by R. J. Batla
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t get lucky. This was a fight. This was war. And anything could happen.
Deep breath. Exhale.
My training took over – I wasn’t as anxious as I felt I should be. I was tense, but it was the kind of tense that came with the knowledge of what was coming. Knowing what to do. Confidence.
I can do this.
It was just the fate of the world – nothing big. Oh, and my life. And giving them a show without showing too much of my powers too soon, which would give my future competitors an edge.
My scale armor was on, as always. It would slow me down slightly, but it would also protect me better than anything. The angel tattoo burned slightly just in front of my left wrist guard, the only thing keeping the Morsenube in check. The only thing keeping me sane. The bracelet on my right wrist was full of stored power thanks to the old man who’d saved us twice. Sword on my hip. Ankle bracelets firmly wrapped around my legs. The guards reminded me that they also doubled as an “incapacity detector,” alerting the officials when a fighter was out of the game, preventing death when possible.
Odd, in a fight to the death, but, then again, according to Hank, it was all about money.
The door to the arena came into view under the arch of the scanner. Roughhewn cast iron, black as ink, the scanner was a bit foreboding, what with its eight guards, four on each side. One wore a badge that said “Fight Official” on it. Each eyed me as I passed through the scanner, as if I would give away any secrets I had. It gave a polite ding as I walked under the arch, the official said, “Clear,” and motioned me on to the door. The Fight Official walked with me to the heavy wood-and-iron reinforced door. Above the door were two glowstones, one lit red, the other dark. He put his palm on a metal surface just to the left of the door, which I assumed indicated that I was ready to enter the arena.
“Well, fight fans, it’s been a gory and glorious morning of fights, and we have the signal that our next set of fighters are ready for our first bout of the afternoon!” an announcer called from somewhere above me, the voice heavily magnified through amplistones. “And here they are!”
A green glowstone above the door lit up, and the door swung wide. I stepped out into the arena amid cheers. The thrill of the first few fights was still going strong for the crowd. They probably hadn’t moved much at all the whole morning, since they’d had to wait a full year since the last tournament. At this point, every fight was exciting. Every blow bringing a cheer or a gasp.
The arena looked just like it did from above during the orientation, only up close and personal. I emerged right behind one of the red triangles, same as my opponent did on the opposite side. A scoreboard had been lowered directly above the ring with our faces so the audience could easily see our stats. Each screen flashed me and my opponents’ scorecards. Mine read fives all the way down, with none of the possible five Quantum powers filled out. I practically heard the people guessing what my powers were. Our strategy was not use them if at all possible, which might be hard if, you know, I was about to get cleaved in two.
My opponent’s scoreboard, like we had already known, only showed a four in air with no Quantum. Although he could always be bluffing; he was a first-time participant as well and, as such, his levels were not established.
This was it. Round One. The start of the tournament for me.
Deep breath. Exhale.
What I’d been preparing for. Over a year of training.
Deep breath. Exhale.
Okay, Jay, you got this. The scale armor was an almost invisible weight, the hard-packed earth beneath my feet provided firm footing. You are bigger, stronger, faster. But don’t show too much. I’m supposed to win, but not show off. Except just a little, to make them root for me. Make sure and don’t die, but don’t try too hard. Right, great advice. How the hell was that supposed to work? And how the hell did I even get into this mess? Too late now. I had to get all noble and try to save the world. I jumped up and down a few times, getting more blood to my muscles.
All right, here we go.
“In this corner, weighing in at one hundred eighty-five pounds, Jayton Baird!” the announcer boomed, drawing out the a’s in my name, as the full grandstands gave a polite clap. I drew and raised my sword in the air in salute, and tried to smile, despite my stomach deciding it was a good time to do the two-step.
“And in this corner, weighing in at two hundred seventy pounds, Kyle Olten!” Again the announcer drew out the name.
There was a bit more applause for him, but no matter.
