Claygon tightened his grip on Vesuvius’ shell.

Both golem and vulcanchelone shot into the air; flight magic granted the gigantic tortoise speed far greater than normal, and the wind seemed to roar around him.

He swung from side to side, trying to shake the golem off, but Claygon’s grip only grew stronger. Vesuvius glanced at the brass bars of the arena’s cage.

He barreled straight for them at top speed, angling the golem toward the metal railings.

Crash!

He rammed Claygon against the cage—determined to knock him loose—but the golem’s powerful grip was like a vice, seeming to clamp tighter as the giant reptile struggled to break free.

Remembering Grimloch grabbing the xyrthak, Alex commanded Claygon to position two of his arms around the tortoise’s neck. Vesuvius roared, banging him against the cage once, twice, three times.

It had become a game of combat performance: there’d be no more knockdowns against Vesuvius since he was now under the flight spell. Now, only superior tactics could close the point-gap between them.

As the tortoise bashed him against the cage repeatedly—the crash of clay on metal echoing through the air—Alex had Claygon wrap his lower hands around Vesuvius’ neck, mimicking the hold he’d used on the wizard in the nobildonna’s wood.

With all four arms wrapped firmly around the tortoise’s neck, Vesuvius’ struggle grew frenzied. He smashed Claygon against the cage. He tried throwing him off by wriggling his neck and kicking his front legs.

Tyris began roaring out incantations like battlecries.

Lava, bolts of force, powerful gusts of wind, and lightning strikes slammed the golem, but Alex had him hook his legs under the shell’s rim. His hold was even more secure. The fire-gems began powering up.

“Let’s see how all that flailing works for you if you’re blinded,” Alex muttered, focusing on the tortoise’s movements.

He was concentrating so deeply, that he could barely hear the crowd anymore; a glance at the stands showed almost everyone on their feet. They were shouting, screaming, roaring and pumping their fists as Claygon and Vesuvius waged their titanic clash. Golem core-powered limbs struggled against the supernaturally mighty muscle within Vesuvius’ neck.

Neither seemed ready to give.

Tyris finished another incantation.

Golden orbs of oil materialised around Claygon, splashing downward, coating Vesuvius in its slickness. The crowd gasped as the tortoise froze in the air, then began spinning like a young giant’s top.

Force and momentum built with each rotation, threatening to hurl Claygon into the stones far below.

Alex’s jaw tightened as Claygon began to slip.

Voooom.

The fire-gems flared. He aimed all three at the oil.

Whooosh!

The combustible liquid ignited in a sheet of flame, the fire-beams burned it away. Claygon’s grip tightened again, as he turned his forehead beam toward Vesuvius’ head, blasting the tortoise in the right eye.

The vulcanchelone roared; Claygon removed one hand from its neck and brought up his massive clay fist like a sledgehammer.

It swung down like an executioner’s axe.

Crack!

The monster’s head whipped sideways from the force of the blow, his roar dying in a choked grunt. Half-blinded, the tortoise spun into the side of the cage, colliding with the brass bars then sliding along them with a screech of shell on metal that echoed throughout the arena.

Claygon drove blow after blow into Vesuvius—whipping the giant beast’s head to the side—as the vulcanchelone scraped along the bars, then slammed into the ground.

Scrrrrrr!

His belly scraped across the earth before his momentum stopped, bringing him to a dead stop. He rose into the air slowly. Claygon held on.

The crowd screamed their approval.

‘Was that a knock-down?’ Alex thought. ‘By The Traveller I hope it was.’

Vesuvius kept struggling in Claygon’s grip, but it was clear he was weakening. His attempts to shake off the unwanted passenger had become sluggish; his roars more restrained, and he listed to one side in mid-air.

Tyris tried to dislodge Claygon with spell after spell, but nothing even shifted the golem’s grip.

Raising both hands, she drew in a deep breath—getting ready to cast a spell—when-

Ding.

The final bell cut her off.

The round had ended.

Looking surprised but weary, Vesuvius slowly drifted to the ground and gently touched down on the stones. Claygon released him and jumped down. Tyris watched: her face a mask of calm as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

Alex slowly looked up at the judges’ booth, his hands nervously balling into fists while he waited for the scores to come up.

‘Did that last fall count as a knockdown?’ he wondered.

Vesuvius had hit the ground, but his flight hadn’t stopped.

What was that considered to be? A knockdown? A stumble? Was it worth points? It seemed like it’d be a hard call to make, one that’d only be resolved by each judge’s expertise and opinion.

And what about the fight in the air? Claygon had climbed onto Vesuvius’ back, grabbed his neck and smashed him around, but Tyris had poured a lot of spells into Claygon, nearly forcing him off, and the tortoise had smashed him into the bars several times.

Claygon had gotten clean hits.

Vesuvius had gotten clean hits.

Alex didn’t know enough about how the performances were judged to even guess who the judges would think the more dominant fighter had been.

“Come on…come on…” he muttered, watching each humourless judge silently tally their points to mark their scorecard.

Judge one raised his card.

9-9.

‘What?’ Alex thought.

