Akairo swallowed what little saliva was in his mouth as he stood in the coliseum’s changing room.
He had gotten a plastic wristband which had his match details and had been directed to the changing room where other contestants could be seen changing into their protective suits. Dark, thin and skin-tight onesies which were lined with golden circuitry although they also smelled heavily of sweat since contestants had to share.
Akairo had changed into his and it fit snuggly over his bandages.
He then sat on one of the many benches in the room and nervously eyed the other competitors.
They all ranged from very tall to short. Some were so muscular, they barely fit into their protective suits. Others were so thin, they made Akairo look relatively big.
Another thing of note was that some of them wore their clothes over their suits.
He tried distracting himself by reading the details on his wristband.
His number was “C98765” and his opponent was “C98712”. Their match would take place in five more minutes and no match was ever longer than ten minutes.
Akairo bit his teeth in an attempt to calm himself but it was all too nerve-wracking.
He had been attacked a few times in his life but never had the strength to fight back so this was going to be his first actual fight.
[Contestants “C98765” and “C39200”, please make your way to the arena.]
A voice said from above.
Akairo hopped onto his feet and made his way to the passageway that led into the arena.
It was lined with guards who all wore heavy armour and carried assault rifles.
According to the rules, contestants weren’t allowed to use weapons, something which Akairo was content with.
He gasped as his opponent walked alongside him although the middle-aged man kept his eyes forward. He was a tall and muscular man who wore a peculiar white robe which had a black right sleeve.
The man walked past Akairo without so much as acknowledging his presence.
Akairo followed him out into the arena which was at the base of the coliseum and countless people could be seen spectating from above.
Another man, a referee, accompanied Akairo and his opponent into the arena and this engaged the systems within Akairo’s protective suit.
It felt as though he had gained an extra layer of skin.
“Alright, here are the rules. If you get pinned on your back for more than five seconds, it’s a loss and if you are knocked unconscious, it’s a loss.” The referee said before stepping back.
“Begin!”
Akairo raised his hands to make a fist but just as he did, his opponent dashed towards him while pulling back his right fist.
Akairo raised his arms defensively only for his opponent to kick him in the gut, sending the boy tumbling backwards after letting out a pained cry.
Pain radiated throughout his body but just as he tried standing, his opponent placed his foot on his chest.
Akairo tried moving the man’s foot but it was far too heavy and so he tried punching it while the referee counted to five.
The man simply looked at Akairo with an expression of pure apathy but regardless, Akairo kept struggling.
He even tried kicking his opponent but he simply couldn’t and so, before he could even land a single blow on his opponent, the match was over.
The crowd barely reacted to Akairo’s loss and all he could do was watch as his opponent removed his foot from his chest.
He then walked away but, even as the weight of his loss fell on his spirit, Akairo’s gaze remained locked on the back of his opponents clothing which was adorned with the crest of an ox.
“Sorry, kid.” The referee said while offering Akairo a hand.
Akairo accepted it and, with the referee’s help, he stood up and made his way back into the dimly lit passageway all while pressing his hand above his chest which ached.
He returned to the changing room and winced as several contestants laughed at him.
A few gave him encouraging pats on the back but nothing could drown out the snickers and cackles of the others.
They commented on how absurdly short a time his loss took and how she shouldn’t have even tried.
One man, however, silenced the room with nothing but his presence and he walked up to Akairo before standing before the boy.
The man was a giant, standing at two hundred and fifty centimetres tall. His bare upper body was covered in defined muscles whose forms were emphasized by his smooth dark brown skin.
Unlike everyone else, he wore only a pair of baggy white pants that were bound with four luxurious-looking belts and countless thin gold chains.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
At his feet were golden anklets and a pair of leather slippers.
His upper arms also had solid leather binds kept in place by his large muscles.
Each of his fingers were adorned with gold and silver rings and this was the same for his head.
His outer ears were lined with gold and silver rings and his nose had a single piercing which held a shiny crystal.
His hair was cut short and this revealed a handful of scars that had yet to fully fade.
“Don’t listen to any of these idiots, kid, and let me show you how it’s done.” He warmly smiled.
Akairo weakly nodded before watching as the man pointed at one of the overhead displays which showed what must have been his number.
He then walked past Akairo who joined everyone in watching as he walked down the pathway to the arena.
His every step caused his countless pieces of jewellery to jangle, something which he seemed to enjoy.
“Err... Who’s he matched up with again?”
Someone asked as Akairo looked up at the display.
“I’m pretty sure it’s a rookie from Northview.”
Another person said.
“Damn Khatuu. He’s gonna take the same hand he used to comfort one kid and use it to beat the shit out of another.”
“Yeah. But it’s for their own good.”
Akairo’s eyes narrowed as he watched live footage of the man known as Khatuu.
He stepped onto the arena and the crowd actually broke out into cheers.
[Keep your eyes peeled on this one, folks! You know how it goes with the Desert Prince, one blink and you might miss the whole match but that’s alright because every match is recorded by us for your enjoyment and we will capture every millisecond in the replays!]
The announcer yelled and this made the crowd even more excited.
Everyone in the changing room gathered in front of the display and watched as Khatuu’s opponent stepped into.
