Baptism of Fire

"Just... One more..."

He thought he was talking to himself. Or to the deity who kept him awake for a little longer so he could say his last prayers.

Instead of a prayer, a wish came out. One last run.

"Wait, that's not..."

He waited for an answer. No one. Just him.

Akira tried to feel his limbs, but they didn't respond like he wanted.

Suddenly, a familiar noise washed over him. Voices, too many. They started low and slowly rose in intensity.

The voices became cheers. Shouts. Whistles.

Is this a racer's afterlife? Heck, if this is it, he must find the mythical Blue Devil Poseidon. Or the Kaiju Cerberus.

His breath eased, steady and stable.

Then, his heartbeat returned. And the darkness turned into a bright flare.

His eyes snapped open, unsteady and blurred. He gasped as his lungs desperately ached for air, feeling like he had been held underwater for minutes.

"Hey, are you alright?" A voice called out. A hand appeared, holding something that looked like a leather pouch bag.

He tried to speak, but his throat burned with dust and heat. His instincts won. Grabbing the goatskin handed to him, he squeezed its contents down his throat, offering instant relief.

"Thanks," Akira said, wiping his lips with his arm.

The man scanned him from head to toe with an amused expression.

"Good." The man said, tapping his back. "Now get back up. The race will start soon."

Akira paused.

"Race?" He thought.

The hydration started to take effect. From the edges of his vision, colors and figures rolled out like a painting being unveiled.

Bare earth and swirling dust, scorched in the heat of the midday sun.

He looked around him.

An enormous arena, stands packed with yelling spectators in unusual costumes that seemed to have come from a movie set. The people waved handkerchiefs of different colors, dancing in the blare of trumpets amplified by the colossal structure's interior.

A sudden yank snapped him out of his half-daydream. He looked at his arms, wrapped in straps of leather attached to four fired-up stallions, flailing and neighing wildly. Two attendants helped calm the beasts, holding them firmly in place.

And beneath him, a chariot big enough for two.

Horses. Reins. Padded armor. A flamboyant cart.

"No way..." he laughed. "This can't be..."

The trumpets sounded once again, and the crowd suddenly hushed. All turned their heads toward the platform as steps thumped amid the silence.

A man in a regal tunic stepped up with an impeccable posture.

"Citizens!" The man spoke in a deep, booming voice. "In the name of the Emperor Aurelius IV, I welcome you to this race, to the glory of the great Aurelius, and to the glory of the Empire."

The host proceeded to mention the names of the six competitors alongside Akira.

Marcus.

Cassius.

Decimus...

Akira's eyes bulged. Dumbfounded.

"And finally, the seventh man to participate in this race..."

The host raised his royal staff.

All heads turned to him. The ground shook. A rumble echoed among the spectators. Akira's breath caught, heart beating wildly in the rhythm of thundering feet.

"The Demon King: Valerius Ignius!"

The crowd roared. Akira turned to stone.

"Who the hell was that?!"

Aurelian Empire. Valerius Ignius. Demon King.

"This is absurd..." he looked at his hands. The least he wanted to do was be transported somewhere and be called Demon King, after teasing the shop youngsters for watching shows like this.

At the platform, people sat with their chins up, elegant tiaras and crowns, and flowing robes and garments. Unlike the general audience, they made it feel like it was a mortal sin to be in their presence.

Then, someone caught Akira's attention.

Ethereal sky blue eyes. Blonde hair that draped past her shoulders, accented by two large braids. Someone straight out of a Renaissance painting.

Otherworldly beauty.

Their eyes met.

Then, a purple handkerchief drifted between them.

"Let the race begin!"

His horses went berserk, as the other chariots thundered ahead of them. His arms just moved and whacked the reins, and the beasts sprang into action.

Hooves rumbled over the arena, mixed into the roar of the crowd. Akira kept whipping the reins, and the horses maintained their speed, dashing past clouds of dust and sand.

"Feels like we're on 60," he muttered.

CRASH.

