“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.” The voice was raucous – as raucous as they come.
“Shut up…” Evens mumbled irately. His eyes closed to the blackness of his thoughts, and his ears muffled to the racket of the rocking paddy wagon and howling meterases.
“You were trying to–” The voice was timorous – as timorous as they come.
“Will you both give it a rest already!?” Evens lunged awake from his fake nap and confronted the meddlesome duo. “I still can’t believe that both of you fools are also here,” Evens palmed his own face – glaring his tired, murky orbs at the ever-nosy Rupert and the ever-smug Owl. How do I keep getting myself stuck with them? Evens sighed, though only briefly. He slammed his fists against the steel bars, but to no avail – he could not possibly think that his feeble might would be able to break the cage.
“Sucks to be you, buddy. Ya’ think I wished for this too?” Owl jeered, raucous as usual.
Rupert did not respond, timorous as usual. He had to unfit his wooden leg, for there was close to no room in the moving dungeon.
Evens had lost track of how many days has it been since he was stuffed into this heated cauldron to be sent to the Ironmount Institution. The marvel of the Iron Trail and countryside unknown to Evens in all his life were the sole gift to be found in these last restless days – yet, perhaps new ones have been granted to him. Penny Piece, the region that Screwpile resided in, held more beauty than Evens once thought.
“What could you two fools even possibly do to earn your keep here?” Evens sneered – his days of stillness and mellowness were no doubt gone.
“I tried to stay put and out of sight for as long as I could – but Ruby, she needed more...” For a man as tall as Rupert, Evens didn’t think tears could roll down from that height. “If I had just heeded Miss Num’s warning, this wouldn’t have happened…” the tall yet timid lad spoke.
That’s a shame… Evens held no snarky remarks to that – Rupert had always been a dependent bloke for his little sister.
“They got me for public urination,” the crass and bald lad barked.
Why am I not surprised? Evens had many snarky remarks to make, but he feared that it would last them until nightfall – Owl had always been a peculiar bloke to behold.
Both of them were arrested on the same day Evens was, but the three only reunited today in Evens’s wagon after the other two’s paddy wagons were attacked by hordes of meterases.
“Well, c’mon – spit it out,” Owl tapped his knee and faced Evens as if a child awaiting his bedtime story.
“Spit what out?” Evens asked with squinted eyes – being subjected to Owl’s antics within a cage heated by the summer heat was a punishment far worse than mining the Centum Alps.
“We told ya’ our truths – now’s your turn,” the dark-skinned and silver-tongued lad rested his feet between the cage’s gaps.
Even the once-sulking Rupert rose up from his self-pity and gandered at Evens with glimmering eyes – he had always been a fiend for a riveting, untold tale.
Evens clicked his tongue – but his mouth has yet to utter a single word in the last few moons, so perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad to exercise them. “Fine, I guess I’ll tell y’all. I fou–”
“Halt!”
As if they were ingredients to be shaken in a pot, the prisoners tumbled wildly around in their cage when the wagon suddenly halted on its track.
Just my luck… However it came to be, Evens found himself buried underneath two stinking corpses. His arms felt crushed under one’s rear, while his face under one’s boot – though he could hardly feel any further pain on top of the ones he had received from the last scuffle that landed him in this cell. “Get off of me already,” with all of his remaining might, he pushed the two lads off of him.
“What the hell happened?” Owl rubbed his bald dome that was swelling even further to an egg shape.
“Lord Sentinel! What happened?” Rupert shouted to the carter, who carelessly halted his wagon.
“Mets. You four stay put while we handle them, you hear me?” the Rook Sentinel sighed before descending from the cart and armed himself with a bow. “Just my luck… Why are there so many damn mets lately? Damn Lord Prime wasted our time for nothing…” he clicked his tongue and begrudgingly united with his brethren in black – leaving the paddy wagon all by its lonesome, with nought to fend for its captives.
