Author's Notes:

Done reading this and Arcanum's fight? Decide who wins right here!

Pushing himself through the door and slamming it shut behind him, Rocky suddenly wished he hadn’t been so hasty to leave.

An empty, featureless room met his eyes, brutally spartan in its lack of… well, everything. It was nothing more than an enormous box with walls.

Whirling on his hindpaws, the griffon’s heart raced upon seeing no sign of the door he had shut behind himself not moments earlier. His heartbeat thumped loudly in his throat, dominating the deafening silence of the room. Second thoughts darted to and fro within his mind as his breath quickened, struggling to keep up with his climbing heart rate.

What have you gotten yourself into, Rocky?

A heavy clank echoed behind Rocky, eliciting a startled yelp from the maddened griffon. He turned quickly, arms upheld in an attempt to shield whatever made the noise.

What could best be described as an outline of a double-door had been etched into the wall. As it eased outward, Rocky flinched, his fists balling tightly and his entire body tensing reflexively. The griffon inched forward, a rock forming in the pit of his stomach as the room filled with blinding light from the newly-formed doorway. Rocky let out a slow, albeit violently shaky breath.

There was no turning back now.

Despite knowing nothing good would come of waiting in the empty room, the griffon was still unwilling to enter the door, for he knew what was in wait for him. Or, rather that he didn’t know. A fight to the death, but with whom? Or what? And would it be in an arena, or on a world far distant, away from any sort of civilized life?

After a few seconds of frantic processing about his situation, he willed himself to take a step forward.

And then another step.

And then another.

And another.

Step by excruciatingly slow step, Rocky forced himself forward, eventually passing the threshold of the door. He shut his eyes as he crouched low in the doorway. With his beak shut tightly with apprehension, Rocky leapt through the door frame, bracing himself for whatever lay on the other side.

What felt like cold marble met his footpaws, the smooth surface slightly rounded upwards. The air felt similar; cold with strong breezes whipping around the griffon’s upper body. Strangely, he heard nothing other than the wind buffeting his ears; nothing swaying or rustling in the breeze. In-between breezes, Rocky caught a whiff of rotting wood and stagnant water. The knot in his abdomen tightened; this definitely was not familiar. He slowly lowered his arms, opening his eyes simultaneously.

A forest of dead, rotting trees surrounded him, encased in what appeared to be strands of dried tree sap. The hardened amber ran down the blackened trunks in rivulets, pooling at the base of the trees in globular pillows. Rocky looked down, noting that he was standing on top of such a formation, hence the rounded surface he felt earlier. However, something underneath his footpaw caught his eye.

An outline of a creature was somewhat visible. The darkened sky was covered with an inclement-looking overcast, making it near-impossible to identify it. Although, as luck would have it, a lightning bolt crossing the sky gave Rocky all of the light he needed.

It was a pony.

The griffon gasped, stumbling backwards.

In the fading light of the lightning, the half-lidded expression of near-death was clear as day on the poor creature’s face, the eyes glazed over in eternal sleep. Its features were perfectly preserved by the amber, making it easy to notice the numerous cuts and bruises that criss-crossed its body. What was also peculiar was that it lacked a cutie mark entirely.

In an attempt to calm himself, Rocky began to take deeper breaths, hoping it would soothe his frayed nerves. His heartbeat slowed as he continued to inhale deeply; exhale after shaky exhale, he eventually calmed himself to a point where cold logic could take over and just begin to rationalize his situation.

His eyes scanned his surroundings, noticing the hardened strings of dried sap suspended between the branches of the decaying trees. Combined with the inconsistent wind speed and direction, as well as flashes of lightning, he deduced that flight was better avoided.

Recalling the entrapped body that lay beneath him, Rocky knew that the amber was not always hard and unmoving and would definitely be a hazard worth his attention. He tucked his wings tightly against his back; there would be no flying today, unless becoming a griffon-sized hard candy was really that desirable of an outcome.

A disembodied voice pierced the tame howling of the wind, causing Rocky to jump.

