Deon lay still on the dirt ground of No Man’s Land. He wished he had the energy to move over to the shade, but his entire body felt heavy and dead. A couple of ants scurried by his face, and he followed them with his eyes.
“Hey little guys,” Deon greeted. “It must be nice to BE ABLE TO MOVE!!!”
He heard Skrili sigh from above. She had been standing across from him for quite a while now, quietly waiting for him to get back up and continue their training. Deon wondered how she could even manage to stand after all this fighting.
A third ant walked by him. “That’s it,” Deon decided. “Now they’re mocking me. It’s time I give it a shot.” He began to move his arms, and the instant he did, they shook violently before collapsing. Deon groaned.
“It looks like you’re able to move,” Skrili said.
“Well…technically yeah,” answered Deon. “But barely…”
“That doesn’t matter,” Skrili told him. “What matters is that you can move. That’s the point of this training: you need to ignore how you feel, and keep going. I shouldn’t have beat you as many times as I did; for the most part when I hit you down, you just didn’t get up. You could’ve, but you didn’t. That’s called laziness. We’re trying to build endurance.”
It was odd for Deon to hear Skrili lecture him after such a long time of her relative silence. “Yeah, yeah…” he responded. “Fine. I’ll ‘endure,’ if that’s what you’re looking for. I’ll endure my way right into finding out what’s in your bag.”
“Quit gabbing about it and do it.”
Deon still wanted to have the last word, but he bit his tongue. Whatever…It’s weird talking in this position, anyway, he thought. Okay Deon, you know you’re gonna be the best consciousness fighter of all time. You can do something as simple as stand up.
He tried once again to move his arms, and was met with the same wobbly resistance—though it was less severe than the first time. He managed to move his arms and hands into a push-up position. After this, he took a breath. A trickle of sweat rolled down his forehead from the effort.
Next it was time for the legs. He moved one knee very slightly—but a sharp muscle pain shot through. Deon held back a cry and winced. Then he breathed in and out deeply, and tried again. His leg shook violently as it moved to where he was commanding it.
Deon gasped for air. At this rate, I’ll be too tired to fight once I stand up, he noticed. ‘Ignore how I feel’ she says…I better make this quick.
With a puff of air, Deon shoved all of his might into his muscles. His body resisted viciously, trembling all over and shooting darts of pain everywhere…but Deon didn’t care: he was getting up. With a roar, he launched himself to his feet. He immediately became dizzy and lightheaded, but fought this off, as well. Soon Deon stood tall, covered in sweat and panting heavily.
“Here’s that endurance you wanted,” he said breathily to Skrili.
“Hmph…Took you long enough,” came her unemotional response.
“Well, not all of us can have endless amounts of energy,” Deon retorted.
“I don’t,” Skrili denied. “I’ve been fighting all day, too. I just know how to keep moving.” She noticed her black hair tie resting on the ground beside her and picked it up, tying up her hair. “I’m ready when you are,” she said.
Deon rolled his eyes, though he knew she was right. He found it incredible that after all of her opponents for the last two days, and after fighting Deon countless times, she showed no sign of exhaustion. He wanted that.
“Alright, well don’t get too cocky,” Deon started, “because this time, you’ll be the one flat on the ground.”
“You’d better hope so for your sake,” Skrili said. “I’m making this the last fight of our training.”
Great…Of course, Deon thought sourly. Choose the fight where I can hardly lift my arms as the last fight. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s do it,” he agreed.
The two consciousnesses watched each other in stillness and focus. Sweat continued to roll down Deon’s face while he analyzed Skrili.
Skrili slowly slid into her fighting stance, her eyes set on Deon like a predator.
She doesn’t look tired one bit—I’m gonna need to give everything I’ve got, Deon decided. He didn’t move into a fighting stance: it would take too much valuable energy. Behind Skrili, he imagined three of his leather ball attacks into place. He made them larger and thicker than usual, and for good measure, they were jet-black.
Skrili immediately picked up on Deon’s eyes focusing behind her. She spun around and beheld the attacks. Caught off-guard by her detection, Deon punched all them at her simultaneously, instead of the rapid-fire he had intended. Skrili ducked and dodged them, so he launched them again. Skrili rolled to the side and stood back up.
Once again, the extent of Skrili’s evasion skills were clear: Deon continually shot the leather balls at her, yet no matter how he did, she was somehow able to avoid contact.
Hmm…she knew my attack was coming from behind because she watched my eyes, Deon analyzed. So if I can distract her long enough, maybe I can land a hit.
