by T. C. Edge
Shadow was programmed as such, his supreme senses allowing for a swift study of Kira's fighting patterns. Yet she was the same, and had the added bonus of deception in her locker. Shadow's conditioning didn't allow for such a thing. He couldn't lure in an enemy as Kira could, displaying a style that she knew would be countered in a certain way by a man like him, giving her the opportunity to take advantage of the ruse.
She was using her knowledge of the Stalkers against her foe, aware of their considerable powers but also their rare limitations. Shadow, like all Stalkers, was both strengthened and hindered by his programming. He was a vessel of utter destruction. And yet, he didn't have the nouse to play tricks as a normal person could.
Kira could. She lived off stealth and trickery. She could make him think she was going one way, or adopting a certain style, and then quickly switch to another to confuse and confound him. She employed such gifts to their full potential. Through need and desperation she called upon all she had.
And it just about kept her alive.
But such was Shadow's speed, and so keen were his eyes, that he could spot threats coming before they launched. He could attack, subverting Kira's attempts to deceive him, with such velocity that she had no choice but to withdraw. She was close to matching him there, her pace taking her to new limits as she moved so often beyond his grasp, attacking if ever she lured him into a more favourable body position for her to strike.
The fight went on far longer than Shadow's others, yet his engine would take a while to deplete. His kind were blessed with an enhanced ability to function at full volume far longer than a regular human. He could sprint at full pace for a half hour before tiring. He could stay awake for days on end without requiring sleep. He could fight for hours at this level, his intensity taking a long time to diminish where other fighters would soon tire themselves out.
Kira was fit, yet not to the same degree. A long fight would usually suit her, but not against this foe. At the pace at which they were fighting, she'd be run into the ground before long. All it would take for Shadow to strike through her defence would be a small decline in performance. A little trip here, or a slightly delayed parry there, and he'd be through the gate and cutting her down.
She scanned for answers in her mind, knowing she needed to find a way to win, and fast. She glanced about the sand, as if hoping for something she could use, but had to keep her eyes on Shadow as he marched on, relentless. He was an unstoppable force, chasing her around now as she sought more space between them to catch her breath. His eyes missed nothing, following her as she retreated, zeroing right in for the next assault.
And then Kira had a thought, a simple trick the Stalker wouldn't think to use. It was almost too obvious, and not in the spirit of a fair fight. But this wasn't fair. Nothing had been fair since she came here.
She drew Shadow in, fixing her foot to the ground and carefully pushing up a little mound of sand. The motion of her hands drew his sight as he stepped forward, lifting her scimitars aloft and calling for the support of the crowd. They roared out, louder and louder, though Shadow wasn't to be distracted. He cared not for their support. He worshipped only the need to destroy.
Yet, his eyes did lift to Kira's raised swords, and his ears did fill with the sudden din. Both might otherwise have caught Kira's foot, building a little heap of sand upon the earth. And as he pressed forward, gaining in pace, Kira took her chance, kicking out violently upon the mound and sending a cloud of dust right into his face.
His instincts were quick enough to avoid the full flow, his eyelids trapping shut immediately before the assault of a million grains could reach him. Yet it was all Kira required to step forward, just a split second before Shadow's lids snapped open and his vision returned.
When they did, she was there. And her blades were with her.
Through her own instinct to survive, Kira struck with all she had. She didn't expect a death blow, or anything too debilitating. She expected, and hoped, only to draw blood, to show the crowd that this man bled red just like everyone else. That he was, in fact, a human and not an android.
That he could, and would, be killed.
And in that task, Kira succeeded. Her trick had paid off, and she'd bought herself just enough time to cut across Shadow's sword arm where his armour was weak. She cut deeper than she'd expected, feeling the blade pass skin and an inch of flesh, and scrape against the white bone hidden beneath.
The attack drew blood, splashing out of him at first, then drooling down his skin and over his armour. His eyes didn't change or show pain or fear. Nor, at first, did his strategy. He came again, as though nothing had happened, swinging once more as Kira went back on the defence.
