out their own hearts. They could no more betray Mistral than we could."

"I envy you your childish certainty," Terri-Belle whispered.

Swift Foot's face contorted into a momentary scowl. "Think what you will," she said, "but until I see more proof than scurrilous rumour spread by unknown churls, I'll not believe. And I will go, and witness the last fight between Pyrrha and Arslan, whether you're coming or not." She turned, her voluminous hair swishing around her, and without another word strode from the room.

Her steps departing were heavier than they had been upon the way.

Terri-Belle bowed her head. "May the best woman win," she whispered.

---

Selena reached out and took Diana's hand, the two sisters offering each other a squeeze of mutual reassurance.

---

“Fate weaves, it seems,” Lord Wong declared. “Now we shall see some fun.”

“Indeed, Lord Wong, indeed she does,” Lady Nikos replied, a slight smile playing across her wrinkled lips. “If the tournament had concluded without these two coming face to face in the ring, it would have been a great disappointment to Mistral.”

For this, the final day of the tournament, the day when all the glory in Pyrrha’s matches would be hers and hers alone, the day when she would shine unfettered by the deeds of Miss Shimmer or her other teammates, Lady Nikos had invited Lord Wong, the ambassador to Vale, and his wife and daughter, to join her in her box. After all, Lord Wong had been a gracious host to her while she had been here in Vale, inviting her to dine with him on the first night of the tournament, and while the lord ambassador could doubtless have acquired his own box had he wished to, it was the act of a good guest to extend the invitation.

Plus, she was not above admitting to the base vanity of wanting witnesses close by to Pyrrha’s triumph, where she could witness their reactions.

And Lord and Lady Wong were not poor company, by any means; if they had been, then she would not have invited them, courtesy or no; she did not want to spend this glorious day in the company of boors.

It had occurred to her, upon hearing Miss Shimmer’s warning, that perhaps the invitation had been a mistake — she did not want to put the young girl in danger, after all — but then, with Pyrrha and so many others so close by, the Colosseum was probably safer than many other places in Vale at present.

Lady Nikos put such thoughts out of her mind. If fortune willed it so, then a battle would develop, although none would will that it be so. But, until the battle came, until or unless the storm broke, there was still a tournament, still a fight to watch, still a laurel crown for Pyrrha to claim.

“It’s too soon!” complained Lady Soojin. “I wanted them to meet in the final!”

Lady Wong chuckled. “That would have been very appropriate, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” Lady Nikos conceded. “You have hit the nail upon the head, Lady Soojin; that would have been a fine way to end the tournament, and both their careers as fighters. Sadly, it is not to be, and we must be content with a fight between them, even if it is placed too early.”

Lady Soojin didn’t look entirely convinced. She folded her arms. “And why do they have to quit? I want them to keep fighting!”

“I wouldn’t be averse to that myself,” Lady Nikos murmured. “Although, when Pyrrha wins this tournament, the greatest and grandest and most celebrated tournament in all of Remnant, where could she go from here anyway?”

“More trophies?” Lady Soojin suggested.

Lady Nikos chuckled softly, while Lord and Lady Wong laughed.

“Well, yes,” Lady Nikos said. “Yes, there would have been that, at least.”

“So why is she quitting?” Lady Soojin asked.

“Because Pyrrha … because Pyrrha wishes to serve the people of Mistral, as her ancestors did,” Lady Nikos said. “And though it is not what I would have chosen, I cannot say it is unworthy of her name. So we must be of good heart and accept her choice,” as I must accept other choices she has made that I dislike the more, “and enjoy such hopefully excellent spectacles as remain to us.”

---

There was a moment of silence in the competitors’ stands, at least where Pyrrha and Arslan were.

“Well,” Medea murmured, plucking lightly at her stola with one hand. “This is, on the one hand, something greatly to be desired, something the absence of which would no doubt have disappointed, but on the other hand … it does put we of Mistral in a somewhat awkward position with regard to our … loyalties.”

Pyrrha rose to her feet, with one hand idly smoothing out her sash as it fell down beside her. “You will cheer for your classmate and fellow Haven student, of course.”

“There’s no 'of course' about it; cheer for whoever you like,” Arslan said. “This battle will not be decided by the love of the crowd.” She paused for a moment. “I appreciate your nagma— your magnanimity, Pyrrha, but I don’t need it. Now kiss your boyfriend, say something to your friend, and let’s not keep the people waiting.”

