by Alex Fall
Grass. Trees. Sunlight. Flowers. I was back in Ilavoan before long, but this time it wasn't to sightsee.
"Erin?" Fake Arty came walking out some nearby woods.
"You! What did you do to me?" I demanded, now much more confrontational.
"I'm so sorry! I had no idea that would happen!"
Marching towards him, I asked, "Who was that woman?"
"That was your mother. I didn't realize that pulling old memories like that would cause so much pain."
I snatched the Fake's shirt and clenched a fist. He held up his hands in apologetic manner.
"I'm sorry Erin. I'm so sorry! I had no idea how thorough the damage was that THEY caused."
I bored into his eyes with the power behind mine, but the way he looked at me, the way he conducted himself...it diminished my anger. I let him go and sat against the nearest tree. He knelt down and sat by me.
"Was that really my mother?"
"Yeah...I couldn't find your father though."
His comment inspired a tinge of sadness in me. I felt like a terrible being for not remembering my own parents.
"Hey Erin? Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?"
An exasperated noise escaped me. "Yes! Several times too many."
He snatched my hand with a grip that surprised me. He wasn't letting me get away too easily. With his other hand, he softly tapped my chest, about where my heart is.
"You're pretty Erin, but it's what's inside makes you beautiful."
I tried to yank my hand away, but his grip maintained, and the pain from the burn on my stomach carried over from reality to this dream.
"Let me go," I commanded.
"Only if you let me hold you for a bit."
"What kind of-"
"Don't cuss."
I glared at him and unsuccessfully tried again to pull my hand away. He smiled, amused to be playing with me.
"If you don't let go, I'm going to break you."
"Aw, that's no fun." He released his death grip, allowing me to have my hand back. I rubbed my wrist, then shattered his head with a blow aimed at his cheek. A satisfied smirk crept on my face. That is, until Fake Arty appeared behind me and pulled me onto my feet with a bear hug.
"I said let go!" I yelled in frustration. I brought my leg up to begin a counter move to break the hold, but before it landed, he let go and dodged. Then his hands came around and grabbed my midriff, his fingers dancing across my ribs.
Out of reflex, I thrashed and shoved him away. "Did...did you just tickle me?!"
Fake Arty just flashed a big smile then laughed a mischievous laugh. Without words, he took off running before I could shatter him.
"Get back here, you-"
"No cussing!" He said in a playful tone.
I stopped running after several yards once I realized that he WANTED me to chase him. He was...FLIRTING with me! It's so infuriating!
Out of spite, I changed directions and sat back down by the pond. I could hear the Fake stop and try to sneak up on me.
"I can hear you," I muttered, still fuming.
"Oh...well that ruins things a bit."
A couple seconds of silence were suddenly and greatly interrupted when Fake Arty planted his hands into my back. I got shoved forward and tumbled into the pond. The pond! Water! I don't care how clean it looks, natural water is disgusting! As soon as my head came up, I inhaled a long breath, and screamed, "YOU *CUSS!*"
Fake Arty stood on the bank, laughing hysterically. He worked to hold it in for a second, just long enough to say, "Erin...don't cuss."
He burst back into laughter when my expression turned into raw anger. Growling and cursing, I swam to the shore. I'm going to kill him. I don't care if he is from my own mind, I'm going to mutilate him to death.
Before I made it out of the water, Fake Arty disappeared from view, then came bounding over the dirt cliff edge without a shirt, into the water. I clamored onto the shore, wet, freezing, and unspeakably furious. The Fake came into view and spat water out of his mouth like a fountain.
"You're such a *cuss!* And that is repulsive!" I yelled from shore.
"What? The water? It's perfectly clean, you can even drink it! Come back and swim with me! And don't cuss!"
"NO!" I worked on wringing out my sopping clothes. This would be so much easier if I could take my clothes off and hang them, but that stupid *cuss* is watching. There's no telling what kind of crap he'd pull if I started undressing. Wait...what if that's why he pushed me into the water? My anger hit the boiling point, but all I could do was stand on shore and shout. There was nothing to break. There wasn't even anything that would make noise if I hit it!