Mets? Again? Evens thought. Though from where they sat in the caged box, not a single glimpse of those steel beasts could be seen – only the clashing of steel to steel and the bloodcurdling cries of maimed men could be heard. Was that why that old bastard gave me the task? Evens recalled when the old foreman, Chin, had once given him a task to quell the invasive mets bordering Screwpile – yet the old coot merely wished for Evens to drive those pesky mets away into the Junkwoods instead of slaying them. Well, if it isn’t the consequences of your actions? Evens smirked to himself – it was no longer his concern, if nothing else, he was delighted to know that the Blacks would have to waste their precious time to suppress the beasts.
“Those boys in blacks got their work cut out for them,” Owl sneered, trying to stick his head through the gap of the cage and catch a glimpse of the action – but to no avail.
“More time for us, I suppose.” Rupert held tightly onto his pegleg lest he wished for it to tumble around once more. “C’mon, Evens. As good a time as any for a story here,” he reminded Evens.
“Fine. As I was saying–”
Before Evens could utter any further words, a light cough from the end of the cage gagged his mouth and caught the attention of the three boys – it was the last ingredient in the cauldron.
Untanned by the harsh sun, he was paled and had even paler hair – Evens could find more life in a doll. His cheeks sunken into his jaws, and his fingers were thinner than quills. His limbs were lanky, even longer than Rupert’s – the wagon could barely even contain his whole body without him having to fold himself. Despite the summer heat and his woolly garments, no sweat could be seen trailing down his face; neither was a wince of discomfort. His chin was cleaned of any stubbles as if they were smoothly burnt away. No colours of living seemed to house his azure orbs – yet as if it was carved onto his face, his eerie smile ever stayed.
Evens couldn’t believe that he had forgotten about him. He was the first person who was caged with Evens since the beginning, yet he has never uttered a word since the journey, so Evens had all but casted off the lanky husk’s worth from his mind.
Neither Owl nor Rupert spoke a word nor paid a glance to him either – their pupils shook, and bumps goosed at a mere feeble cough of his.
I guess he could join… Evens sweated from his brows. Though the prisoner wasn’t particularly threatening like the Prime Sentinel, an inexplicable eery sense that brought shiver and sweat to Evens could be felt in his presence – and Evens wasn’t about to be the one to tell him to beat it. “Anyway. So what happened was–”
*
The sky had turned dark to make way for the moon’s performance. The sound of clashing steels and beastly growls had all but vanished – with the prisoner caravans halting their journey to make camp for the night by the grassy meadow bordering the Iron Trail and bounded by the Junkwoods.
“And that’s all that happened,” Evens ended his grand tale to the wide-eyed tots.
“Hell yeah.” That was all Owl had to say.
“Hell yeah.” That was all Rupert had to say.
You heard all that, and that’s all you had to say, Evens sighed, wondering why he even bothered wasting what little water his parched throat had left to amuse these clowns.
Though Evens received no applause from his friends of old, a faint clap – less than a clap and more akin to two wooden clubs banging against each other burst out from the corner of the cage, where none lay eyes upon. “That was a rather novel tale you spouted, patch-lad,” the pale man laughed aloud while clapping his bony palms together.
Patch-lad? Evens found no honour in earning his praise. “Thanks…” Evens stuttered, avoiding his orbs of sapphire.
“Too afraid to look me in the eye, patch-lad?” his sunken voice deader than the dead.
Yes, Evens thought. “No,” said Evens.
Acting as if he had always known Evens, the snake of a man slithered closer to the three. “Look closely. They’re not that scary – not nearly as much as yours.”
Evens inched backwards, only to find his back hit against steel bars.
“Stop creeping him out, and leave us alone,” with his arm, Owl separated the ghost away from Evens.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to scare your friend, egg-boy,” he bowed his head feebly, it felt as if his skull would fall off his lanky neck at any moment.
A shaken Owl rubbed his bald head with one hand while swinging the other. “Egg-boy!? Now listen here, you listen–”
“Enough, Owl. This hardly the place for your tantrum,” Rupert quelled the hot-headed lad’s rage.
“That’s right. Still your heart, and follow your head – no matter how smooth it is. You should listen to stick-kid here,” he waved his thin finger to the air, like a teacher lecturing to a class.
