sambia tribe

Outside, Daniel continued to play, with his mana and sound echoing through the arena and bouncing out as if the structure was a giant speaker. The people, originally drunk on bloodlust, were soothed by the reverberating tunes, and his energy filled their minds like a sweet drug. He eventually finished his concert and received a standing ovation. However, it wasn’t just his playing that got them all riled up. Now, the fifth round could begin, and the first fight was bound to be an interesting one.

After Cain’s fight, the seventh match proceeded without a hitch, and as always, Seraph stepped into the ring for the final battle of the round. Though his earlier wins had been desperate and narrow, the prince’s arrival brought a chorus of cheers from the audience. One might expect this noisy support to bolster his confidence and turn him back to how he was, but he remained humble, or perhaps ‘fearful’ would be a better word. Every win would plague him with doubts, doubts that he was really strong enough to have defeated his opponents. All of his accomplishments were surely due to plain luck, or maybe his enemies had been paid off to let him win.

He conjured a gas mask and metal canister from his ring, alchemically-formed, as was the carbon monoxide within. Any time the two brothers separated, Noah would creep up beside Falco and spray him with the gas. Odorless and colorless, Falco was completely unaware, mistaking the air on his face for the wind, with Noah using his mana to conceal the sound of the gas being released. It wouldn’t leave lasting damage, nor was it a threat to the crowds, but the more Falco breathed it in, the weaker he became.