“Fighters, take your mark,” the announcer continued once the crowd settled down.
I chanced a glance up at my friends. Katy waved, Anton and Gilmer gave me the thumbs up, Royn nodded, and Leona smiled that smile. That helped more than I thought it would.
Crouching, I suddenly remembered to pull my goggles down. I’d almost forgotten them and their purpose – if I needed to use the Ignis Oculus, my secret weapon and greatest power, they would hide it from the crowd.
I readied myself – feet slightly apart, staggered slightly toward my opponent, energy shield engaged and shining yellow in a circular half dome on my left wrist from my shield-generating wrist guard. Sword drawn and now held slightly by my side. Ready position. My opponent did something similar, sword drawn, his dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, the dark tan of his skin a contrast to his shining armor.
“Get set.”
Oh man. Here it goes.
“Fight!”
Air blasts started coming at me hard and heavy as Olten spun and danced, launching attacks as fast as he could. Each was easily deflected by my sword or shield. They weren’t particularly strong, just keeping me busy. Olten moved around, firing at different angles – up, down, left, right. He was quick.
I sheathed my sword and brought my hands together in front of me and spun them. “Earth Fire Tunnel!” A wave of earth sprung from either side of Olten, with a stream of fire above, creating a tunnel and narrowing his range of attack, keeping him in one spot.
The air blasts came stronger now, but they were mere blasts. Like hammer blows, no slices or edge to them. All the sand in the air hid him from me.
But through my feet and using earth powers, I knew exactly where he was. Stuck at the mouth of the tunnel I’d created.
A sitting duck.
Brown earth energy pulsing, I pulled a large oblong boulder from the pile on my side of the center line and hurled it right down the tunnel, then charged after it as fast as I could.
Olten jumped over the rock I’d thrown. Even in the enclosed space, his air powers accelerated his movements. But, unfortunately for him, his path led right into my oncoming fist.
I held back slightly when I punched him. With my Strength Quantum power, I could have almost knocked his head off if I wanted to, but I’d rather not kill him if I could help it.
The smack of flesh on my hand was hard, and I drew it back, slightly bloodied. Somehow, he didn’t black out, just shot backwards and tumbled across the ground, landing in a crouch after a dozen rolls, now with a bloody nose. The crowd roared, loving the bloodshed and wanting more. I let the tunnel and fire drop, a slight wave of tiredness wash over me. Slight, but I felt it still.
“You’ll pay for that,” he said, brandishing his sword. He was breathing hard, but not hard enough for my liking. I narrowed my eyes – which he couldn’t see through the goggles – and gave him a scowl.
“Tornado Barrage!” he said, spinning and twisting his hands and body. A dozen mini tornadoes launched my direction.
I knocked the first two into each other with a blast of air and they dissipated, then leapt to the left, raising an earth wall with an uppercut on both sides of me, taking out two more. They kept coming, and I had to put on a burst of strength to run around them. Jumping into the air again, I pulled three columns of earth with me, each taking out several tornados as they rose, giving me a bird's-eye view of the situation.
I flashed the Igni
s, and something odd happened – I could see his scorecard, but instead of it being on the giant boards around the stadium, it floated above his head. It revealed his true scorecard; his actual power level. I knew that because the Ignis knew that. He wasn’t actually a four, he was closer to an eight in air. That made sense.
Several more tornados had sprouted during my leap, so I directed a shield below me and into a surfboard shape and rode the air currents away from Olten, giving me time to think about the new information as I shut down the newly developed use of the Ignis. Huh. Neat trick – that’ll come in handy later on for sure.
My ride brought another cheer from the crowd, and I heard a bellow of outrage from the other side of the arena as I let the shield go and dropped to the ground facing my advancing opponent.
Using earth, I hurled boulders at Olten, keeping him dipping and dodging, waiting for a chance. I tried to keep my techniques at a level five, per my card, but I couldn’t lose the fight either.