“Welcome, friends, to round one.”

Rocky whirled about, searching for the source.

“By now you’re probably wondering where your opponents are. Well, look around!”

Hit by a wave of paranoia, the griffon’s ears perked up, his eyes roving the clearing in which he stood.

The voice continued, unmoved by Rocky’s actions.

“Somewhere within the Arena, your obstacle to victory is thinking the same thing. So keep on your guard!”

The voice lowered dangerously, sending a shiver up Rocky’s spine.

“You never know where they might be or what they might be capable of.”

“Wh-where are you?! Who are you?!” The griffon cried, still searching for the speaker.

“Oh, by the way, once one of you has proven to be a clear victor, the exit will appear at the center of the battlefield. Good luck finding it! Ta!”

“Wait! Wait…”

Rocky trailed off, discouraged. Whomever had spoken to him would surely not be within visible range, especially since it hadn’t acknowledged any of his replies. Maybe they weren’t even in the same plane of reality, which seemed like a more plausible option factoring in his current situation.

Before any more thought could be applied to said situation, a violent gale suddenly surged forward, colliding with Rocky like an invisible hammer. The griffon was tossed into a nearby tree, crying out as a hot poker stabbed into his left hip. The wind, however, refused to let up, pinning Rocky to the tree trunk.

Squinting in the face of the powerful gusts, the griffon slowly rolled off of the tree, something snapping off of the trunk as he did so. Rolling to his claws and knees, he scrambled behind the trunk, burying himself between two roots in an effort to take shelter from the unnaturally strong weather.

He took this chance to check the throbbing pain that seemed to be burning a hole in his hip, arching his back so he could inspect the damage. A small splinter of amber poked out from the bloody flesh, soaked in a similar fashion to the reddened fur that surrounded it. With a pained grunt, Rocky gripped the end of the shaft, ripping the amber free from his hip. He gripped it tightly in his claw, squinting in pain as he watched the blood drip from the shard’s tip.

His emotions flared, despair creeping into his bones. His grip tightened on the bloody crystal, his claws etching shallow cuts into its surface. Here he was, wounded and undeniably doomed to fight for survival in a forest that prevented flight, plagued with diseased growth and violent hurricane-force gales. Doomed to die like that pony encased in amber.

For now, all he could do was wait.

Once Rocky felt that he could stay upright without being blown backwards, he forced himself upright, using the tree as support. The wind had died down significantly, restored to their previous, non-hazardous magnitude, allowing Rocky to step out from behind the tree trunk. He noted that he now walked with a slight limp, as well as a decent-sized patch of blood marking his injury on his fur. He drew in a breath through a gritted beak before urging himself forward.

He wandered the forest, staying close to the trees while attempting to anticipate the next barrage of gusts. He was mostly successful in finding the signs that indicated an incoming “wind-storm,” as he now called them. The wind would start blowing in a single direction for several seconds, gradually building in force. And then, all of a sudden, the flesh-rending gale would rip through the petrified forest, forcing Rocky behind one of the dead trees that populated the immediate area. Although this method wasn’t one-hundred percent efficient in predicting these wind-storms, it was damn-near close to perfect, which was good enough for the griffon.

As he continued to meander the deadened wood, the forest began to become more lively, although Rocky wasn’t sure if “lively” fit the description.

The trees were alive, but they looked anything but healthy. Amber sap poured out from numerous cracks in the bark of the trees, piling up at the roots and running down the branches. More sap was strung between the higher branches of the trees, creating a massive web of sticky ichor between the browned leaves.

What caught his attention was the excessive amount of said sap there was on the ground. Enormous streams of sap inched along like lava flows, creating small islands of the limited, relatively spongy mud and grass; the only areas untouched by the sap.

The griffon clicked his tongue in annoyance as he tossed the bloodied shard up and down. He couldn’t go high because of the sap above him, and he couldn’t keep low because of syrupy streams splitting the safer high ground into sections of numerous sizes and proportions. Not to mention the winds were smattering sap into the air. Several globs of ichor had already hit him on his lower back and shoulders, which smelled like a mixture of sickly sweetness and bitter tree rot.