The crowd made a noise that Alex could only describe as ‘loud surprise.’

Tyris stood a little straighter. Alex groaned.

He assumed that the judge hadn’t counted the second knockdown against Vesuvius, then had given the better performance to the tortoise. Alex’s mind whirled.

‘Okay, so Vesuvius controlled his flight,’ he thought. ‘He’d also body slammed Claygon more, but-Oh shit, here we go!’

The second scorecard came up.

10-8 in his favour.

Alex fought the urge to pump his fist. Tyris visibly winced and the crowd let loose a collective excited cry.

Tyris was one point ahead. One more point to a tie; in that case…he actually had no idea what would happen then.

“Come on…come oooon…” he muttered under his breath.

The final scorecard seemed to rise as slowly as a sleepy snail.

Alex held his breath.

Tyris stiffened.

The crowd went quiet.

Then the judge paused as if in thought, seeming to consider something for a moment. He held the card low.

Alex wanted to scream.

Finally, the scorecard went up.

10-8. In favour of Claygon.

The crowd’s roar was deafening.

“Yeeeeeeeees!” Alex shouted, throwing up both fists.

Tyris actually turned as white as a sheet and Vesuvius gave a low sound that Alex could have sworn sounded like a whimper.

The crowd hammered the floor and their cheering echoed all throughout the arena.

“The winner—representing Alex Roth—iiiiiis Claaaaaygoooon!” the announcer bellowed above the crowd’s cheer.

Alex was all smiles.

Despite the match not even being one of the final ones, after a battle like that, he felt like he’d just won tentournaments.

‘And what an opponent,’ he thought, turning to look at Tyris. ‘If she’d finished whatever spell she was about to cast, or if Claygon was weaker…she’s going to be a real problem in the Grand Battle.’

Alex crossed the field to shake his opponent’s hand in the centre of the arena. She was smiling at him, but he could see the disappointment she wore: a slump in her shoulders, a tight forced smile, a glassy look in her eyes.

When they clasped hands, hers were shaking.

“Well done,” Alex said, with respect. “You and Vesuvius are a real team; he’s a real monster on the battlefield.” Alex looked at her with sincerity. “I’m definitely not looking forward to facing you in the Grand Battle, Tyris.”

Her smile tightened further. “Well, I’ll be looking for you. Things will be different.”

She squeezed his hand before letting go.

‘Well, that’s going to be a thing,’ Alex thought. ‘Gotta tell the team about her.’

He looked up at the seats where his friends were on their feet; he smiled and waved at them.

Then, his smile faded.

He saw Khalik giving what looked like coin to Thundar.

“Oh, you bastard,” he muttered.

A wave of relief seemed to go through the other competitors in the waiting chamber as they watched Tyris and her familiar leave. Alex couldn’t blame them; having to fight a fifty thousand pound volcano tortoise would be enough to make anyone nervous. He’d been there.

Still, no one seemed to be paying much attention to the one that beat that tortoise.

‘What’s Claygon then, a dried bit of grass?’ he thought.

Shaking his head, he took in the room and assessed the rest of the opponents.

He noted the chimaera that he’d seen earlier, the swamp drake, and the other remaining monsters.

Alex took a deep breath.

‘If Tyris was that tough, then what the hell are the quarterfinals, semifinals and finals going to be like?’ he shuddered, looking at Claygon. ‘Get ready, big guy. Because things are only gonna get harder from here.’

“I yield! I yield!” his opponent cried.

“Wait, what now?” Alex said.

Their opponent was waving his arms after Claygon had pinned his companion—a ferocious looking ape-like creature—for the fourth time.

“My familiar is humiliated and refuses to go on!” the wizard continued to shout, sounding flustered. “Have you no mercy?”

“Winner of the quarter final in the third round is Claygon, representing Alex Roth!” the announcer cried.

‘Well, this was interesting,’ Alex thought. ‘Tyris was one of the toughest opponents here, but I met her early. So, I suppose it might make sense that the quarter final could be easier. But, the semi’s up next. It’s only gonna get tougher from here.’

‘Holy shit, I was right,’ Alex thought.

Simbariel the chimaera roared and gave Claygon a swipe that shifted his head to the side. The golem spun and tried to grab the beast but—much like Shining Slash—he was too quick.

Simbariel landed behind the golem and let out a roar that threatened to shatter eardrums. Some nearby spectators sitting close to the arena floor grabbed their ears, crying out as the beast launched itself on Claygon’s back before he could turn. He clawed him in a frenzy, then clamped his massive jaws over the golem’s helmet. Two massive clay arms shot up, grasped the chimaera by the mane, then tossed him over his head.

Flying through the air, Simbariel turned and landed on his paws and hooves with cat-like grace as the goat’s head on his back drew in a breath.

It emitted a sonic blast that ripped across the stones in waves, slamming into Clagyon, driving him back. His feet scraped along the ground.

Alex considered the fight.

Two rounds of lots of manoeuvring.

The first had seen Claygon get in some good, clean blows that had given him the win.

