Greed:
What makes a great Captain? I asked.
Choco Bars.
Fuckin' what?
I'm joking. What the hell do you think, you damn brat? Asura replied.
I glowered at the old man, waiting for a real reply.
Trust, he finally said.
What about Vice Captains or Execs?
Wits and decisiveness.
Interesting… and Aces?
He chuckled merrily and said, That's easy… Sheer fucking power.
***
As I recalled the memory of mine and Asura's conversation, I watched Nash from the sidelines of a colosseum hallway. Much like Jo, I was there front and center for my subordinate.
Alphonzo didn't let me go alone, so naturally, I was accompanied…
"I'm starting to see a common trend with the way you treat each of your subordinates," Henza commented as he revealed himself from the shadows behind me. "Quite sweet actually."
"Trust. That's what makes a good captain. Not that you would know." An effortless slight.
"Sheesh… I'm starting to wonder if the fist to my face would have been a kinder burn."
"Wanna find out? Alphonzo isn't here to save you."
"I think I'll pass. If I ever find myself in the mood to die again, I'll be sure to let you know. But for now, I would like to witness Nash's fight. I want to study how he beat me from that time. I was not in the right state of mind after all…" Henza inquired.
"Fine by me. For the rest of the match, just imagine Rok is you," I replied, and Henza chuckled at that.
***
Back in the ring, Nash was glowing and immaculate. He radiated aura that Rok had yet to witness; he thought it was a mere adaptation to everything that Nash had endured so far.
He threw out an open palm and a wave of sand-like walls from both sides of Nash opened out all around him. Nash remained strolling casually toward Rok all the while—that champion's smile still whipped across his face, ear to ear.
"A mere adaptation. I can do this all day," Rok spoke. "But you can't."
Closing his palm, the wave crashed onto Nash, covering him like a dome. The dome then shot out jagged spikes as if stabbing him from within. But almost immediately after, the sand wiped away and the particles disintegrated from Nash's mere step forward—still casually strolling in Rok's direction.
Another adaptation? Is he using them all in this match? he thought to himself.
Rok then placed both of his large hands onto the sand, and the dunes shook. When Nash took another step, poles of spiked sand shot out, trapping Nash within it, looking as if it had stabbed him from multiple areas of his body. Shadows formed over his eyes again, but that chilling smile remained—becoming ever more haunting to Rok the more he witnessed it.
Then like the shattering of glass, the sand fractured and Nash had once again adapted, breaking free and continuing his effortless walk forward.
Unbelievable… he really is planning on using all of them in this match… no matter. He should be left with one Life now, to which I'll… Rok thought, turning those thoughts into words. "—end you here and now!" He formed another hand sign and chanted,
"Sand Creation Magic: Dragon's Breath!"
Below Nash's feet, sand began floating upward, swimming in the air. It filled the arena, and with one motion from Rok, it all swirled, turning the entire place into a devastating, raging sandstorm. From the outside looking in, and because of the barrier, the ring now looked like an enormous snow globe full of sand.
From the hallway, Henza had protected Greed and himself with Bonding shields, though it was unnecessary for Greed. He simply watched unfazed, arms crossed all the while.
Rok kept his hand sign in place as the sandstorm raged. "Even if you use the last of your Lives here, the fury of these sands grows more intense by the second. Go ahead, waste your last adaptation—"
His words halted when he saw him saunter. Compellingly. Like a smiling silhouette creeping ever closer toward him through the harsh sandstorm—as if it were nonexistent to him. Each violent shard slashed away at him, tearing his clothes—his skin, but he appeared to recover from each strike endlessly like he had an endless amount of Lives. His face was in shadow, but those light-blue eyes of his glowed demonically. And that smile looked even more sinister to Rok now.
I get it now… he thought. Even though he's recovering, he hasn't adapted to any of my attacks since he got back up… the only thing he's adapted—Rok released his hand sign carefully, and Nash, with each step, moved ever closer—is himself.
Though Nash's Adaptation magic was overpowered in its own right, it didn't have a single spell for him to cast, and the auto-cast spell that activates on him is always the same every time. He can, however, withhold certain adaptations at his discretion and force an adaptation to himself—stacking his previous adaptations double, triple, or even tenfold depending on how many he had used prior. On top of that, it multiplies his physical prowess based on those adaptations since his body is always mana-powered. And he could do it repeatedly until he ran out of Lives, making him almost godlike. In his battle with Greed, he had done exactly that. Only this time, he adapted himself merely twice, leaving intact the four Lives he still had left.
