On the morning of the fight, I was clothed in scant clothing. The clothing was armor, as the other chief had allowed that for the reason that he believed that it was useless, which it was. It was much more armor than the son, who was named Yjin’uji. After I was done being clothed, I was called by a messenger to report to a special meeting place under the stadium, and the messenger told me that he would personally escort me to the meeting place.

“Good luck.” My father called after me. “May God be with you.”

I nodded. Then, I walked to the stadium with the messenger, who ogled me. He was probably only doing that because he was a slave from the village.

Yjin’uji was already there, and he ogled me when I got in. But he was already going to kill me, or at least try to, so I would better not feel uncomfortable about it, even if he was my elder by at least five years. But it was definitely not comfortable that he started to smile at me.

Yjin’uji was a brawny man, beautiful but devious and with green eyes. He had dark, auburn hair and had an even more handsome face.

The room itself was dark and small, made all out of wood and metal, hastily constructed by slaves. There was a metal doorway on each side of the wall, and it was like an open box in that way.

A man walked out of the forward-facing metal doorway, an elder, but only a new elder. The elderly man cleared his throat. He looked to be of Europan descent.

“Yjin’uji, stop ogling her, we have rules to explain.” He said, and I silently thanked him for it.

Yjin’uji straightened. “Er, no, I wasn’t ogling her.” He said, almost in a mumble, then in a louder voice. “It’s an outrage that you’d be thinking that.”

“Well, I think that because of the very obvious proof right in front of us.” The old man said smoothly. “Anyway, are you done?”

Yjin’uji, looking like he did it despite himself, nodded.

“Alright, I am Erij, affiliated with no tribe, for I can have no loyalties as I am the duelmaster.” He said. “I am going to tell you the rules to the dueling, and so listen carefully, for the rules will not be repeated. Any rule-breaking and the penalty is death by fire.”

“The first rule is no killing until you are a good part into the duel, as in you are a few minutes in.” He told us like he was reading from a script, which he probably was. “The second one is there will be no rape, nor any excessive maiming after death to the point where it is really not needed. The third and final rule is that you cannot go outside the main area, as in the place where you fight, and you cannot hurt any people in the stands. Again, I must stress that if you break any of these rules, the penalty is not only a loss of honor but a loss of life. Did you hear that, Yjin’uji? The rules may be slightly different at your home Colosseum, or whatever they call it, but these are the rules here and I will not repeat them.”

After all of this, he said, “Alright, are we good? Remember those rules, and you may win.”

That comment seemed to be directed at me, though he didn’t seem very hopeful about it. I nodded. Yjin’uji did not, though it looked like he understood those rules.

The drums started to beat and the messengers led us off to our places.

As I waited for the messengers to tell me to go, I started to get nervous. I should’ve never done this, I thought. But those were selfish thoughts, not thoughts becoming of a good person who was ever-loyal to their tribe.

“Now.” The messenger said into my ear, jolting me out of my thoughts.

I nodded, and I walked out of the opening in the stadium.

It was at that time that I realized truly how big the stadium really was. Its seats were filled, and all the world, as absurd as that might be, must have come out to see this fight. But why watch someone like me get massacred?

Unless…

But I couldn’t think about that right now, I had to think only of the fight that lay at hand right now.

We started to circle each other and when the time came, Yjin’uji was the first to break. He ran at me like a rabid dog, his guard down. I smiled. It was as I had expected, as everyone in the tribe had expected.

I lowered my spear and charged at him.

Immediately, he broke his stride and danced around my blow, looking surprised. He struck at me but I countered his blow and almost disarmed him.

His eyes widened and he tried to strike at me but I countered his blow and I forced him away, then fought in ‘Sja, our tribal form. He smiled. He was familiar with this form, then, and he countered every blow. And so, I switched forms to ‘Yji. I barely did so, though, and he almost struck at me.

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It is a few minutes in, I thought, or is it really?

I had to get him to yield soon, or else he would come out of his surprise and strike at me and most certainly kill me.

I pushed harder and harder, slashing harder and harder at him. He stepped back, and made a mistake, opening up his spear hand to an assault by my spear. I took the opening and jabbed my spear at his hand.

The blow found flesh and it stayed in the hand.

He cried out, immediately letting go of his spear, falling down. I pointed my spear at his heart.

“Do you yield?” I asked as the crowd cheered, screaming “Death! Death! Death!” even when I ignored him.

“There is no yielding.” I heard a voice behind me say. “When you lose a duel, you die.”

I turned around, grabbing hold of Yjin’uji’s spear just to be safe.

“No.” Yjin’uji croaked in a broken voice. “No.”

It was the duelmaster, cloaked in black. How I had not heard him come up behind me was a mystery to me, but I did not allow myself to be stunned.

