The Godling stood at the highest level on the boards, the third. And if he fell to the sand he would lose. The Godling flung himself off the side. The other fighters flinched, and came forward to watch. He dropped, his bells jingling, tied to wrists, ankles, and tied in his hair. He twisted in midair, grasping the pole, and swinging horizontally into the first level. Four men and a woman waited for him, hands raised and sand hovering above them.

The first man caught his legs, swinging him. The Godling's bulk flew into the next man, who tried to get a handle on him. But he was slippery. They moved in a blur, and the two men ended up locked together in the heretic's arms around their waists. He lifted them both, and the woman the level above sent a kick that connected with the face of the man who'd first touched him.

The woman on the first level approached, sand prepped. She deflected a kick sent to her chest, slapping it away. She sent piles of sand upon the heads of the three entangled men, and each shower was followed by another as she kept calling the Spoke to herself. The Godling's arms were clasped by the fourth man on that level, who attempted to free the others. 

He released them both, and for some reason the man who'd gotten hold of his arms reached for his eyes. That man scrabbled for another to help him maintain his balance on the boards. The jangler crawled up the leg of the woman he'd blocked a kick from, and scrambled up to her level. She bowed and screamed as she toppled onto the men below, clutching her leg. His weight had likely popped her leg out of joint.

Two other women stood on that level, facing him. The one from below with the sand had ceased pelting him from below, as it was showering the others. Ziltai couldn't tell why the Godling wasn't using any Spokes, nor using Fyn Pinyan stances, only grappling.

"Aside from his beautiful moves," Slix said, "there doesn't seem to be anything special about his abilities. You may have truly disarmed him by taking away his chips."

"He's truly a master. However, if he keeps allowing his opponents footholds, he will tire and lose. All ten are left." Afya said, voicing Ziltai's thoughts. Why is he prolonging things?

As they spoke, he stomped the hands of the men who grasped at his feet. The two women approached him on bent knees, swaying their hands in wind strokes. They would try to knock him off from there. They both flung themselves at him as the two men underneath got his legs in their hands. The female duo's heads lurched, while their bodies continued forward. They gritted their teeth as their bodies flipped up from the boards, sending them toppling off. They were caught by those below. The men's grips suddenly fell off of him, and they fell as well.

Ziltai stood, approaching their window. He placed hands on the sill and watched more intently. Slix whistled, and Afya's breath caught. The Godling gestured with arms outstretched, then put them behind his back and walked to a corner. He set his back to a pillar, and waited. He stared off towards where men kept the man's belongings. He didn't have guards- the man was so confident he could make it alone in the country. Those men backed up, holding their weapons ready. One of them flinched, swinging a spear into open air next to himself. And the heretic smiled a broad smile. His eyes still hidden behind eclipse glasses, he began facing up, down, left, and right.

The wind shifted, tousling his long braids. The bells gave little chimes over the scratching of the red sand. They all waited. Ziltai gripped the sill in white knuckles. Sweat beaded his brow, and he smelled it on the others in the room. 

The other warriors had started giving each other looks, one signing to another. Suddenly they all called sand into their hands, streaming up to them in waves. The two men on the top level started to kick at him. He dodged every strike, hands still behind his back. The seven below launched sand up to him. Just before he was obscured, there were flashes of light, bright as the sun, around the pillars of the lattice. They quickly subsided, and Ziltai couldn't tell what had happened.

The fighters at the bottom kept the sand up in the air with wind strokes. The two men above pounced on him, jumping into the sandy mist. They yelped, and Ziltai expected to see them fly off in either direction. He berated himself for that thought, of giving such credit to the man. But he heard a call from inside the sand to stop. As the mist subsided, there were only two men. The ones who'd jumped in.

Ziltai growled, and banged his fist.

"Oh? You thought you knew so much. Thought you could puzzle it all out? Not a chance, unless I show you." The whispering voice in his ear had him yelping. He looked over his right shoulder it'd come from, and back over his left towards Afya. They were both looking at him, and had been steps behind. There was breath on his neck that made him tremble. "Watch."

The fighters had been looking for the Godling, frantically turning from side to side with open hands at the ready. The small woman of Penderfyniad stood on the ledge of the arena and shouted, "Look up!" A dark shape whistled overhead. The man wore a black suit in the essence of a sarcophilus. It had the shine of black glass in vital areas, and from the forearms to knees was a membrane that he glided on. His black helmet's glass covered his face down past his chin. Turning midair, he plummeted quickly facedown. Before crumbling into the sand, he disappeared. No wisp of smoke, no dissipation. He just popped out of existence.

Ziltai heard a cacophony of wood clanking together. He looked over to see and hear that the fighters had all fallen to the sand. They were crumpled over the latticework and each other, crying out with twisted joints. The lattice had come down in three sheets. The boards had come down altogether at once. And sitting upon one of the pillars...

They must seize him! Ziltai was about to cry out. "Your arrogance." The whisper came again in his ear, and a large hand enveloped his right shoulder.

Ziltai kept himself from crying out. He could not show weakness to the bastard exiles. But there was nothing he could do. "He's got m-me." Ziltai quavered. He mastered himself quickly. "He's in the room with us." he said. Slix backed away hunched over his chair and Afya readied hands lit with flame. Kizil, his guard, shuffled behind him. Ziltai couldn't tell what he was prepared to do, but he would be too late to do anything. "What do you want? How have you done this?" Ziltai asked.

"It's you people. What do you have? Why was I called here?"

"Y-you were called to be tested."

"Oh yes, that. Did I pass?" The deep, masculine voice gave no hint of aspiration to what they were offering. Ziltai tried to make eye contact with the two hoffers iadon in the room for support. They could not hear the question. "It makes no matter to me. Question me no further on my abilities. There's one that calls to me. She is here. You have her."

