Raven's Song

by Launnie Roush

  “She killed Mom!” Del seethed as he stepped defiantly in front of the genin.

  “Del, no!” Sheila cried.

  “LEAVE!” Del snarled as he stared the genin down.

  The rest of the Von Raben party, under the protection of Burt’s guards, hurried through the bleachers and into the stadium’s concourse. They moved through the stadium’s chaotic interior with the hopes of making it to the main gates unmolested. All around them were panicked citizens, many of whom had been wounded by arrows. As they approached the final tunnel leading to the gates, they were discouraged to discover that the passage was choked with fleeing spectators. They started to push their way forward, only to suddenly realize that the throng of terrified people in the tunnel was surging back into the arena, not out of it.

  “Something’s wrong,” Michael deduced as he drew his blade.

  “Obviously! You’re VSF?!” one of the rangers, a fairly handsome young man, asked Michael.

  “I am,” Michael answered.

  “I’m Staff Sargent Charles Petersen, Raven State Military. You stay put and protect the governor. We’ll be back shortly,” the ranger ordered before he and his squad sped off towards the crowded gate tunnel.

  Max and Ronald also drew their scimitars and joined Michael in forming a vague shield around their vulnerable loved ones, who were huddled up against a nearby cinder block wall.

  “I’m gonna go help Del!” an anxious Max suddenly decided.

  “Max, stay put. Dell has it handled,” Michael commanded.

  “My son–”

  “Is fine! As your commanding officer, I order you to stand fast and defend our families!” Michael finished in stern, authoritative tones.

  #

  Petersen’s squad of rangers raced towards the heart-freezing din echoing from outside the arena. They arrived at the main gate area and discovered it to be a hellish abattoir. The brutalized corpses of countless spectators littered the ground. A company of roughly ninety Raven rangers were engaged in desperate combat with a genin force outnumbering them nearly two-to-one. Without further hesitation, Petersen’s squad rushed into the fray.

  THRITY SIX

  Del was standing with fists clenched as the female genin that killed his mother and the four males that had joined her started towards him. At his feet was his mother’s body, which he silently vowed to keep from being further desecrated by his enemies. The female genin raised her kamas and gave them a quick, jaunty-looking twirl before engaging Del. Del masterfully threw the genin to the ground with a hip toss, relieving her of one of her kamas in the process. In one fluid motion he slashed the genin’s throat with her own blade, opening a brutal wound. As the genin lay dying, her comrades slowed in their advance, their bravery faltering in the face of Del’s unexpected show of skill.

  Del was a storm of emotions, the predominant ones being rage and anguish, as he took in his enemies’ reluctance. It was at this point he knew his opponents were already defeated, and with a fierce shout he rushed at them. The first genin Del encountered tried to back away and take on a defensive stance, but Del’s speed proved too great, and the genin went down with a slash to the abdomen. The last three genins surged forward in unison, and though outnumbered, Del easily cut them down. A dozen more genins, upon noticing Del’s actions, hurried to him and attacked, only to be felled by the enraged young man.

  Numerous others followed.

  #

  “Now this is too much! How lucky can one man get?!” Richard Fulsom chortled as he sauntered towards Bert’s group, his rapier and main gauche hanging from his belt.

  “What’re you doing, Richard?!” Bert growled through gritted teeth.

  “That’s CEO Fulsom to you! Actually, my title will be ‘De Facto President’ in a few minutes. Of course, in order for me to gain this title, you need to be dead, Governor Von Raben.”

  Bert was aghast, “This attack was your doing?!”

  “Yup. You see, I simply can’t allow the Von Raben’s to gain control of the Federation.”

  “You’re a fucking madman!” Bert spat.

  “Maybe, but this madman’s gonna wipe the remains of the Von Raben family off the face of the earth!” Richard declared as he drew his weapons.

  “You’ll have to get through us first,” Max challenged grimly as he, Michael, and Ronald brought their scimitars to bear.

