The Victorious Road Fighter [Job/Solo]

Job Description:

It had come to him in the form of a letter, a formal invitation of sorts. The fine parchment and penmanship that was addressed to a Gil Vessalius was so lovely that he couldn't help but open it. Gil was a curious creature and a letter sent specifically to him, at his remote guild known only to a select few, was something that was more than worthy of holding his curiosity, the elegance of it all was what got his attention. Within the envelope was a piece of paper with the same elegant scrawl on it. It was a short and simple letter, elegant but to the point. It requested that Gil participate in an event in Talonia, in which fighters and mages from all other lands had gathered to find out who should claim the title of the “best fighter” or in Gil’s eyes “The King of fighters”. It was one of the many titles that Gil wanted to claim as his own, and without a moment's hesitation Gil accepted the challenge, eager to prove his worth to the world.

Despite his eagerness and confidence in partaking in the battles to come, it was a poor decision. Gil's magic wasn't exactly what one would call a physical based.magic, he summoned beasts to fight him but those beasts were not good for mauling and killing other people. His magic was not intended to fight those who were masters at physical combat. The only thing that was on Gil's side was of course his build, and physique. He was tall, but not so tall that smaller people had an advantage over him. His height was not cumbersome but it was empowering. He was by no means tall and lanky either, but he wasn't of overbearing size either. He was filled out just right, with a natural muscular build that hadn't seen a day of physical training in his life. Gil was quite literally built to be a physical fighter, just right in height and muscle mass so that he was somewhat agile but could still pack a hefty punch. Yet all of that potential for combat had gone to waste up until now. Why should Gil dirty his hands if he had summons to do it? A smirk couldn't help but twitch up at his lips as he finally departed from the empty gall of his guild, he would be sure to return victorious so that his guild mates might finally give him the respect he deserved.


The blonde sat in an almost empty room, a distant crowd cheering over some of the combat that had already started. Crimson eyes were narrowed in thought, his pointed chin resting in his folded palms. He had arrived at the arena only a few hours ago, but a certain idea had plagued him upon arrival. The idea was planted in his head by some lowly mongrel, one that Gil unfortunately had to interact with in order to register for the fight. The man required all the basic information about Gil: Name, Age, Gender, Height, Weight, Bloodtype, and most importantly magic. Gil was very proud of all of those things but the register didn't seem nearly as impressed because of one simple thing.


The man gave another bark of laughter, his thick accent bouncing down the cement corridors as he scribbled down Gil's information. After a moment or two the man fell silent after realizing that the blonde hadn't said anything in return. The man's dark gaze met with Gil's crimson glare. The ruby gems were almost glowing in the dimly lit corridors, and it had fallen almost silent save for the breaths that had escaped from the pair. Towering over the seated man who had dared to mock his magic, Gil made for an intimidating figure who inspired more and more terror to well up within the man with each passing second.

Slowly, the tall frame leaned over, bracing his hands on either side of the desk, his knuckles going white from his grip on the wood. The desk freaked under the pressure but Gil's focus remained on the cowering man who had dropped his pen to the floor with a loud clatter.



That imposing figure, his presence more than menacing remained still for a moment. Reading into the man's eyes as casually as one might read a book. At long last an exhale escaped his lips, his grip upon the desk relaxing as he stood once more to his full height. His fingers had pressed indents into the wood, and his icy change in attitude had done the same to the man. A smirk made its onto lips that had welcomed it with well practiced ease,


It was a preposterous statement, one that would have made the man laugh if not for how terrified he was. A summoner winning in a contest of mages who were the best around at physical combat? It was unheard of but the blonde had a certain look in his eye that looked as though he would fight against the odds, and would win or at least die trying. Then again, Gil compared to other summoners was not some small, frail being who hid behind his summons because he didn’t have a choice. He simply didn’t want to get his hands dirty but all it took was a challenge to get him to do what he normally wouldn’t.

He was confident when proclaiming victory to the man who had dared to question his abilities, but when Gil found himself almost alone in the waiting room, waiting for his name to be called to combat, he suddenly was almost unsure. No, that wasn’t the right way of putting it. Gil wasn’t unsure of himself, that was impossible, what he was feeling or thinking of was how he was going to win? He didn’t know much about hand to hand comba save for the few occasions in which he had actually felt the need to throw a punch but the man had a point that Gil refused to admit aloud, how would he compete with veterans most of which knowing martial arts or some other fighting style? Gritting his teeth Gil figured there was only one way in which he could do it, and that was to learn through experience. Despite his stubbornness the blonde was an adept learner if he put his mind to it, if he put his mind and heart to anything there was nothing that Gil Vessalius could not conquer.