Olten did well, moving around the constant barrage of stone. The tornados stopped once he had to concentrate on deflecting rocks.
Advancing while I threw the stones, I moved closer to him. “Fire Stream!” I said, extending my left hand and sending a hot stream of flames at him. While he dealt with that, I leapt high, unsheathing my sword. With a flip, I landed right behind him as the fire passed to my right, my sword coming down at his head.
To hell with subtle. I needed to end this.
He somehow had kept track of me and he blocked my attack.
He drew back and came at me with a thrust, which I deflected to the side. Slashing all over the place, Olten was pure motion, but I blocked each blow easily. Swordplay was not his strength, the strikes not coordinated. His telegraphed moves and inefficient strikes were effortlessly beaten.
Olten worked air into the blows, trying to add range and power, but they were too obvious, too weakly integrated.
Breathing hard, which at this point I shouldn’t have been, I decided I’d had enough, but still wanted to put on that show Corbman talked about. I moved in closer, going on the offensive, pounding left, then right, allowing him time to block, but only just, and he was forced to backpedal. I sped up the attacks, adding punches and kicks, forcing him to exert his full effort to keep me at bay.
Finally, his back foot hit the wall of the arena, and he tried to push me away with an air burst. I cut right through it with an air slice, gouging deep into the rock where Olten had been a second before, ducking to the right at the last moment. Pulling my left arm to me, the stone of the wall obeyed, stopping him as I spun with my sword and plunged it into his shoulder, pinning him to the wall, blood pooling at the impact point. Not exactly where I was aiming, but it got the job done.
His breath came in ragged gasps as the pain hit him. I knew I had pushed him; he had not been ready for me. But he had some fight left. He didn’t want to give up.
“Yield,” I snarled, my own breath coming quickly.
For a second, I thought he wasn’t going to, making me kill him. But he nodded, and said loudly, “I yield!”
I removed my sword. His ankle bracelets popped off with a hiss and his hand went to his wound. Four people whose shirts read “Medic” emerged from Olten’s door and raced to the fighter. They assessed the wounds as Olten fell to his knees. One knelt down and his hands lit purple, sending energy into the wound, stopping the blood flow. He’d live.
“Jayton Baird, your round one winner, will advance to round two!” the announcer said.
The crowd reacted, giving me a good cheer, like I had surprised them.
I turned and waved to the crowd, and out of the corner of my eye, saw my scorecard adjust. Earth and fire bars moved to six and the first Quantum filled itself in – “Strength or Speed?” at a five. Oops. Showed too much I guess. Oh well. Too late now.
I took a bow, and exited, stage left. Or door left. Whatever. I walked back through my door, a dull roar in the background from the crowd.
I’d won round one.
Chapter 6 – Jayton Baird
I FELT HUMAN AGAIN after taking a quick shower and changing out of my armor in my room. Hanging it up, I realized it wasn’t dirty, nor did it have a scratch on it.
Strapping my sword back on, I exited, noting that the name on the door had changed to “Jayton Baird – Round 1 Victor.” Following the signs, I walked back into the arena stands and quickly found my group.
Which was made easy because of the sheer amount of waving hands in the air. They were my “covert” team, and were acting like a bunch of idiots.
Leona separated from them and ran up the stairs, hitting me like a truck. “You did great! You won!” she hissed in my ear. After a kiss on my cheek, she was gone again. The others shook my hand or gave me a hug until a voice came through the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the next contest is about to begin. Please find your seats.”
Sitting on the metal seat between Leona and Royn, I watched two fighters being introduced. I recognized one. “Hey, isn’t that the slave kid from the orientation party?”
“Yes,” Gilmer said. I heard him through my earpiece, though he was at the other end of the group. Funny, I’d forgotten I’d had it in; it didn’t work in the ring. “The program says his name is Pecos Sinton, and is owned by one of the lords, who has graciously lent his talents for the world’s entertainment. Graciously my a –”
“Isn’t that nice of him?” I growled. Leona squeezed my hand. Didn’t do much to cool down my anger though.