  Without warning, Richard came forward and let loose with an elegant thrust aimed at Max’s chest, but the blade was knocked aside by Michael’s own. The ensuing battle was an impressive spectacle, Richard holding his own against his three opponents, each of them skilled swordsmen in their own rights. Their attacks were powerful, fast, and elegant, and it was only Richard’s speed and dexterity of body that kept him safe. Richard knew that his only chance was to somehow duck inside the reach of each opponent and fatally wound them with his dagger.

  Richard continued to dodge the various attacks aimed at him as he cautiously started to close the distance between himself and Michael, his nearest opponent. When Michael missed with a powerful cross-body slash, Richard suddenly rushed forward and thrust with his dagger. Michael staggered back but still felt a flare of pain in his chest where an inch of steel had penetrated into his flesh. Anna let out a shriek of terror upon seeing her husband wounded, but he tried valiantly to ignore this distraction.

  “MY TURN!” Michael bellowed as he charged forward.

  Michael surprised Richard by dropping his scimitar, and as he closed in on Richard, the man attempted to run him through with his rapier. Michael easily sidestepped the thrust, grabbed Richard’s outstretched arm, and brutally struck at his elbow with his off hand, obliterating the joint. Richard screamed, dropped his rapier, and before he could regain his senses, he was sent staggering. Ronald was there, greeting him with a powerful slash across the abdomen. Richard, still staggering as agony ravaged him, dimly realized he was near Max and attempted to thrust his dagger into the man’s chest. He was not even halfway to his target when Max grabbed a hold of his incoming arm and, with seemingly little effort, forced Richard to stab himself in the heart with his own dagger.

  “How?!” Richard squeaked as he fell to the ground.

  Max glared down at the dying man, “You’ve inflicted too much pain on our family to be allowed to live!”

  Before Richard wheezed his final breath or anyone could act further, a figure blazed out of the shadowy recesses of a side tunnel, his stealthy approach going unnoticed until too late. Within seconds three people were seriously wounded; Michael, Ronald, and Peter all suffering crippling leg wounds. As they fell to the floor, their attacker sped towards Bert. Bert watched in horror as the attacker, a male Spider genin, prepared to strike with one of his kamas. At the last possible instant, the weapon was deflected by the tip of Max’s blade. The genin appeared briefly startled by Max’s intervention, but quickly collected himself.

  Angelina began sobbing hysterically as she recognized the newcomer. She clung desperately to Sheila, the person nearest to her, her wild eyes never leaving the genin. “It’s the White Spider!” she blubbered repeatedly.

  Sheila held the woman, but her knees had gone weak with terror upon learning that their latest attacker was the very person that haunted the nightmares of her childhood.

  Bert took notice of the white spider emblem on the genin’s forehead, and a dark fury possessed him. “You hurt my daughter!” he growled and started forward, only to be held back by Anna.

  “I am the White Spider, head chunin of the House of Spiders. Your arrogance caused you to repeatedly ignore us, and as such, you cannot be allowed to live,” their attacker informed them with chilling calm.

  Max stepped between his loved ones and the obviously formidable chunin, his expression aptly illustrating his murderous fury. The White Spider regarded him for a brief moment before lunging forward. Max lunged as well, and the combatants met, the sound of their clashing blades reverberating through the stadium’s interior. Max was a skilled swordsman and
had proved this most recently against Richard Fulsom, but he was struggling desperately against his now silent opposition. The White Spider performed with a dexterous speed and combat prowess that seemed almost supernatural in its perfection. Only a series of desperate evasive actions on Max’s part had kept him unharmed.

  The bout went on in this manner for only a few moments more. Max’s growing sense of dread transformed to a triumphant thrill when the White Spider attempted a strike with his left kama and missed. He went into a stagger, and Max realized this was his chance to emerge victorious in the engagement. He darted forward, weapon raised in preparation for a downward thrust, when the White Spider abruptly whipped about. Max’s horror upon realizing the stagger had been a ruse rendered everything strangely surreal. At this point both the White Spider’s kamas crossed his body, the right one leaving a deep, excruciating gash across his chest while the left one tore across his right cheek.

