The Demon King's Hero Of Light 8 Chapter 8 Opponents 11 Through 13

"This is a compet.i.tion to determine our king! Never will an occasion occur that would call for this!" yelled one of the counselors, his voice getting picked up by the announcer's magic.

"We have to make the fights more difficult, because we can never know what the evil humans will try to pull off!" argued back another.

"Don't try to hide what you're doing!" hissed another, siding with the first. "You just don't want Aella to win!"

The rest of the counselors puffed up in rage and everyone watched as the two who were against the rule change and thus on Aella's side, were quickly downvoted. They were pushed to the side of the judge's box, and the announcer listened to the new rule with a surprised and confused look, that quickly changed to anger.

"The new rule will be instated immediately. Each opponent will be forced to use a different weapon each battle they go into. No two fights, for any one person, will allow them to use the same weapon."

The crowd immediately erupted into boos and hisses of anger. It was so obvious the counselors were stacking the difficulties against her, Aella was surprised if the crowd didn't attack them before the compet.i.tion was over.

Laying her hands on the hilts of her short swords, she glanced at the other opponents she still had to fight. She could fight this Zaff with her short swords, but then she would have to change them out for something else to fight each next one. There were still 8 to go, counting Zaff with his double maces. She could see that they held a scimitar, a sickle, a maul, another hammer, a broadsword, a double headed battle axe and short swords.

"This must mean you get an opportunity to change your weapons, if you would like," called Frederik, shoving the weapons cart closer to the arena so she didn't have to leave the field. With her luck, they would try and disqualify her if she did.

Glancing back at her future opponents, she nodded and jogged over to him.

"It would be best if I could use these against the guy with the short swords," she said, handing them to him.

"I'll be sure to hold on to these, so they don't go missing before then," Frederik said, glancing at the two lackeys who were obviously thinking about that, with the surprised and guilty looks that crossed their faces.

Examining her options with a frown, she spied two small maces tucked up underneath a wide blade. Their handles had almost blended in with the handle of the scimitar.

"It would be nice if more smaller weapons could be found," she told Frederik, picking up the maces and hefting them to get the feel of their weight.

"I may know a few guys I imagine know where some could be found," he said, glaring at the two smaller demons who yelped and darted off.

Returning to her spot, she ignored the words of those around her, to think about what she needed to do. Aella was used to using lighter weapons than these two maces, which were glorified rocks shoved onto the end of a handle. If she tried to wait for her opponent, Zaff, to tire, it would probably be her getting tired first. She supposed it was time to stop playing, and get serious.

As the gong resounded over the field, he approached her slowly. She darted closer, to get him to act, and he swung at her head, overhand. To everyone's surprise, she didn't dart away, but rather raised her maces and blocked his blow. It was so strong though, it continued to the ground. She was able to roll backwards out of the way.
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Zaff followed through with his second mace, to hit her while she was down, but she dodged under his arm and stood up behind him, with his back completely exposed to her. Jumping up, and digging her toes into the back of his belt, she swung both of her maces at the top of his head, breaking off the tips of his horns as they connected. He went down hard, with her riding his shoulders like a sled.

Jumping lightly away, she began to walk back towards the weapons cart, expecting to hear the announcer call for her win, but the crowd gasped instead. Turning to glance back at him, she saw Zaff struggle to rise, with blood trailing down where her maces had broken the skin on his scalp. He was breathing hard, and seemed to be having trouble getting his eyes to focus.

"Better get those healers out there fast, before his head bleeds too much and he dies," said Frederik, to the announcer, who nodded quickly.

It was obvious to everyone that Zaff was about to go down any second, but the counselors refused to call the match. They were willing to let him die, then let the healers save him. If he died, she would be disqualified.

Thinking quickly, she threw one of her maces at his knee. It wouldn't actually hurt him, but would knock his feet out from under him, putting him down. The second Zaff hit the floor, the announcer declared her the winner so that the healers could rush out and save him. The six counselors were gnas.h.i.+ng their teeth, glaring at the announcer.

"Aella's 12th opponent will be Mortas the Hale."

Of course it would be the guy with the giant scythe. He even wore dark clothes, as if to make himself appear more dangerous.

"This guy likes to cut his opponents in half," said Frederik, as she replaced the mace she still held, and looked for a new weapon. The smaller demons hadn't returned with the other weapons yet, and she was struggling to find one that was small enough to still use.