He was a tall and lanky man who wore a white martial arts uniform only its right sleeve was a bright green. Its back also bore the crest of a circular flowing body of water.
The referee instructed that they begin fighting and Akairo frowned upon seeing Khatuu’s opponent suddenly fly backwards and crash into the coliseum’s inner wall.
What followed was an explosion that tore the air making the crowd gasp.
[Oh my goodness, folks! I am most definitely certain that most of you didn’t see what happened there so let’s all take a look at the life replay!]
The announcer said while Khatuu stepped off the platform.
The footage on the SDS showed that Khatuu simply waved his hand at his opponent.
Or...
Akairo’s frown deepened as the footage was shown again but even slower.
He then gasped upon realising that Khatuu had just moved so quickly it sent out a shockwave that sent his opponent flying.
“Bloody hell.” Someone commented
“Show-off.”
“And that’s how you do it,” Khatuu said from behind Akairo.
Everyone turned to face him as he casually walked into the room.
“It's all about style, finesse.” He said while winking at a wide-eyed Akairo.
Khatuu then walked past everyone and exited the changing room.
Akairo blinked a few times as everyone returned to whatever it was they were doing before.
He took weak steps towards his locker and changed into his clothes all while two more fighters stepped into the arena.
These two were more evenly matched with one being able to wield fire and the other sending jets of water towards his opponent from his palms.
Akairo watched as the two fought and it was a pretty close match but ultimately, fire triumphed over water.
The replays showed Akairo details that he missed.
Such as the fact that the fire and water the two wielded did not just suddenly appear in their hands.
It gathered from the air around them in some instances and came straight out of their bodies in others depending on what they were doing.
This made Akairo wonder where his fire came from.
He decided to study on it upon returning home and so he promptly left the changing room.
He shyly returned to the lobby where a certain blue-haired woman could be seen talking to another contestant.
Akairo quickly walked past her and, with a hanging head, he made his way home as the sunset. Something that couldn’t be seen due to the concrete platform above. The air felt heavy and small drops of rain touched his face occasionally indicating that it was raining..
As he walked, he thought back to his defeat.
He realized that fights happened way too quickly.
There was no time to study or analyse anything because one’s opponent wouldn’t just show off their moves.
Well, unless they were Khatuu.
After coming to those conclusions, a deep frustration followed.
Akairo wondered why he wasn’t as strong as Khatuu or as decisive as the man he faced.
This frustration was followed by terror as someone suddenly grabbed his arm.
Akairo was then dragged into a dark alleyway where he was tossed onto the ground.
He fell painfully but looked up as quickly as possible to find three, darkly dressed men standing above him.
He wanted to ask what they wanted but before he could, one of them kicked him in the face, sending him back to the damp ground.
“Hey, kid. Don’t you know it’s rude to refuse help from those who offer.” One of the men boomed although Akairo couldn’t hear him properly as pain filled his head and face.
“Should’ve accepted the Rose’s kiss. Because now you’re gonna face the cut of its thorns.”
The three moved to hit Akairo as well but just as they did, the air suddenly grew really cold.
So much so that the muddy puddles of water acquired a layer of frost.
The already dark alleyway also got so dark, it was hard to see anything that was more than two meters away.
“Mmm?” One of the goons sounded although his voice sounded muddled. As though he was speaking while underwater.
The one who kicked Akairo opened his mouth to speak but just as he did a blue ethereal arm grabbed his face and forced his head onto the ground, breaking his nose and several teeth in the process.
The other two quickly tried running away but as they turned around, a shadowy figure dashed towards them before grabbing one of them by the collar, pulling him back in the process.
The figure then slapped him in the face so hard that he fell unconscious.
Akairo turned his tear-filled eyes to the last one, who tried his hardest to escape but he was being held by the neck by another ghostly blue arm.
The figure walked up to him before placing their hand behind his back.
The man then wildly convulsed before suddenly dropping to the floor.
At this point, Akairo’s body had grown far too cold.
His vision faded and he felt all the pain from before dull.
“Oh no!” The figure cried before rushing to Akairo’s side.
His vision darkened further and the last thing that he saw was a pair of warm brown eyes.
.
..
Akairo’s eyes popped open as the smell of good food filled his lungs. He could also hear the sound of distant sirens.
He saw that he was sleeping on a small, yes, but it was in a small apartment which was dimly lit by a single lightbulb which hung above.
Akairo’s attention then quickly shifted to a small man who stood over a stove which was in the kitchen area a few meters away from the bedroom area.
He wore a strange robe which looked both ceremonial and tactical in the sense that it was made of flaps of fabric that were layered over each other in a loose-fitting manner but it was also made out of a dark leather that was covered in scars.
The man’s head had very little hair and this revealed a myriad of fading scars.
Akairo sat up and this startled the man for some reason.
“Ah- you’re finally awake.” He coughed without turning to face Akairo.
“Mmm... Who are you and where am I?” Akairo asked with a level of clarity that surprised him.
He touched his face and felt no pain and not a hint of fatigue could be felt in his muscles.
The man took a deep breath and turned around revealing his ridiculously blond moustache which stood out awkwardly against his dark skin.
“I AM MASTER ZABU! BE GRATEFUL FOR IT WAS I WHO SAVED YOUR PITIFUL ASS!”