A baffled Rupert wielded his wooden leg as if it were a club and lunged forward. “Stick-kid!? How dare you–”
“Wagon Seven! Withdraw!” A loud banging on the cage ended any further quandary and stole the four’s attention. A Sentinel – a familiar Sentinel greeted them by their wagon, his detestable hood fluttered along the night’s wind, masking away his wicked face. “Make way outside. The ride halts for the night.”
“And pray tell, why are you suddenly so kind to let us stretch our back and legs? When before, you would not have even batted an eye in letting us soil ourselves in this cage,” the man in white confronted the man in black – their station couldn’t be any more different.
“You are tonight’s entertainment for the Commander. Rejoice in knowing that your pitiful lives will be served of some worth to please Lord Senu.” The hooded Sentinel stated pompously before unlocking their moving dungeon – the Prime Sentinel called him Symon if Evens remembered right.
“Well, if the great Lord commands it – may only the world judge his deeds. C’mon, patch-lad, egg-boy, stick-kid – we have a show to perform.” Acting as if he had been friends with the three for ages – the man whose name they did not even know grinned from ear to ear as he stepped out of the cage jovially.
One by one, Owl and Rupert made their way out of the cage, though their feet were wavering with each step – yet just as Evens was about to receive the first huff of untainted air in days and graze the solid ground, the Sentinel blocked his path. “What now? Still livid about our little bout?” he goaded Symon – even though Evens’s wounds were far worse than his, while Symon’s face had already nearly healed.
“You can stay.” The ecliant’s face was unbothered to Evens’s provocation.
What? Evens scratched his head. Laying beyond the Sentinel was his fleeting moment of freedom and friends. The smell of dampened air and wet grass were at the tip of his nose, and the warmth of bonfire and pots of stew could be felt breezing past his body – he’ll be damned for yielding to this insufferable ecliant. “No thanks. I’d be with my mates,” Evens bumped himself against the Sentinel and walked past him – though the hooded man didn’t seem to stand firm on his conviction.
“Your choice to make. I won’t be blamed for this,” Symon mumbled before dutifully unveiling a long chain of shackles, enough for all four of the prisoners to be chained together to one rope like a steel caterpillar. With a lantern in hand, he walked afront the chained felons and shone their path. “Follow me. Make any sound or stray from my steps – there’d be no mercy.” He walked forward without awaiting an answer.
None made a sound nor a gesture and merely moved their feet forward.
The night was dark and gusty, and few stars inhabited the sky this evening – leaving the prisoners relying solely on the light in the Sentinel’s palm and the smoky trail of burning wood to guide their way. Evens could barely even see Rupert or Owl’s faces, but he could feel their trembles, wildly stirring the steel chain bounding all of their hands together. Yet the paled man walking afront the three, his wrists were still from any quiver or fright – in fact, he was whistling away jovially to a hymn that Evens had never heard in this land before.
Evens kept walking. The scent of burning logs and the sound of drunken cheers lurked closer with each step. Finally… Evens panted – yet as his brown eyes lay upon the sight of the campsite, he soon wished that he had just stayed behind in the paddy wagon.
“We’re here,” Symon announced.
Disgusting… Evens gnashed his teeth – beating himself up over his naivety.
The campsite was littered with ecliants in suits of black; their hands were plenty with grubs, drinks, and flesh – though it did not seem like the entirety of the Sentinels were there, perhaps this was merely a single unit. Prisoners, or more so slaves, unchained from their shackles to serve their ecliant masters’ biddings – keeping their goblets full, selling their bodies, tearing themselves apart by steels, and rolling their heads off of their necks for their masters to use as kickballs. Men guarding carts and crates filled with slabs of colourful stones and shiny ores that Evens had never seen before – it seemed they were detaining more than just mere prisoners. The Blacks’ repugnant six-pointed star embroidered upon hundreds of flags and pitched throughout the meadow – spoiling and marking nature’s prairie as their own. The smell of dampened air and wet grass that Evens so cherished had all been tainted by foul odours of sweat, tears, and blood. Amidst the sea of bloody smoke, the king of the Blacks was the stout Commander of the Heart Corp – guzzling down his golden chalice served by women stripped of their garments while his fat rear sitting atop a throne made by crawling men.
