Epiphany/Part 3

Rayzok delivered a final blast of shadow energy to his opponent, knocking the warrior onto his back. The Makuta strode over to the warrior and pointed his opened palm as him, dark energy swirling in his hand.

“I concede!” his opponent shouted, his voice filled with fear. It was another sound victory for Makuta Rayzok.

Rayzok held his fists high and let the cheers resound from the audience around him. In this new society, in this strange new universe, the strong ruled by defeating other strong beings and winning the respect of the Vendora (small, Matoran-like beings) citizens of the city. Every match Rayzok had been in he had won, and won rather easily. He was moving up, and moving up fast.

Rayzok’s opponent ran out of the arena in shock and humiliation. He had not expected Rayzok to be as powerful as he was, and had not believed all the stories the other unseated rulers had told, labeling them as simply losing their touch. Now he knew. The newcomer was something else, and that had to be reported. Exiting the structure, he turned and headed straight for the city hall.

Rayzok, meanwhile, was simply basking in the glory of the cheering public. Even with all the avid followers e had gained from that match, however, he still knew some were not as enthusiastic as others. Over time, Rayzok noticed that followers of a particular ruler usually sat together, and one could pick them out rather easily. Right now, Rayzok had almost all the stands in his thrall, since they had all had their previous champions floored by him. There was one section, though, that Rayzok seemed unable to touch. They sat close to the edge of the arena, near the door. The only thing that their good seating arrangements could mean is that the one person Rayzok hadn’t defeated yet was extremely powerful.

“My followers,” he called to the stands.

“We hear and listen, Rayzok,” his followers responded, as was customary.

“I see that a few of your kinsmen do not cheer me as you do. Tell me, are they just plain dumb, or do they see another as greater than me?”

“They are followers of Horez,” one said.

“His followers are the most loyal and confident,” said another.

Rayzok stroked his chin. The name “Horez,” seemed familiar, but he could not place it. He was about to shout his next words, but decided that telepathy would get the point across more effectively. He broadcasted his next words straight into the minds of all those in the stands, saying, Tell me, Vendora. Is this Horez so great that he can challenge me? I have yet to face him in battle, so I am inclined to think that he is avoiding fighting me to save himself from losing what followers he has.

This brought laughs from Rayzok’s followers, and angry shouts from the others. Rayzok smiled at this outcome.

“Horez will flatten you, fat-head,” one Vendora called out. His boldness was rewarded from impressed gasps from several others in the stands.

“Horez does not fear you,” another added. “He fights on his own time. He’s earned the right to do that!”

Rayzok put his hand to his mouth in mock surprise. “Oh, dear me!” He sneered. “Whatever shall I do?” He returned to his normal stance, then thrust his arms in the air, conjuring a storm. As the winds began to howl, Rayzok called down lightning onto himself in an intimidating display of raw power. “Yap all ya want, Vendora,” he said. “I want some proof of your claims.”

“Proof you will get, ruffian,” said a deep voice in a menacing growl.

Rayzok turned to see a massive figure, standing eight feet tall and clad in red and black armor, wielding a massive spear that crackled with energy. Horez’s followers went wild, which gave his identity away.

“Prepare to taste my wrath,” Horez snarled.