But something was different. The first two swipes came at pace, but those that followed were weakened. His sword arm had been partially disabled, its mobility impaired. He analysed the damage and quickly swapped arms, passing the sword over to his spare on the left.
Kira knew the Stalkers were proficient with both arms, all of them ambidextrous. Yet, with all the training he'd been doing, favouring only one arm, his focus and practice had been limited to his right. His left had been ignored, Rufus not once suggesting to him that he train his spare.
It was a final gift to Kira. Rufus might just have saved her life again.
Shadow came once more, a little more urgency filling his blows. The difference with his left arm was immediately obvious, his accuracy diminished, and his speed taken down half a notch. It would be no problem against most fighters, but in a contest this even, it was a great boon to the green-eyed girl.
Now those eyes were widening, sniffing the scent of victory. They seemed to light up brighter, and her mind filled with thoughts of her parents. She struck at Shadow, imagining him as the one who took her mother and father from her, who set her on the long road to vengeance. She may never get to go home, and this might be her only chance to seek revenge on those who wronged her.
For her parents. For all the friends she'd seen killed over the years. For the countless souls subjugated and reconditioned. For all of them, this was her time. If her life was to end here in Neorome, she'd take this man to the darkness with her.
And imbued by her desperation, impassioned by thoughts of her war, she struck out at the Stalker with everything she had. Her scimitars flashed under the afternoon sun, and she began to manipulate Shadow around, moving him into position as his weaker arm failed to properly defend.
The crowd were delirious, Kira's most fervent fans making up for the absent masses by lifting their voices twice as loud. They roared with everything they had, setting a fire in Kira's gut as she flew into a controlled rage, a frenzied and overwhelming barrage of ruthless attacks slicing at Shadow from all angles.
He had no reply, her questions coming relentlessly and too difficult for him to answer. Bit by bit, she wore him down and pressed him back, just as he had so quickly during their fight in the yard. She caught him with another deep slice as she dropped low and cut at his leg. Then another went right for his midsection, missed by his defence and slicing into his abdomen.
She pulled the blade and drew a spurt of blood. Shadow's eyes still hadn't changed.
She cut again, slashing at the weakened man. He lifted his sword high and deflected the blow, but didn't see the second blade coming. It cleaved into the side of his neck, hacking deep.
It was the blow that ended the contest.
She ripped the curved sword from his flesh, and took several steps back. Blood was issuing now from multiple wounds. Like the final grains of sand slipping through an hourglass, his time on this earth was limited to minutes. Kira didn't need to do anything more. She had beaten him.
Against all expectation, she'd won her own war.
And she stood there, her chest heaving, bloodied weapons hanging to her sides, and looked at Shadow as his life gave out. He tried to come forward once more, to swing with what remaining energy he had, but had been reduced to a pitiful wreck.
And pitiful he was.<
br />
Kira looked at him and felt her hate drain away. He was a slave, seduced and controlled by a tyrant, just as the Imperial Guards were here. He had never made a choice in his life, never been free.
Until now.
And for the first time, Kira did see his eyes change. At the moment of death, his mind re-awoke, as if his entire life had been a nightmare he was only just escaping. It was the cruelest thing of all, for these dark souls to be shown the light at the moment of their end.
So she looked upon him, and saw the ice thaw in his eyes, turning to a shallow blue. A smile drew up on his cold, pale lips.
And with that, the Shadow was gone.
115
Dom watched from above, drained of emotional energy, as Kira completed the contest and defeated her foe. He'd watched her too often now to be good for his health, his heart unable to meet the demands of his fear and worry. With each passing bout, his caring for her had grown exponentially. Now, he was all but ready to leap from the gallery should she lose. To end his life on his own terms, and go with her to the next place.