“Why?” I asked. “I thought that this was a more civil duel. I thought that this was why my father decided on using this place.”

“No.” Yjin’uji croaked, then cried out in pain again.

“It is a more civil way to die, but it is still death.” the duelmaster told me, his arms folded.

I turned back to Yjin’uji and thought for a moment. What was one death in turn for the lives of hundreds, no, thousands, possibly millions? Yet there must be a way out of this…there must be. Maybe I could enslave him, have him act as my personal bodyguard in case of dire situations…but he would just kill me in my sleep.

I took a look at Yjin’uji, the first good look that I had taken of him for quite a while, and started to make my decision to kill him. He would never do anything good; he was just a lying, sniveling creep.

“Please,” The duelmaster said, “It is more honorable than the alternative.”

“What is the alternative?” I asked, turning back to the duelmaster.

“Slavery.”

I turned back to him.

When Yjin’uji heard that, he screamed, “NO! Not slavery, please not slavery—ow!” He groped his hand.

I sighed. I could hear the crowd shouting for the death of him, and saw their middle fingers in the background. They wanted his death, and so did he.

Well, if he wanted his death and he would think it a tortured life, I would…I would do it, I decided.

I threw aside his spear and rammed my spear into his heart. He relaxed.

The rest of the day was a blur. I tried to hold it in while I received the awards and the men that would be ever at my side, but when I embraced my future husband for the awards, I started to cry into his arms. I should be strong enough for this, I knew, but I was not. I stopped crying only seconds later, as he led me off to bed. On the way home, I cried into his shoulder, and he told all of them that they were tears of happiness, and once we were at my hut, he sat me down and told me his story.

“It began when I was only a few months old,” He said, “When I could not even know what was happening. My third-youngest cousin challenged Yjin’uji to a fight, and when Yjin’uji was only ten, he killed. He killed a fifteen-year-old. I still cannot believe that you killed him, but it was not because of you being good, it was because of surprise. Throughout the years, he kept on killing my cousins, challenging them to fights that they had to accept, even young Ujun’sia, who was no good with swords. This is how he kills. I understand it now. At that time, I swore an oath of vengeance, that by one way or another he would die at my hand. It has not happened, and it will never happen. At that time, I told myself that while he was much better with a sword with I, I only needed to slit his throat in his sleep.

“So I became cleverer and cleverer, stealing from the maids and everyone else while my cousins died around me. Even one brother died, an older brother whose name is too…too painful to speak here, today.” He was crying now, but I could not hug him, for I was crying, too. Crying in hatred of myself, how could I falter in this, and crying for him, and for what he had been through. “It was all hushed up in the family,” he continued, “Because no one wanted to admit any of it, but people kept on dying. That’s probably why you’ve only heard about my brother dying. At such a young age…with such pain…I shouldn’t be crying.”

“No,” I said, “You should.”

“Fine,” He said, still wiping the tears out of his eyes, “I was…affected by it all, and now I realize…now I realize…that it was all for nothing…I should’ve been honoring their memories, not dishonoring them as I did. Not trying to claim vengeance on a person that couldn’t be killed by me.”

“You didn’t dishonor them.” I assured him, “You just did what you thought was right.”

“Yes,” He admitted, but then said, “But maybe the things that we thought were right weren’t right after…you know what I mean. I mean…we don’t always make the right choices, and sometimes…I don’t know.”

He was growing upset with himself now, I knew it. He was losing faith in himself, and he thought that he was not good enough. Suddenly my self-pity totally ceased. He had been through worse, far worse than I had ever been through. I couldn’t…I couldn’t just take pity on myself and forget about him. Because maybe some people deserved more pity than others…because of their situations…because of what they had been through.

I took him in my arms and hugged him like I should’ve long before.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “It’s all right.”

“No, it isn’t.” He said, “On this day…on this day, I should be happy, like my father is, but I only pity him…because maybe he was but a fancy chariot for them to achieve their dreams. Maybe he is not the one who should be killed, maybe it is his father.”

“Don’t cry,” I said, trying to comfort him, “He may have been a chariot, but he was a great one. He was their…their…linchpin of their plans…if what you say is true. I still was able to make an impact…and that deserves celebration.”

But still we both cried, for whatever reason people cry.

“I should be strong.” He said finally, “For you. You are the one who has the true pain—you should be crying, as you were. Not me…not ever me.”

“No,” I told him, “You cannot hold yourself to those standards, Ani’sja. You are only human…like us all. The mutants are all gone…only they could not feel…only they could be strong like that.”

“No,” Ani’sja said, still sobbing, “I must be strong…for the plan that your father laid out to me.”

I frowned. “What plan?”