CHAPTER 44: ROLLING CLAWS STRIKE

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"I bet Three silver on Hollowback dropping in two minutes!" Tib shouted, waving a stubby ticket.

"Put a sock in it, Grel!" Talla whooped back, brandishing her own slip. "That baby Hollowback got more heart than you’ve got hair down there!"

They glared, then started trading mock kung-fu slaps, each missing by silly margins, earning laughter from those nearby.

Below, Zephyr’s vision pulsed crimson. The shared pain of Star’s wounds. Too slow ... need distance.

"Vertical! Up!" Zep command.

Star beat his wings, each flap a quiet cry, rising just enough to dodge the pangolin’s second burrow surge. Gouts of sand geysered beneath him, peppering spectators in the cheap seats.

From the judge’s mezzanine, Judge Varis leaned forward, pale eyes bright. "Good aerial read for a Rank-F," he murmured to Magistrate Rhun.

Judge Bragg snorted. "Aerial read? The tiny Hollowback is half crippled. The kid should’ve scratched."

Rhun stroked his quill beard, saying nothing yet. On the sand, Dorian laughed, arms wide in mock applause. "Feeder’s outclassed!"

Zephyr’s teeth ground together. "Fine. Time to show my trump card."

"Command Aura Tier 2 - ROAR OF COURAGE!" He yelled.

The sonic blast rode the forge vents like thunder. The arena walls thrummed. Star’s slitted eyes flared, golden iris brightening as adrenaline drowned the ache. He tucked, dove, and painted an ember S-curve through the smoky air, clipping the pangolin’s tail with searing heat.

The Gravelback hissed, curling reflexively into a granite ball of armored plates.

Zephyr’s mind flashed with the memory of the beast encyclopedia book he read. "Under the plates at the throat is softer than granite. Only chance."

"Rolling Claw Strike!" Zephyr gave the order. It was a claw move they came up when training in the forest.

Star folded his wings into a bullet profile, spinning. His claws met the exact seam Zephyr pictured. Sparks sprayed in a stunning blast, fissuring the pangolin’s throat plates.

Gasps rolled like a breaking tide through the stands. Even Tib and Talla froze in the middle of their mock kung-fu slaps, mouths wide open.

"Star, Use fire breath. Don’t hold back, give everything you got." Zephyr gave a new order.

Dorian tried to scream fresh orders, desperation cracking his earlier smugness. But It’s too late.

Star inhaled with a ragged, shallow breath and spat a focused tongue of fire straight into the glowing fissure. Heat blossomed internally; steam billowed from cracks. The Gravelback lurched, screeched and collapsed.

Bells clanged three times, final and absolute.

A full second of stunned silence ... then the arena detonated in cheers. Purple and gold confetti shot from rune vents along the railing, spiraling through heat currents.

Tib Grel performed a cartwheel that devolved into a tumbleweed of limbs. Talla Plumpett climbed her bench, stomp-danced in triumph, and accidentally booted Tib off the platform. The crowd howled harder at the slapstick than even the kill-blow replay flickering on projection runes overhead.

High above, the judges conferred. Magistrate Rhun scribbled Zephyr’s provisional battle score into a brass rimmed ledger that glowed faint red with enchantment:

Technical Precision: 6/10

Command Synergy: 7/10

Risk Assessment: 3/10

Spectacle Bonus: 2/5

Judge Varis handed Rhun a silver rune chip. "Account for differential. He is a F-rank defeating an E-rank in under five minutes. That’s something unique."

Judge Nola adjusted her spectacles. "But note the partner’s injury. Efficiency suffered: Spark Dash incomplete, altitude marginal."

Judge Bragg slammed a gauntlet fist onto the rail. "Reckless! This boy is Reckless. Dragging a wounded beast into ranked combat breaches every code of husbandry. Mark him down. Hard."

Rhun cleared his throat. "Discussion table."

They moved into a stone alcove draped with noise silencing sigils. Below, Zephyr hugged Star, steadying the drake’s trembling legs. Arena medics jogged over with stretchers, but Star waved them off, prideful to the end.

Dorian Slate, jaw hanging loose, watched in disbelief as his precious Gravelback was hauled away on a rune sled. His sponsor ripped up a betting slip in his face.

Inside the muted alcove, a floating quill captured every word on parchment:

Judge Varis: "Significant upset. Creative use of limited mobility. Award base 120 points, plus 30 for rank differential."

Judge Nola: "I concur on creativity. Subtract 15 for diminished flame output versus threat potential."

Judge Bragg: "I demand harsher. Inducting a 72-percent-condition partner is borderline cruelty. Strip 50 points and flag with negligence caution."

Varis: "That would bury the board score below journeyman thresholds. Over-punitive."

Bragg: "And calling him a hero is negligence toward every beast welfare statute!"

Nola: "Compromise. Weight Bragg’s caution as -25, attach a probation tag requiring next match with beast at 90-percent fitness minimum."

Varis: "Acceptable."

Rhun: "So the math: 120 + 30 − 15 − 25 = 110 out of 300.

Provisional board placement: bottom quartile of Rank-F, slot #1,247 out of 1,300 active."

Bragg (grumbling): "Still too generous."

Rhun: "Majority carries."

A red wax sigil stamped the parchment: UNANIMOUS / IRON-LAW FILED

Back on the pit rim, Zephyr ruffled Star’s crest. The drake grunted, fatigue settling like frost. A steward in red tabard approached with a small rune-tablet.

"Results certified. Report to Board Hall."

Zephyr nodded, heart thumping louder now than during combat. The Board Hall’s corridor smelled of hot ink and molten quartz. Enchanted slates realigned as scribes slotted new rune-tokens. One board flashed red, then rearranged lines of silver script:

Rank-F Ladder Updated-

New entry no: 1,247.

Name: Zephyr Valorian

Beast: Hollowback

Record: 1-0

Rank Differential Win: +1

Caution Flag: Probation

A hush fell among those gathered nearby. Whispers fluttered:

"That’s the kid who barbecued Slate!" onlooker one.

"Caution flag, though. Beat an E-rank with a wounded hatchling?" onlooker two.

"Gutsy or mad?" onlooker three.

At the edge of the crowd, Tib Grel now sporting a bent nose from Talla’s victory stomp elbowed. "See that? Told ya the baby Hollowback will pull it off!"

Talla whacked him with her rolled parchment. "He bets, he tumbles, I collect!" They began squabbling again, to the crowd’s delight.

Zephyr barely heard them. He stared at the glowing digits 1,247. Far from glory, but at least now he’s on the ranking board. Yesterday, his name didn’t exist on raking . Today it burned on iron slate.