"If this long spear didn't have the heavy head on the end, I could use it," she said, touching the handle of a ranseur.

"Alright," said Frederik, picking it up and with his muscles bunching, slammed it down on the ground as hard as he could.

The head flew off, and hit the wall, leaving the end a splintered spike.

"Thank you," she said, taking it and twirling it to get a feel of its new weight.

Mortas laughed at her, hefting his long scythe.

"That won't stop my blade," he called out to her before the gong sounded.

Aella didn't answer him, just waited as he charged and went to swing the deadly blade. Dodging back, she stepped under his arm and shoved the splintered tip into his side, just under his armpit. She could feel it hit a rib, slide along it for a moment, before sinking into the soft tissue between them, then jumped back, leaving the pole sticking out of his side.

The crowd erupted into cheers as Mortas stood up, panting, refusing to put his arm down because of the stick jutting out from under it.

He tried to say something but blood welled out of his mouth, where she had hit his lungs. Shaking his head, he turned towards the healers, and stumbled.

"Our winner is Aella!" cried the announcer as Mortas fell.

"She killed him!" declared one of the counselors with a haughty grin. "She stabbed him in the heart!"

Everyone watched as the healers reached him and began trying to heal him. Aella raised an eyebrow. Demon hearts were in the same place as human hearts; she had stabbed enough of them to know.

"There was no way she could have known Mortas' heart was on the wrong side!" cried one of the two counselors on her side.

Aella frowned. Even if she had stabbed him in the heart, the healers should still have managed to heal him in time to save his life, but they were shaking their heads and hauling him off, dead.

"It seems that they have expended their healing magic with all of your prior opponents," said Frederik, suddenly understanding the situation.

The other demons she still had to fight were not happy when this came to light. Never before had they fought an opponent, without knowing they could be healed afterwards, according to their grumbling. Aella had never had that benefit, and wondered how in the world, these demons would ever make it as generals, or fighters on the battlefield, if they expected to get every cut and sc.r.a.pe mended the moment they were injured?

While the counselors discussed this new development, the new weapons cart arrived. It was being pushed by Seifer, the demon she had struggled the most with so far, who had used daggers like her.

"I found this on my way back from the room they accidentally locked me into. I thought it might come in handy," he said, his voice a little deeper than it had been.

"Aella the Great's next opponent is Cyran the Staunch!" cried the announcer, getting jeers from the crowd at her new t.i.tle.

"Watch out for this guy, he's really good with those sickles. He's not a raving lunatic like some of the others either," said Frederik.

She glanced over the new selection of weapons, amused by the fact everyone had ignored the counselors' attempt to disqualify her for killing her last opponent. It didn't look like they were going to push the point either, because of how much favor they had lost with the crowds.

A pair of kama caught her eyes, and she grabbed them up. While she wasn't that familiar with them, she was familiar with enough different weapons to be able to fake it.

The gong went off and Cyran darted towards her, his wings held tightly to his sides so as not to cause any drag as he ran. She darted towards him, hoping to end the fight quickly.

He swung one of the curved blades at her and she blocked it, getting knocked back several feet from the force of his blow. As he went to follow up with a swing from his other sickle, she knocked his hand to the side and sliced his chest with her kama.

He roared in pain, and knocked her back again. She could tell the slice wasn't deep; it was probably closer to a scratch; but it was sufficient to get his blood running. He swung both his sickles in fast formations as he came for her again, and she was just able to knock both his hands to the side before ramming her shoulder into his chest, just under his rib cage. He went to slice at her and she ducked under his arm, dancing out of the way and turned to see he had the wind knocked out of him. He was gasping, trying to get his lungs to respond.

This was a temporary thing, not meant to take him out of the fight, but she wanted to take advantage of it. Swinging her kamas at him in such a way he had to block her, she kicked his feet out from under him. Because of the way his sickles were held, when he hit the ground, they went flying.

"Yield," she said, standing just outside of his reach.

He nodded as he rolled to his knees, gasping and coughing to get air back into his lungs.

"Nice," he finally managed to get out, pulling himself to his feet.

"Our winner! Aella the Fantastic!" crowed the announcer as Cyran turned and waved off the healers who wanted to look at him. The crowd loved it.