When Rok released his hand sign, he reached for the axes from his back at last.
The sandstorm halted. And for a second, time seemed to slow, because in a blink, Nash had appeared before him—his speed doubled.
Rok swung an axe, and Nash blocked with a mere raised arm; the axe ground on the gunmetal cuffs he wore.
The metal between them stuttered, sparking from the vicious impact. Then repeatedly, Rok swung his oversized axes, each time being swatted away like mere playthings.
Slash after slash flew at him, and his final block invited an opening to Rok's core. And with one precise swing from Nash's fist, his strike sent Rok flying.
He soared through the air, colliding onto a faraway wall.
The audience was stirred, and their faces gaped as they once again resembled fools at another display of a Black Wolves Ace in the ring.
Nash waited with that infamous smile savagely displayed on his face. Rok arose from the smoke and crater of the wall he landed in; sand fell from his face and body like he had attempted to protect himself moments before with a sand shield, but barely made it.
"Incredible…" he spoke, blood trailing down the side of his mouth as his voice became a shout, "by far, you are one of the strongest I've ever faced!"
Nash said nothing. Only that smile was plastered wickedly for all to see. His muscles gleamed as he grabbed his tattered white tank and gilet and ripped them off, revealing his large, sculpted physique. As the tatters fell, all the audience could focus on was the large wolf head tattoo inked crisply on his toned back. A symbol he was proud of after becoming an official Black Wolf Knight.
Rok then formed an intricate hand sign and chanted,
"Sand Creation Magic: Colossal Sand Dragon Manifestation!"
Right then, the sand began to ripple, and massive humps like those of an actual Colossal Sand Dragon scourged the arena. It was as if he had summoned an actual one in the colosseum.
One of the humps then shifted the sands beneath him, carrying him to an elevated position—hands remaining in that same hand sign as the Sand Dragon continued forming all the while. And he stood upon it, exhibiting himself like some deity, with rows of jagged teeth rotating in opposite directions behind and above him—ready to strike.
"Let's finish this, Black Wolf Ace!" Rok commanded, high on his sand pedestal, wicked smile forming as well.
"Aye," was all Nash finally said; it was almost like a whisper as he stood before Rok and the Colossal Sand Dragon that loomed like a nightmare before him—wild smile never leaving him. Not for a moment.
The audience held its breath as one, mouths agape as they waited for the collision of the two titans in the ring.
This had been it for them; the one who would be left standing. Would it be Rok, the rider of the Colossal Sand Dragon, Head Guard of the Desert? Or Nash, the Tank and 2nd Ace of the Black Wolves?
When they charged at each other, the whole arena shook and the sand split. Just like the match with Jo, they had both decimated this battlefield. Sand crashed onto the inner barrier of the arena, blinding the audience's view of them for but a moment.
The air thickened, and auras clashed. Nash's fist compared to the Colossal Dragon's mouth was like it had been against a sea of chainsaws—their auras the only wall between them. They pushed each other back and forth multiple times, and then, like a massive explosion, the arena ignited. Daz's mages on their pillars held their hand signs together as a precaution in case these two mages also broke the inner barrier. Daz, as well, reinforced his nullifying barrier as Nash's aura alone could shatter it completely. He did so to the point of almost shrouding the match entirely black. Just enough for Nash to need only another adaptation to break it if he chose.
"Oh, these Black Wolves…" he uttered aloud to himself with closed eyes and a cheerful smile, holding his one-handed hand sign in place for precaution. The announcer looked at him nervously as he whipped his head back and forth to Daz and the ring.
From the audience's perspective, the arena was nothing but a sandy orb, half-shrouded in Daz's shadow-colored nullifying barrier and the no-longer translucent outer barrier that his mages reinforced.
After what felt like minutes, the ring was finally visible to them all. Peering eyes from all around desperately tried to get a view of who the winner was.
Then, in the middle of all the falling sand, only one man stood. Given the two contenders' drastic differences in size, it was easy to tell who was standing there.
The announcer checked where the other one had landed, and he was within a crater against a wall—visibly knocked out, it had seemed…
"HELL YEAH!" Greed bellowed from the open hallway.
To which the announcer followed suit, shouting, "And the winner of the second round's second match is… Nash of the Black Wolves!!!"