Another thunderbolt drew his attention upwards, eliciting a scowl from Rocky. The sooner he found his quarry, the sooner he could leave such a miserable place.

Again, he found himself doubting whether or not he could really bring himself to kill someone else. It was never something he had done before; no sport or life-lesson learned from his experiences really explained the rationale behind it. As little as he cared for the well-being of others, the killing aspect of this “tournament” seemed… unnecessarily brutal, and old-fashioned.

Hours passed. The process of finding a safe path through the mire was all that Rocky’s beleaguered mind could handle; only the simplest of thoughts would echo behind his eyes. Step on the root. Duck under the sap. Jump the gap. Skirt the stream. Jump the gap, again. Brace for the wind.

He ducked behind a tree, careful not to press himself against the amber trails that encompassed its trunk. Rocky winced as a hair-thin string of sap slapped him on his cheek, the cold ichor dribbling down his face. Resisting the urge to wipe it away, he continued onwards, plodding across the spongy ground. Doubt returned to his mind, whittling away at his confidence in himself. The age-old question of just what had he gotten himself into rang out repeatedly in his mind, giving the griffon a slight headache. He wondered if he would ever find his opponent and leave this sticky nightmare, and what his opponent was thinking.

Sunken within his own thought, Rocky nearly bumped into a pony as he rounded a tree. The inevitable followed.

“AAAAGH!”

“SQUAWK!”

The two scrambled backwards, both reeling in fear and surprise. Rocky brought his arms up, bringing the crystal shard to bear and bracing himself as he peered between his forearms. In the limited light, he could barely make out his aggressor.

It was definitely a pony. The four legs, large, expressive eyes and average-length snout confirmed this; its long eyelashes indicated that it was a female. Unlike the deceased compatriot that Rocky had found earlier, this one sported a horn. Her coat was a blackened brown, contrasting the almost spectre-like grey of her irises. Her mane was matted and disheveled, numerous sticks and leaves poking out of it like a wavy pincushion on top of her head. Her tail was identical, sporting forest debris jutting out at a number of angles. She stared back at him, eyes wide and ears flattened with raw fear.

The feathers on the back of Rocky’s neck ruffled in anxiety as he brought his arms down slightly, taking a loose guarding stance towards the pony. Although he had his doubts about the possibility, he was still tentative to deny the fact that she could be his “enemy.”

“G-get back!” Rocky stammered, unsure of what else to say.

The pony obliged, although she didn’t go far. The griffon’s brows rose slightly as she pressed herself against the tree, not even flinching as she made contact with the sap. She made no noise, save for her frantic panting.

“Well?!” the griffon spread his arms expectantly. “C’mon! What’re you gonna do?!”

In response, the pony began to scream as she struggled to push herself further into the tree trunk.

Rocky tried to speak out, but the pony’s piercing cry prompted him to clap his claws back over his ears. Through his squinted eyelids, he noticed a large glob of sap sliding down the trunk at a fairly rapid pace—straight for the mare. He barely had time to attempt a warning before the pony screamed again, although the cry was quickly muffled by the sap as it continued its journey down the trunk.

The griffon slowly backed away as he watched the pony continue to scream, her eyes never leaving his. A small bubble began to form as she expelled the last of her breath before disappearing instantly as she drew in a new one. The mare convulsed as the sap entered her nose and mouth, struggling to take a breath.

Rocky was rooted to the spot, unable to look away from the grim spectacle. The mare struggled underneath the liquid cement, her movements slow but sudden. Her head jerked back a few times as the convulsions became worse, her body’s desperation to seek air becoming much more apparent. It was only after the last signs of life left the pony that he could bring a claw to his beak, nausea riddling his abdomen. He turned away, unwilling to watch the mare sink down further under the pillowy amber.

What have I gotten myself into?

He stood quietly for a few minutes, shaky breaths from his beak pushing and pulling his foreclaw. A thought shot across his mind about what the mysterious voice had said earlier.

