His body is numb, no pain, only a slight tingling sensation as if his circuits are undergoing a power surge. Chester moves one hand to his mouth, guided by the sight as if controlling it by remote control. He places the back of it between his teeth and bites down until he draws blood. He feels burning, and the hot taste of metal awakens his palate and his mind. He removes his hand, tilts his head to spit out the blood, sits down on the sand, plants the sword he still holds, and in one leap squats down. He raises his body and gives a reddened smile to the inquisitor.

"I told you everything would flow by itself!"

Ricote, upon seeing him stand up, nods as if warning that he will jump. Once again, the more than a hundred KL of muscle lash out.

Already at contact distance, Chester again unloads the edge from the waist, and Ricote again stops it with the fingers of one hand. But the Lancaster had learned that, he bends his wrists backwards, and the blade goes from pointing to the inside of the inquisitor's palm, to point to the sky, taking flesh and bone.

Four right fingers fall to the dust, followed by thick marks of blood. Ricote sends a punch against the Lancaster's chest, who dodges it by moving backwards. As soon as Chester's smile widens, his soles slip on the guts of one of the fallen warriors.

The nobleman skids for a couple of seconds before rushing forward. Ricote's iron palm closes on his neck before he falls, and lifts him off the ground, squeezing, impeding his air. Chester, with bloodshot eyes, jabs with his katana, which penetrates and exits several times under the Catholic's armpit. Ricote's arm gives way, and Chester ends up on his ass in the sand.

Chester coughs up blood, turns around and gets up on all fours to vomit. A kick in the side sends him rolling across the floor onto his stomach, with several of his ribs broken. His vision is blurred, but he catches the running shadow. Chester swallows the pain, drops to his knees, raises his blade, and guided by hearing, moves his arms and releases his grip.

The katana spins in the air and then buries itself in Ricote's chest, slowing him down. Chester gets up and runs to the hooded man. He leaps, his boots landing against the inquisitor's steel abdomen, his right palm wraps around the hilt of the embedded sword, and his left catches the guy's crown. He calculates that his momentum would be enough to knock the man over.... He miscalculated.

Ricote swipes all four stumps across his face, the alien blood rushing into his nose and eyes, fracturing his fractures. The Lancaster jumps backwards, trying to land on the blades, instead planting his knee for not meeting the demands of the acrobatics. With his forearm he sweeps the blood from his eyes, blinks, and sees the inquisitor pulling the blade from his chest before throwing the katana into the dust.

Blood runs freely down Ricote's body, who nevertheless continues to move with the temperance of a plague of God. As he walks towards Chester, there is no fear in his eyes, yet neither did he rejoice at the nearness of victory, and that last does hurt the lion.

(Here I die...?) The Lancasterian thinks. He forces himself to stand upright and walk to the hooded man. (I feel no fear, that's fine. But no pride either... Why?)

Different faces of Nadjela come to his mind. Her friendly smile; her pout of annoyance; her frown of distrust; her countenance of honest surprise and wonder at every discovery, no matter how minor or mundane. To Chester, Nadjela is the most amazed person in the world he met.

(Even a rotten world fascinated her. She could even see wonders in a rotten warrior like me...)

Now she understands what bothers him. It is not dying for Ricote, that would be honorable, he is a great warrior. Nor to perish in front of Achú, he is a great asshole. What bothers him is not keeping his promise to the young girl, protecting her and returning her home.

(Damn it! What are you thinking, Chester? You can't just give up like that! Do the only thing you're good at and fight! If you still have blood and breath, you can still fight!)

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He hastens his pace. He remains in front of the inquisitor. He throws two blows, one against the chest, the other against the face. Ricote doesn't even flinch. Chester wants to continue attacking, but he is immobilized by a terrible pressure on the sides of his face. Ricote, with his palms firm on the swordsman's head, squeezes until every vein in his arms is marked.

The pressure builds up on Chester's skull, who strikes the inquisitor's chest and abdomen, dozens of times, peeling and cracking his knuckles, flaying the skin of the man of faith until the middle layers of that rustic skin are revealed. But the pressure of the hands persists and increases.

