The Speaker's staff struck stone.
The fight began.
Memnon didn't test her.
He charged.
The pit shook beneath his weight as he came for her in a frenzy of fists and fury, each blow meant to crush bone, to end it quickly — to remind the crowd that size still mattered.
If she could keep this up, Memnon would quickly tire, and she would easily win.
But where was the fun in that?
Zahra met him head-on.
No retreating. No yielding.
She moved faster than before — no longer conserving, no longer measuring. His fist clipped her shoulder, and pain tore through her, sharp and bright, but she did not slow. Another strike caught her ribs, driving the breath from her lungs.
Atem could see Tadal wince with every blow; he hated to see his daughter hurt.
The crowd roared.
Memnon charged again, pushing Zahra into a corner of the pit with a flurry of blows, eventually landing two of his most devastating punches.
He grinned.
A foolish mistake.
Now you're close enough.
She slammed her forehead into his jaw.
The impact rang through her skull, stars bursting behind her eyes — but Memnon staggered back with a howl, more shocked than hurt. She followed immediately, fists hammering into his torso, each blow driven by her legs, her spine, her core — strength unleashed without restraint.
From the throne, Atem's fingers curled against the armrest. This was no longer controlled violence.
This was war.
Memnon bellowed and swung wildly, clipping her cheek, splitting skin. She tasted blood and laughed — a raw, broken sound ripped from her chest — and launched herself forward again.
The eye of the storm.
They traded bone-wrenching blows until one fist turned into a cupped palm.
He caught her.
One massive hand closed around her throat and slammed her into the wall of the pit. Stone cracked beneath the force. Her vision blurred, pressure crushing her windpipe.
For a heartbeat, she faltered.
Tadal surged forward.
No—
Zahra drove her knee up into Memnon's groin.
His grip loosened just enough.
She twisted free, gasping, rage roaring through her veins now. Grief, fear, years of being told to be smaller, quieter, lesser — all of it igniting at once.
Don't. Hold. Back.
She moved before he could recover.
A brutal uppercut snapped his head back, followed by a spinning kick that sent him crashing into the wall hard enough to rattle the weapons mounted there. The crowd screamed as one.
The Pharaoh rubbed his jaw with his hand. "Your daughter has impressive strength."
Tadal's face was stern. It was clear he trusted her, though he couldn't help but notice him slightly chew his lip in worry. "Yes, she does, she always has." He folded his arms, never once taking his eyes off the pit. "As a young girl, she couldn't control it. Not realising how strong she was. Then I taught her how to fight and how to duel, as I did for you. It helped her to control her power. She's come so far since then..."
Memnon rose again.
Of course he did.
He craned his neck, and it released an inhuman click.
Bleeding now, breathing hard, eyes wild — a monster wounded but not slain. Something in him shifted as he turned his head back to the wall.
Back to the ceremonial axe displayed there.
With a feral grin, he tore the axe from the wall with a snarl, hefting it like it weighed nothing.
A shiver of fear – No, exhilaration shot through her.
She knew these weapons, although displayed, were real. And cared for.
Her head turned.
Two statues stood flanking the pit.
The growling monster swung his axe around his head, and she raised a casual hand to signal him to wait as she sauntered towards the statue.
She walked calmly to the statues and prised the twin sai from its grasp. Metal screamed against stone.
Memnon laughed.
Tadal knew that glint that suddenly shimmered in her eyes, a strange twinkle that always came before the violence.
"Don't hold back," she murmured.
More to herself than anyone else.
The lethal blade of the axe seemed to curve into a smile as he slowly stalked towards her.
Suddenly, he launched.
She moved like fire, ducking, weaving, cutting space to ribbons with fluid motion.
He swung wildly and hit nothing; the force knocked his balance.
Zahra kicked him further back, and with the weight of the axe, he stumbled to keep himself on his feet.
Something inside him snapped.
Pulling back, he launched the blade, and it whistled through the air.
Zahra dodged too late.
It tore across her side, ripping fabric and skin alike. Pain exploded through her body, hot, blinding — and she staggered, blood slicking her fingers as she pressed a hand to the wound.
There was a clattering as it hit the wall behind them.
The crowd gasped.
From the throne, Atem stood.
Tadal's hands shook.
Zahra straightened slowly. Blood ran freely now, soaking into the sand beneath her feet. Her breath came ragged, her limbs trembling, but her eyes burned brighter than ever.
She couldn't rely on brute force to bring him down.
She needed to be clever.
She needed distance.
Her eyes dropped to the sai in her hands – these weapons would only weigh her down.
She turned towards the throne and the sai, propelled through the air.
The Pharaoh didn't flinch as the blades flew past his throne and impaled the neck of the statue behind him.
Tadal rubbed his palm down his face.
Zahra nimbly flipped over her head.
One. Two.
Three times.
A trail of blood followed.
Her heel touched the cold stone of the outer edges. This was all the distance she could put between them.
It had to be enough.
Her timing had to be perfect.
She stepped forward deliberately, meeting Memnon's stare.
"Come on," she rasped. "Finish it."
He roared and charged again.
She didn't flee.
She ran towards him.
At the last possible second, she dropped low and slid beneath the arc of his fist, sand spraying into the air as she passed between his legs. She twisted, launched herself upward, and slammed into his back like a living weapon.
Her arm locked around his throat.
She pulled.
Everything she had left poured into that hold, legs braced, spine screaming, blood dripping down her side. Memnon thrashed violently, slamming himself backwards, trying to crush her against the ground.
She held.
Her vision darkened at the edges.
Muscles grew cold.
She held.
His strength faltered.
His movements slowed.
Complexion changing from grey to blue.
Finally, with a choking gasp, Memnon collapsed forward, face-first into the sand.
The impact echoed.
Silence followed.
Then the crowd exploded.
Atem leaned back, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
His pulse still thrummed.
He hadn't wanted a champion. A guard. A weapon.
But he agreed.
And now…
Now he suspected he had found something far more complicated.
And far more dangerous.