“Begin!” And the fight started below.
Pecos Sinton was good, whirling his staff and using it to enhance his powers. Working the angles and taking the right openings, he backed his opponent into the wall.
Just before the killing strike, the guy yielded. Pecos diverted his attack and drove his staff into the wall, gouging out a chunk of stone. There were similar holes and scars all around the wall by now – supposedly they would be repaired each night.
The battle lasted mere minutes – the kid was good.
Three thugs walked in through Pecos’s door, each with a different power at the ready. The kid’s eyes were ablaze as he spun his staff menacingly. One of them said something, and with a deep sigh, the kid hung his head, throwing the staff to one of the thugs. The other two clicked chains onto the choker still around Pecos’s neck, tossing a third chain to the one with the staff, and they walked him out.
I stood.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Royn asked, grabbing my arm.
“I’m going to talk to him,” I said, inclining my head towards the kid.
“Why?” Morgan asked. Her eyes danced – I was pretty sure she was really enjoying the fights and spectacle. She didn’t wait for an answer and turned back to the arena.
“I want to talk to him. See what’s really going on.”
“Not by yourself,” Royn said, motioning to Troup and Celeste. They got up and followed behind me. Like body guards. They both seemed eager to leave their seats.
I caught one of the ushers. “Excuse me, where is that fighter’s room?” I barely got the words out. Ugh. I couldn’t believe slavery even existed anymore. I thought it ended hundreds of years ago.
The usher apparently didn’t share my sentiment since he laughed. “You mean the slaves? Want to have a go at one of ‘em, eh? Ha ha, lots of people do.” He waved vaguely behind us. “His room will be around the perimeter of the stadium. Their cages face inside, where the crowds can approach and do what they will.” With a sneer on his face, the usher continued on his way, “helping” other people.
Cages.
Troup and Celeste eased up next to me. “Where we headed?”
“His room will be around the perimeter,” I parroted the usher.
“You got it,” Celeste said, stepping in front to lead, with Troup behind me. I guess I’d better get used to this: escorts, less freedom, not going anywhere by myself. And not leaving this damned stadium. I felt claustrophob
ic, the ankle bracelets a constant reminder of my own captivity.
As we worked our way through the crowds, to the north end of the stadium, Celeste said, “There he is. We’ll walk with you, but let you approach on your own.”
Working our way down to the right cell, we heard all manner of shouts. Some people praised the slaves. I assumed they’d bet on them and won. These were the minority. Most were just being mean, like the slaves were a side show. Some threw rotten fruit. Others threw stones. How could they do that? The slaves were still people. We were all people.
Heading towards the cells, I held my hand up to stop Celeste and Troup. I watched as Pecos Sinton calmly walked around his cell, picking up the pieces of food that were actually good, and handing them through the bars to the next prisoner, or slave, who looked near death. He did the same on the other side and gathered the rest in a sack. If I hadn’t been watching him, I would have missed it, but he discretely slipped the bag out of his cell, and it was picked up by a passing guard. A minute later, I saw that same guard slip into the crowd.
We shoved our way through the throng and I eased up to the bars. Pecos sat cross legged, his back towards me.
After a moment he said, “I know you’re standing there. What do you want?”
“Where did the guard take the extra food?”
His head snapped in my direction, his gaze darted around. I’d made sure to speak low enough so no one heard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I just smiled. “Fine. Then why didn’t you kill the other fighter?”
He grunted. “What are you, some sort of blood monger? He surrendered. I let him live, per the rules.”
“Doesn’t seem to make a difference to many of us fighters,” I said casually, picking at my nails.
His head popped up and he turned slightly, though I could only see his profile. He had high cheek bones and an angular face with blue eyes and curly brown hair. If he was purple and had pointed ears, he might have passed for an Elf. “So you’re a fighter too?”
“I am.”