“A debauched painting, isn’t it?” The slender man remarked slyly.
Evens held no words for him once more – his mouth unwilling to needlessly open and inhale the corrupted air.
“Here we go again…” Owl sighed.
“Yup…” Rupert muttered as he reached down to bolt his wooden leg tightly.
So this is what they’ve been doing every night… Why wasn’t I aware until now? Evens thought before turning his gaze promptly to Symon, though the craven did not dare to match his stare.
One by one, Symon released the four from their steel bondage. “Come with me.” He ordered.
“Well, this is a first?” Even the sly jester with hair reaching down his back seemed confused at the Sentinel’s command.
“Why is that?” Evens asked, finally unbolting his lips.
“Men like us, too weak to participate in bouts and too ugly to be fondled – the Blacks normally only delegated us to clean their dishes and serve their meals,” Rupert explained.
“This is the first they’ve brought us somewhere else besides the river or cook’s tent,” Owl added.
There was no point to further dwell in questions that would soon be answered. As they walked deeper into the hearth of the camps, glares of contempt from the ecliants and their fellow humans felt like arrows and spears hurled at Evens. Ecliants wondered why few humans were freed from their chains – and humans resent why they were not the ones freed from their chains. Regardless of their distant scowl, Evens could not care less for their pitiful and futile gaze – his body had suffered far worse. With his boots firmly set to the hearth of the campsite – Evens was forced to lay his eyes on the great bonfire lit and the Heart Commander, who was sitting by its grace, roasting himself like a suckling pig.
“Good evening, Lord Commander.” Symon bowed to his Lord.
“So you at last brought him to me, Symon. Good job, I knew I could count on you,” with one hand holding onto a bottle and the other onto a breast, the fat commander laughed, though barely, for his face was still swollen like a tomato. The lady atop his lap was stripped from any garment from her body and light from her eyes – though her shackles were taken away, her limbs still remained crumpled. The Heart Commander then fixed his gaze upon each of the heads before him. “What are you lot waiting for?”
Evens marched forward; the pig did not scare him. “What do you want–” Before he could mutter his last words, his knee gave out, and Evens crumbled to the dirt, with his teeth biting onto his tongue. A burning sensation scorched the back of his thigh as if he was whipped by fire itself.
“Kneel before the Lord.” Symon glared down at Evens with a black whip in his hand. “All, kneel!” he raised his whip to the air and gestured towards the standby Sentinels.
One by one – Owl, Rupert, and even the paled men too crumbled to their knees at the hands of fiery lashes to their thighs and backs. Their painful squirms lulled the ears of the pleased Heart Commander and his men in black.
Evens was not spared from the lashes either. The hooded Sentinel sent blow after blow unto Evens’s back. “I tried to warn you…” Symon murmured, though his eyes did not seem all that dejected.
So this is their show? Evens sealed his jaws tight and squeezed his palms shut – allowing no cry of his to mingle with their laughter. The first few lashes stung like flame and sounded like clapping hands – but after a dozen or so more lashes, it then felt as if a boulder was grating up and down his blood-drenched back. The visceral screams of his friends and the snobbish laughter of the Blacks could hardly be heard amidst Evens’s raging heartbeat. I wonder how many new scars I would be getting this time… Evens thought, his eyes were trying their best to stay open despite the comforting night’s veil trying its best to have Evens succumb to its spell.
“That’s enough,” the Heart Commander halted the public torture. “It’s no fun if the cur isn’t squirming too.” He pouted like a child, or perhaps he wasn’t – Evens could hardly tell from not only his chubby cheeks but also his swollen face.
This wasn’t enough for you? Evens panted and recouped his breath on the grass. He glanced over to Rupert and Owl, merely to find them too collapsed on the meadow – their shirts tattered and backs slathered in blood and cuts from their neck to tailbone. The man in white, too, was lying on the grass, his snowy shirt tainted in red – and yet, his eerie smile ever stood, if nothing else, it even grew wider.
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“Why are you laughing?” the stout lord asked, even he was puzzled by the prisoner’s response to a beating.
