"...and according to Head Chef Tarragon, he's one of the smartest of the bunch. The third-year Green Jacket with the briar as sharp as wire, it's Sorrel!"

The crowd overhead roared with excitement as Sorrel's platform raised him up to the arena floor. Archie waited in the dimly lit subfloor of the arena. His hands shook, and he cursed Clover's presentation for taking so long.

"But don't count out our other contestant, because Head Chef Tarragon also said that this might be the most promising fighter of the bunch. It's said he took on a pack of yetis and stole a Tamani tree right from under their noses!"

Disgust washed away Archie's nervousness. He wanted to jump up and correct the shlocky retelling of Archie's summer. The spectators would think of him as a violent thief, a disruptor of nature, a self-serving, greedy monster. Archie's hands shook again, this time with anger.

"He may just be a second-year Yellow Jacket, but what he can do with a blueberry should make you wary! It's Archie!"

The small wooden square beneath Archie rocketed up, making him catch some air when it stopped at the arena floor. He gave Clover a scalding glare before lifting his gaze to the crowd.

His head spun.

He had seen how tall The Serving Bowl was from the outside. He had seen it from the top of the stands. But from the arena floor, Archie could hardly make sense of the scale. He looked up, up, up and still could not see an empty seat, just crowds that rippled like fabric as they stood and cheered and threw their arms up. A statue of Ambrosia towered over them all, looking down to watch the fight.

"Wave!" Peach's muffled voice called out from below. Archie looked through the narrow slats in the wooden platform to see her glaring up at him. "Wave!"

Archie looked up and waved as a startling revelation struck him. Thousands upon thousands of people were looking at him. Most restaurants served what, one hundred, two hundred people per day? There must have been fifty thousand people watching him. Archie was never good at math—even less so with one hundred thousand eyes on him—but his thinking got far enough along to realize that he must have been working with a year's worth of attention in a single moment.

He grinned so hard it hurt.

Archie looked up to the royal box and spotted his parents, his father waving harder than anyone else and his mother with her hands over her face. He looked for Blanche but instead found Nori's black hair contrasted by her yellow jacket. Next to her, a man in a white jacket wore a crown. Archie blinked and blinked and blinked again before finally accepting what his eyes were telling him. Grand King Flambé himself was watching Archie.

Archie searched again for Blanche until he was convinced that she hadn't come at all. His waving hand dropped along with his chin.

"Alright!" Clover announced. "Who's ready for this exciting fight? Count it down with me! Five!"

Panic wiped Archie's mind clean. What came after five?

"Four!" Clover cheered.

Right. Right. Then it'd be three, then it'd be two, then it'd be one, and then Archie would have to fight. He frantically looked around the arena and spotted Sorrel. They were standing toward one end of the circular arena. Had they been placed on opposite ends, a massive boulder would have blocked them from each other. It was some thirty feet wide and twice as tall as Archie and domed at the top, but a big chunk was missing and rough with a hundred pits like scars from an acid.

"Three!"

Sorrel's feet had twisted sideways. He was going to flee to the boulder. Archie could go on the attack. Try to strike first. Or would it be better to also take cover? It would give him time to think.

"Two!"

Because there wasn't enough time to think. Archie was still taking in the terrain. A dozen or so trees had been scattered around the arena, just a few feet taller than the boulder and with trunks no bigger than Archie's torso. Patches of tall grass spotted the floor, thick and tall enough that Archie could crouch in them to hide.

"One!"

Wait. Was he attacking or running? Was he shooting blueberries? Was he going to restrain Sorrel with noodles? Was he going to rush him? Wait, he needed to be preparing his body. He needed to focus his essence to—

"Fight!" Clover dashed off the arena floor before either boy could react.

They stared at each other like frozen deer, Sorrel's body twisted in preparation to flee, Archie's body tense and locked up. The crowd's cheering died down as the two boys stood perfectly still.

"Fight!" Clover repeated.

But Archie didn't want to fight another person. And from the looks of it, neither did Sorrel. How were they expected to hurt each other for other people's amusement?

The tension in Archie's leg unwound, causing his foot to slide forward just a few inches. But it was enough. The tightly coiled spring of tension between them unwound in explosive fashion.

