The Trial for Ellie

The crowd was confused.
Whispers and murmurs spread like ripples through the air.

Ellie stood frozen, not yet grasping what had just happened.

Tyrone glared at Reginald, his tail flicking in irritation.
“Coward,” he growled, fist tightening until his claws scraped against his palm.

“You can’t let this happen, Your Honor!” Miki’s voice cut through the rising noise.
But Ash stood silent — eyes half-lidded, as if weighing the moment.

After a pause, his voice came — calm, steady, commanding.
“Marshall. Escort Miss Ellie to the court.”

Two Iron Marshals stepped forward, their armor clanking in unison as they escorted the bewildered girl before the tribunal.

“Miss Ellie,” Ash began, his tone even as ever, “do you understand the situation right now?”
Ellie shook her head.

“Reginald Kerrick,” he continued, “has invoked trial by combat — an ancient clause under the Great Covenant. By invoking it, he has already pleaded guilty to all charges. He will be sentenced to death.”
He paused.
“However, he has the right to challenge anyone directly involved in his crimes — which includes you, as one of the victims of attempted abduction.”

The crowd gasped softly. Ellie’s eyes widened.

“If he wins the duel,” Ash continued, “the Law permits a lighter sentence. But if he loses…”
He let the silence hang for a heartbeat.
“…he will face the harshest punishment allowed by the Great Covenant.”

Ash lowered his gaze slightly. “Do you understand, Ellie?”
She hesitated, then nodded weakly.

“You have the right to decline this challenge,” he said.
“What say you?”

No answer. Ellie’s lips parted, but no sound came. She stood deep in thought, her heart pounding in confusion and fear.

“You have no obligation to accept,” Miki urged softly, stepping forward.
“He will still be judged even if you don’t accept.”

“Matsuda.”
Ash’s sharp tone and glacial stare cut her off instantly. Miki stepped back, silent.

Then, softly — but clearly — Ellie spoke.
“I accept.”

The entire square went still.

“Whoa there—” Tyrone muttered, his ears twitching. “You sure about that, little missy?”
“Yes.” Her voice was small, but firm.

Ash nodded once. “Very well.”

Tyrone straightened, his voice booming.
“The challenge has been accepted!”

The crowd erupted in gasps and shouts.

“Ellie! What are you doing!?” the Village Chief cried, panic lacing his voice.
“Ellie! Back down!” others shouted. The noise swelled into a storm of disbelief.

Ash raised his hand.
“Order.”

The word rolled through the air like thunder. The noise died instantly.

“The court will now determine the rules of engagement.”

All eyes turned to him, the green glow of the Marshals reflecting in their wide, fearful pupils.

“Reginald Kerrick,” Ash declared, “to be declared the victor, you must force Miss Ellie to surrender, or render her unable to continue fighting.”
“Miss Ellie,” he continued, turning his gaze toward her, “to be declared the victor, you must strike Mr. Kerrick’s body five times — or make him surrender, or render him unable to fight.”

“A barrier will be set by the Marshals — to protect the witnesses and prevent interference.”

Eight Iron Marshals moved in formation, forming a wide rectangular perimeter forming the dueling ground. Their armored boots struck the earth in perfect rhythm — a sound like the beating of war drums.

“Do both parties agree to the terms?” Ash asked.

“I agree,” Reginald said with a smirk, arrogance in every syllable.
Ellie gave a single, determined nod.

Ash gestured to the center.
“Step forward.”

“Tyrone,” he said, “you will officiate.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”

Tyrone bowed, his striped mane rustling as he followed them into the ring.

The Iron Marshals raised their hands, their palms glowing faintly green.
A dome of translucent light expanded outward, sealing the three within.
The sounds of the world faded — leaving only the soft hum of magic and the steady breaths of those inside.

“Ellie,” Tyrone said, his voice softer now, “your weapon of choice?”
“A spear,” she answered without hesitation.

Tyrone blinked — surprised by her composure.
He opened his glowing book. Golden light poured from its pages, and before Ellie, a shining shape began to take form.

When the light faded, a spear stood upright in the soil, its blade gleaming as it pierced the ground.

“Take the spear,” Tyrone instructed. “And say — [EQUIP].”

Ellie grasped the shaft, her hands trembling — but only slightly.
“EQUIP!”

A surge of golden light erupted around her, wrapping her like ribbons of flame.
When it faded, her simple clothes had transformed into light armor — silver and white, trimmed with gold. The crowd murmured in awe.

“Tch.” Reginald clicked his tongue, not out of fear, but irritation.

Tyrone turned to him. “Your weapon of choice?”

“I’ve already got mine.”
He smirked. “[EQUIP].”

A pulse of dark violet energy exploded from his body. The light thickened, growing, expanding — until it swallowed the ring in shadow.

FWOOOM!

When it cleared, a towering figure stood where Reginald had been — clad in massive, spiked armor glowing with purple veins of magic.
Ten feet tall, double-bladed war axes in both hands, his presence radiated intimidation and hatred.

He looked down at Ellie — the farmer girl turned challenger — and laughed.

“FWA HA HA HA HA HA!”
“You’re finished, little girl!” he roared, his laughter echoing against the barrier.