Chapter Text
She stares at the sleek black ceiling, watching the charged lights course through the electrope’s modified striations. The border around the entirety of the four edges glows a gradient of blue and purple. Alone in this room, with its monitors quietly beeping as she yet breathes on the bed, she frowns.
Kiyo lost. Her very last fight. She almost made it to the top. Almost became the champion of Ascension Arcadia. But the Tyrant fought like his namesake. Her grave error was thinking her feral soul would be able to outmaneuver his. He picked Behemoth. They’re not particularly fast creatures. Powerful and ferocious, yes, but agile they were a far cry from.
And yet, that Eldite man somehow, someway, still caught her in his grasp and managed to fracture her diamond hide.
Tears sting at her eyes. She throws a hand over her face, swallowing the sob that threatens to burst from her throat. All that training—all that research into each of her opponents so she would have a solid winning streak—it just came crashing down at the very end.
Maybe this is penance for her brutal victory over Wicked Thunder. Kiyo landed her in the medical ward with terrible injuries. Now it was her turn for a visit.
Was he watching? She didn’t see him from the arena. Maybe he saw it on the big screen. Maybe he’s still recovering from his loss against her. Maybe she’s just stupid for doing all of this simply to prove to him that he made a mistake choosing Eutrope.
Kiyo curses herself under her breath, stuttering out as she tries to hold back her sobs. She stops when she hears the door slide open.
“Oh, you’re awake.”
One of the nurses approaches her bedside to check her vitals. She types something on the monitor near her infirmary bed, and gives a small smile as she reads.
“How long was I out?” Kiyo asks.
“Mm, about three days. But, you’re recovering well. Either the Tyrant wasn’t giving his all, or your diamond skin truly is the most durable there is.”
“No,” Kiyo swallows, “he was there to kill, just like I was. You can’t get into the heavyweight tier without bloodlust.”
The nurse hums again and types something else into the monitor. Then she leaves it on idle mode, pushing the rolling chair in that she didn’t use. Taking the tablet attached to the monitor, she types yet again, likely her report, and then tucks it underneath her arm.
“Well,” she gives her another smile, “I was cheering for you, Prism Beat. After that performance in the tier, there is no way they won’t make you at least a substitute for one of the heavies.”
“Thank you,” is all the Raen Auri woman can manage to say as she gazes out the one-way windows. They take up the entire wall to give a magnificent view of the glittering cityscape. She visually traces the reflection of her body, scales, horns, and all. A distant part of her mourns the fact that she’s one of the few of her kind in this place. Those that have survived their parents can be counted on one hand. Maybe two.
There’s silence for a moment before the nurse speaks again. “I’ll have someone bring you some food. Even if you’re not hungry, it’s imperative to your recovery.”
Kiyo makes a small sound of recognition in response, not turning to her.
The woosh of the door sliding open is what she hears next, followed by the nurse mumbling something to someone, and then it closes again. From this angle, Kiyo can faintly make out the green-tinted reflection in the window.
“Hey,” Eheeya starts, “how’re you feeling?”
“My body? Fine,” she replies curtly, not turning to him. “Everything else? Like shit.”
Her Shetona friend comes closer and takes a seat at the edge of the bed. He sets his magenta shades on top of his head, resting just before his long ears. Kiyo still focuses on his reflection.
Clearing his throat, he says, “I got you something.”
Now she turns to him as he hands her a gift bag. Kiyo stares at it for a moment before opening it up. As hard as she might try to wallow in her self-pity, the smile perseveres when she takes out the frog stuffy.
“You didn’t,” she says with the slightest levity in her voice. She strokes the soft plush, warmth traveling along her fingers. “Always know how to cheer me up, don’t you?”
He laughs, leaning back on his hands. “That’s the childhood friend privilege, baby!”
Kiyo hugs the plush against her chest. She stares at her lap, unmoving.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” she asks him.
“Whoa, let’s back up a little; where’s this coming from?”
Sighing deeply, she explains, “I lost, Eheeya. I was on a roll, and yet I fumbled so bad. Wicked Thunder was nothing in comparison to the Tyrant. Why did I think I could make it to the end?”
He stares up at the ceiling for a moment. “Well, because you’re not a quitter. An eleven out of twelve winning streak to place in the AAC isn’t bad at all. The first try too! No one else in Arcadion history has managed that—not even Eutrope.”
“Except the Tyrant.”
Eheeya coughs. “Ah well, that goes without saying. But hey!” He turns back to her, smiling. “You know what that means? The only one better than you, is him.”
But does that really matter at the end of the day? Sure, her popularity as Prism Beat has likely skyrocketed. The underdog from the light-heavyweight tier, the first fighter in the lineup. You don’t get lower than that in the AAC. Proven to be more than just Solution Nine’s favorite fitness icon. She can go toe-to-toe with nearly the entire roster of the final tier, and do it with style.
And yet, all of this effort won’t matter if he didn’t witness it himself.
Kiyo goes silent again, lightly squeezing the frog stuffie’s arms. Eheeya gently takes it from her and makes it dance in her lap, moving the leg back and forth, and twisting its body side-to-side.
