DURA VS. FETTER
“Welcome to the last fight of the Fiend bracket’s first round! It’s been quite an exciting two days, hasn’t it? This will be it for the night, and we’ll start fresh in the morning with a new bracket of those who have passed. But don’t get up just yet, because this should be an interesting one.”
“Our first Fiend is the final of the Central Peace fighters and certainly the most jovial of the bunch. Despite the others who are here out of obligation, my bet is that he just wants to have a good time. Just don’t ask him about his day or you’ll never get him to shut up again. The Maddening Monk, Dura!”
“And our last Fiend for the first round is a bit of a unique case. Some of our other contestants have popped up from obscurity, but this contestant has been entirely unknown to the world until this moment. Only the event organizers and few government officials know of his existence.”
“That’s because he’s been locked away for nearly a decade, imprisoned since he was convicted for the murder that made him a Fiend when he was a teenager. He’s served his sentence dutifully, not knowing that there were others like him out in the world. This man only broke out of prison specifically when he heard about this tournament and came here looking for salvation. Because he’s so unknown, he doesn’t have an epithet. But going off what I know of his powers, I’m going to give it my best shot. Introducing The Mesmerizing Mime, Fetter!”
Gasps rang around the arena when the man exited the staging area. The primary reasons were obvious, he practically looked like a walking corpse. His skin was so pale that the fake moon light glistened off of it. There wasn’t a hint of muscle or fat on him, clearly starved and mistreated during his incarceration.
He was also shirtless so that they could get a better look. Or rather, the top of his prison jumpsuit had been slipped off and was dangling around his waist. Etched across his chest were painted black lines. It was hard to tell if they were his Curse Mark or a tattoo with some other meaning. They resembled the horizontal lines of an old-style prison uniform, but also that of a mime.
To further the latter image, his hair was pinned up uniquely, making it look like a beret. But what really drew everyone’s attention was the man’s face. It wasn’t the bony cheekbones or the lifeless eyes. What drew everyone’s gaze was his mouth. It had been stitched shut with thick thread. And if that wasn’t enough, on one side, a padlock clamped through both lips, sealing them shut, so not a single word could accidentally slip out.
“Oh hello there, new friend!” Only Dura didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest, waving at the man with as much eagerness as he’d greet any other. Though he did seem a little upset when the man didn’t return his gesture, not even acknowledging his opponent’s existence as he slowly climbed onto the stage.
“No obstacles. This is the final match for the night, so make it a good one. Fight!”
《Chorus: So Phon, you’ve decided to force your way into this commentary again, even though you shirked your other assigned ones and pulled that stunt last time. I was actually in talks about getting either Jaid or General Breach for this as Dura’s direct supervisors since they’d have the most insight. If you’d allowed me a few more minutes, I’m sure I could have secured it. So will you go ahead and explain to the people the urgent reason why you had to go over my head.》
《Phon: Well yes, because one, I don’t care, and two, I couldn’t trust anyone else not to mess this up. Fetter’s Curse is unique. Unlike Tusmon, I won’t be revealing any details whatsoever. But… I’m also placing a restriction on this commentary. It is fine to say whatever you want about Dura, but you may not mention a single action that Fetter takes. It could very well skew the results of the fight.》
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
《Phon: I know that’s something I can trust myself with. And I’m allowing you to be here because you’re a professional. You are, aren’t you? I don’t need to remove and/or stab you if you break this rule, do I?》
《Chorus: Not at all, but I doubt we’ll get many words in at all, given Dura’s mouth.》
“I have been mentioned, yay! Is that my cue to start this thing?” The monk pondered. “I’ve noticed that many of the other competitors are polite and wait for the commentators to say any opening remarks. It would make more sense to catch their opponent off guard during that time, but I don’t want to break any unwritten rules.”
“But I guess we can go now. Hello there, Fetter! How are you today?” Dura paused for a fraction of a second for any response but then got impatient and continued. “Nearly a decade in prison, right? That must have been tough. I can’t imagine it, though I did live most of my life restricted by so many rules. It was a different kind of prison, not to diminish your experience, however.”
“Now you’re out, though! You are already free! Or maybe you don’t feel so as long as the law enforcement hangs over your head. That must be your wish then, right? For a pardon? A pretty good wish, but I’m not going to make it so easy on you.”
“She called you The Mime, right? Is that just because of how you look or because of your power? Do you make invisible boxes or something? Y’know, I really like my power. It’s not super fancy, or flashy, and most people don’t even know it's there. But it really helps people, and it's something everyone can rely on. It feels good to use and can let me have a lot of fun!”
“You’re not really much of a talker, are you?” Dura finally accepted. “Is that because your mouth’s all locked up? What’s with that? Do you need a knife or some bolt cutters? I can get you some. Does that make it hard to eat? Is that why you’re so skinny?”
“Oh hey, you’re finally doing something! You’re pointing at me. Yes, I am Dura, The Monk, and you are Fetter, The Mime. Shall we be friends? Oh, you’ve raised your thumbs. I get it, you are making one of those finger pistols that people do for fun, well pew pew to you too, friend!” Dura mimed a pair of pistols back at him, but Fetter didn’t really register the man’s attempt at playing along.
“And now you’re raising the other hand to the gun.” The Mime did as he said, touching the palm of the hand with the finger pistol and then he mimicked pulling something away. “Oh I see, you are checking the ammunition. Yes, one two, how many are in there? Is it a full clip? Ah, must be good, you are putting it back.”
“Now you’ve pulled back your thumb like it’s the hammer. I see you know your stuff. But I suppose you would after being around guards for so long. That is a little detail many people mimicking would forget. Hey, what kind of gun is it? I have to warn you, no kind of gun will work on me. My clothes are too strong, so nothing can get through!”
“Unless you aim for my head, which is against the rules, nothing can touch me. I am completely saf—” Dura suddenly stopped talking at that moment, his words robbed from him.
Fetter had flexed his middle finger, miming as if he was pulling the invisible trigger. His hand reeled back, as if the fake gun had actually fired.
Suddenly, the front of Dura’s robes were stained and he pressed his hand against it, then pulled it back to find his own blood that had soaked through. Since he was still standing, Fetter fired two more times, and Dura recoiled from both. He then collapsed to the ground, blood quickly leaking out of him.
The medical team hopped onto the stage to confirm that Dura was still breathing, and then Ahvra hurried to heal him. Fortunately, all of his blood was still around.
“Fetter wins!”
~Unfulfilled Wish~
Dura: (Official Wish) For the nation of Fiendish to join the Central Peace.
Dura: (Actual Wish) To have my own talk show on Fiend TV!