He continued to occupy Skrili’s attention with the leather balls in front of her. Synchronously, Deon imagined a giant shoe behind Skrili. He was right: she was too busy with the other three attacks to notice. Knowing he had her now, Deon sent the large shoe swinging into the center of Skrili’s back.
Skrili let out a brief cry of surprise as she fell to her hands and knees. Deon imagined the leather balls and shoe out of existence.
“What’s wrong, Skrili? Did that hurt?” He asked teasingly.
Skrili stood back up—though notably slower than he had expected. “You idiot, you could have finished me off just now,” she scolded him. “All you did is give me a small Power Rebound.”
“Good point,” Deon said. “I’ll just end this now, then.” He imagined a long wooden rod behind her and swung at her back again, but Skrili knew it was coming and spun out of the way. While Deon was about to swing again, Skrili suddenly dashed at him. He tried to imagine a smooth rock wall to stop her in her tracks, but she passed his target spot before he could place it in existence. He raised his heavy arms in defense.
Skrili swung a backhand at him, but he blocked it with his forearm. A red-hot sensation passed throughout his arm and he grunted from the pain. Following this attack came one of Skrili’s dreaded kicks, which bashed against his chest and sent him stumbling backwards.
“You’re disappointing me,” Skrili told Deon as she threw herself at him and landed a punch into his shoulder. Deon almost lost balance, but was barely able to hold himself up.
NO! This is turning out exactly like all the other fights! he realized as he attempted to fend off Skrili’s fast and fierce blows. I can’t let that happen! I’m sick of being treated like a beginner!
Skrili’s attacks kept on coming, and Deon knew his body would fail him any second.
Sensing that Deon was at his limit, Skrili jumped up and performed her spinning kick across his core. When it hit, his legs instantly gave out and he dropped like a rock. He lay still, entirely filled with an intense soreness and fatigue he’d never known. His vision blurred.
“Is that it, then?” Skrili asked above him.
Deon wanted to protest, but he couldn’t bring his mouth to move. After all that, it was over.
“Huh,” remarked Skrili. “Maybe focus less on taunting, and more on fighting.”
Her last sentence echoed in Deon’s head, again and again. He didn’t know why…
…And then his mind reverted back to two days earlier: his final afternoon in Tailpiece.
After he had just defeated Reever in the grassy field, all the kids cheered. And while Lammy had congratulated him as well, he also shared some coaching notes:
“…Maybe ease up on the taunting a bit,” Lammy had recommended gently. Only moments later, they were laughing and poking fun at each other all the way home, like they always did.
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It hadn’t even been three days since Deon left, but it hit him—he already missed his cousin’s constant support and love. Even when Lammy caught him trying to sneak out of Tailpiece that evening, all he had to share was more encouragement:
“You can do this. I want you to do this. If there’s really something outside Tailpiece, I want it to be everything you’ve ever hoped to find. You’re the best fighter I know, you’re my best friend, and I want you to be happy. I want you to find yourself.”
Deon’s attention returned to his present surroundings and his sight had improved a bit.
Lammy…you always had something to point out, because you believed I could always get better, he remembered. Even when I decided to run away, you hated it, but you still put my desires first. You understood what I needed. You believe in me…
“NO!” Deon barked aloud.
“‘No’ what?” wondered Skrili.
“No, that’s not it—I’m not done!” he answered. “I’ll show you real endurance!” Against his body’s insistence to remain unmoving, Deon sat up and brought himself to his knees. He was fully aware of his limits, more than ever, but now he could cope with it. Feeling free of restrictions, he stood to his feet with ease and looked Skrili directly in the eyes.
Now that he was closer to her, he could have sworn he saw a hint of weariness in her face.
Skrili watched him for a moment. “You’ve learned the lesson,” she finally said. Deon detected a subtle smile in her eyes.
Deon smiled back. “I guess so, but I don’t think it’s exactly the lesson you were getting at,” he answered soberly. “I did learn endurance, but my own version of it. You told me that to endure is to ignore how you feel. Well you can ignore it all you want, but your feelings are still there.”
He watched her eyes even more intensely, until she looked away uncomfortably.
“Actually, I can see it all over you now,” he declared. “You’re way more exhausted than you’re letting off.”
Skrili’s cheeks flushed. She returned her attention and began to listen more fixedly.