“No, that would never do,” Pyrrha murmured, turning away from Arslan — and Medea and Reese — to look down on Jaune.

Although he stood up in fairly short order, so she had no need to look down on him; rather, she had to turn her eyes upwards, just a little.

Jaune, however, had cause to look ever so slightly down at her; a smile played across his face as he opened his mouth. His blue eyes glanced away from Pyrrha towards Arslan. “You know this is kind of awkward with you standing right there.”

“Maybe that’s what I want?” Arslan suggested. “To make it awkward so that I can hurry you along and not be waiting while you have a big moment?”

“Are you so eager to rush headlong to your next defeat?” Pyrrha asked in a deceptively sweet voice, without taking her eyes off Jaune.

Arslan sucked in a breath. “Oh! Listen to her!”

Jaune grinned, and with one hand, he reached out, his fingertips gently stroking at her cheek before brushing aside one of the strands of hair that framed her face, knocking the chain from which her teal drop hung away. “You’ve got this, right?”

“In truth, I know not for certain,” Pyrrha admitted. “But I am determined.”

“Then you’ve got this,” Jaune said and put his hand upon the back of her neck, two of his fingers upon her gorget, two upon her skin, as he bent down a little to kiss her.

“Good luck, Pyrrha!” Penny cried, leaping up from her seat. “Um, no offence!”

“Of course I’m not taking offence!” Arslan said.

“You can do this, Arslan,” Reese declared. “Even if you don’t have to do it for Mistral, you can still do this for yourself.”

Arslan didn’t look at her, but as Pyrrha looked over her shoulder, she saw Arslan reach out and pat Reese on the shoulder.

“Good fortune smile upon you both, and honour fall like rain upon your names,” Medea murmured.

Rainbow held out one fist. Pyrrha gently bumped it with her own.

Rainbow nodded.

“Are you ready?” Pyrrha asked Arslan.

“Am I ready?” Arslan repeated. “P-money, I’ve been ready for this all year.”

And so they walked together, out of the stands and down the steps that led down into the corridor. Their footfalls — more Pyrrha’s than Arslan’s, since her boots made more of an impression than Arslan’s slippers — echoed upon the metal steps that clanked beneath them.

“I’m glad,” Pyrrha said as they reached the bottom of the steps, “that we got the chance to do this, one last time; I mean that, most sincerely.”

Arslan grinned. “Yeah. Yeah, me too, P-money. It’s like Lady Medea said, it wouldn’t have felt right, this finishing without me getting one last shot at you, especially after I came all this way.” As they walked down the corridor, Arslan plucked one of the hairpins out of her mane and twirled it between her fingertips. “Listen,” she said, but then stopped, falling silent as Umber Gorgoneion and her teammates swept past.

Pyrrha and Arslan stepped aside, making way for them to move down the middle of the corridor.

Umber stopped in between the two of them. Her teammates stopped as well, but made space so that none of them stood between Umber and either Pyrrha or Arslan.

Although they might as well have stood between Umber and Pyrrha, for Umber paid Pyrrha no mind at all, her face turned only towards Arslan.

“Good luck,” she said, “Golden Lion of Mistral.”

She turned away and swept onwards, attended by her teammates.

Arslan snorted as she watched her go. “Someone knows who she wants to win.”

“I gather that she isn’t particularly fond of we patricians,” Pyrrha murmured. “I can’t say I blame her. We … sometimes fail those most in need.”

Arslan frowned. “What do you mean?”

I mean that Phoebe was abusing her stepsister, and we did nothing to stop it, Pyrrha thought. “I’m afraid I can’t go into specifics,” she said. “There is someone involved who would not welcome it, but … suffice to say that the walls of our great houses sometimes conceal shadows that should have the bright light of condemnation shone upon them.”

The frown remained on Arslan’s face. She nodded, somewhat absently, and turned away from Pyrrha, but before she had taken a third step, she turned back. “Are you okay?”

“I … mean no disrespect to you, Arslan, I say this with all due honour, but though I do not take you lightly, nor do you unnerve me.”

“Well, thank you for your blunt honesty, I suppose, but that isn’t really what I meant,” Arslan replied. “I mean … are you okay, with … I don’t want to win because you were distracted, or out of sorts, or—”

“You have my undivided attention,” Pyrrha declared. “On that, you have my word.”