Cute, and she feels herself smile just the slightest bit.
“He saw it,” the verdant Shetona says, as if reading her mind. “And if your question was really about if I think you’re dumb for doing all of this over a guy, then no.”
“Is that your honest opinion?”
“I mean… he did kind of, technically—just a little bit, you could argue—cheat on you. For like a few seconds, so…,” he grimaces. “At least when you defeated him in your match, he had a backup soul in his regulator to revive him.”
“But why did I ever believe me winning would change his mind?” she tries to reason, more with herself than him. “He doesn’t care if I’m strong or not. Hell, I don’t even think he cares that Wicked Thunder is a heavyweight fighter.”
“So then, why did you do all of this?”
There’s no judgment in his tone. Even when Kiyo meets his eyes, golden like the descriptions of the sun from her parents’ homeland, Eheeya doesn’t look at her with anything but neutral serenity.
“I don’t know,” is her honest answer as she stares down at her lap. “Maybe to take something from her, just like she took something from me.” She picks at the threads of the blanket. “If I can’t have his heart, then I’ll have her glory. And if that makes me a bad person, well… then I guess I am.”
Eheeya hums. “Not a bad person; just a flawed one.”
He leans in, ducking his head a bit to meet her gaze. Kiyo doesn’t break eye contact, and his line of sight follows her own, no matter where on his face she tries to avert her attention to.
“For what it’s worth,” he begins softly, “I think you’re groovy. I always have, and I always will.”
Kiyo wants to look away, but his genuine smile and the sparkle in his eyes keeps her entranced.
“And if my vibes ever become rancid?” she asks.
“Impossible,” he shakes his head, “because I can tell a lot about a person by just the way they dance. And you, baby, are one-hundred percent funk certified by the dancing king himself.”
She giggles, and that makes him grin. “With such an endorsement, I guess I have no reason to doubt myself, do I?”
“None at all!”
He makes the stuffy dance a little more before setting it down in her lap. Kiyo caresses its soft head and pokes its belly.
“Thank you for coming to see me,” she says. “I really do appreciate it. When I’m well enough to leave, I was thinking… we should go dancing again. Just us two, like we used to before.” Ignoring that one incident with him that still brings her shame to this day, no matter how many times he’s said he’s forgiven her. “I think I need to stop my path of ‘vengeance’ here.”
Her dear friend smacks his hands together and grins wide. “Now that sounds like a good time! Kiyo, you and me are going to absolutely shred the dance floor.”
Giggling again, she says, “Your enthusiasm is infectious,” and leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks for being my friend throughout all these years, Eheeya.”
He’s still where he sits, cheeks rosy. His long ears fold down for a moment as he leans back, rubbing at his neck and looking away.
“Oh, y-yeah you know, I-I’ll always be there for you, Kiyo. There’s no need to mention it, ah ha…”
“Don’t get flustered!” she teases, sitting up and moving closer to him, crawling on her knees. “You have all this confidence out in public, but when you’re with your friends, it just evaporates.”
She throws her arms around him and holds him tight. “Really, thank you.”
For a few seconds he’s frozen in her embrace, but then he thaws, and his arms slip around her middle.
“Of course. What are friends for?”
“Hmm, they’re for hugging because they’re warm. This patient gown isn’t very thick.”
He laughs, and they both put some distance between them. “Ah, so you’re just using me to be your personal heater. How cruel!”
“Yes I am. Sorry you had to find out this way. The Dancing Green, reduced to a mere warm rock.”
They both chuckle, though when silence settles, they remain seated as they are. Sufficiently warmed up, she should just pull away. But his smile is sweet, and she remains transfixed on his eyes. Like gazing at the sun without fear of going blind.
How lucky that she’s one of the few people to know him beyond the rose-tinted lenses.
“Am I interrupting?”
Kiyo and Eheeya jerk away from each other. Why didn’t they hear the door sliding open?
Her Shetona friend places his shades back on his face as their visitor approaches the bed. Kiyo keeps her frog stuffy in her lap as she focuses on the Tyrant standing there, eyeing them both, one after the other.
“I need to speak with her alone, Dancing Green.”
“Uh, yeah, ‘course.” He stands up and says to Kiyo, “Let me know when you’re cleared to leave. I’ll come get you.”
“Thanks, I will.”
He gives her an award-winning smile and a short wave before leaving the room.
She remains mute in the presence of the Tyrant. Eheeya is tall, but this Eldite man surpasses even him in height (if one didn’t count her leporine friend’s ears, anyway).
“Have you come to gloat?” she asks sharply.
“You were the one who challenged the AAC to qualify for the heavyweight tier,” he reminds. “I’m not your enemy, Prism Beat.”
“Then what do you want, Tyrant?”
He strides over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms crossed over his chest. He watches the hovering vehicles fly by in the distance. Kiyo strokes her stuffie’s arms wishing she had Eheeya back as present company.
“There wasn’t much deliberation,” he begins.
“About what?”
“Your qualifications.” He glances back at her. “Congratulations: you’re now a primary heavyweight fighter.”