The stupid Fake laughed as he swam. "It's OK Erin, you'll be waking up any second. We'll play some more tomorrow! Please be careful with the fight today!"
I drew a breath in to scream at him, but my eyes opened in reality.
It's...so...infuriating...
It was now a proper hour in the morning to begin my day. As my mood cooled down, I noticed that I felt grungy, and Sharon was looking pretty greasy too. Neither of us had seen anything resembling a shower in a while. The closest we had was a sink, and that was hard to use every day. I miss having my own shower. Things would be easier if I had my ship.
As I readied for the day, a knock came at the door. The woman who once served as my nurse (and had at one time earned two black eyes for it) was waiting on the other side of my door.
"Your fight is scheduled to begin in two hours. I'm going to need you to come with me for preparation."
Sharon looked to me for my answer. Was she worried about me leaving? I didn't really want to leave either. I wanted to stay in my room and vent, but I don't think that would go over well with pretty much everyone here.
"What preparation?" I replied.
The woman, though cautious of me, still dropped her head to look at me from under her brow. "Don't you know that the fight is still technically a show? Basically we need to make you shiny and pretty."
A sarcastic laugh escaped my lips. Before I could say anything, the woman threw her hands up and interjected, "Look, will you just follow me? It's not like I'm the one asking this of you!"
After entrusting my things to Sharon's care, I followed the woman to who knows where. We wound through tunnels and rooms, eventually ending up in an area behind the fight hall, full of changing rooms, basic workout equipment, medical paraphernalia and sinks. There was more commotion back here since my enemy, Blanch, was also back here. There were two other men massaging and treating his body, which still bore the bruises and scrapes of his last fight. Blanch appeared very calm, but also tired, like he didn't have time to fully rest.
I broke away from following my escort to give him a message. "You don't look so good. You sure you want to carry through with this match?"
Blanch opened his eyes lazily. "I don't want to, no. But like you, I also have a deal with the Boss. Two fights in a row, no break. That is my punishment. What's yours?"
"No powers. But that doesn't mean you'll win."
He nodded slowly, grimacing slightly when the masseur began working out a tender spot in his back. "It would mean a lot to me if you stuck to your word. I've never been burned."
"Well I have."
"I see. Sorry you had to experience that."
This man, Blanch Dubois...he's unexpectedly non confrontational. It seems that he is not the same type of savage that most greaters are. I would even go so far as to say that he might have honor. Such an old fashioned way of thinking, but respectable nonetheless.
"I won't burn you. But you'll have to forgive me if I exploit any weaknesses I find."
Blanch nodded in understanding. "Best of luck then."
His noble nature won't save him from losing. I still have a system to take down. I continued following my escort until I was in a room with a change of clothes for me to fight in and a sandwich. Apparently it was a present from an admirer. The woman left, so I was on my own to wolf down the food
and change. What kind of clothes are these? Tight, royal blue athletic shorts with red accent lines along with a red, form fitting athletic top that showed off most of my back and shoulders made up my "costume." I was provided matching red wrappings for my hands and feet, along with red padded gloves and a thick band to keep my hair back with. This looks ridiculous.
I finished dressing and looked down at myself. I very much wanted to change back into what I was wearing. Since when do I have to dress down to fight? The glow of my eyes reflecting in a mirror caught my attention. With the help of a mirror, I was able to see what I looked like.
I look ridiculous...
"Sapphire eyes?" A young man's voice suddenly sounded in the room. "Need you to come with me."
"Not until I can change clothes!"
"You look fine. 'Sides, dress code requires it."
I look fine?! I'm dressed like a *cuss!* And I saw this guy's facial expression when he saw me. He was shocked at my burns! I look repulsive!
"I don't care what dress code requires! New clothes, now!"