“The thing is, I think my way to endure is different: I’ll make sure I feel it all. I’ll think about the people who believe in me—about the people I love,” Deon continued. “Especially my little cousin, Lammy. He looks up to me, and helps me get better…and I left him behind to be out here. He’s counting on me to be my best self, and I don’t plan on letting him down. This time, Skrili, I won’t lose. ” Deon sprung into a fighting stance.
But oddly, Skrili’s demeanor shifted in an instant. Now she couldn’t hide it anymore: she looked completely burned-out. It was more than that, though—she was totally unfocused…perhaps distracted.
In somewhat of a delayed reaction, she shifted into a halfhearted fighting stance—it wasn’t much of a fighting stance at all. Instead of glaring at Deon with predator’s eyes like before, she watched him detachedly, and kept glancing down.
What got into her? Deon wondered.
Nonetheless, he knew it was time to decide the fight. He darted at Skrili with all of his strength and swung a fist at her gut, preparing for her to easily deflect it. Instead, Skrili absently moved her arms to block the blow, and his fist swept right through her barrier and plowed into her stomach.
Air puffed out of Skrili’s mouth as she jolted forward from the impact. Her uncommitted defense startled Deon, but he knew he shouldn’t stop now. With a spin, he positioned himself to Skrili’s side and nailed the side of his fist directly on her back. A soft grunt came from Skrili as she went limp and collapsed to the ground.
Deon was bewildered: he knew Skrili was exhausted, but he didn’t expect her to be so weak as to let down her defenses—something had disoriented her other than her fatigue. Concerned, he kneeled down beside her.
Skrili lay motionless, aside from her heavy eyes, which stared at the dirt ponderingly. It was like she was broken, void of all motivation.
“Um…” was all Deon could think to say.
“Congratulations,” came Skrili’s voice quietly. “You finally won.”
With that, a grand realization came to Deon: this was his ultimate chance. At last, he had Skrili at his mercy. After hours of dealing with her emotionless superior attitude, now he was the victor. He tried to think of some witty way to rub it in her face. Numerous mischievous remarks popped into his head…the options were plentiful…
…But to his own surprise, he found himself saying this: “Are you alright?”
He made a confused face at the sound of his own question.
Skrili looked back at him for a moment. A few strands of hair had fallen over one of her eyes, but the other one showed same confusion Deon expressed. She too, had expected an in-your-face comment from him. “I’m fine,” she said plainly.
Deon figured that was somewhat of a lie, because she didn’t attempt to get up. He found he didn’t feel as satisfied as he thought he would upon beating Skrili—actually, he felt sort of bad for her: seeing an incredibly tough and skillful fighter like her go down so easily just didn’t feel right. He didn’t like it at all.
“I know how to imagine an ice pack, if you’d like one,” he offered.
“No,” Skrili rejected.
“Okay.”
There was a pause in their awkward conversation. Deon didn’t know what to do next, other than hover over her uncomfortably. Now that he won, he pretty badly wanted Skrili to unveil the secret of her bag, but it felt wrong to press her about it now when she obviously needed to recover.
“Well, you beat me,” Skrili began. “So I guess you’ve earned the right to know why Pang has my bag and won’t give it back.”
Deon’s heart leaped. He didn’t even have to ask.
“It’s because she wants to get into the Conscious Competitions,” she told him.
“Right…” he said, nodding slowly. “Uh…the what?”
Skrili stared at him for a second. “That’s right—I forgot you don’t know anything,” she recalled impassively. “Earlier today I told you how most of the consciousnesses you’ll find in No Man’s Land are fulltime teams: fighting is their job; their wins or losses determine if they gain or lose money.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Good. Well, the Conscious Competitions are massive tournaments across the Multiverse for the top pro consciousnesses,” she explained. She sighed, clearly reluctant to begin a long description. “To be certified for the Conscious Competitions, a team needs to win one hundred fights.”
Deon’s eyes widened—he liked the sound of this. Entire tournaments dedicated to fighting the best of the best? It seemed like a blast. “Whoa…so, why does Pang need your bag in order to do all that?” he asked.
“Because she’s up to something, and I think I know what,” Skrili explained. “My bag has my TeamTrack in it, which is a device every pro consciousness needs so they can register with a teammate, transfer money, keep track of their wins and losses, and lots of other stuff.”
She gazed off into the distance. “When Pang and I split it happened fast. I didn’t even bother to unregister us as a team on my TeamTrack that night. Next thing I know, those thugs stole my bag, Pang ran into them first, and she took it from them. Now I think she’s using our wins so she and Phillip can get into the Conscious Competitions sooner.”