At long last a different man had come into the waiting room, calling his name out while scanning through the few other participants that were waiting in the same room. The blonde rose to his feet, approaching the escort, giving a nod of his head to symbolize that he was indeed Gil Vessalius. In turn the man nodded at him, and they began a long walk down a damp, poorly lit corridor, where there was a bright light at the end. Rushing in from that bright light was two figures, a stretcher in between them. They rushed past Gil hardly sparing him a glance, but the man on the stretcher took notice of the blonde haired man, mouthing out a few words to him revealing a mouth of missing teeth in the process,


Averting his crimson gaze Gil pushed the warning of the broken and battered man to the back of his head. Gil was different than him though, he couldn’t afford to worry about potentially ending up like that, or rather Gil could not possibly end up as broken and battered as that man. He was Gil Vessalius, destined to be a King, a man who would fight god and deal with demons in order to attain what he desired. No tourney of mortal fighters would stop him. He would not allow them to. Gil narrowed his eyes as he took a step into the light, it was so bright he had to close his eyes and raise a hand to shield his ruby gaze from the bright glare.

When he opened them slowly he adjusted to the bright light, and that was when all the sights and sounds hit him. He stood in what appeared to be a coloseum, a full one. There were countless faces in the stand, both young and old, male and female. Their voices were raised some cheering and shouting for what Gil could not tell. Luckily, Gil was not the type to crumble under the stare of so many commoners, in fact he thrived when he had an audience though it had been the first time in a long time since had held the attention of so many. A sudden voice caught Gil’s attention, an announcer’s was projected through the stadium by a sound lacrima that also happened to be built into a lacrima that projected an image up above the arena, an image of….Gil himself. Finally, the announcer’s words rung in Gil’s ears-

“Our next fighter is a man by the name of Gil Vessalius. Standing at 6”4 and a little over 140 pounds this guy uses summoning magic. Let’s see how well this pretty boy handles our currently undefeated champ Wyvern!” The crowd erupted into cheers as Gil’s opponent emerged from the other end of the stadium, raising his arms in a proud show of strength. “Here’s to a good fight! If the fight ends up completely one sided then at the least we’ll have a little fanservice from blondie for the ladies out there in the crowd!” This time a roar of feminine cheers erupted but Gil was not smiling, his expression a rather grim one.

Gil and his opponent crossed the stadium until they met in the center. Wyvern was a little shorter than Gil and was by no means handsome, he had a rather average look to him that would have been plain if not for his bulging muscles. Unfortunately, it seemed both men had an ego problem, the two saying nothing, refusing to shake hands, and only gave each other sharp glares. Enough so that the referee quickly rushed away before the fight even began. A loud ringing sound echoed through the arena marking the beginning of the battle, and with that the two mages clashed. Gil had narrowly avoided Wyvern’s strike watching the man’s fist fly right by his face, the force of it sending a ripple through the air. Wyvern’s leg came up with a flexibility which Gil could not hope to match, and a speed that Gil most certainly could not avoid. The kick burrowed itself in Gil’s abdomen, knocking the air out of him for a moment and sending the blonde flying back across the arena. His back his the earth, and he tumbled through the dirt of the colosseum floor. Just as his roll came to a stop Gil looked up only to see that Wyvern was atop him preparing to send another devastating kick into Gil, naturally Gil wanted to summon one of his creatures but he pushed the urge back with a lot of effort. His hand moved of its own accord, just barely grasping Wyvern’s ankle and craning his neck to avoid the kick to the face.