“Once one of you has proven to be a clear victor, the exit will appear at the center of the battlefield.

Rocky glanced around, his ears perked up in hopes of finding the exit to this miserable place. It felt like a hollow victory; he had done nothing to achieve it. It was only the dangers that this place presented that had given him the right to continue forward; to live.

It felt wrong.

The griffon shook off the uneasiness. He was going to live, and that should be his only concern. The round was over, and—!

Rocky stopped dead in his tracks. Not that he wanted to. The griffon struggled to bring his hind leg forward in a normal walking motion, but nothing seemed to work. Finally, Rocky looked down, wondering if he had stepped in sap.

Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. Unfortunately, it was a gold magic aura that prevented him from moving.

Panic seeped into Rocky; first making his heart race, and then scrambling his thoughts as he searched frantically for the source of the movement-impairment.

“Hey! Let me go!” the griffon cried, although he knew whomever was casting the spell would probably ignore his demand.

“Resign from the tournament.”

Rocky struggled to turn around, arching his neck so he could look behind him.

His opponent, swathed in a traveling cloak, stood about ten feet behind the gryphon. It was a pony, judging by the four legs and long-haired tail, although its face was hidden within the shadow cast by the hood. A horn, the same shade of a pale cobalt as the hooves poking out from underneath the cloak, jutted out from under the hood, enveloped in the same gold aura as Rocky’s legs.

“And why should I do that?” Rocky ventured, although he believed he already knew the answer to that.

“Or I will tear you to pieces,” came the reply, the voice cold and monotone.

There was a pause as Rocky dug through his thoughts for an answer, taking the serious tone, as well as the lack of hesitation of his opponent’s voice into consideration. His survival instincts blared warnings all over the place and pushed him to resign, but his cold calculation reeled him back, urging him to think. Haven’t I already won? That pony earlier…

The griffon pushed the pony’s muffled screams out of his thoughts; he guessed that the pony that had perished earlier was not his opponent, as there had been no sign or signal that he had won before.

This was the real deal.

He returned to the question that he had arrived at initially.

Do I give up?

The griffon recalled why he was here. A single wish that he would do anything to bring to life.

Even die for?

With that conclusion, Rocky’s reply was obvious

Slowly, the griffon turned to face forward once more. “I… I…”

The unicorn behind him cocked its head as the griffon’s body tensed up.

“I REFUSE!”

Rocky pivoted on his hips, extending his left arm while simultaneously releasing the crystal shard he had been holding. The bloodied splinter flew true—straight into the center of the unicorn’s hood. To his surprise, the horn and hooves vanished, and the traveler’s cloak floated silently to the ground. However, the grip on his legs also deteriorated, allowing him to break free of the restriction.

The griffon darted off to the edge of the clearing, his legs pumping furiously to get him as far away from that place as possible. If his opponent was a unicorn, there was no telling as to what he would do to him. If this unicorn was capable of such an advanced illusion, it was obviously someone not to be trifled with; someone adept in magical skills and abilities. However, nothing could happen if Rocky was out of eyesight. Even if the unicorn was capable of moving all of the trees and rocks out of the way, no unicorn, save for an alicorn, could even stand after such a feat. The griffon glanced at the sky, knowing that he could fly faster than he could run. The sight of the sap interrupting a clear view of the uninterrupted cloudcover was all that kept him from doing so. No, there would be no flying unless he was going to resign.

And so Rocky sprinted onward, careful to avoid the tree sap crossing his path in strings, streams and lava-like flows. After a few minutes, he slowed to a stop next to one of the trees, breathing heavily. He glanced back, his piercing gaze searching for any signs of a pursuer. Save for the constant breezes gently whispering in his ears, the forest was silent.

He readied himself to move, taking a few deep breaths to get oxygen to his burning muscles. Just as he began to run, the cold voice returned.

“So, you choose death, then?”

The griffon’s legs were frozen in place again. Rocky snarled as he struggled in place.

“Say you resign, and this can stop.”

“Urgh!” The griffon writhed madly in the magical grip.