Sorrel started to throw something. Archie reacted in an instant, throwing a blueberry to match. A barrage of seeds made it halfway to him before the sticky, smoky explosion of the blueberry halted their progress and scattered them in the dirt. Through the spotty fog, Archie saw Sorrel retreat behind the rock and mirrored him.

Adrenaline broke down the floodgates of hesitation, leaving Archie's thoughts free to explore potential strategies. He could run around the way he came. Sorrel wouldn't expect that. Or he could crest the boulder. It'd leave him vulnerable to attack, but he'd have the high ground once he—

A seed flew over the boulder, barely visible to Archie against the backdrop of the crowd. He lunged out of the way, retreating behind a tree just as the seed fell into the tall grass.

Nothing happened.

Archie's eyes shifted from the tall grass to the top of the boulder to the edges. He expected the seed to blossom, or another seed to be lobbed over, or for Sorrel to come dashing around.

But nothing happened.

Archie threw a smokescreen blueberry over the boulder. He heard it pop, but any shuffling on Sorrel's part was drowned out by the anxious gasps and cooing of the crowd. Another seed came over the boulder, this time with a trajectory that would put it dangerously close to Archie. He dashed to another tree and drew his slingshot across his fingers in case Sorrel came around the other way.

But Sorrel stayed hidden, and the seed landed without impact. Archie cursed at himself for giving away his position for no gain. He needed to think things through. He needed to press his advantages and capitalize on Sorrel's weaknesses. Of course, Archie didn't know Sorrel's weaknesses, so he had to rely on strengths.

Direct lines of fire. Melee combat. Speed.

As far as he knew, Archie had more combat experience. Real combat experience. He knew how disarming a headlong charge could be. If he acted quickly enough, Sorrel would lose before he unfroze.

Archie held an impotent blueberry nocked in his slingshot as he gave his legs a sugar rush. He'd end it in one move. He wouldn't hesitate. He would see Sorrel, he would shoot Sorrel. But first, a distraction.

Archie shot the blueberry at the farthest tree he could and then sprinted in the other direction around the boulder. The blueberry landed with a crack against the trunk, hopefully drawing Sorrel's attention the wrong way.

And it did. Archie rounded the corner to see Sorrel looking the other way. Archie ran toward the tall grass for cover, nocked a deadly hard blueberry into his slingshot, pulled back, aimed, and screamed in pain as something latched around his ankle.

Archie abandoned his shot and looked down. A system of thorny stems had sprouted beneath him and curled halfway up his shins, dozens of sharp points embedding in his skin. He looked back up just in time to see Sorrel throw another singular seed his way. Archie bent out of the way and shot a blueberry, but whether it was the pain in his leg or his general panic, his shot went wide. The crowd yelled and cheered a the first skirmish.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Sorrel ran away around the boulder, not trying his luck with a second exchange. Archie fell on his butt, obscuring himself in the tall grass, and reached to pluck the thorny stems from his leg. But when he grabbed the stems, they grew even more and wrapped around his forearms. He screamed again as the plant's needles burrowed into him. It hurt Archie more than any thorn ever had, and with them so close to his face, he could see why. The stems slowly grew and contracted as if breathing, moving the embedded thorns to constantly prick him.

With a precision afforded to him by weeks of essence control training, Archie conjured sugarskin where the plant wrapped around, shoving its thorns out and making it fall away. The thorns had done their damage. Blood ran from one hole into the next and so on and so on until Archie's hands were slick and the legs of his pants stuck to his shoes. Archie wished he had spent some of his time learning how to create bandages, but healing magic had been much less exciting than offensive magic.

In the short fight thus far, Archie realized he had learned more about his own shortcomings than what Sorrel was capable of. He focused on Sorrel. The Green Jacket's proficiency with seeds seemed to extend to laying traps, not in using them as projectiles. In a straight fight, Archie had little doubt he would win. But Sorrel had shown that he wouldn't take a straight fight, and the terrain gave him the tools to run and hide.

Would it be better to avoid the traps or to focus on reducing their damage with sugarskin? Could he even avoid the traps? Maybe if Blanche had taught him foraging. Even through the agony of his pinpricked skin, the thought of her absence stung him. Why hadn't she come? Didn't she know what her support would have meant?