  James saw this from where he was tending to his wounded father, and with an angry growl lunged, completely unarmed, at the attacker. The White Spider took notice of James’s actions and reacted instantaneously, allowing Max to fall to his knees and easily dodging the young man’s sloppy assault. As James stumbled past his intended target, the White Spider raised a kama and prepared to dispatch the impudent young man that had interfered in the battle. Anna let out a wordless cry of terror as the kama whistled towards her defenseless son. The blade never connected as Del miraculously appeared, grabbed the White Spider by his wrist, and in one fluid motion sent the White Spider flying over his shoulders. As the White Spider fell, Del lashed out with a thunderous pump kick which struck him squarely in the back and sent him reeling.

  The White Spider quickly recovered his senses and with a quick acrobatic turn in midair landed on his feet. He now faced his newest opponent across two yard’s worth of space. He easily recognized Del, the intimidating young man now armed with a pair of kamas he had apparently taken from a fallen genin.

  Just as skilled as the reports said, the White Spider observed inwardly.

  Quickly realizing the youth could become problematic, the White Spider tightened his grip on his weapons and rushed forward. Del stood stoically, and when the combatants met, their battle was equal parts awe-inspiring and shocking. Each powerful and blazingly fast attack was met with an equally fast block or dodge, each attempt at a grapple or throw effortlessly countered. The fluidity with which the combatants battled could have easily given the impression of a finely choreographed routine had the circumstances not been so dire.

  Sheila had just gone careening down a cataract of pure emotion. Her body had gone weak and she had been certain of her death when the White Spider had wounded Max, and her heart had split in two as James nearly met the same fate. Her body had once again gone weak, this time with relief, when Del appeared. She always hated the notion of the damsel in distress that swooned as soon as a burly protector appeared to save her, yet she was deliriously happy that her boyfriend was doing just that. She had only a cursory knowledge of combat, yet even she could tell that Del was giving the White Spider a run for his money.

  A blur of motion out of the corner of her eye drew her attention, and she discovered that Anna, Bert, and Daryl were all diligently tending to the wounded, whose injuries prevented any possibility of immediate escape. Angelina was still clinging to her, and she decided they both needed to distract themselves from the battle.

  “Angelina! Angelina, look at me!” Sheila ordered as she forced the woman to look her in the eye, “We need to help Peter! Look, he’s bleeding!”

  Angelina did as ordered, and found Peter lying on the ground, his face tight with pain as he clutched a bloody wound on the rear of his thigh. She immediately went to her boyfriend’s side and began tearing strips of cloth from the hem of her shirt. Sheila joined her and helped to apply pressure to Peter’s wound while Angelina prepared a dressing. James had managed to remove himself from battle, dragging his grievously wounded uncle in the process. “Dunno what I was thinkin’! Nearly got myself killed!” he remarked with a nervous giggle.

  “You saved me,” Max rasped.

  “Yeah,” James concurred, “and in my usual suave style, too!”

  #

  Petersen’s squad slammed into a bulwark of Spider genins and fiercely drove against them. Both sides began to strike at one another, the cries of pain and blood of many wounded genins to flying into the air. The squad pressed forward until they were out of the tunnel, through the genins, and into the gate area. Once regrouped, they found a horrific battle raging around them. Numerous Spider genins and Federation rangers, most of them from the state of Raven with a smattering of Snake squads sprinkled amongst them, battled ferociously. Blood, viscera, and corpses had rendered maneuvering treacherous, but not even these hazards could keep the warriors from pitilessly cutting each other down.

  “You know the drill; butcher ‘em all!” Petersen shouted, and he and his squad threw themselves into the fray.

  Using every iota of his martial training, Petersen battled his way into the genins’ ranks. The Spiders were extremely skilled, but the fact that they were pressed so close together made them unable to perform to the best of their abilities. He darted through the crowd and slashed at any enemy standing in his way. He did his utmost to dodge the attacks aimed at him, but after suffering several wounds of varying severity, he decided to pull out of the main battle and attack those genins fighting on its edge. Despite their best efforts, it was obvious that the rangers were being slowly overpowered.

  We need reinforcements, he thought to himself with a sinking heart.