“I… I don’t want to kill you. But if you say nothing, you’re going to leave me no choice.”

Rocky stopped struggling, glancing around in hopes of finding the caster. “Rraaagh! This…! You’re—! This isn’t fair!” he snarled, resuming his struggle.

“Fair? Fair?! You want me to be fair?!” a voice retorted behind him, its tone just as frustrated.

“If I’m fighting for my life, of course I want it—!” A bolt of magic slammed into the back of Rocky’s neck, forcing his head to whip forward and sending a lance of red-hot pain down his spine, eliciting a feral roar to tear through his throat.. As he went limp, the magical grip on his legs dissipated simultaneously, allowing him to fall to his foreclaws and knees. He coughed and spat, tasting copper as he did so.

“All my life, I’ve dealt with the unfairness to such a magnitude that you could never possibly know, youngling!” the voice continued. Rocky was too dazed to move, opting to stare intently at the blood trickling from the holes on the top of his beak. What felt like flames began licking between his shoulder blades, the air thrumming with magic energy.

“Now… Since you leave me with no other alternative, I think I’ll—!”

Rocky whirled about, swinging his left arm in a wild attempt to reach back towards the unicorn. He succeeded in startling his opponent, whose magic flickered, unable to simultaneously restrain Rocky as well as charge another bolt of magic. Freed from the ethereal grip, the gryphon stumbled backwards, but managed to remain upright. His vision still filled with stars from the first magic bolt, Rocky shook himself, attempting to restore clarity. Still blinking furiously, he charged at the unicorn, who had leveled its horn at the griffon. As luck would have it, Rocky tripped on a gnarled tree root, landing beak-first in the spongy grass. Fire erupted on his left wing as the second magic bolt grazed it, forcing Rocky to arch his back in anguish.

Frustration and anger gripped the griffon as he struggled to stand, peering between the feathers that fell across his eyes as he searched for the unicorn. The equine was standing a couple feet away, still charging another bolt of magic. Grabbing a clawful of mud and grass as he stood, Rocky flung it at the unicorn, who responded by shooting the projectile out of the air with magic.

Realizing that the equine had wasted its shot on the mud, the griffon charged, hoping that it didn’t have anything else up its sleeve. His gamble paid off—just not in the way he imagined.

As he made contact with the creature, it disappeared, sending him slamming back into the soft dirt again. Rocky scrambled upright, his head on a swivel. The griffon’s head snapped to the left as a bolt struck it. Rocky cupped a hand to his right ear as he stumbled forward, struggling to stay upright. He gazed about, hoping to catch a glimpse of the voice’s owner. Two more bolts slammed into Rocky’s back, bringing him to his knees. A third impacted on his side. Something snapped, joining the primary pain surge of the magical blast.

A hoof stomped on Rocky’s back, forcing him to lie flat. The griffon cried out in anguish.

There was a pause as the hoof lifted off. Through half-lidded eyes, Rocky noted the surrounding area was glowing gold; another bolt of magic. Easing himself onto his good side, the griffon finally got a clear glimpse of his opponent.

The unicorn’s eyes were the first thing Rocky saw. Piercing gold, the same gold as the magic aura that illuminated the clearing, stared straight through the griffon. Well, one of them did. A trio of scars were visible on the left side of the face, one of them crossing through the equine’s eye, which was greyed out. His left eye was slightly squinted, glaring hatefully at the bloodied griffon.

Rocky’s attacker bore a paler, much lighter shade of indigo on his coat, his mane neatly parted in the middle, but bearing signs of age: Numerous hairs were beginning to grey, creating streams of silver separating the sea of brown into random sections. His only facial hair was a long soul patch, which curled backwards down its length and shared the gradation into a silvery grey that his mane did.

“I believe you have the right to know my name before you die today, griffon,” the unicorn spoke. Rocky remained silent, struggling to stay conscious. “And I will grant you the courtesy of me knowing yours.”