That she didn't was a miracle, but something in Dom wasn't surprised. She was an anomaly, leaping hurdles thought impossibly high, raising her game with each fight to overcome those who stood before her. Were Tomahawk not to have been disabled by Lucius, Dom now believed she might well have won. Now, only Jaeger remained. Once thought an impossible challenge, Dom now had hope.
As Kira won her fight, and moved straight for the gate before Pontius could announce her the winner, Dom's instincts told him to run down there to greet her. He worked immediately to his feet and turned, only to find Ares blocking his path.
"Prince Domitian. It's time to go to the palace."
Dom turned and looked to the sand. Kira was at the gate, opened by a group of soldiers. He could make out the chains in one of their hands, ready to be fastened to wrists and ankles.
"And Kira?" asked Dom, turning back.
"She's to come too," said Ares. "Her victory was a surprise. She has remarkable spirit."
Dom was led off, the members of the royal gallery looking on with whispers. Ares hadn't put him in shackles, perhaps to spare his blushes, but it was obvious that the people knew just what was happening. Already, the rumours had spread regarding the earlier attack.
It was Prince Domitian, they said. He hired the mercenaries. After Rufus' death, and the public whipping, he only desired revenge on his mother. And to take the throne.
Talk of Vesper's new heir was also spreading like wildfire, deepening the debate about the troubled relationship between the prince and his mother. A new heir suggested Dom was to be cast out. He had no choice but to attempt an assassination, or be exiled and dismissed from the comfortable life he lead.
It was scandal of the highest degree, but kept Lucius and his father's name in the clear.
Led by Ares, Dom worked down towards the competitor exit at the rear of the arena, a cast of soldiers joining them along the way. By the time they'd arrived, they'd accumulated a strong cohort, and found half a dozen more Imperial Guards waiting as they reached the end. Kira was with them, her limbs now bound. Her eyes worked right up for Dom's, still intense from the fight, and the Prince attempted to rush forward to take her in his arms.
He was stopped by several guards, stepping in front of him. They were grim of face, several of their number killed in the morning's attack. They looked upon Dom as they never had, any reverence dismissed and replaced by disgust at his treachery and plot.
"Stay back, coward," tore one soldier's voice. He looked Dom up and down, his nose lifting in a sneer. "You sicken me, my Prince," he bit.
Dom's eyes flashed red, and he stared right into the man's eyes. He sped right through into his head, and battered through the mental security with a violent roar of anger, calling out a command for the guard to follow.
TAKE YOUR OWN KNIFE! CUT YOUR OWN NECK!
The order took hold immediately, bypassing all Vesper's cognitive security measures and forcing the man to follow the order.
With a sudden fog filling his eyes, he dropped his spear, reached for his knife, and lifted it right to his neck. He did it so quickly that he almost followed through, Ares just about fast enough to slip in and grab the soldier's wrist before he could do any proper damage.
He tore the knife from the man's grasp, and sent fuming eyes to Dom.
"I didn't want to do this, Prince Domitian," he said.
And as Kira gasped, Ares raised his meaty hand to Dom's neck and squeezed, rendering him immediately unconscious.
Kira struggled against her bonds as Dom was knocked out, his body falling easily into Ares mighty arms.
"What did you do to him!" she shouted. "Where are you taking us!"
A sea of hands came forwards and drew her back as she tried to battle away. Ares offered no answer, but merely hauled Dom out towards a waiting carriage, sturdily built and extremely ornate, and climbed inside. Kira was dragged after, tossed into the shade before the crowd, gathering in the courtyard beyond, could see.
Heaped on the floor, she tried to struggle back to her feet as the door was slammed shut behind her. Suddenly, her weight was lifted and she was deposited into a seating position upon a luxurious wooden bench by Ares, who sat opposite with Dom slumped neatly by his side.
Beyond the carriage, Kira could hear the sound of the soldiers climbing onto their mounts, before the convoy began rolling off down the streets and through the waiting crowd.
She sent fierce eyes at Ares again.
"Where are you taking us?" she growled.
"To the palace," said Ares immediately. "Your victory today wasn't expected, Kira. The Empress will wish to have you under her own supervision in the palace dungeons until your final bout on Sunday."
