Elwin managed to deflect Lucian’s arms so that it wouldn’t rupture his heart, but it was too late; the atom’s edge of the obsidian blade dug past the Celendir wool like it was made of paper, and slid hard into the flesh of Elwin’s left shoulder. Lucian pulled it out, blood sallying forth – Katherine, Mirai, and everyone darted their way towards Elwin and Lucian, arms outstretched, hewing the floor and moss underneath, nearly skidding.

Elwin screamed as he felt the corrosion of the blade upon his body, kicking himself back by instinct to avoid another stab. Though it’d missed his artery, a deep, hideous miasma of purple began to seep from the wound into his surrounding flesh, which stung and felt like thousands of hot pins, making him writhe. It was altogether different and more terrifying than a contusion or when his ribs had fractured; this time the injury was open and deep into flesh and blood.

Seeing that he’d missed, Lucian darted forward in an attempt to stab Elwin again, this time on the right mark, when Katherine and Mirai launched the full weight of their kicks into him, tumbling him away into a pediment. Robert and Khan stomped on his wrist and wrestled the secret knife from him, getting nicked in the hand themselves; they kicked him to keep him down, but several times he almost pushed them over; they had to pummel Lucian with all the Mahamastra to sap his berserk strength. A minute of intense struggle hence, and having received more blows than he had ever taken in his life, Lucian slumped to the cold basalt, the dregs of his drive expended at last.

The great Lucian was finally defeated.

But the kismets paid Lucian no attention – all their sight and heart was upon Elwin.

Isaac ripped his sack open and unraveled a thick dressing of gauze as fast as he could, while Katherine and Mirai held Elwin down to steady his convulsions.

Isaac without a word pressed the gauze tightly across Elwin’s shoulder, pushing it with almost a force to crush it, otherwise the bleeding won’t be stopped; pulling the stabbed flesh together, he held it there and held it there, trying in vain to stem the flow of blood. It was not enough. The first batch of dressing was already soaked red, and it had been less than half a minute. Isaac knew very well the rates of exsanguination from his work at the hospital back at Cita de Lumière. Elwin would fall unconscious in half an hour even if Isaac tried his best to stop the bleeding. And Elwin was certain to die before he could be transported safely out of this city below earth. There was however a solution he could try, one which he had only seen but never yet attempted.

The others crowded around the kismets, clamoring to lend their hand, but-

“Step back. STEP BACK! SHUT IT, ALL OF YOU! Katherine, need your hand!” Isaac yelled in calculated order, pulling away all fabric from Elwin’s shoulder. “Your frying pan, now!”

Katherine fumbled to detach the clip that held hers from her sack.

“What do I do?”

“See the edge – I SAID STEP BACK! EVERYONE SHUT IT AND BE STILL!” He roared to the crowd, trying to banish their wanton rackets of shrill concerns and screams. “Mirai, switch with me. Hold it down, just ten seconds!” he commanded, letting Mirai press the dressing tight against Elwin’s wound. Isaac grabbed the frying pan by its handle and turned its rising pan-edge towards Katherine; its cleanest section. “Heat this up. Heat this edge now!”

“How hot –” stammered Katherine –

“Just heat it up!”

Katherine made as powerful a flame she could from her fingers, torching it, making the edge of the pan glow hot with dull red.

“Mirai, move aside! Take that off!” Isaac commanded, taking the pan away from Katherine’s fire.

Mirai hurriedly took the soaking bandages off, the skin around Elwin’s fresh wound overflowing with hot blood.

“ROBERT! Come here! Turn Elwin to the side!” yelled Isaac, bringing the edge of the hot pan towards Elwin’s exposed shoulder. “Hold his legs down. He’s going to kick, so don’t let up!”

“Aye!”

“Make sure Lucian doesn’t get up again!” said Katherine, hollering to Khan and his retinue.

“Put this in Elwin’s mouth,” Isaac hurriedly commanded to Mirai, handing her a thick wad of dry gauze.

“This’ll hurt. Bear with me, Elwin! Just bear with me a bit!” Isaac said, eyes moist with tears, stopping his hands from trembling – as he pressed the glowing edge of the pan hard onto the wound.

Elwin issued a muffled scream so loud that it pained everyone to hear it – he was bellowing and biting down on the gauze with such intensity that he would have bitten his tongue in half if it weren’t for the fabric that came between his teeth. Robert and Mirai held him still the best they could, lest his struggles open more of his wound or botch the jury-rigged cauterization that Isaac was performing for him. The pan sizzled away on his wound, vaporizing the flowing blood and coagulating it on the surface of the deep gash; burning off and mixing Elwin’s skin in a palisade of charred flesh, it dammed the passage by which further blood could escape.