Instincts of a time that had long since passed took over in Gil’s mind, sending him back to a time of lounging in the sun, and wrestling with lions. “Ahhhhhh!” Gil’s grip tightened about that ankle, a crushing grip, and with a surprisingly forceful yank he knocked away Wyvern’s balance, pouncing on top of him like how a lion might do to its prey. Another devastating punch was sent Gil’s way but instead the blonde quickly brought his head down, bashing his own forehead against Wyvern’s. The martial arts expert was good at punching and kicking without a doubt, but it appeared as if he had never spent a day of his life rolling around and wrestling with the lions. Unlike Gil who had spent a good chunk of his life wrestling down large cats, and Wyvern lacked the weight of a lion, as well as the sharp teeth or claws. Gil grit his teeth, burrowing his forearm against Wyvern’s neck, pushing down on his windpipe, as one of Gil’s arms tried to hold down the martial artists hands. One of Gil’s knees dug into Wyvern’s stomach as the previous champion flailed beneath him, unsure of how to get the blonde off of him. Red blurred into Gil’s vision, somewhere in the back of his mind Gil realized that he must have headbutt Wyvern much harder than he had initially thought he did, enough so that blood had spilled from his forehead. With one last final burst of strength Wyvern flailed his body again, managing to twist his leg up and into Gil’s side, but that used up the last of the oxygen he had. Gil remained on top of Wyvern, continuously pressing down upon his windpipe until someone, a referee he dully realized, was trying to drag him off of his unconscious opponent.

The stadium was silent until Gil was brought up to his feet, and then they erupted into cheers. The blonde had wrestled Wyvern down, beat him not by trying to use martial arts as others had but by instead wrestling him down with pure strength, and almost forgotten skills. Of course at a hefty cost, his sides stung with pain, making Gil briefly wonder if a rib or two had cracked, and the blood continuously spilled from his forehead. Yet strangely he almost felt good but he didn’t have enough time to take in that feeling completely because he was quickly ushered back into the corridor in which he had come through, something about medical attention?


“Shit!” He seethed out from between grit teeth as alcohol burned the open cuts upon his torso. His shirt had practically been ripped off in his last fight. This was his second time receiving medical attention, after defeating Wyvern they healed up the cut on Gil’s head and a few of the scrapes that littered his once flawless skin. However, the bruises upon his sides, one on either side, remained a dark purple and if he took a too deep of a breath it would hurt. That would take much more healing but unfortunately, Gil was ushered out a few minutes later only to fight some guy, an exact replica of Wyvern really called Masters? Some master he was, Gil snorted. He took down Masters using the same tactic as he had before, simply wrestling him down to where his kicks and punches weren’t as effective anymore, neither of them seemed to have experience in wrestling. Of course, Gil had suffered a few hits from that battle only adding on to the plethora of pain that had welled up in him.

The healers did their best really, healing the scrapes and little bruises but the more internal damage? That was something that they couldn’t possibly heal in the small time frame given to them but the blonde haired man seemed resilient or at least did not complain vocally save for the occasional curse word as they nurses made quick work of the few injuries he had suffered. Soon enough, Gil was once more pushed to his feet to be sent back into the arena to face his next opponent.


His next opponent happened to be a woman, some sort of detective that at first Gil had made the mistake of underestimating her. They started match in a similar fashion to all of the previous matches, both of the contestant too prideful to shake hands. The crowd at the least this time had seemed to have taken a liking to the blonde Tartarus mage. Something that Gil had no doubt would work in his favor later. The moment the bell rung, the woman was fast upon Gil in what felt like a blink of the eye. Her leg, one that he previously thought was shapely and attractive was now more akin to a small tree trunk of pure muscle. Throwing his body back, Gil could only watch in fascination as toned flesh brushed by his face just narrowly missing his head.

“That easily could have decapitated me.” The grim thought ran through his head as he rolled to the side as that same muscled but strangely flexible leg, slammed itself into the earth, cracking it as if it was made out of nothing but glass. The woman, Chun was her name, was ridiculously fast when it came to her legs, one hit from those would….Well, it’dbe incapacitating. Yet at the speed she was throwing out her attacks it didn’t leave Gil with much of an option….Grimacing Gil figured he’d have to take the brunt hit, bracing himself for the worse.

The mage had managed to clamber to his feet, before a hard knee cap dug itself into his toned stomach. Something warm, and tasting of iron found its way out of his mouth. The pain had almost stopped him from enacting his plan, almost making the hit worth nothing, but he had managed to grasp his hands about that pillar of steel like muscle before it had retracted from him. His fingers dug into her flesh as she tried to pull her leg back but he would not let go, instead his grip constricted. Chun cursed at him throwing up her other leg, one that Gil caught with his free hand. With both her legs in his grasp, Gil planted his feet firm into the earth, and swung with all his might. Hitting girls wasn’t exactly his style but it wasn’t as if he was going to punch her…

Despite all her muscle Chun was relatively light in terms of weight. Meaning that it was fairly easy for Gil to swing her around like one might swing a rag doll. He shook, swung, and spun the woman around by the legs. Occasionally, much to his displeasure he had managed to accidentally bang the woman's head upon the earth a few times. Feeling his arms begin to grow weary, Gil had no choice but to let go of the woman’s body. He could only watch for a moment as he released her into the air, her body slamming into the the side of one arena’s walls, the cement of it cracking slightly. He coughed up a bit more blood, rubbing away at his lips, the red smearing on his pale skin. How many more of these fighters would he have to take down?