“Good to know,” Arslan said. “But even so…” She put the hairpin back. “Pyrrha, are we friends?”

Pyrrha blinked. “Yes. Yes, I should say we were, now.”

“So would I,” Arslan murmured. “Who would have thought, huh? So, then, as your friend, are you okay? With … this stuff—”

“About Sunset?” Pyrrha asked. She sighed. “I would rather not talk about it.”

“It’s a pity that she had to leave on the special mission,” Arslan said. “I know that she would have wanted to be here for this; it was clear watching you two how much you meant to one another; she should be here for this. But then, when did the high muckamucks care about stuff like that, huh?”

Pyrrha hesitated for a second. “You’re not going to ask me if it’s true?”

“I don’t care,” Arslan said. “I’m not here to wag my finger in anybody’s face; I can’t stand that kind of thing. The only thing that matters is ‘are you okay?’”

“I … I do wish that Sunset was here today,” Pyrrha admitted. “But I swear to you, you will see me at my best. You will not take a victory from me in a moment of weakness.”

Arslan grinned. “That’s the spirit. Shall we?”

They met Yang on the way, and Ren and Nora, the three of them arm in arm so that, again, Pyrrha and Arslan had to step aside for them.

“Commiserations, Yang,” Pyrrha murmured.

“It’s a tournament; someone has to lose,” Yang replied philosophically. “But you’d better win out there, okay?”

“And now we know who she wants to win,” Arslan muttered.

“You have your supporter, I have mine,” Pyrrha replied. “Although as you said, this will not be decided by the crowd.”

Together, they reached the mouth of the tunnel, with the arena before them, the light reaching in from without to grasp at them, as if it were trying to drag them those last few steps into the sight of the crowd.

They could already hear the crowd, cheering, shouting, singing, of course. Three Lions warred with the peculiar anthem of the Arslan Army.

“Do you want to go first,” asked Arslan, “or shall I?”

“Shall we not go out together?” Pyrrha replied.

“No, of course not, you know how this works!” Arslan cried. “One of us goes out first, and then the other one swaggers out after to challenge them.”

“In that case, I had best go first,” Pyrrha murmured. “You swagger so much better than I do.”

“Yeah, I do, don’t I?” Arslan agreed. She held out one hand and offered Pyrrha the very slightest bow. “After you then, Lady Pyrrha.”

Pyrrha rolled her eyes just a tad, but stepped out regardless, out into the light, into the cheering and the shouting, into the acclaim that fell on her like autumn— no, she would not think of that. She had promised Arslan her undivided attention, after all.

Into the light, and the acclaim that fell on her like gentle dew from out of the clouds that did not trouble the Valish sky today.

They cheered and sang, and when Pyrrha acknowledged them with a wave of one arm, twirling on her toe like a dancer to acknowledge them all, her red sash trailing after her, they cheered even louder still.

Perhaps it was all her imagination, a mere romantic fancy, but as she walked to the far side of the central hexagon, Pyrrha thought she really could hear Jaune cheering for her, his voice distinct from all others.

Pyrrha stopped. In Mistral, in the great Colosseum, it was the custom to bow to the Imperial box before the match began, though the box was more often than not empty these days. There was no box here, but there was such a crowd that … Pyrrha had not always loved the crowd in the arena, had not always even liked them, had sometimes resented their attentions. Nevertheless, it could not be denied that they had been her companion these past years, watching her, supporting her.

However, she had sometimes felt they were owed some token of appreciation.

Pyrrha turned eastwards, towards far off Mistral, and bowed, her red hair falling over her shoulder.

The crowd, which Pyrrha thought had already reached its highest volume, somehow roared even louder, a great thunderclap of sound erupting from the stands.

Pyrrha smiled, if only slightly, as she faced the mouth of the tunnel out of which she had emerged.

Arslan swaggered out, just as she had said she would, hips swaying exaggeratedly, arms out on either side of her as if she were appealing to the crowd to cheer yet louder. She raised her hands like Seraphis commanding the winds to blow about the mountain, and the crowd did grow louder still as Arslan strutted her way across the arena to the central hexagon.

She, like Pyrrha, turned east and offered the crowd a bow from the waist.

"Nicely thought of," she said to Pyrrha as she straightened. "Though I wonder what they make of that here in Vale?"

"Perhaps they make of it that this is the price of involving Mistralians?" suggested Pyrrha as the rest of the arena floor retracted around them and they descended on their floating platform down into the depths.