The pan’s dull-red glow began to fade as the smell of burning meat reached Isaac’s nostrils. He lifted the pan; seeing blood still issuing forth, he pressed the pan onto the wound again, taking it off and checking every moment to see when he can stop, in an effort to spare Elwin the agonizing duration of cauterization as much as possible; and just a little longer until Isaac was sure the tide of blood was stemmed at last, he took it off Elwin and hurled the pan away. Elwin heaved in pained breaths and groans, his eyewrap having long ago flung off during the duel with Lucian.

“Daphne – water!” Isaac yelled as Daphne drew out a cool rivulet of drops, and he sloshed it around the untarnished portions of Elwin’s shoulder so the residual heat wouldn’t blister them too badly. He whispered a soft sona to blow away the ash and debris on the surface of the freshly sealed wound, letting the water turn to vapor and soothe Elwin in their departures.

“Katherine – Iodeton!” ordered Isaac, as Katherine emptied the contents of her sack onto the stone floor and snatched up the bottle which he sought. Uncorking the bottle, Isaac poured the brown liquid across Elwin’s wound with utmost care, letting it dry.

A cauterization procedure. His first.

For what seemed like an hour, the kismets took turns to tend to Elwin’s wound, dressing it in bandages and gauze, while others provided them whichever help they thought they needed. In their revelatory shock, the staff embedded in the altar was all but forgotten. Lucian was sprawled across the stone floor, almost catatonic; Robert and Khan stood watch over Lucian, wary of the obsidian knife in their hand, ready to guard against any further unexpected events.

The bleeding was successfully stemmed, and Elwin’s writhes of agony began to subside, but that wasn’t what Lucian – and his coercer – had intended.

Violet tendrils began to creep out of his wound into his surrounding veins, beyond the cover of the bandages. It was as if a poison was spreading throughout Elwin’s body.

 

* * *

 

No one spoke in the silence of that crypt, having faced Lucian’s revelation. They all clutched their heads and palmed their brows, paralyzed with indecision.

Elwin wasn’t sure what was worse: the stinging pain that engulfed his cauterized wound, or the throbbing pain issuing in roils across his shoulder from the toxin of the obsidian knife. The twinned pain made it near-impossible for him to think of anything other than wanting to be rid of it.

After what seemed like an eternity of passing time, the kismets helped Elwin to his feet; he stood in pained breaths, his chest trembling, clutching the nearly dead weight of his left arm, limping, limping to Astinel’s staff, thwarting Isaac’s attempts to prevent him from exerting himself. No one complained as he approached the staff; what Lucian attempted was not fair game, but foul play, a plain and brazen attempt at murder. This wasn’t how they thought the final round of the tournament was going to transpire. Instead of a clean triumphant victory, they were witnesses to the unthinkable.

“Coming all the way here, getting stabbed, and returning empty handed... damn us if that comes to pass. Let’s take it and go. All of us.”

“Elwin...” Katherine trailed off.

Khan strode forward and grabbed Lucian by the lapel, lifting him up from the floor. “You owe us an explanation – a damn good one! You call yourself a fellow Arten of ours? An Arten of honor?!”

Lucian made no attempts to break away.

“Save the questions...” Elwin heaved in pained breaths, “for later... right now, let’s just get out of this place...” he said, shuffling in front of the altar.

He gripped Astinel’s crimson staff with his right arm straight. It felt sturdy and warm in his fingers, and lifting himself from his squat, pulled it from the boulder –

But upon exiting, it crumbled to dust.

 

The ash of what once was snowed into the air. And out of the shadow behind a pillar, came a long, slow clap.

“Well done, well done,” clapped Professor Thales, emerging from the darkness.

Every soul gasped in shock.

“Professor Thales?”

“Quite a show you have put on, and what trials you have braved,” he commented casually, glancing at Lucian’s pitiful form, sprawled across the floor, still alive, but alive with lofty honor no longer.

“I can say that I am proud to have taught you all during your Franen. Well...”

Elwin and Mirai furrowed their brows.

“But what a disappointment it must be, to have been beaten by Elwin who did not partake in the examination for his Maht! Lucian, for all the promise you had shown Aeternitas, this is how you squander it?”

Professor Thales spoke as cold as wintry frost, his words embedding into Lucian’s heart like icicles.

He moved past Lucian’s form and scooped a handful of dust, once from Astinel’s staff, rubbing it upon his dry fingers. It rained above the altar, whereupon he turned to face the awaiting audience.