“What? Why don’t they just start their own team?” asked Deon.
“They’re supposed to. But the thing is: whenever a consciousness team breaks up and unregisters, they lose their record. Their next team has to start from 0 wins and 0 losses all over again,” Skrili told him. “By the time Pang and I broke up, we had over eighty wins and no losses—”
“Eighty and 0?!” Deon exclaimed. “In less than a year?!”
“Yes. So we only needed about twenty more wins to qualify for the Conscious Competitions. Even though Pang didn’t want me as a teammate anymore, I don’t think she wanted to give that up,” Skrili continued. “So she’s having Phillip basically fill in for me. He’s an Illusionist, so they must be planning to use that to trick the League.”
“But that’s so unfair!” Deon protested. He couldn’t say he was surprised, though—he knew Pang and Phillip were total punks: from stealing from Ashley and Miranda, to surprise-attacking Xavier and the ‘Fullmetal Consciousnest,’ to now: stealing all of Skrili’s hard work for their own gain.
“No wonder you want your bag back so badly,” he said. “I can’t wait to fight those jerks again. We’ll get your device-thing back, unregister you from Pang, and be our own team! Let’s get into the Conscious Competitions before them!”
Skrili looked away. “…I could care less about the stupid TeamTrack,” she said.
“Wait…huh?”
“I said I would tell you why Pang wants my bag, and that’s why,” she said.
“So…what’s the reason you want it back, then?”
“I already told you yesterday: there’s something very important in it,” Skrili told him flatly.
“…And that is?”
Skrili glared at Deon defensively, as if he knew she was trying to hide some embarrassing secret from him. Then slowly, she began to lift herself up. Deon leaned towards her a bit in caution, unsure if she was ready to move yet, but she managed to eventually sit.
She supported herself by leaning to the side with one hand planted on the ground. Skrili was grimacing slightly, obviously still drained.
“I left a…” she looked away again and began to blush. “I left a…picture of my brother in it.”
Deon was taken-off by the fact that her reason turned out to be something so simple and harmless, after all that secrecy.
“You have a brother?” he said. “Older or younger?” He tried to picture what an older brother of Skrili might look like: probably a towering, absurdly muscular blue-haired fighting monster, scowling down at Deon for hurting his baby sister. It was the most horrifying thought to ever cross his mind (maybe aside from his mother scolding him).
“He’s younger…five,” Skrili answered him shyly.
Deon was secretly relieved. “Oh,” he said. “That’s cool.”
Skrili didn’t respond; she kept staring at the ground. A long period of silence began between the two.
As Deon looked at Skrili, he noticed she appeared opposite to her typical demeanor: she seemed incredibly fragile. Granted, she was weaker than normal and tired from all the fighting (as was he), but Skrili looked like she thought she was made out of paper and glass. It was like if someone stamped up to them and challenged Skrili to a fight, she would fall back over and cry nervously—as opposed to her usual self, who would stand right up and break their nose with her fist.
“When you mentioned your cousin,” Skrili began, “…he reminded me of my brother.” She finally returned eye contact.
Deon smiled. “Wow, then he must be a pretty freaking great brother if he’s anything like Lammy,” he said.
Then a rare occurrence happened: Skrili smiled at him…but it was quick and faded away. Their eyes stayed set on each other for a couple more seconds, but they both looked off to the side. It became quiet again for a while. A single, light breeze blew by, and Deon noticed another ant adventuring past them.
“Could...” Skrili started, but she left the word floating.
“Yeah?” wondered Deon.
“Could I…have one of those ice packs?” she muttered, blushing even more.
Even though Skrili wasn’t looking at him, Deon nodded quietly. He imagined a block of ice, then animal skins to enwrap it—just like his mother taught him—and his palm filled with its refreshing coldness.
He pushed himself closer to Skrili so he could hand it to her. She accepted the ice pack wordlessly and went to reach towards her back with it—but she suddenly sucked in air and winced, too sore to move her arm any farther back.
“I got it,” Deon said quickly, repositioning to her side. Skrili was about to reject his offer, but he ignored it and took the ice pack from her hand. He gently placed it against Skrili’s back. She tensed for a moment, but was soon able to relax.
As they sat together mutely and Deon kept the pack in place, he could feel that Skrili was trembling…and he knew it wasn’t from the chill of the ice pack. Something else was definitely wrong, and Deon found himself too afraid to ask what it was.