Gil cracked his knuckles as he entered the arena once more after having the nurses heal up his various wounds. He was really beginning to wish he could use his magic, but this was a challenge, and he had to prove himself to that man as well as himself. If he could accomplish a task such as this one without relying on his magic then that would be a feat in which Gil could brag of for years to come. The pair met in the heart of the arena, but this woman was different than Chun. Her name was Cam, and at the least she had offered him her hand to shake. Not to mention her choice of clothing was rather risque, not that Gil was in a much better state. His previous clothes having been bloodied and torn in the previous battles were abandoned, and he had been given a new pair to take their place. Loose fitting pants rather similar to a certain guild mate of his, that hung low on his hips and a dark tank top that was just a tad too short. The loose fabric fluttered against his navel, which left a large chunk of his abdomen exposed, the pants exposing a sharp v-line that was soon hidden by the loose fitting fabric, and the shirt showed the beginnings of a much too toned stomach for someone who never worked out.

While, the woman earned quite a few cat calls and whistles, her body was commendable that Gil would give her but it wasn’t as if she was his type, nor was he some blushing adolescent who couldn’t handle the image of a woman’s body. Her outfit left little to the imagination, not that Gil had bothered to imagine, her body was much too toned, he liked soft, petite women like- Gil ran his hand through his messy blonde locks as if that might help run that particularly thought away. Unaffected by Cam, the provocative woman could not say the same about herself. Her cheeks were flushed, she had faced many male opponents before but alas most male fighters bore many atrocious scars, or they were simply too muscled. The man that stood before her was unlike other opponents that she had met before, not just in terms of looks but in fighting as well.

The familiar bell rang out once more and the two mages, or rather fighters clashed. Her fighting style was similar to Chun’s because of their friendship or at least that’s what Gil assumed. Yet Cam wasn’t nearly as fast as the detective though her kicks, cloaked with a green energy seemed to be much more deadly. Her lack of speed compared to Chun helped Gil, and his previous matches experience was giving him a vague idea of how to fight now as well. It wasn’t as if he could wrestle down every enemy he encountered right….?


A moment later he had managed to hold the woman down. The rolled about the colosseum floor, one trying to be on top of the other. Cam had managed to wrestle her way on top of him, throwing an almost half-hearted punch but even that ended up leaving a rather nasty look black eye, with a grunt of effort he reversed their roles. One of her legs, glowing with green energy flailed up at him, and one of her hands grasped at his bicep in a- caress? Gil physically paused for a moment, his red eyes clearly confused until he caught sight of the woman, a blush dusting her cheeks. “She’s charmed by-” Gil had to bite back a snort at the absurdness of it all, if there was one thing Gil excelled in, it was the art of seducing women. One of her legs slammed into his side, the still bruised one, another cracking sound escaping from his rib cage. It made him pause and grunt but at long last he leaned in, getting close to her ear where he whispered a few choice words.


The announcer screeched over the lacrima as Gil sat up, rubbing at his side rather painfully. The woman beneath him was out cold, a trickle of blood running down her nose. It was a cheap gimmick but it was effective. When it came down to it, words were far more powerful than any weapon, especially when uttered by a handsome man such as Gil Vessalius.


Another round of healing, his black eye gone, but his side, more specifically ribs were creaking in protest, demanding rest that they would not receive. Instinctively, one of his arms grasped at the side, poking and prodding the injury. It was only when he reentered the arena that his arm fell back to the side. He had to keep up the appearance that he was still going strong, that way he could maintain the crowd's affection, and hopefully strike fear into his opponents. What was more frightening than a man who had appeared to be uninjured after countless fights against so many worthy opponents?