“Now for the reason why I have traveled this vast distance and depth to you. I commend you on triumphing above this colossal challenge, in even having made it to the center of the city without losing your way or your sanity. But one final trial remains, one which all of you must overcome.”

Everyone’s hearts sank.

“Sir –” Isaac spoke hurriedly, “Elwin needs urgent medical treatment. I’ve managed to stem the flow of blood here, but there seems to be this poison that –”

“I saw. I commend your speedy treatment. But his health no longer matters, Mr. Isaac Artavalt – for you, all of you, must finish the tournament with the following:”

The Artens swallowed in unison.

“A duel to the death.”

Their eyes went wide.

“Between ourselves? Surely, sir, we’ve done all we could to prove our –”

Professor Thales held up a finger, slowly shaking his hand.

“A duel to the death, between you and me.”

Elwin and Mirai limped back several feet; Claudia and Cassius, helping Lucian to his feet, did the same. Robert and Khan gripped their Quans tight, readjusting their armor. But they were not ready to believe it.

“Professor, is this a joke of some sort?” inquired Isaac, facing adamantly against the Master of the Waters. “Elwin is clearly injured, and so are many of us here. We did what the tournament asked us to do.”

But there was no acknowledgement of concern upon Professor Thales’s expression.

In fact, his face held a deadly authority far from tenderness.

“My words are law within this tournament. Remind yourself of the headmaster’s words: by entering the tournament as an Arten of Aeternitas, all of you are considered to have made a pact that permits combat, including injury and death.”

“Why wasn’t this made clear beforehand? At the ziggurat, sir?” Khan growled indignantly, gripping his Quan.

Professor Thales replied as if he was expecting the question.

“Why do you think the final challenge was for you to come down into this city?”

“For –” and that’s when the answer dawned on all of them.

Here, they were isolated, and the closest exit was probably several hours away through the tunnels; here, a battle that resulted in death wouldn’t be heard nor seen unless the Academy wanted it.

“Why do you think everyone else was kept outside?”

And with that question, the direness of the situation began to dawn on the sixteen contestants.

Professor Thales continued.

“The real winners of the tournament shall be the 4 persons that survive against me. The rest shall be counted as having faced misfortune within this place.”

“And how is this considered fair in the grand scheme of things?” spat Isaac, furious at the ulterior revelation of the tournament. “You are asking the injured to fight you? How and for what purpose is this supposed to be fair game?”

“To weed out the infirm and the unfortunate,” replied Professor Thales, as if his horrifying reply was nothing more than an everyday fact.

“I don’t believe it, sir,” said Robert, stumbling closer. “I do not believe Aeternitas places its Artens – not even in their second year of study – into danger like this.”

“Really?” Professor Thales remarked, resting his eyes upon Elwin and Lucian. “Please enlighten Robert of the Trial of Instinct, as it may have slipped from his memory.”

The surgical arithmetic of the Trial of Instinct which Professor Thales administered to Elwin surfaced to his consciousness. He recalled it clearly like it was yesterday; the brutal indifference of its filter, how Aeternitas cut away those not worthy of being its Artens.

“Robert, it... we...”

“Mr. Robert,” the professor resumed, “do you recall the four champions from last year?”

“I do,” Robert replied, dropping the honorific. Professor Thales no longer deserved it in his eyes.

“Who are they?”

“It’s Sandora, Maximus, Leonardo, and Hina.”

“Very good. I believe you remember the combat demonstration Maximus had given. Before you forged your Quans.”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you know how he and Sandora, and the others, could battle so well?”

“How?”

“It is because they were skilled enough to be the last four standing before their friends perished against me. They were the four who survived, and as their reward, they became the champions.”

Every Arten’s face went pale, their fists clammy. They all backed away. Elwin clutched his left arm; he could no longer feel it properly, nor could he use the Four Mahamastra with the help of his left. There was no way he could survive against Professor Thales.

“I have blocked the passages out with Tenebriton and basalt, for those who attempt to run. You may use any of the Four Mahamastra you have against me, including any tricks you possess. Worry not, for I will not call you to battle here; I will give you ample preparation time for a strategy. I shall instead await by the Grand Hall outside this crypt, at the end of the river, until you are ready to face me. There, you may choose your fate. Do keep in mind that the first to run will be the first to die.”

Professor Thales strolled out of the crypt as if nothing in the world troubled him, sliding past the petrified gates of the crypt with the deftness of a ghost.

For what seemed like a quarter an hour, came no response.

Then his voice from afar slithered through the gates into the crypt.

“Take as long as you like, but isn’t there a certain someone that needs help?”