Han vs The Princess

The princess, however, wasn’t nearly as composed. Despite being from different mothers, the two had grown up close together. She thought him invincible amongst their generation, a warrior of light that cannot be beaten.

Reality wasn’t kind in that regard. From up in the stands her face burned with anger, eyes locked on Joseph. Now she was more determined than ever to beat Han and take revenge.

Their father saw her expression and sighed. He already knew there was no talking her down—she was stubborn to the bone. His gaze drifted to Joseph, heavy with layered thoughts, while Elara, standing nearby, kept silent, analyzing Joseph with her own personal thoughts to add to a later report.

Declaring Joseph the winner, a short break was held before she returned from checking on the prince, and the next match started.

Han and the princess stepped into the arena. At the signal, they engaged.

Three golden circles lit up beneath the princess, summoning three red wolves the size of motorbikes. They charged immediately, forcing Han to slow his advance. While they darted around him, a larger circle appeared on the floor.

A tall mist gathered, and from it emerged a hulk-sized figure with green skin, bulging muscles, and a shaman’s staff wrapped in vines and flowers.

The creature struck its staff down, and grass spread across the stone floor. The wolves glowed a faint green, their movement faster and more agile, bolstered by the grass’s power. Vines shot up from the grass, trying to catch Han’s feet every time he moved forward.

Each time he tried to press closer to the princess, a wolf blocked him while the other two flanked in perfect coordination. The buffing shaman kept them moving like a pack, their strikes synchronized.

The princess, breathing heavily, formed another circle. This time a bird rose up, wings flashing iridescent colors before settling into a solid hue that matched the color of the spells it rained down from above. Bolts of magic streamed from its wings, weaving into the fight below.

Han’s eyes narrowed. He shifted, his sword glowing, his irises burning faint red as his hair deepened into an inky black. When the first wolf lunged, he slipped into its blind spot as if melting into shadow, blade slicing across its throat with crackling lightning sparks. It burst into golden mist.

The other two wolves pounced, and the princess forced out another summon. A stocky, purple-skinned rock creature lumbered into the arena. Its mouth foamed, spitting a stream of bubbling liquid that spread across the floor.

The stench alone made its danger clear. Han kept his distance, avoiding it carefully, even as the wolves tried to herd him toward the purple mixture.

Another summon followed. A small, bright white creature with golden-tipped fur hopped onto the princess’s shoulder. It sat quietly, eyes fixed on Han, while she grew paler from overexertion.

Han cut down the remaining wolves but found himself walled off by the spreading sludge. The shaman hammered down its staff, constantly, as vines thick as ropes forced his feet to slip into shadows again and again, phasing through the vines to avoid being pinned.

Meanwhile, the bird circled lower, launching streams of fire that mixed with the bubbling surface. The floor lit up with sudden flame.

Han suddenly dashed. When the bird swooped too low, he leapt, grabbing its leg. It buckled under his weight, struggling to keep its flight.

But it was just long enough for Han to swing himself across the toxic, flaming pool. Mid-air his sword crackled with violent energy, stabbing down through the rock creature’s skull, streaks of lightning cracking it apart.

Another summon returned to dust.

The shaman’s staff slammed down, narrowly missing him, and the gentle aura around it flared crimson. Its muscles bulged grotesquely, blows shaking the arena as it hammered at him. Each wound Han carved was patched by vines sprouting from its flesh.

Han’s eyes flicked to the princess. That white creature on her shoulder pulsed faint light, and he knew better than to test it directly. She herself wavered, panting, blood trickling from her nose—but her hands still moved, forming another circle.

A fox erupted into being, its fiery coat blazing like a living inferno. It darted forward, hurling waves of fireballs that drove Han back, each burst covering for the shaman’s relentless, crushing strikes.

He braced, then waited. When the hulking giant raised its staff again, his feet melded with shadows once again, shadow-stepping next to it. A single slash, crackling with dense lightning, severed the massive hand.

The fox rushed in, but Han cut through its flames, weaving between attacks, and leapt straight for the shaman’s throat. One clean strike and the hulking body dissolved into mist.

The fox lunged in desperation, but Han met it with a sharp counter, his blade carving through its neck. It vanished like the rest.

Only the princess remained. She frantically began shaping another circle. Han sprinted forward, but the creature on her shoulder erupted with light. Blinding brilliance filled the arena—most of the audience flinched, covering their eyes.

Han didn’t need sight. He closed his eyes, relied on instinct and honed senses, and struck. His sword stopped a hair’s breadth from her neck.

Even blinded, she kept summoning, until Elara’s voice cut through the glow like a targeted blade. “Match over.”

The light faded. The princess opened her eyes and froze at the blade poised against her. Her chest tightened, her breath heavy and filled with indignation. She lowered her hands, fists tight and angry, then turned away.

Stumbling slightly, she left the arena, pale-faced yet defiant with burning eyes, refusing any of the hands that offered her assistance.

And with her departure, the stage was set: the finals, Joseph against Han.