"And him?" asked Kira, looking at Dom's unconscious frame. Her tone softened, and so did her eyes. "What will happen to him?"
"That will be for the Empress to decide. I cannot speak for her."
"And can you speak for yourself?" asked Kira harshly. "I know people just like you where I come from. I've just killed one of them! You're a slave, Ares. You're just a slave to Vesper's twisted will."
Ares' face sharpened up, every feature cast in a sudden, frightening light. He stared right at Kira, and took a pause. A powerful aura seemed to throb out of him. Kira had never been in the presence of a man like this.
"Choose your words carefully, Kira," he growled, the edges of his voice bristling.
"I have chosen them carefully," she returned, refusing to have her voice quelled. "I'm not blaming you. I wouldn't blame a blind man for walking off a cliff. And you're blind, Ares. She's blinded you."
"ENOUGH!" His roar sent the entire carriage quaking, the sturdily build coach straining under the strength of his voice. His eyes turned wild, before drawing quickly back. His words were calm when they came next, another pause taken to affect the change. "You will speak only when spoken to," he said. "And if the Empress deigns to talk to you, you mind your tongue. You have a chance on Sunday to win your freedom. Don't ruin it now."
"A chance," muttered Kira under her breath. "Even if I won, Vesper would never free me from this place."
"She would," said Ares. Was he that naive? Did he really believe it? "Empress Vesper considers the games sacred. Above all other rules, the victor chooses their fate. It is unbreakable."
"And what about the old telepaths?" asked Kira. "Oh yeah, I've done my research. I know they were banished. Is that what they chose?"
Ares stiffened and glanced away.
"The telepaths were outlawed because they weren't true gladiators. Ever since, the games have been sacred, and unchanged. Your wishes will be honoured should you be victorious, Kira. I know all about you and your home. You can still return. The Empress will see to it personally."
"Yeah, see to it that my ship home capsizes," Kira huffed.
A short silence fell as they rattled along, and she looked again at Dom, breathing lightly as his head roc
ked loosely upon his neck. She wanted to reach out to him, sit beside him to stabilise him. She wanted him near to her. Always.
A sudden swell of emotion came in, like the changing of a coastal tide. She knew Dom's fate was now sealed. She knew he'd be executed for this treason. And somehow that changed it all. Her task had been to protect him. That was the promise she made to Rufus. And even if she won the games, she would still have failed.
Failed Rufus. Failed Dom. Failed the rare feeling that grew inside her, blooming each time she looked at him.
The carriage rolled on, and Kira turned her eyes to the little windows in the door. She opened the blind and looked out as they neared the plaza, where she'd been set upon her podium the night before the games. Gawped at like a piece of meat. She couldn't now think of Dom as the man who'd set her there. Looking at him now, and how she felt, the idea couldn't be reconciled.
As they rumbled along, escaping the crowds and heading towards the palace, Kira turned once more to Ares, as if seeking some final attempt to make him see the light. He wasn't like a Stalker, not in most ways. The Imperial Guards appeared to remain mostly normal men, each of them choosing at first to serve the Empress willingly. It was a position of great esteem for a soldier to serve at the Empress' side. Many, Kira knew, had even won the games and chosen this path of servitude, Ares himself among them, and the likes of Jaeger coming here to fulfil that very ambition.
Yet, though their loyalty had at first been volunteered, Kira had no doubt that Vesper had worked to strengthen it manually over the years. Her great power as a telepath forced fidelity upon them, ensuring that none ever waned in their allegiance. Gradually, she had made the most powerful soldiers in Neorome her most dedicated servants. And even someone like Ares, still functioning mostly as a regular man with his varied and complicated matrix of emotions, was unable to break free of the very obvious tyrant Vesper had become.
And so she looked upon him at they ventured to where that tyrant dwelled, and with a soft, light voice, she simply asked, "Do you ever feel guilty for your place in the world?"