Kiyo blinks a few times, shaking her head. She opens her mouth to say something, but all she does is flap her lips silently.
“I’m—but what do you—what?”
Tyrant faces her fully now, his posture impeccable. “It’s as I’ve said. Your climb up the Arcadion’s ladder was nothing short of remarkable. You dazzled audiences and even your fellow peers.”
“But there’s no space for anoth—and I also lost against you! I needed to beat you to make that a reality. Didn’t I?”
“That was never going to happen,” he replies confidently. “Even during my time as a rookie, there wasn’t a single opponent that could make me kneel. You were going to be no different; everyone knew this. I commend you for putting on a show for the fans, however.”
“I was actually trying. Really hard, I might add. I fully intended to kill you to win.”
“Yet it was I who sent you to the infirmary instead.”
Kiyo huffs, her bangs blowing away from her face. “Well, you try to take on the bull, you get the horns. I learned the hard way.”
The slightest of smiles appears on his face. “You simply need more discipline, especially since you are now a colleague of my bracket.”
“So is Vamp Fatale stepping down?” she asks, fully aware there can only be four maximum primary fighters in any tier.
“No. Wicked Thunder is. In a sense.”
Kiyo leans forward, eyes wide. “What?!”
Tyrant explains that the Hhetsarro woman hasn’t been herself since she lost to Kiyo. Her recovery took a while (considering the gaping hole Prism Beat left in her torso), but even after the fact, she couldn’t keep up with the training regimen that the others continue to follow. Which is strange since she’s never had a problem before.
“In addition, no one has seen neither hide nor hair of her since Black Cat paid her a visit during her recovery.”
“Meaning, if she wasn’t missing in action, I wouldn’t have placed.”
He sighs silently, looking almost disappointed at her response. “No. You still would have. This information doesn’t leave the room, but we’ve been contemplating on her reassignment for some time.”
As Tyrant strolls around the space, observing its contents, he continues with his explanation. “She has been distracted as of late. She also took her loss to you quite poorly. Bitterness seems to be contagious between such like-minded… individuals.”
She’s not about to explain to him her whole history with that woman and Retsarra. He should know by now, considering the news of their breakup was broadcast to anyone with right hearing. He seems like an intelligent man; he can put two and two together.
“So… that’s it? I’m in the heavyweight tier now? Just like that?”
“It will be announced at the end of the week. But in order for you to maintain your position,” he stands before her now at the side of the bed, “you must have discipline, as I’ve said. I will take it upon myself to train you until it’s assured that only I can rise above you.”
“I’m… confused,” she replies, frowning. “Are you saying you want to be my mentor? The guy who killed me so terribly I had to be placed in the recovery ward for half a week?”
Tyrant gives a crooked smile. “You have a wealth of potential, but your anger binds your movements. You will burn to nothing but ash should you continue this way.”
Idly he reads the monitor before turning back to her. “The feral soul of the Colossal Crystalline Maiden is difficult to master because it’s intended to be sluggish to any person who tries to make it their own. Defense above anything else. Yet not only have you somehow managed to fashion it to your own soul so that it’s faster than levin, but the creative ways you choose to turn defense into offense is nothing short of phenomenal.”
“Ah, no, that’s too much praise for someone like me,” she shakes her head at him, “especially from the king of the Arcadion. My reasons for doing this were shallow; I don’t deserve to be in this tier.”
He walks back to her and kneels at her bedside. Tall as he is, he still doesn’t even look up at her, but meets her at just above eye level.
“So you would throw away all of that hard work when you have proven to everyone that it’s unwise to reckon with a force of nature that is your existence?”
“I…”
Staring her, eyebrows furrowed in determination, he says, “Do not stifle yourself because of any man or woman who has wronged you. Prism Beat, you are capable of much more than you realize. Should you apply yourself, then you will certainly be remembered as one of the greatest Arcadion fighters to have ever lived.”
He continues on, “You are the one who people look up to. Born into this land by foreigners from beyond the dome. If you can make it to the pinnacle of society, then there’s hope for everyone.”
She stares at the crumpled sheets. Should she take his offer, is she no better than Retsarra? Making the Arcadion her whole life? But that was never true, was it? That’s why they drifted apart anyway. She knew her boundaries—had a life she wanted to live outside of the ring. He never found his stride away from violence and theatrics.
A part of her will always pity him and wish she could’ve been the one to show him there was more to living than just fighting. But she absolutely cannot allow him to chain her down to follow his footsteps along the narrow path.
Her parents would’ve been disappointed.
“Okay,” she finally says. “I’m in. I’ll train under your tutelage and defend the second-best rung.”
Tyrant gives a pleased hum and stands. “Very good. I will share more details with you at a later time. Meanwhile, begin thinking about your acceptance speech when it’s publicly announced. And be prepared to answer any questions, whether the interviewers are well-intentioned or not.”
A nod is all she gets as a parting gesture before he leaves the room.
Kiyo sighs loudly and lays down on the bed. She doesn’t think her life will change too much, but she does wonder if she’s in over her head having accepted the position and Tyrant’s offer.
“Well, I guess only time will tell if this is a reward, or a punishment.”