Entering the arena, Gil spotted his new opponent only to be disappointed. Very, very disappointed. Clad in a pink Gi the man was quaking where he stood in the center waiting for the slowly approaching blonde. As Gil drew closer, his disappointment only increased. Hibiki, at least that is what the announcer had referred to him as, was incredibly short barely reaching Gil’s chest level. Short, scrawny, and overall he seemed inexperienced. An amused chuckle escaped Gil’s lips, not even bothering to hold back his mocking laughter. “Y-You!” The blonde laughed and laughed despite the pain that it caused within his chest, “Some little runt like you hopes to stand a chance against me?” Gil wiped away a tear that had formed in one of his ruby gems from pain or laughter it was hard to say.

The bell marking the beginning of their fight began but Gil was still torn in a fit of laughter, only serving to enrage Hibiki who charged at the blonde with an angered battlecry. “Pft!” Gil held out a hand, his palm striking the pink clad warrior’s forehead. Hibiki pushed against Gil’s palm with all his might, throwing a punch out that unfortunately could not reach Gil, which made the blonde laugh again, “Y-You have the arm span of a child!” He snorted, a sound that was not often made by Gil. Compared to Gil’s long toned arms, Hibiki’s were short and scrawny. “I wonder, tell me? Is your entire body that small? What a pitiful thing. I understand it’s hard to be as large as I am.” An innuendo meant to insult Hibiki’s manhood. His insult worked all too well, as tears welled up in his opponents eyes much to Gil’s pleasure. “And now you’re crying in front of all of the spectators that have gathered here for me. What a shameful sight you are.” Hibiki sniffled at Gil’s words angrily rubbing at the tears in his eyes, trying to hide his shame.


Gil’s palm that was previously used to hold Hibiki back by the forehead, had slammed into the pink clad man’s face, but this time in the form of a fist. Gil’s knuckled gave a loud pop, and he shook his hand out to help ease the ache created by the force of the hit. “What was that?” The blonde raised a brow in question, now shaking his hand off as if to rid any dirt that might have gotten on it from touching a being such as Hibiki. His opponent clutched at his profusely bleeding nose, the red liquid slipping between his fingertips, and a silent curse falling out of his lips just as his gaze looked up to see the golden figure above him, and a foot come crashing down upon his head. It was without a doubt a victory that Gil earned fair and square, with the exception of making Hibiki cry.


After defeating Hibiki, getting healed, and then heading back out into the arena once more Gil faced another less than worthy opponent. His opponent this time was a man by the name of Mike Tyson, his fighting style was similar to Gil’s. Mike was a boxer, something that Gil himself looked to be built for and even knew the basics of from his various trainings he underwent as an heir of sorts. Yet when it came down to it Gil was larger than Mike, and certainly stronger. Mike would have been a worthy, even great opponent if he was one of the first few enemies Gil had fought. However, after fighting Chun, Cam, and Wyvern? Those three fighters put Mike to shame, and made the fight a rather quick one. So after defeating Mike, both of them exchanging a few blows before Gil had emerged victorious, the blonde was sent back to get his injuries healed or at least a chunk of them.

By the time he had returned to the arena an opponent, one that was almost similar to Gil had entered as well. His name was Barlog, and he wore a mask because he was…..too beautiful to look upon. Such a ridiculous notion was infuriating to Gil. It was as if this Barlog was saying that Gil was not beautiful enough, that Barlog was more beautiful than he, and no one was more beautiful than Gil. Naturally, the mage had to put Barlog in his place.

“You hide behind that mask because you’re too beautiful?” He called out from across the arena, his hands shoved into his pants pockets, “Ha! If you were truly beautiful you would not feel the need to hide behind a mask like a thief. True beauty ought to be shown to the world, let the commoners gaze upon you with awe and aspire to be as beautiful as you!” He continued on, “Or should I say me?” His gaze darkened as the masked man made a rude gesture towards him, apparently Gil was not worth wasting his breath on. This man’s narcissism, his very arrogance was….Annoying. Gil was getting a taste of his own medicine though he had failed to realize it. This battle was a battle of narcissists, of those with extreme Hubris, and it would determine who was the most prideful.