The reactions from the crowd were undeniable. From the Black Wolves crew to Nash's fans, to even the doubters from the beginning of the match. All roared when they saw him standing there with a fist in the air, shadows over his eyes, sand perched and decorated on his shoulders, and that infamous smile that, unbeknownst to us at the time, would be remembered and engraved in the Valley's archive.
In the hallway, I shook myself off from the sand, tapping my head as sand had even gotten in my ears. When I looked back, Henza was far inside the hallway with layers of Bonding shields blocking that entire inner hall.
"What a fucking monster…" he said as he undid his Bonding rings.
"Told ya. He's a fucking beast!" I replied, dusting myself off.
I wasn't referring to him… Henza thought. I ran back because my shields wouldn't have withstood that force from both Nash and Rok, and I thought he would have enough sense to follow, but no… He observed Greed intently. He stayed… and not only that, but he came out unscathed. It's no wonder even Syemore lost to you. What in the world are you, Black Wolves 'Acting' Captain…?
Greed blinked as he stared at him, he could have sworn he just heard bits and pieces of his thoughts. He led himself to believe he was imagining it…
Nash stood in the middle of the ring as if he were a statue, and he called out to him, "Yo! You won already, asshole! Come on!"
No response.
"Uh… Nash?"
Still no response.
Then, from the crater, Rok's coughing had become audible. He then managed to stand shortly after, staggering as he did, and towering even from the distance he cleared.
"No way," Greed uttered.
When the audience saw him, they stopped their cheering and slowly shifted to gasps and chatter.
Rok began walking slowly, slightly limping toward Nash who was still standing there with his fist in the air. The announcer even made a double-take to witness the surprise. "D-Do my eyes deceive me, or is Rok standing… and walking!?" he publicized.
When Rok had reached Nash, they both shared shadows over their eyes as they stood across each other. The anticipation and silence were deafening.
He then reached out a large hand over to Nash and gently tapped his shoulder with the back of his hand, and the moment he did, Nash fell over and landed on his back. Unmoving and still…
Nash had been knocked out.
The announcer juggled his microphone and cleared his throat. "Folks, seems I may have made a rush to judgment… T-The winner of this match, it seems is…" Shock flashed onto everyone's faces as they witnessed, hanging on to the announcer's every word. "Rok of the Desert Kingdom!!"
The crowd roared again in a tempest of excitement and even disappointment as cheers and boos competed in their own battle across the colosseum now.
Greed furrowed his brows and closed his eyes, throwing his hands over his head. "Fuuuck man! I was so sure!" he complained. Henza remained quiet, observing.
Greed then calmed down and said, "Well… it is what it is. Good job, man," with a small smirk on his face, as if Nash were right there to receive his blessing.
It was then that Rok looked from Nash to him, calling, "You there, Greed was it?"
He raised a brow. "Yeah."
"You are this mage knight's captain, no?"
He merely nodded.
"He is strong. Though I fell into a crater and am still conscious, he knocked out while standing. He is the true winner."
Greed was pleasantly surprised at his words. He never accepted flattery directed at him, but he did accept it when it was directed at his crew—to his friends. He welcomed it like charity.
He snickered and closed his eyes, throwing his hands in his pockets. And when he turned around, he threw up a waving hand as he walked deeper into the hallway. That was his way of telling him that he already knew.
Before the healer and escort mages made it, Rok had picked up Nash and thrown him over his shoulder. "This man doesn't need a stretcher. Leave us," he ordered just as they came. They hesitated and nervously backed away as he made his way through them and followed after Greed.
***
Greed slowed to let Rok catch up with his subordinate, thanking him as he arrived. "Appreciate it, big guy," he said as they walked back to the Warriors' Keep together.
"No need. This is my way of returning the favor for a great match." Silence accompanied them for a moment, and then he finished with, "I look forward to facing you next."
Greed kept walking, eyes still closed and hands in his pockets. When they finally reached the Keep, all he did was step with a heavy foot, and Rok felt the weight of it as his eyes widened once they walked into the light of the room.
Greed turned back to face him and responded, "Unfortunately, I don't plan on staying long. But if we did face each other"—his eyes opened, and Rok only saw what few had the ability to sense—"I'm afraid it wouldn't be much of a fight."
The large man shrank. Not with fear, but out of respect. For it was then that he realized the difference in strength between them, regardless of the fact that he was twice Greed's size.
There were two types of men: those who knew their own strength, and those who like to think they did.
Rok had never backed away from a fight, but in this moment, he wished he had never uttered the words.