"Like the Erechtheum," Arslan muttered.

"I wouldn't know; I never competed there," Pyrrha said.

"You didn't miss much; the standard wasn't all that high," Arslan replied. "Creepy atmosphere, though, if you like that kind of thing." She looked up, to the crowds who now looked down upon them. "Down into the underworld we go, to leave as dreams, true or false."

"Except that, win or lose, we will leave by the same exit," Pyrrha pointed out. "No matter what happens here, we are true dreams, both of us."

Arslan nodded. "True dreams," she repeated. "As dreams are made of." She grinned. "You know, this place, the arena, as an idea, I mean, not just this one, it … it's kind of like life. We emerge out of darkness into the light, we strut our stuff for the approval of the gods and all of those who came before us, and then … back into the dark we go."

"I … suppose so," Pyrrha said. "But there is so much more to life than is represented here, as you may find out for yourself, next year, if you are open to it?"

Arslan's eyebrows rose. "Boyfriends with floppy hair."

"Love," Pyrrha said. "Amongst other things."

"Maybe," Arslan muttered. "But it was no bad life this, was it, really?"

Pyrrha did not reply.

"Pyrrha Nikos of Beacon!" Professor Port cried. "Arslan Altan of Haven!"

Arslan waved to the crowd again.

"Three!" shouted Professor Port.

Pyrrha pulled Miló and Akoúo̱ off her back and across she shoulders, keeping Miló in spear form as she flowed into form, knees bent, back hunched, low to the ground, shield before her.

"Two!"

Arslan, too, settled into her stance, legs spread apart, fists at the ready.

"One! FIGHT!"

They rushed towards one another, like two mighty winds blown in different directions across the barren plain, but they did not clash, like lions or bulls, they did not come together in a crash of arms that would echo throughout the arena. No, they had fought one another too often, knew one another too well, for that. No, as they closed the distance with one another, their thunderous charge turned into a light pitter-pattering rain as they darted left, then right, footfalls light upon the surface of the arena as both Pyrrha and Arslan sought some slight advantage, some unpreparedness, some chink in the armour of their foe.

Like tiny lizards upon the burning sands of Vacuo, they hopped back and forth, Pyrrha feinting with her spear, jabbing it brief distances in the hope of drawing Arslan out. Arslan was unfazed, just as Pyrrha knew better than to take the gestures and the feigned forward lunges from Arslan seriously. She had seen what an earnest assault from Arslan looked like, and that was not it.

They tracked each other, moving almost in unison first one way, and then the other, sliding first towards the one end of the hexagon, and then to the other, neither one finding the advantage they were looking for, that moment of weakness that would give them the confidence to step forward.

At some point, one of them would have to make the first move. To do so would be risky, but it would also show a degree of confidence.

Pyrrha stepped forward, thrusting her spear towards Arslan’s chest. Arslan twisted her body lithely as Miló thrust past her face. Arslan reached to grab the red-gold spear, but Pyrrha yanked it back too fast for that, drawing Miló towards her, bringing Akoúo̱ up to protect herself as Arslan pirouetted and, with a force that made her attempt at grasping Miló seem perfunctory by comparison, threw a punch straight towards Pyrrha’s shield.

It didn’t land, any more than Pyrrha’s thrust with her spear, as Pyrrha skittered backwards out of the way and Arslan’s fist rammed into empty air.

Arslan, too, retreated, one hand reaching for the necklace of fire dust beads around her neck. The dust ignited as Arslan tore the bead from off the necklace, turning into a fireball which she flung at Pyrrha.

It was Pyrrha’s turn to bend away, letting the fireball fly past her to strike the shield, and it was her turn to twirl also, spinning around as she rushed forward to throw her shield at Arslan.

Arslan batted it aside with a punch as Pyrrha came on, Miló held in both hands now, spear whirling. Arslan gave ground before her, retreating towards the edge of the hexagon.

Akoúo̱ flew back towards Arslan’s head.

Arslan didn’t even need to look as she dived to the ground, rolling towards Pyrrha, who jumped nimbly over her even as she casually held out one hand to recover her shield.

She landed on one toe, turning in place and aiming a kick at Arslan as the latter sought to rise.

Arslan ducked down again and let Pyrrha’s foot pass harmlessly overhead. She aimed a kick at Pyrrha’s leg, but Pyrrha had already leapt, up and over Arslan, spinning around in mid-air to land facing her.