He blinked at me in response to my demand. "Sorry but I think all the girl's clothes are that style, just different colors. Anyway, you need to come with me. We still got things we need to set up."
It's so...frustrating...
The things that so desperately required my attention were negligible. The masseuse worked out the kinks in my body, the skeletal “rules” were explained to me, and I was lead by betting “butler.”
“Am I supposed to interact with you or something?” I asked, arms crossed.
"Who you betting on?" Asked a well kempt black man with ebony goggles.
"What?" I said with a purposefully blank look.
The young man escorting me sighed at the attitude I was giving off. "Sapphire eyes...all fighters get bet on, and they always bet on themselves. Basically, how much money are you putting down?"
"I don't need a bet!"
My escort snapped glanced to the goggle man. “No money? Has anyone ever done that before?”
"They have now. Get over it,” I barked.
The goggle man shrugged and mumbled something about “my loss” but the escort looked me over. “You need an attitude adjustment.”
I glared my death gaze at him. “Who is going to do it? You?”
He sighed and snatched my hand up. “Come on,” he groaned.
I was pulled from the room. As I yanked my hand away, the escort told me, "Look, I don't want to have to do this either, so the sooner we get through this, the sooner BOTH of us get a break!"
We had a short stare down before he looked away and mumbled " Just come on..."
I followed him to the rear stage area again and there were two people ready to starting getting me all prim and proper for battle. The show was soon to start.
"And now, the winner of the previous match: Blanch Dubois, one of the human punching bags!" A slightly dressed up man announced.
The tall, well built and stern faced blonde man stepped onto the ring, still bearing the healing bruises of his last match. His brown eyes calmly scanned the sizable, but not huge, crowd. The people applauded, but more out of respect than excitement. As soon as I came in view, I was the subject of his attention.
"Next up, both a newcomer and a girl! I give you the well known and nameless Sapphire Eyes!"
Nameless?
I hopped onto the ring with all possible haste. The crowd did not afford me a welcome, yet instead seemed to develop a certain uneasiness. Yes, Sapphire Eyes means fear, and based on the whispers and quiet air of the people here, my reputation was preceding me.
A shrill whistle pierced the air and a foolish boy stood.
"Looking good!" He mocked. His comment sent a wave of snickers through the room.
The irritation flowed from my nose as I exhaled and, in an attempt not to jump in the crowd and break the boy, turned to face Blanch the honorable. Even he bore a slight smile. We'll see who's smiling after this...
"I hope you've placed your bets!" A referee in blue announced to the crowd. "Do we need to go over any rules?" He asked on the side.
"I don't care about rules," I cut in. I locked gazes with Blanch, ready for any indication to begin.
With a cutting glance at me and finger signal, the makeshift referee hopped out of the ring and stood next to the judges table. As if he does anything in this ring. And as it turns out the only judge was Rod himself, so the match was fated to be rigged.
An air horn blast signalled the start of the match and the beginning of the stupid music. The heavy rock picked up, fueling my irritation. Was that the point of the music? Let's see, broad shoulders and well built figure means good upper body strength, sure planted feet, meant more for solid stance rather than quick movements, thick forearms and the defensive position he uses suggests he leans heavily toward a boxing or muay thai fighting style, visible bruise across right side of the face doesn't seem to impede his alertness, but would likely be a vulnerable spot, built jaw and hints of previous injuries suggest that he is a seasoned fighter, and it seems that he is scanning me in much the same way that I am scanning him...Botches, it's hard to concentrate with this piercing music in the air.
My stride picked up to meet Blanch. A swift kick landed on his arms as he blocked. The next kick he dodged, then came up close and attempted an uppercut. Weaving around his blow, I landed three hits in his chest, two in the head and even a kick somewhere in there, but his hand grabbed my wrist and spun me around until there was distance between us again. I'm pretty sure he barely felt my hits. I also get the feeling that he is just toying with me. That's bad. I'm going to need a lot more power in my blows.