The moment the bell rung the masked man sprung into action taking… flight. Barlog zipped through the air fairly quick, his dark cloak fanning out behind him. His single claw glinted in the light, and before Gil could react Barlog had zipped by him, leaving a deep upon Gil’s visage. The cut began right at his hairline, and ended just at the corner of one of his crimson eyes. If it had been but even an inch off, Gil could have lost an eye. “Y-You…” His fingers reached up to gently prod at the rather deep wound, his pale skin coming back bloody. “You shall pay for that!” The blonde was truly enraged now as he watched Barlog zip through the air as if he was mocking Gil. Blood ran down one of his eyes blurring its vision, the redness of the warm liquid almost as bright as his own red hues.

He just narrowly dodged another one of Barlog’s attacks, this time he was clearly trying to go for Gil’s ruby gems. His movements were similar to that of a creature that Gil had tamed sometime ago, the flying like that of a Wyvern. The scaled creatures were skilled at flying, their claws similar to Barlog’s single claw, and both of them were great acrobats. “If this man is anything like a Wyvern then all I have to do is-” He latched onto Barlog’s dark cloak as he flew past, the cloak like a wyvern’s tail but not nearly as deadly. He pulled with all his might bringing the man to the ground, where they wrestled in the dirt. Barlog’s claws glinted in the sunlight as he went to raise them slashing at Gil in a frenzy so that he could take flight once more. Yet Gil grabbed him by the claws, the sharp metal digging into the skin of his hands, drawing more of that vital crimson liquid to the surface. With a grunt Gil, using all the strength he could muster imagining that he was wrestling down a Wyvern again, pushed the metal claws back towards its owner until the sharp points buried themselves into his chest. The blonde continued to push the claws in further and further into his chest cavity until they met with the earth beneath Barlog.

Panting Gil brought one of his bloodied hands, the claws creating deep cuts into his palms up to his face wiping away at the mixture of blood and sweat that had gathered on his forehead. The cuts on his face and hands were still bleeding but Gil did not want to be healed just yet, there was still something he had to confirm. His bloodied hands grasped at Barlog’s mask, the wetness making the mask slip from his shaking palms. After a moment or two of struggling, Gil managed to pry the mask off of him, Barlog’s features only making Gil grimace,



The cuts upon Gil’s hands were healed restoring them to as good as new, the cut upon his face was a different story. The healers had managed to get it to stop bleeding but that was all that they managed to do about it. If pushed surely it would reopen which it did after Gil’s next fight with a man named Vega. He was some strange man hellbent on ruling the world, something that Gil could not allow seeing as he could not rule the world or even a portion of it if Vega was already doing so. That fight was another long drawn out battle the man using purple flames to combat Gil, flames which left numerous burns upon his already battered up body. Yet somehow Gil had managed to push through that, though in the process he had reopened the wound upon his head, leaving his vision partially blurred by his own blood. Being the vain man that he was, Gil’s main concern was that the wound upon his head did not scar. If it did then he would come back seeking vengeance if there was a permanent scar across something as important as his face. Instead of focusing or even preparing himself for his next opponent to come, his mind had been far too focused on the cut upon his visage.

Once more, Gil found himself in the arena facing an opponent whom he had to defeat at all costs. He was one of the last few peasants that had dared to stand in Gil’s way of achieving the title of….What was the title called again? Gil thought of it as “King of Fighters” but that wasn’t the official title though to Gil it might as well have been. As he entered the Arena a certain word caught his ear,


It was not being used to describe Gil but rather the man who had entered the opposing side of the arena. He was the King? No, that could not do. Not when Gil was the King. If Gil thought he had to win before, then he would die if he did not win now. He was determined to make sure that the crowd knew which one of them was the true King. The bell rung marking that they were allowed to begin their match but the two ended up pacing around each other sizing the other up. Tagas, the King, was taller than Gil which was a strange sight to behold. Not many were taller than the blonde but where as Gil was proportioned perfectly, tagas’ source of height seemed to come from his legs something that would be used to Gil’s advantage. Much like Vega, the man that Gil had fought prior to this match, Tagas was capable of producing fire.


Gil narrowly avoided one of the hazardous blasts of flames. He refused to let this imposter, this fake King touch him. Tagas was not worthy of touching a genuine king such as GIl. They circled about the arena, Tagas throwing the occasional fireball at Gil, each time the blonde narrowly avoided the blast. Until, finally, as they circled each other once more Gil’s time to strike worked out perfectly. He rushed forward, sliding down to the earth the moment a ball of flame was released his way. The heat brushed the top of his head, singeing a few of the golden hairs atop his head, but the blonde slid through the dirt until his foot connected with Tagas’. With great height came less balance, especially when the height was all centered about his long legs. Tagas fell to the earth much like a pillar, and the blonde was atop him of him in a moments notice, letting his anger out. “Imposter!” A punch, “Usurper!” Another punch, “Faker!” Gil went down the list of names in which he called Tagas, blinded by his rage at a fake King but empowered by it at the same time. It wasn't until his fists came back bloodied, whose blood it was Gil was not able to say for certain but his hands did feel rather swollen, that he realize Tagas was out cold his face swollen severely.