She thrust Miló at Arslan again, her spear extending outwards with a bang, but Arslan bent backwards, and once Miló had passed overhead, she performed two backflips in retreat to open up some distance between the two of them.

Arslan threw another fireball at her as Pyrrha switched Miló from spear to sword mode. Pyrrha sidestepped the fireball before throwing Akoúo̱ at Arslan for the second time; Arslan expected that, batting the shield right back at Pyrrha, who caught it on her left arm — but she was hoping that Arslan found the fact that she had just thrown Miló at her a little more surprising, for Pyrrha rarely did so.

Certainly, Arslan didn’t seem to have seen it coming, her eyes widening as she struck the shield, only to behold the sword like a snake that had been waiting beneath the rock she had so carelessly picked up.

She twisted like an eel, her speed and reflexes coming to her rescue, Miló only shaved a hair off her aura as it flew by.

And as it flew by, Arslan charged. With Pyrrha having disarmed herself, she must have thought that she would get no better moment.

Pyrrha brought up Akoúo̱ to defend herself, holding her shield up in front of her like, well, like exactly what it was — until she drove it forward like a battering ram aimed at the wall of Arslan’s face.

Arslan’s slid smoothly beneath the shield, and as Akoúo̱ passed above her, and as she passed by and beneath Pyrrha, she threw one fist straight up towards Pyrrha’s face.

It met Pyrrha’s fist coming the other way, their knuckles colliding with a crack that caused both their auras to drop a little. Pyrrha shoved Akoúo̱ downwards at Arslan, but Arslan caught the shield in her other hand for all of a second before Pyrrha pulled it free.

Arslan tried to sweep Pyrrha’s legs, but Pyrrha leapt over Arslan’s kick, endeavouring to land square on Arslan if she had not rolled away, coming upright to throw another fireball at Pyrrha, at what must have seemed too close range for Pyrrha to dodge — but Pyrrha abandoned Akoúo̱ to take the blow, using polarity to hold the shield in place just a mite longer than gravity would have allowed as she leapt back, and waited for the blast to hurl her shield back at her.

She began to run to where Miló had landed, all the way on the other side of the battlefield, teetering on the very edge of the hexagon.

Pyrrha ran, and Arslan pursued, as though she were a lion in truth and Pyrrha a wildebeest or gazelle.

Or a buffalo, which turn at bay and seek to gore the lion with its horns. Pyrrha gripped her shield in both hands as she ran.

This might work better with Miló, but I will work with what I have. She could, of course, have just summoned Miló into her hand, but what could be excused as the properties of a disc-shaped shield became less excusable with a sword, and Pyrrha had real enemies to whom she did not wish to broadcast all that she could do — no offence to Arslan, of course.

That ship may have sailed after my fight with Cinder, but so far, I seem to have gotten away with it.

No, it was Akoúo̱ that she would use now, for this thing that she had never tried before.

But just because she had never done it herself didn’t mean that it was not worth doing; in fact, the success that her friends had enjoyed in that respect seem to argue for quite the opposite.

Pyrrha focussed her aura in the shield, or around its edges, surrounding it as she might have with her semblance — thinking of it that way helped, since this was not something she was terrifically practised with, pouring … no, not pouring — she didn’t want to expend that much aura — just enough instead of too much, she … she wanted to turn the tap on, but not let it burst out to fill the sink.

She let her aura flow mildly out of her, not reducing her aura exactly, not yet, but leaving her, to round the edges of her shield like a band. Pyrrha could feel it stretched out, hovering upon the edge of her control, trembling somewhat.

Blake can probably do this much quicker than I can.

No matter, as long as it works.

I’m reasonably certain that Arslan won’t see this coming.

She and Arslan had fought so often, known each other so long, that they knew all of one another’s tricks — or they had. Arslan hadn’t seen this one.

This is something I picked up here at Beacon.

Pyrrha turned, like the buffalo, and as she turned, she swung her shield around in a wide arc, in both hands, like the discus it somewhat resembled. Perhaps Arslan thought that she was going to throw it again, but Pyrrha didn’t throw it.

She unleashed the aura that she had banded around the edges of the shield, letting it burst out in an arc of crimson that erupted outwards in a wave across the battlefield. Arslan was caught by that arc, struck in the midriff, lifted up, and hurled backwards.