Dashing back in, I avoided a strong swing by dropping to the floor. I knocked him down to his knees by kicking one of his shins out from underneath him, bringing his head close enough for me to wrap my legs around into a nice chokehold. With his greater masculine strength, Blanch grabbed my legs for leverage and spun to his side, effectively pulling me off before I could lock my legs. My body got shoved down into the mat, and his fist met my arms and the mat solidly several times until I squirmed out from under his weight. Thank goodness I redirected those blows. That would have been bad if-
One last fist connected to my cheek. I stumbled out of reach before any more came.
I shook my head as if the shock of being struck would fling off of me like water. I've got to get in more hits, good strong ones. Blanch could have kept beating me, but he let me get away, still standing with a relaxed defensive stance and gentle smile. That smile...it ticks me off. I closed the distance again, striking his forearms to gauge how solid his defense was. After getting him used to holding up his guard, a wide grasp wrapped my arms around his waist, allowing me to turn and flip him over. Blanch would have hit on his back, but he got his feet under him in an odd backbend position. This will still work.
My hands slid up, one holding his head down against my knee. I crashed my elbow down into his head, like a hammer and anvil. Blanch rolled away and stood, only to have a chain of four hits land in his upper stomach. The first three seemed to have no effect, but the last one hit a tender spot, which caused him to retaliate. A swipe to the head sent me stumbling back, and when I stood to face him, I saw his fist, then Blanch caught me in a bear hug.
We stood face to face, his big frame swallowing mine. Blood dripped from his nose, but my opponent still smiled.
"Now now, you're going to wear yourself out at this rate. Let the match go on a minute, it's just a show after all," he said calmly.
While he spoke, my mind worked overtime to figure out a way to break free. I had one arm loose, but there was little I could do to break a bear hug grapple. His grip began to increase, crushing me under the pressure. An involuntary growl escaped my constricted chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the crowd watching intently, Rod in the foreground.
Screw this! I will not lose!
I gripped my enemy's head and shoved my thumb into his eye. The stupid smile
finally fell from his face as he struggled to pull his head away. Screw honor, either he drops me or I'm ripping his eye out of its socket! My vision flickered and my ribs screamed in protest. My stomach injury began to awaken from the pressure, along with a few other older scars. The more pain I felt, the harder I dug my thumb into his head.
At last, he loosed an arm to snatch my hand away and at that moment, I freed myself. Breath entered my system, and when my feet hit the ground, I used my free hand to start nailing a pressure point in his shoulder over and over again. My back locked suddenly from being crushed, and Blanch created distance while holding his shoulder. He's going to hit me, I have to move. My body isn't responding, but I have to move!
My opponent raised his leg and in a very straightforward way, kicked me dead in the gut. I couldn't regain control of my body, so I took the hit for all it was worth. Sliding back on the mat, my back released only to have my stomach start tightening. On top of everything, my leg was now aching too. I rolled to my hands and knees while Blanch rubbed his face. Overall I'd say this isn't going so well...
I stayed on all fours and watched him approach. He wound up to take me out with a strong downward strike, but right as he pulled back, I shot forward with my good leg and swept his feet out from underneath him. Upon meeting the floor, I scrambled on top of his chest and waylaid into his head. I squeezed in as many of the hardest blows I possibly could, and the only thing that saved him was the air horn. Despite the shrill blast of noise, I kept beating into my opponent until the referee came and yanked me off. The crowd cheered at the rise of violence I was creating in the ring. The music remixed and changed, and ref pointed at me and said, "Mind the horn!"
I grabbed his shirt and pulled a fist back. The ref threw his arms up in defense, but peeked when he realized I didn't hit him.
"Cowards shouldn't monitor fights." I punctuated the remark by spitting a small amount of blood onto his blue shirt and shoving him off of the ring. Rod watched with disapproval, and Blanch Dubois picked himself up to sit in the corner and get his bearings. I sat in my corner trying to stretch my back out and massage my ribs.