The tame breezes increased in intensity, now blowing in a single direction: straight against Rocky’s face. “My… My name is Rocky,” the griffon croaked, his bruised and cracked ribs making simple talk difficult.

“Rocky… Rocky, my name is Arcanum; die well.”

The unicorn’s horn brightened further, making Rocky squint.

Suddenly, the wind picked up, roaring and ripping around the clearing. The griffon took his chance, opening up his wings to their full span. Pain shot up his damaged wing as the wind strained his muscles, threatening to break the cracked bones within.

The unicorn howled in anger, firing off the massive bolt of magic he had been charging after the griffon. Rocky clenched his eyes shut as he spun helplessly in the wind, hoping it would miss. The wind tearing around him was the only noise he could hear as he was carried higher and higher, spinning him at dizzying speeds.

After a few more terrifying seconds, the griffon could feel himself falling again. He opened his eyes, noting the reduced strength of the wind. Rocky’s eyes widened slightly as the treeline raced upwards to meet him. Instinctively, he struggled to flap his crippled wings in a vain effort to pull up.

Instead of being met with disease-ridden trees and sticky sap, Rocky slammed against a thick strand of hardened amber, which shattered under his weight. He bounced off of a crystalline tree trunk once before landing on an incline of hardened sap, rolling down before his foreclaw stopped his progress. The griffon’s consciousness fading, the overcast skies were the last thing his vision could register before fading completely.

The first thing to return was the Rocky’s hearing. The gentle buffeting of wind against his eardrums told him he was awake. He opened his eyes slowly, his left having trouble due to what felt like swelling. His body ached something awful, but for now, he was only happy to be alive. The griffon struggled to sit up—before a hoof pressed him firmly onto his back.

Rocky’s eyes shot open, his head jerking about in an effort to find the one responsible. Arcanum stood above him, hair now a tousled mess from the wind. He panted heavily from having used a good amount of magic earlier, although not all of his magic was depleted. A crystal spike rested in a faint gold aura, only raising slightly before driving down towards the griffon’s face.

Time slowed as Rocky remembered his goal.

To never be forgotten; forever immortalized in history by—!

No.

I want to live.

I JUST WANT TO LIVE.

In an instant, Rocky shielded his face with his foreclaw, screeching in pain as it drove deep into muscle and bone. The end of the spike burst through his arm, millimeters from his face. With a feral roar, the griffon rolled over, extending his good arm towards the unicorn. Digging his claws deep into whatever he could grab, he yanked it towards him, ignoring the hot liquid that trickled down his arm. He opened his beak, clamping down on his catch and whipping his head from side-to-side.

I WANT TO LIVE!

He whipped his head back, spitting out whatever came off and repeated.

I WANT TO LIVE!

Again. He came away with bits of something hard, this time.

I’M GOING TO LIVE!

Again. Arcanum jerked a few times before lying still.

I JUST WANT TO… To…

Rocky forced himself to his knees. He gagged, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground in front of him.

Lightning illuminated the body, its reflection dancing in the blood pooling next to the jagged hole in Arcanum’s neck. Rocky tried to wipe the blood from his beak, although he only succeeded in smearing it. The griffon struggled to his footpaws, his one good foreclaw still trembling. He gagged again, shaking his head in a vain attempt to dispel the intense nausea. He turned away from the body, feeling his nerves fraying at the sight of the corpse.

Correction: The pony he had killed.

The fading adrenaline revealed waves of immense discomfort radiating from his other arm, which still contained the crystal spike embedded within it. Mind numbed from the ordeal, all could do was put a hand over the entry wound, although he made no attempt to remove the spike. Everything hurt; all he could think about was leaving this miserable place.

As if on cue, a door appeared, behind Arcanum’s mangled body. It opened, spilling blinding light into the area.

In disbelief, Rocky slowly advanced towards the doorway, not even bothering to shield his eyes from the light. He squinted, ignoring the silhouette of Arcanum’s corpse and moving to the door.

Before crossing the threshold, the griffon took a last look at the unicorn behind him.

Wordlessly, he stepped through the door, turning to face forward before being enveloped by the light.