Now, Pyrrha threw her shield at her, hitting Arslan square in the midriff. Pyrrha had somewhat hoped to make a clean end to this battle, bearing Arslan so far backwards that she fell off the edge of the hexagon, but although Arslan hit the floor, skidding further backwards, she produced Nemean Claw out of her sleeve and jammed it hard into the surface of the hexagon, arresting her movement before she reached the edge.

Pyrrha made haste to retrieve Miló as Arslan got to her feet.

Arslan held Akoúo̱ in one hand, until she threw it off the edge of the battlefield.

Pyrrha did not retrieve it, she only swept her sword outwards, a cutting gesture through the air, in a sign of her continued readiness.

Arslan rolled her shoulders. “That was new,” she said.

“I thought it might be wise to have something that you hadn’t seen from me,” Pyrrha replied.

Arslan made a sort of snorting chuckle. “Not your usual style, I’ve got to say.”

“No,” Pyrrha admitted. “But I thought it might be worth trying.”

Arslan smiled, settling once more into a fighting stance, one hand up, the other fist drawn back, legs bent and spread apart.

Pyrrha remained as she was, sword out by her side, back straight, legs straight, sash swaying slightly by her side.

The two faced one another for a moment.

Then Arslan began to charge, and Pyrrha charged to meet her, once more the two of them coming together, and this time, they did not shuffle back and forth in fruitless quest for advantage; this time, they came together – but not like waves, not like rocks, not like bulls or stags or even lions, no. Pyrrha and Arslan came together like dancers, like partners who had practised the steps so often that they knew them by heart, backwards — and, in Pyrrha’s case, in heels — and whose every individual movement fitted together as part of a complex, flowing pattern.

A pattern of failure in their respective efforts to hit one another, true, but there was a kind of beauty in it, nonetheless, that came from them both being so swift, so attuned to one another, that their efforts interlocked as pieces of a puzzle.

Pyrrha slashed at Arslan, Arslan swayed out of the way before throwing a punch at Pyrrha’s shoulder, which Pyrrha in turn twisted at the waist to avoid; Pyrrha reversed her grip on Miló for a backslash, Arslan bent over backwards at the knees to let the sword pass overhead, but Pyrrha was already moving in anticipation of Arslan’s response, a palm-strike aimed at her chest, which duly arrived, save that it did not land because Pyrrha spun away, moving around Arslan’s flank and forcing her to turn also.

Their sashes swirled around them, adding to the air of choreography.

Move, countermove, counter to that counter, they had fought so often, seen each other at their best, that they could each predict what the other would do, how they would respond. Neither of them parried. Arslan had more to lose in that regard, if she sought to block Miló with her forearms, but Pyrrha too would take a hit to her aura if she allowed Arslan’s fists to connect with any part of her, even to prevent a greater impact. Instead, they dodged, their lithe and limber bodies swaying like willow trees caught in the wind.

For all that she was technically being frustrated, Pyrrha found herself smiling. For all that she was not striking blows, nevertheless, there was a joy to be found in this, in facing off against someone who could keep up with her, who was her equal in courage and in skill and who had no malice in her heart that made it imperative that Pyrrha conquer this day.

Not that she did not intend to conquer this day, but this was, in its own way, rather fun. Here, she could forget everything else, forget about everything that had happened with Sunset and Ruby, forget about dark dreams, forget about the grimm and Salem. It was as Arslan had said: this arena was like a world entire unto itself, a world where she and Arslan were the only people living.

She and Arslan, dancing together.

She hoped the crowd was appreciating it as much as she was, as she and Arslan danced around one another, dodging one another’s blows, having their blows dodged in turn, moving in such synchronisation that they might have planned it out beforehand.

Both of them began to feign mistakes, leaving openings to tempt the other in; neither Pyrrha nor Arslan took the bait, they were too wise for that; that gap was not an accident, that stumble was deliberate, that overswing was an invitation. Or perhaps not, perhaps there were real mistakes, but they were both too cautious to take them. For her part, Pyrrha hoped not, and thought not on Arslan’s part. Certainly, she wasn’t going to hazard it and risk the jaws of the trap slamming shut on her.

If she needed to break the deadlock, another aura slice would be preferable, from Miló this time.

Pyrrha was beginning to concentrate her aura in the sword when Arslan retreated, abruptly breaking off contact to skid backwards across the hexagon.

Pyrrha did not pursue. She waited, still, Miló held before her, waiting to see what Arslan would do next.