Another round of healing and Gil was ready to face his second to last opponent. His body was beginning to give out on him, demanding rest despite the healing, but the Tartarus mage would not give up. Even when facing death, or harsh consequences to his body, he could not give up. He must prove himself, even if it would kill him. No, such a thing could not kill him. Yet his fractured ribs, and the cut upon his face said otherwise. Gil and his opponent had entered the arena at the same time, the announcer reading off the information on his enemy whose name was Kouken. He was on the elderly side, his body somewhat frail looking but having retained some muscle from a time that had long since passed. Apparently, he was the old master of two of the earlier opponents in which Gil had defeated earlier on, their names he could no longer recall. Kouken was without a doubt trying to avenge his fallen students, bring them some honor, but Gil could not allow that. He must win, at all costs.


Gil released his grip upon his sides, just two more fights, he only had to push through these two and then he could rest with nothing but dreams of victory, and kingship. “You see, I think I finally got a hang of this barbaric fighting style of yours.” If Gil wanted to, he truly was a quick learner when allowed himself to be and after having fought two of Kouken’s disciples and countless other opponents, Gil believed he could recreate that fighting style. “So what do you say? Just you and me, fist to fist? It’ll be an honorable battle, not many old men can say they fought and lost against a barehanded King.” It was a gamble, a foolish challenge in which Gil could only pray that Kouken accepted, and accept he did.

Just like every other match prior to theirs, the bell rang marking the beginning of their duel, purely hand to hand combat and nothing else. Watching the old man’s movements, it didn’t take long for Gil realize that Kouken’s students were much more powerful, faster, and overall better than their aged master. Age had taken ahold of his skill, and it seemed as though he was only a master of fighting in title now. Still, Gil did not want to risk anymore injury. Taking a deep breath, Gil’s muscles tensed in preparation for the first strike. Kouken through a powerful punch, one that Gil had just managed to throw his arm up for, slamming the side of his forearm into Kouken’s knocking the punch away from Gi and probably leaving a bruisel. Next Gil brought up his leg, with some effort, even if he knew how to do the move it didn’t mean he could match the flexibility, and drew his knee in towards his abdomen before extending it out into side kick. Kouken went flying as Gil clutched at his chest, panting in effort, “I hate martial arts.” He was beginning to hate fighting in general now too.

Rushing in Gil went for another attack, he danced to the left of the man’s fist, Gil’s body turning, hips and torso moving as one as his leg slammed into the elderly man’s back with a roundhouse. Next he swept out the man’s feet from beneath him only to have the old fool do the same to him. Gil grunted as his back hit the earth, knocking the air out of him, and making his ribs sing with pain. Rolling to his side Gil managed to avoid the fist thrown his way, and in turn Gil flailed his legs out catching the older man’s arms with his knee’s and jerking his body to the side. A sharp popping sound came from the arm, one that made Gil wince but grit his teeth, and kicked the older man as hard as he could in the face. The blonde quickly scrambled to his feet as the old man grasped at his bloodied nose, only to glance up just in time to see one of Gil’s legs raised only to be brought back down to the earth with only a sharp whoosh of air. The hard part of the mage’s heel connected with Kouken’s forehead, his knee met with the same place, and at long last one strong arm hefted the older man up by the collar of his shirt as if he was a doll. Those pale eyes, having become cloudy with age opened one last time to see a youthful fist aimed at his face.



One of the nurse’s said as if that might encourage the Tartarus mage but he was gasping for air in the back, as they healed him to the best of their abilities. He simply had to survive and win one more battle. His body would make it, his body must make it. “Weak, weak, weak.” He cursed his own mortality in a vain hope that his body change, become stronger because he commanded it to. With a grunt of effort Gil pushed himself out of the chair that the healers had sat him in. It was time that he finish this challenge.