  A loud clanging rang out, and Petersen was encouraged upon discovering that the main gate had been forced open, allowing a platoon of Bull rangers to come charging into the entrance area. The herculean warriors hefted their horn-staves, heavy steel weapons that were fashioned in the likeness of the horns of a Longhorn steer. As the Bull rangers continued to flood through the gates, the Spiders did not falter. In fact, as Petersen looked on with increasing trepidation, the genins began to fight even harder and with greater effectiveness.

  “We got ‘em now, rangers! Just give one last push!” an unseen woman bellowed at the top of her lungs.

  The rangers answered with a mighty battle cry and tore into the Spiders with renewed vigor. Petersen fought with every remaining ounce of his strength, blind desperation and an overwhelming sense of duty driving his frenzy. He watched with great awe, respect, and fear as both sides viciously battled each other with all they could muster. Eventually, only three rangers were left, Petersen and two others from his squad. Though his body burned with fatigue and numerous wounds, he could not help but feel a swell of pride that he and his two squad-mates were all that remained of the Federation forces that had participated in this battle. He estimated that at least one hundred Spider genins remained, all of them gathered in a loose throng around the three rangers.

  “You and your comrades fought valiantly and with all your being. As a reward for your efforts, we will send you to your fallen allies in as painless a manner as possible. Thank you for teaching us the value of life,” a chunin recited as three of his comrades came up behind Petersen and his allies.

  A wan smile played at Petersen’s lips as he ponderously raised his face to the chunin’s. “Choke on shit,” he returned as cordially as he could manage.

  The rejoinder he received was a blade opening his throat, releasing a cascade of blood down his front. Petersen immediately became weak and lightheaded, and as he thudded to the ground, he felt nothing but pride for the rangers’ bravery and only wished they could have done more.

  THRITY SEVEN

  Del resolutely battled his enemy, the man calling himself the White Spider, and felt a painfully familiar entity reacquaint itself with him.

  Fear.

  Pure. Unadulterated. Fear.

  Fear had been his constant companion for most of his life. He did not fear the countless opponents who fell before h
im in Dis, but he deeply feared his lanista Lurah. That flagitious man was able to instill enough fear in him to make up for the lack of fear he felt for all others in Dis. His vile presence still haunted his nightmares, but this was not the same fear he was feeling now. As he battled this singular opponent, Del felt a new and intensely potent variety of fear. The possibility of his death was not the root cause of this fear, rather he feared that were he to be defeated, his loved ones, the wonderful people who huddled by the cinder block wall and were trying desperately to help one another survive this ordeal, those who patiently stood by him and showed him unconditional and undying love, would be brutally and mercilessly slaughtered. He could not, and would not, under any circumstances, allow that to happen.

  A fiery determination suddenly flared in him, and he attacked with unparalleled fervor. The White Spider met him, and it was all he could do to defend against his young opponent, one particular defensive maneuver even costing him one of his kamas. He had been informed via radio that the Federation’s ranger force had been defeated, and he ordered his genins to remain on standby. He had planned on dispatching Governor Von Raben and his family personally, but he had not anticipated the disconcerting skill of the governor’s nephew. Del Von Raben had proven himself a warrior worthy of praise, and it had been an honor to face him in battle. Now he was biding his time, and when an opening presented itself, he would land a decisive killing blow, finish off the remaining witnesses, and go to his waiting followers completely triumphant.

  Del and the White Spider fought on, Del attacking furiously while the White Spider made a slow retreat, dodging and blocking his attacks. Suddenly the opening the White Spider had been waiting for presented itself, and he struck, darting forward and lashing out with his remaining kama. Del realized his mistake but was unable to completely prevent the incoming kama from cutting into him. The blade bit into his left flank, and he quickly dropped his left kama and gripped the White Spider’s forearm to prevent him from doing further damage. At nearly the same instant, he attempted a downward slash at the White Spider’s neck with his right kama. The White Spider’s free hand shot up and locked Del’s attacking wrist in an iron grip. The pair stood in stalemate, neither able to overpower the other.