Arslan took off her necklace of fire dust beads. “I’ve got something new for you as well, Pyrrha,” she declared.

The fire dust beads, all of the beads, began to spark as Arslan threw them up into the air, wrenching apart the string that bound them so that the fast burning beads dispersed, flying this way and that, becoming fireballs which rose higher, and higher, burning brighter and brighter as they rose.

And then began to fall, like bombs dropped from one of General Ironwood’s cruisers.

Pyrrha didn’t look too shocked — Arslan wouldn’t expect her to look too shocked — but she reacted as Arslan expected she would; or, rather, she reacted as she guessed as the fireballs fell that Arslan expected that she would. Arslan wouldn’t expect this to put Pyrrha’s aura in the red, at least not by itself, but she would expect Pyrrha to be preoccupied with avoiding getting hit too much. And so, guided by her expectations of what was in Arslan’s mind, Pyrrha darted this way and that, trying to avoid the worst of the descending fire, searching half in vain for a safe space upon this barren battlefield.

And then the fireballs fell, landing all around her, exploding all around her, fire washing over her, heat warming her, flames ripping at her aura.

Yes, it hurt somewhat — she could feel the flames even through her aura — but Pyrrha bore it nonetheless; she stopped moving and endured the nearest fires, trusting that she had sufficient aura to bear it.

She stood still, and as the flames concealed Arslan from view — and also concealed Pyrrha from Arslan — she switched Miló from sword to rifle mode.

Arslan burst out of the flames, fist drawn back, expecting to find Pyrrha disoriented, flinching perhaps, seeking safety.

Instead, she found herself staring down the barrel of Pyrrha’s rifle.

Pyrrha fired; once, twice, thrice, four times, five times, emptying Miló’s magazine into her target. Arslan twisted in mid-air, but though she was agile and swift, the bullets were as swift or more, and she could not dodge all of them; at least two shots, maybe three, struck home, knocking her back, and as she was knocked back, Pyrrha switched Miló from rifle back to sword and went for her.

Now it was Arslan who was disoriented, confused by the failure of her stratagem. Pyrrha’s slashed once, twice, three times in quick succession, Miló tracing golden patterns through the air, every blow striking home before Arslan recovered enough to block the fourth blow — with her forearm, losing more aura in the process. Arslan threw a punch, Pyrrha twirled aside, sash whirling around her, and as she twirled, she grabbed with her free hand for Arslan’s outstretched wrist.

A risky move, one she wouldn’t have dared if she hadn’t felt the momentum of the battle on her side.

Arslan tried to pull back, pull away.

She was not quite fast enough.

Pyrrha’s hand closed like a vice on Arslan’s wrist, pulling her around, pulling her off balance.

Arslan tried to step into it rather than be pulled off balance, lunging for Pyrrha with her shoulder down, trying to bull into her. Pyrrha stepped away; Arslan body-checked her, shoulder colliding with Pyrrha, but not heavily enough to knock her down — and in the meantime, Miló descended upon Arslan’s back for another slashing stroke.

And Pyrrha held onto Arslan’s arm.

She let go of Miló, letting the sword fall to the ground as she joined her one hand on Arslan with the other.

Arslan hit her in the side, hard, and again, but Pyrrha ignored it, only allowing herself to wince in pain as, with all her strength, she hauled Arslan up over her shoulder and slammed her down, head first, into the floor.

“Arslan Altan’s aura has been depleted!” Professor Port cried. “Pyrrha Nikos wins the match!”

Pyrrha took a step back, breathing a sigh of relief as the crowd cheered ecstatically.

Pyrrha raised an arm to acknowledge their cheers — which somehow made them cheer all the louder — turning in place to face every part of the arena for at least a little while.

The cheers fell on her like autumn leaves.

It is such a pity that…

I wish Sunset were here to see this.

Pyrrha found, to her dismay, that the smile she wore was becoming her fake, practised, public relations smile; she could not feel the joy that she had felt when she and Sunset had triumphed over Starlight and Trixie.

As the real world intruded into the cloistered world of the arena, so, too, it made this victory seem hollow.

Pyrrha looked at Arslan, who seemed to be feeling even worse than Pyrrha. She hadn’t got up. She was sitting on the ground with her hands around her knees, head turned away from Pyrrha, face bent dejectedly downwards.

Pyrrha’s hand fell to her side as she took a step closer, and then another.