He grimaced as he wiped his bloody hands on his jacket. He needed to focus. He couldn't care about Blanche. He couldn't care about anything other than Sorrel.

Sugarskin was the answer. But maintaining sugarskin, a slingshot, and still conjuring a potent blueberry was near the limit of Archie's abilities in practice, and he recognized that he wouldn't be able to count on the same level of success that he had seen in a controlled environment.

Wait, what was Sorrel doing? While Archie sat around thinking, his opponent was likely setting up even more traps. Archie needed to act. He conjured sugarskin up to his ankles, fit a blueberry to his slingshot, and made his move. He sprinted around the boulder back the way he came.

That proved to be a mistake.

He stepped on a seed that sprouted in an instant and wrapped around his leg. His sugarskin cracked, but as he lost his footing, he lost his concentration, and several thorns managed to break through as he tumbled to the ground. He fell on another seed that sprouted and strapped itself across his back. The crowd gasped.

Archie ripped his leg away and conjured sugarskin all over his body, the pain keeping him from focusing it to where he needed it. He started to roll away but realized that he might trigger another trap. He forced himself to calm down. To take a breath. It hurt, but it wouldn't kill him. Not anytime soon, anyway. But his wounds had just doubled, and they had not stopped bleeding…

Archie retreated along the path he had come from, trying his best to not step onto any new ground. He wondered how many seeds Sorrel could maintain at a time. When Nori conjured multiple lemons with the intent to explode them after a delay, she could hardly manage fifteen. But Sorrel had a year on her, and his seeds might not have used the same amount of essence. Although he had only thrown seeds one at a time. That was telling. But how could Archie exploit that?

Archie admitted to himself that he was out of his depth. He had no idea how to detect Sorrel's seeds. He couldn't reliably shield himself from their thorns. He had no proper counter. The trees provided cover, the tall grass hid Sorrel's seeds, and the boulder divided the battlefield.

The boulder.

Sorrel probably couldn't place his traps on the boulder.

Archie decided to be reckless. Energizing sugar seeped into his calves and allowed him to mount the boulder in a few bounding strides. The noodle band of his slingshot creaked as it stretched, the blueberry pulled back to its maximum before he reached the top of the rock. He'd have a harder time searching for Sorrel, but he also had the element of surprise.

Archie's advantage might have won out if it hadn't been for the cheers of the crowd as he scaled the boulder. The fighters spotted each other at the same time.

Sorrel threw a seed while retreating to a tree. He was too slow. The blueberry hit his lower ribs with a crack, causing him to spiral to the ground. At the same time, Archie's footing kept him from dodging, allowing the seed to embed itself near his collarbone. It sprouted, two tendrils going down his back, two down his chest, and another that managed to latch behind his ear.

Both boys yelled in agony, but the crowd roared too loudly for anyone to hear them.

Panic cost Archie his footing, and he slid halfway down the boulder. He pulled one tendril of the plant off of his head, the thorns embedding into his palms instead. He gripped and yanked, his vision turning hot white as the plant refused to budge from his collar. The pain before was nothing to the one he faced now. Rather than only dealing with the agony of thorns, he had an entire seed sprouted in his skin.

He thought back to his training. If he brute forced the plant out of him, there was no telling if he'd even be able to stay conscious through the pain. No, he had to dispel it. He let his essence flow to the wound. He sensed roots that had wormed their way several inches into his body and focused his essence there. The energies collided and worked against each other, neither gaining ground.

Archie closed his eyes to concentrate. He visualized his energy dissolving the roots. He found each strand and counteracted the essence within. After a few seconds, the primary stem of the plant popped out rootless, leaving a bloody hole. From there, it was easier for Archie to thrust out the rest of the stems with sugarskin.

Anxious cheers swelled from the crowd.

Archie opened his eyes too late. Pain erupted from his oblique and spread with new thorny tendrils across his stomach and back.

The pain sparked a raging fire of fury.

Sorrel had come around the boulder, and that had been good enough to land one attack, but it would not be enough for two. Archie swatted the next seed away with the back of his sugar-crusted hand. Noodles formed around his other forearm and lashed out, catching Sorrel's arm and binding around it.