As Gil entered the arena the stadium fell silent as if in some sort of awe. This was the last match, and thus far the golden youth, the summoner the very one that they had mocked in the beginning, had gotten this far undefeated. Not a single soul had ever gone undefeated in the tournament but there wasn’t a soul that was nearly as proud and confident as Gil Vessalius. “If I want it enough then I…”It was growing hard to think now, “...It will surely come to me because I am a King.” Gil stood in the heart of the arena, crimson eyes staring down at his opponent by the name of demon. He looked similar to a demon with dark clothing, and slightly pointed ears but demons hardly sparked any sort of fear from Gil. There was only one being, perhaps two, on this earth that Gil feared and it was not the man that stood before him.


He had to take numerous pants between each word, his lungs straining against his ribs but that determined look founds its way into his red, feline like eyes. Demon had not seen such determination in years, but he found himself to be excited rather than afraid of the match to come. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Demon muttered, offering a hand to youth, Gil grasped him by the forearm giving Demon a strong shake despite his current poor physical condition. If Gil was in his peak prime condition, he wouldn’t have give Demon the time of day, let alone a shake of the hand. Yet right now Gil felt strangely generous, and that for some reason in which Gil couldn’t fathom, he believed Demon to be an almost worthy opponent.





The two men stood panting amidst a roaring crowd of spectators. The cut upon Gil’s head had reopened spilling blood into his vision once more, and his balance was wobbly. However, Demon appeared to be struggling as well. His strikes were powerful but he was a glass cannon and a few strikes from Gil had his balance teetering as well. It had come down to one decisive strike, surely neither one of them could take another hit from the other… Both of them had seemed to come to that realization but between the two only one of them was a hard-headed, arrogant, hubris filled bastard. “Two. I can take two of this hits, if I could just only get one in.” The blonde wiped his arm over his mouth, to catch a small trickle of blood smearing it a bit. It felt as though he was bleeding everywhere, a small trickle of his life source running down from a cut on his shoulder, creating a red path on pale skin until it stopped at his fingertip. The little droplet hung there, as if it was debating its fall, before inevitable it dropped to the ground. As that tiny droplet soaked into the earth, the two mages clashed once more-

“Gah!” The blonde grunted, taking a punch to the chest that felt like death itself, a warm liquid filling his lungs. Despite the pain, and the depleting oxygen, and the sudden disorientation, something had welled up inside of Gil. He was pissed off, he would not fall to a mere man who had made a contract with some idiotic demon. Grunting, one of Gil’s hands grasped Demon’s who had yet to retract his fist from Gil’s chest. Coughing up some of that red liquid, Gil forced his body to move, using what little strength he had left in his body to twist that arm with a horrifying pop. “Ahhhhh!” Demon screeched pulling back his free fist to hit Gil, and the blonde mimicked the motion. Their punches crossed over one another, Demon’s fist digging into Gil’s abdomen, and Gil’s hitting the Demon just right under the jaw. For a moment the arena was silent, both men wobbling from the others blow, until finally-


Demon’s body hit the arena floor sending up a cloud of dirt in his wake. Above like a golden, beaten God stood Gil Vessalius. The arena broke out in a roar of cheers, causing him to look up and around the stadium at the countless faces, screaming his name, chanting it like he was their King. The referee had come to his side, Gil’s red gaze still staring up at the crowd in some sort of awe. He had always dreamed of a day in which a crowd would call his name like how they called his. His entire body ached, screaming at him for rest and healing, even as the blood continued to fill his lungs the blonde slowly raised his fist into the air, a sign of victory. The crowd gave another shout of appreciation, or adoration, and despite his body feeling worse than ever, Gil Vessalius strangely felt good-





A nurse shook his shoulder awake, but all Gil gave in turn was a groan. This at least indicated that the blonde was alive. They healed him to the best of their abilities after he had collapsed in the middle of the arena, but he had been unconscious for some time, and his breath was rather shallow. The nurse gave a squeak once she noticed a single red eye, almost cat like, had opened and was watching her.



The woman gave one last worried glance to the handsome bed ridden man. It appeared as if she doubted his ability in getting up and making it back to wherever it was that he had initially come from. However, Gil Vessalius would not let a little physical pain stop him from walking out of the arena like a champion. He would arrive back to his guild, limping and bloody if he had to. Even if his guild mates mocked him because of his condition, Gil strangely knew that he would not be bothered by them. He was a champion, an undefeated champion who survived a punch from death itself.