“You fought very well,” Pyrrha ventured.

Arslan snorted. “Not well enough.”

Pyrrha winced. “I’m sorry.”

“'Sorry'!” Arslan barked, facing turning to look up at her. “What are you sorry for?”

“I … I’m not sure,” Pyrrha admitted. “But you seemed rather upset and I…” She hesitated. “I suppose I was trying to—”

“To make me feel better?”

“Put like that, it sounds rather absurd,” Pyrrha conceded.

“Well, thank you anyway,” Arslan muttered. “But there’s nothing you can do to make me feel better.”

Pyrrha frowned, silently remaining where she was, stood over Arslan, casting a shadow over her.

That’s the problem, isn’t it?

She was about to move away, the arena was lowering to allow her to retrieve Akoúo̱, but before she could step away, Pyrrha heard something, a single sound cutting through the wild cheers and shouting of the crowd in the stands.

Many voices, raised in a single song.

“Sweet Caroline, bah-bah-bah,

Good times never seemed so good!”

Pyrrha found a smile returning to her face, a genuine smile. “I know that there’s nothing I can say,” she said, “but perhaps they can?”

Arslan looked up, looked around, her olive eyes widening as the words of the song fell down upon her.

“I’ve been inclined,

To believe they never would!”

“But…” Arslan murmured. “But I lost!”

“But you fought well,” Pyrrha reminded her. “And I think that’s all that really matters to them.” She held out her hand. “Now are you going to sit there, or are you going to acknowledge them?”

Arslan hesitated for a second, but as the song went on, a grin spread across her face.

“You know, you were wrong earlier, Pyrrha,” she said. “Love does exist in this world.” She placed her fingers into the palm of Pyrrha’s hand.

Pyrrha’s fingers closed around her hand. “Of a sort, I suppose,” she said, pulling Arslan up onto her feet. “I had a lot of fun.”

Arslan hesitated. “Me too, I suppose,” she said. “You know what, there’s no 'suppose' about it; this was fun.” She raised her hand up in the air, prompting cheers to interrupt the singing for a second. “It’s been an honour, P-money, and it’s been fun.”

They embraced as the cheers of the crowd surrounded them.

Author's Note:

The picture of Arslan swaggering out was done for me by the very talented TehShraid

Comments

[Stet709]

Quite the impressive fight, and a fitting way to end their tournament careers.

I do like the discussion of strategy of fighting against Umber. I know Pyrrha was based on Achilles, but if she faces Umber, it'll be Perseus vs Medusa.

Now last, by process of elimination, is Rainbow vs Sun.
Who ya gonna cheer for, Blake? Your rainbow-haired inspiration or your monkey boy beau?

[Mastermind4892]

Magnificent fight! And a beautiful piece of art! Please give my compliments to TehShraid.

I feel so sad for Pyrrha. She had her moment of pure and simple joy in the arena, but… it was not the same. She came to Beacon to make friends, and she found the greatest friend of her lifetime in Sunset. And with her gone, the taste of victory is more fleeting than sand slipping through your fingers. Longing for what once was in her last match.

camo.fimfiction.net/PE7nbGiSNcfCjCsGnOKUNi1Aq4avedJSdjtn4pEF3ag?url=https%3A%2F%2Fcdn.discordapp.com%2Fattachments%2F674669609340895241%2F1149725378273878026%2FPYRRHA_n_SUNSET.png

[AngelicTitan]

Arslan and Pyrrha have they final battle, and put to rest their fated rivalry. The crew discuss Umber’s Semblance and we approach the end of the first round. I’m excited to see how things will unravel from here on out and have things escalate.

[Kiue Jin]

...There's a part of me that legit wants the next chapter to be when things start kicking off in Vale, solely because Sonata wanted to see the Pyrrha-Arslan fight. "Whelp, that was the highlight of this tournament. Let the chaos and blood bath begin!"

[RanmaChaos]

A fantastic chapter! Pyrrha's fights are always top notch.

One thing that bugs me though is the way Terri-belle is acting. How the hell can she believe Pyrrha is a traitor? It was INSANELY OBVIOUS that her dad just wants to make a grab for the throne. Why is she even humoring his BS. Pyrrha let Cinder go that first time? Bitch, a wave of Grimm came out of no where and took Cinder away! Yeah it was all part of Pyrrha's master plan to...do... something. Galaxy brain over here seeing through her machinations.