Sorrel yanked away, but Archie yanked harder. Sorrel threw another seed, but Archie dodged with ease. Sorrel conjured another seed, but Archie conjured another noodle that wrapped around Sorrel's free arm. A ring of pain squeezed Archie's midsection, but he fought through it. He had to end things before he bled out, and he would. He simultaneously ran forward while contracting the noodles to bring Sorrel in. Archie hardened his shin with sugar skin. He'd end it in one kick. The gap closed. Twenty feet. Ten. Five.

Sorrel spat a seed from his mouth. Archie couldn't dodge. He could only turn his head so that the seed would hit the corner of his jaw rather than his eye. He pushed all of his essence into his face, his noodles dissipating as his cheeks crystallized just in time to keep the thorns out. A tendril looped around the top of his head to form a crown of pain.

Archie turned and spun in a blind attempt to dodge whatever was coming next, but when he stabilized, he saw Sorrel in flight. Blinded by the blood that pooled in his eyebrow and seeped down, Archie shot an errant blueberry that whizzed past Sorrel. Archie shot and missed again as Sorrel used the cover of tall grass and trees to make his escape.

Danger lurked in every step. Archie had long lost track of the whereabouts of Sorrel's seeds, and so instead of retreating, he simply collapsed to the ground in the hopes of hiding himself. He expelled the needling thorns from his body and took stock of his situation. Blood stinged one eye and made him half-blind. What remained of his vision blurred when he turned his head. Holes riddled his left side from his scalp to his collar to his obliques to his ankle. Every bit of weight, every bit of wind, even every bit of thought that went to his side caused him to wince in agony. But that pain was a blessing, for without it, his consciousness threatened to untether itself from reality.

So this is what dying felt like.

Archie hadn't really considered it before. He imagined death as such an instant thing. Perhaps for some of his fellow fighters, it was. But Archie had been matched up against a slow killer. At least Sorrel had apologized before they started. Competitive Spirit had seemed like such a wonderful drink. A fight without consequence. It prevented death, but if only it prevented pain as well.

It prevented death.

So why was he trying so hard to survive? This wasn't a real fight. Once it ended, it never happened. That was the promise of Competitive Spirit. Archie didn't need to survive except for one second longer than Sorrel. He didn't need to stop his bleeding. He just needed to make Sorrel bleed faster. Archie could break every bone in his body, but as long as doing so put Sorrel down, he'd win. And the pain would be over.

Archie shot a noodle around a distant tree and sprinted toward the edge of the arena where he knew no seeds had landed. He leapt toward a crowd that cheered at the move, then contracted the noodle. He swung through the air with reckless abandon and managed to loop another noodle around the next tree. He managed to cover a third of the arena with just two extra kicks off the ground, picking up speed as he swung.

Sorrel's eyes widened in terror as he turned to his attacker. He threw a seed, but Archie didn't care. It wouldn't kill him, and he didn't plan on letting the fight last long enough for it to bleed him out. He didn't even plan on landing. If he did, he had so much speed that he'd skid straight into the stands. No, Archie had just one plan to break his fall.

Sorrel raised his arms to defend himself.

But he was too slow.

Archie's sugarskin shin shattered Sorrel's hand before arcing to his skull.

Archie's shin exploded in pain—and probably did actually explode. But the pain bothered him less than the sickening feeling of Sorrel's skull breaking and caving in.

Archie hit the ground and rolled. By the time he stopped, the pain was gone, but the feeling of killing someone remained. He could see with both eyes, and his clothing was no longer soaked with blood. Sorrel laid flat on the ground, his eyes wide and staring up at the sky. For a second, he seemed dead. But then he blinked.

They stared at each other. Shock closed Archie from the rest of the world. He couldn't see the crowd. He couldn't hear them roar. He struggled to reconcile the fact that no one was hurt with the pain he had felt earlier. It wasn't until Clover's amplified voice rang out that Archie snapped out his trance.

"...over! Archie flew through the air and ended it in a single kick! Let's hear it for our champion!"

The ground shook with the cheers and chants of fifty thousand people.

"Archie! Archie! Archie!" they chanted.

Archie's memory of pain became so distant that it might as well have happened to him when he was a child.

He jumped to his feet, raised his hands in the air, and smiled.

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