"Afya runs this sect of our religion. Why do you speak to me?" He knew he was a coward as soon as he'd said it.

"No, you. You. I see you as well. But I can leave you alone. But she..." The Godling tightened his grip. Ziltai's back stiffened. "Why does she come in my dreams? What power is this, that she sees me from afar?" His voice was becoming more unstable. He shook Ziltai's shoulder.

"I don't know! I don't know her! What have I got to do with anyone like that? This is the first time I'm seeing you!" He dared not ask why the man was afraid.

An eyeball appeared in front of his face. There was no depth to it- just what could be seen from outside the eye socket. It looked him in the eye, then back and forth from Afya to Slix. They saw it too, and their breath shuddered. As it looked from side to side, it swiveled from a fixed point in the air. It swiveled to the side, and instead of viewing the inside of the eyeball, there was a blur. Ziltai presumed that he would see the same if he got a look at the wrist at his shoulder.

"Nay, you lie. I've seen you with your hand upon her shoulder. Speaking in her ear, lips unmoving. Nodding, and looking. Looking at me. Mocking me? Don't you know who I am?!" The hand came off his shoulder and into Ziltai's hair, entangling it in his fingers. "With just a wave, you'll not be able to look at me like that anymore."

As he was speaking, across the arena, and on all sides of the inner ring, were cages built into the walls. The eye couldn't trace what went down into that darkness. But one on the side fell open to the sand, from top to bottom, as if sliced through. Out of the cage poked a large, fuzzy muzzle, followed by beady, black eyes. And leather membranes connected to talons.

As it walked out, Ziltai glimpsed another sight: the crouched figure of the Godling knocked off the pillar by a punch. Connected to that fist, an old man with a full beard looked at Ziltai. He caught it all in slow motion. 

He felt a rumbling of thoughts and instincts, not his own. Anger, surprise, trepidation, and fear. It was Ruksom K'Janu. They called him the Godling. He was good. She was bad. For him, his country, their lives. Those eyes. This man had seen her. He'd hit him. He would hurt him back. He disapproved. Judging.

Paranoid. Hurting himself and others. Had to be stopped. Protect Hilkivah. Would do harm, but good would come. Here too. Has to know. The thoughts whirred in his head, and he thought he would gag. Another thought came, more clearly than the others, I'll be back for you.

The two flew off the pillar in plain time, and the hand released Ziltai's hair. A cry sounded in his ear, making him flinch, but it cut off just as soon as it had come. The eye disappeared as well. Ziltai trembled, falling backwards. Kizil caught him, dismissing a flash of electricity. Taking shuddering breaths, Ziltai got on his hands and knees, crawling to the corner and peering over the sill. The other two hoffers iadon got down with him. 

"All I saw was a blur. What's going on?" Slix said.

"I wish I'd never allowed this to go on." Afya whispered. "Hoffer Iadon Ziltai, are you alright?"

Ziltai shook with rage and confusion. Bad man. Touching me...

The two could briefly be seen here and there. A glimpse on the railing followed by the other. An arm poised to throw something before being tackled. Flame spurting from nowhere. The ringing of bells and screeching of the maned metabat as it flew overhead. 

The old man was incredibly flexible and durable. Several times he received a fist to the chest or a flame in the back. The air seemed to ripple around him, and the flames billowed without touching him. More than once Ziltai saw the man throw something in his mouth and start chewing. He saw the Godling do the same.

The finally settled back on the red sand. Afya had given a silent order to Penderfyniad, and they circled the arena. Some pulled out bows, and others cross spears with balls in the crooks. They didn't want to provoke the metabat at this moment. They knew that such things were of the Hals, and would mercilessly hunt those who injured them. The two men exchanged some words that Ziltai couldn't hear. Ruksom, the Godling, shook his jingling braids. He looked tired, as well as the old man. But the old man beckoned him with a finger.

Instead of warping to him, if that's what he could call it, Ruksom ran across the sand. The old man turned and ran. He ducked behind one of the pillars, the fighters having cleared the arena. Before Ruksom reached him, the wooden pillar exploded outwards. Wood shards pierced the Godling with bloody streaks before he appeared beside the old man. The two separated as the pillar landed between them. 

The Godling flipped back over the beam and with a shout chopped the man's arm off. He swept off the leg as well with his own. The man swayed, but managed to stay upright. Blood suddenly stopped pouring from the wounds, and the next punch met his regenerated hand. They were both pushed back a couple feet, but not before the elder's other hand signed and produced a strange, spinning ball of golden fire. He pushed it onto the man's wrist, and it absorbed into the skin. As they separated, Ruksom howled, grabbing his head.

"No, just give me what I came for! It's her fault, I wasn't always like this!" The bloody shards of wood popped out of his body, wounds closing, and he ceased breathing heavily.

"Not only are they both Enlightened, they're Metamorphs!" Slix said. "The eclipse soon comes. We cannot let them continue this."

Afya nodded. Having cleared his head, Ziltai rose with Kizil's hand. They called for Penderfyniad to start loosing ammunition. Almost on cue, the two men started moving towards each other again. The older man threw something white over Ruksom's head, almost as a distraction, and ran towards him. He stopped short as a hand closed around the object, and both Ruksom and the hand disappeared.

He was spotted, dropping from the sky overhead. His wingsuit fanned out, catching the wind. He leveled out, and turned North. The elder gave one look at Ziltai and nodded. Putting two fingers in his mouth, he blew. He turned to a pile of wooden shards, and took the ones covered in blood. He took a long sniff of it before putting it away. The maned metabat swooped low, and the man leapt onto it, following Ruksom into the sky. North.

Ziltai fell back into his chair, utterly exhausted. What a disaster.