Chester breaks several of Ricote's ribs with his bare fist, and pummels his lungs so hard that blood trickles down the lower part of the hood, also increasing the flow of the sword wounds, which weep like a spring. But even with all that damage added up, the inquisitor still pressed his swollen, trembling palms closer and closer together.

There was no more white in Chester's eyes, only red, and they tremble in their sockets as if undecided whether to stay or go for a walk. At that point the Lancastrian no longer thinks, and each new punch counts with half the force of the previous one.

...

Nadjela's eyes are burning. She loses her breath at this wild spectacle. Chester, the hero of the tribe... Her hero... Torn to pieces by the stranger in the hood. Impossible, Chester can't die... She doesn't want that. Meanwhile, all around, cruel men and women clamor for the blood of the man she loves.

(What can I do...? Mother of birds, I beg you, give me your support. Save him!)

She clasps his hands on his necklace. Prays to heaven, to his mother, to the divine, to please imbue Chester with the strength to overcome this obstacle. She asks the universe for mercy...

And the universe answers.

Nadjela is too busy praying to see it. Erika doesn't notice it either, as she, like the rest, is mesmerized by the violent struggle. Only one person notices the supernatural glow between Nadjela's fingers. Deathmask loses his smile at the sight of her, because in the one among many, holding a luminescent object in his hands, he recognizes the living image of his beloved.

Above earthly perceptions, the necklace extends an invisible wake to the body and mind of the Lancastrian.

An injection of life.

...

Fire is born from his entrails. A second breath, or rather the third or fourth? When his forces flanked the most, divine inspiration arrived. Heat that revitalizes, engulfs the pain. He regains firmness in his legs, screams with courage to immediately connect a fist with broken fingers. Using an unknown power, Chester's knuckles ram the inquisitor's abdomen. Something tears, he thought it was his hand exploding. But the fist penetrates the skin, pierces the flesh, goes beyond the muscles, and is embedded between the intestines.

The audience falls silent. Achu chokes on his own saliva. Erika jumps in her seat. Nadjela continues to pray, indifferent to the sudden silence.

The pressure on the Lancaster's temples disappears. Ricote, eyes wide as saucers, wants to pull back, but his legs don't respond. It is Chester who pulls his bloody fist out of him. Ricote plants one knee, then the other. The man of faith's gaze, now glazed, contemplates Chester's grounded countenance. The Lancasterian smiles, vital substance trickling down the corner of his smile.

"May you be reborn as a good fellow. Then one day we'd fight again, but in a friendly way"

The inquisitor, again, just nods, closes his eyes, and drops. Chester tackles him, his countenance solemn, and gently lays him on his back in the sand. The tranquility that took possession of the swordsman's face disappears, carried away by an anger fanned by the forces that invaded him. He faces the sky and roars until he is voiceless, furious to win, furious to remain standing, furious to be left with an unrequited victory.

The voice of the lion reaches beyond the coliseum, and makes the cadeneros in the stands tremble, several withdraw. Nadjela opens her eyes and contemplates it without words. At one point, the symptoms of combat hit Chester like lead, and he collapses beside Ricote.

Deathmask comes to his senses, stops spying on Nadjela to issue an order to the lookouts: Shoot to kill! Fill the Lancastrian with holes! But before his mouth utters such words, Shura stops him by placing her hand on his arm. Brother and sister look at each other, Shura slowly shakes his head.

"I want that man alive"

In another situation Achú would have overridden his authority, you couldn't leave alive a man capable of challenging him, less in front of his dogs and thugs. But Achú was not in his right mind, his mind floats to environments where his beloved lives, just as beautiful, even younger, and with a new neck.

Deathmask announces the end of the event and orders the nobleman's body to be brought to him, the rest would be left for the scavengers and necrophiliacs.

The slavering hosts assume that a long and agonizing death awaits the Lancasterian. Some feel sorry for him, for a man capable of such a fight deserves respect. Many others are relieved, for a man capable of such a fight deserves terror.