In the second, Simbariel was a lot more cagey and kept pouncing out of Claygon’s reach before he could strike him. That round had gone to the chimaera.

But, Alex was seeing a pattern in his attacks. The jaws of his snake-like tail always seemed to open as if poised to bite Claygon, but would pull back at the last moment. He had bitten him once, but had only hurt his own fangs, not the golem. Now, the snake had to fight instinct each time the lion attacked.

‘Steady, Claygon,’ Alex thought.

He watched the beast carefully.

The lion’s muscles tensed.

Then he pounced.

With a roar, he soared at Claygon—giving him another swipe—but as he tried to spring away, the roar turned to a yelp.

Claygon had caught the snake-like tail by its neck.

‘If it worked, why not try it again?’ Alex thought.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Like he’d done to Shining Slash, Claygon spun the beast round and round over his head like a set of bolas, gathering momentum and disorienting him. With a final swing, he heaved him straight into the air.

The chimaera sailed through the air—spinning and yowling helplessly, with limbs flailing—then plummeted back down toward Claygon’s waiting big clay fists.

Crash.

He drilled two massive blows into the beast, shooting him across the arena and sending crashing into the bars. Their ringing echoed through the stadium and—a moment later—the bell rang to end the final match.

Alex watched the scores come up.

10-8 for all three in Claygon’s favour.

“Winner of the semifinal iiiiiiis Claygon, representing Alex Roth!” the announcer cried.

‘Okay, okay. It’s like I thought, they’re getting tougher again,’ Alex thought. ‘The quarterfinal must’ve been a lucky break. The last round might be against that big, acid breathing drake. And he’s going to be tough as hell. I mean look at him, he’s huge! And he breathes acid! He’s not as big as Vesuvius, but there’s no way he’ll be a push ov-“

“I yield! I yield!” his opponent cried.

“…” Alex said eloquently.

His opponent was waving his arms after Claygon had grabbed hold of the drake’s long neck and repeatedly punched him in the snout, preventing him from using his acid breath.

“I have no mana left, Lambton is fatigued and can’t even fight back!” the wizard cried. “Enough of this, I surrender!”

“O-okay then,” Alex muttered.

The crowd roared, and some laughed at the spectacle.

After a ‘long, hard’ fight, Claygon had defeated his last opponent in the final round of the Super-Heavyweight Duel by Proxy.

“And the winner is, Alex Roth and Claayyyygooooon!”

The crowd screamed, and the few who were still seated, leapt from their seats.

Alex stared, dumbfounded, then looked up toward his friends.

They were going crazy, jumping up and down, pounding their fists together and whistling.

Thundar was passing Khalik some coin with a sour expression on his face.

“We won?” Alex muttered. “Does that…oh holy shit.”

It hardly felt real.

The entire time that Alex was congratulating his opponent on a hard-fought fight, his mind felt like a mana spectrometer that had been left on with no sample in it: a bit of machinery that occasionally made a humming noise.

That feeling continued as he was being led to the centre of the arena with the second and third place winners. He only snapped out of it when he was standing in the middle of the podium, a medallion was being placed around his neck, and a heavy sack of gold was being shoved into his hands.

Fifteen hundred gold pieces.

‘Holy shit,’ Alex thought with pure delight.

His money troubles were steadily becoming a thing of the past. Between the coin from the xyrthak’s valuable parts, he and Selina’s inheritance, the proceeds from the mana vampire bounties, the bounty for the vespara and his and Theresa’s wages, he would pretty much never have to worry about running out of coin during his studies, if they kept living within their budget.

Hell, if they stayed long enough for Selina to graduate from the junior school and go to university here—if she got a scholarship—he might be able to afford that too with what they’d already earned.

The funds still weren't enough—nowhere near enough—to buy an apartment in Generasi, but it was a strong beginning. It also meant he could really build up his own alchemical kit for potion making and other experiments.

He looked up at the crowd, watching as they chanted Claygon’s name. His goal was to establish himself in the city: to become someone who was important enough that he’d be hard to mess with.

It felt like he’d taken a big step toward that goal this evening.

For a moment, he thought of something that Isolde had told him: about others wanting to tear someone down when they were rising up. He also thought about when Jules had commented on people often helping those who had already been doing well themselves.

He had come to believe that since he’d seen how Val’Rok, Baelin, and Jules had helped him after they’d seen his talent, and also when he’d told the chancellor about the dungeon core remains. He also thought about how Minervus had wanted to see him fail while he got success at Shale’s.

Tyris had promised to take him down in the Grand Battle, but that was more of a friendly rivalry…he hoped. Looking up at the crowd, he could see some of the plainclothes officers watching from lower seats. He was starting to recognize them even at a distance.

He drew back his shoulders with pride.

‘That’s right, look,’ he thought. ‘Here I am, with nothing to hide…well, nothing to hide from you—still things to hide from priests—but hopefully soon, not even them! And you just watch. Watch how we do in the Grand Battle.’

Maybe doing well in that final event wouldn’t be so far-fetched, afterall.

This win had started to make him more ambitious.

Thoughts of demon summoners were far from his mind.