The chariot to his right swerved out of balance as it tried to cut inward, tipping and smashing into a pile of debris. Akira cursed under his breath and had no luxury of knowing what happened to the racer and the horses. He turned his attention back to the race as the curve approached.

A hundred feet. Fifty. Twenty.

He spaced out for a second, and the horses turned around the bend on their own. His chariot slightly tilted to its side as the momentum swung them outward.

The audience gasped. The blue-eyed lady bit her lip, gripping her armrest tightly.

Akira whacked on his horses again, and they steadied their pace. He was starting to feel the reins, and he loosened his grip. He whipped, and his horses sped past another racer on his left. He finally cut the line, and now he was racing beside another chariot in fourth position. The entire arena erupted.

They turned. One lap over.

- Lap 2 -

Akira kept his speed, wondering if his horses were okay. Suddenly, the chariot beside him began ramming into his. The side of Akira's chariot ground into the inner wall, slowing him down.

He tugged on his horses, slipping back into fifth position. He kept pace to reserve his horses' stamina for the next push.

As the next bend approached, his horses began to catch up to the chariot in front of him. But he didn't increase his speed.

With a grin, he pushed his horses again in a wild stampede. The opponent glanced behind him and was distracted by the incoming rush, not noticing that the corner was near. His chariot ran too far ahead, missing the bend by a few feet. Akira turned and stole the fourth position, with two chariots now trailing behind him.

All competitors maintained their position as they finished the second lap.

- Lap 3 -

Akira's chariot rattled through the track, looking at numbers one and two. Not far from him was number three.

The roar of the crowd even grew louder, and the ambiance washed over him like ice-cold water on a searing hot day. It sent a chill down his spine- the expectations, the competition- but the thrill, the cheers and shouts, pumped adrenaline into his veins. He glanced at the audience, basking in the memory of his old, glory days.

He whipped his horses harder as he rushed to the outer lane in a dangerous attempt to outmaneuver the racer in third. They raced towards the final curve, as Akira reined his horses inward trying to compress the opponent's horses into a tighter space, limiting their movement.

The corner was in view. The racer in third clicked his tongue and pulled his horses back, letting Akira take the spot.

Surprised, Akira glanced at the charioteer behind him and blitzed forward.

As the trumpets blared for the final time, he was in third place.

The race was over.

The chariots slowed down one by one. And as the spectators cheered, Akira waved.

Again, the noise poured down on him like rain. For a moment, time seemed to stop.

He paused, curious about what had happened to the charioteer and the horses that had crashed earlier. He found them in the corner of the arena, and both the racer and the horses looked fine.

He turned and saw the racer he had overtaken at the third before the finish. On his knees, frisking his horses' legs for any injury. Akira watched him sigh, and their gazes met. The racer bowed to Akira respectfully and left, looking more relieved than disappointed.

At the podium, wreaths were given as the reward. The arena went wild with applause, and Akira, in a weirdly satisfying moment, bowed to the crowd.

He looked to the side. The blue-eyed lady sat there, eyes calm, as if observing him. After a moment she rose from his seat, and disappeared among fellow nobles

Akira kept his gaze, unable to figure anything out.

---

In a racer's quarters, Akira sat at the edge of a tiny bed, one that could barely fit a single person.

He looked at his arms, covered in dirt. He flexed his hands like someone who had just regained control of himself.

"That wasn't so bad..." he murmured. But still, he tried to make something out of this strange, new experience, close to the sport he loved.

As his adrenaline faded, he could feel his muscles twitch.

Then, there was a loud bang at the door.

Akira didn't have to answer. The hinges creaked as the door swung wide, the knob held by an armored soldier, sword strapped to his side.

"Valerius Ignius, the Third Princess wishes to speak to you."

"Third Princess?" he thought.

Without fanfare, the princess slowly walked, heels clacking in a regal posture.

Akira recognized her at once. The blue-eyed lady.

"Oh, that woman..."

"Behold, Third Princess Claudia Aurelius. You are hereby ordered to bend the knee."

Akira gulped, eyebrows raised. The princess gave him a stare.

And sparks flew, waiting for the chaos to ensue.

---