As if a corpse was rising back from the dead under the fool moon – the man with skin as fair as snow rose his battered body up. “I’m sorry. I could not help it,” he giggled all by his lonesome.
“And why that is?” the Heart Commander further probed.
“To be entirely honest with you, My Lord – this is rather boring, don’t you think?”
His words halted the walking servants from their servitude, the Blacks from their leisure, and the songstresses from their songs – merely the flame flickered evermore, unbothered by any intervention.
“What do you mean by that?” Senu shoved the girl on his lap to the ground and clumsily trotted towards him. He gripped the lanky man by his sunken cheeks – if not for him kneeling right there, Evens doubted that the commander would had the nerve to lay his paws on him.
“For a Commander of a Sentinel Corp – don’t you think that your taste is a bit old-fashioned?” Somehow, he was still able to speak clearly despite having his cheeks squeezed.
“Get to the point.” The Heart Commander acted all mightily under the watch of his men in black.
“You have men of actions. Men with raging blood but nowhere to release them. The most they had was what? Arresting a handful of peasants in a corner who knows where? They ought to need more than that, and certainly, more than just watch men be slaved and whipped in circles,” the pale man worded articulately, far more than any songstresses present.
“So you’re suggesting that there’s not enough blood to quench my men’s thirst?” the Heart Commander asked.
“I would never suggest anything of such to you, My Lord. My wisdom could never hope to match yours, let alone give you any worthwhile advice,” he grinned feebly.
“What is your name?”
The man in white ceased for a moment, and for just an instant, as he gazed his blue eyes down to the grass and the moonlight shone over his pale head – it reminded Evens of his sunken look back in the paddy wagon. “Blueyard, My Lord.” The ghost proclaimed.
Blueyard? Really? Evens thought, trying to hold in his grin despite the pain.
“Blueyard?” the Heart Commander rolled his eyes, even he was not stupid enough to believe it. “Alright then, Blueyard. You’re right. Even I was getting bored with the entertainment these past few nights.” He released Blueyard’s cheeks. Like a scholar in deep thought, Senu began to walk in circles with his eyes closed. It took the swine a few laps walked, and many breaths panted until he finished his ponder. “I got an idea.” He clapped his hands. “Symon, we still have the met here?”
Symon’s orbs were shaken at the mention of it. “Yes, My Lord. But I do not think we should–”
“Great, it’s settled then,” the Heart Commander ignored his lackey and walked to the bonfire at the heart of the camp – the might of the flames spanned so big that it could rival a small keep. With a human on all four as his footstool to step on, the fat lord spoke out to his merry Sentinels, who were indulging in the night’s pleasure. “Sentinels! Rally yourselves around our guests of honour tonight! A show of a lifetime is about to begin!”
All halted their current doings at the command of their Lord. Ecliants turned to hungry beasts and began to howl in delight, while songstresses began to sing songs of war. Even the humans sighed in relief – having finally earned their fleeting break. Each with a shield engraved with the golden six-pointed star sigil in hand, the Sentinels encircled themselves around the four prisoners until there was no path for them to escape.
“Lord Senu, I sincerely implore you to reconsider this,” the hooded ecliant pleaded to his Lord – it was rare for Evens to see that squire defying his Lord’s order.
“Enough, Symon. The Prophet wished for me to teach you my ways, right? Then let me teach you how to work a crowd,” the cowardly Lord lectured his page. “Bring in the met, boys!”
At the order of the Heart Commander, the wall of shields opened a path for six Sentinels to cart a steel cage into the hearth of the arena.
The light from the bonfire seemed to have disturbed its rest. Its morning roar drowned out the voices of songsters and their strings. Its fleece of steel as any other mets, though it was pitch-black and even darker under the guise of night. Its face bore features of a human, yet its dome was a bit too pointy to be one. It bore no sharp claws, yet its arms were bigger than any mets that Evens had seen – its fists repeatedly punching against its chest sounded fiercer than any sword clash could ever make.
“What kind of met is that?” Owl groaned as he lastly stood up.
“I’ve never read about that kind of meteras before,” Rupert, too, woke up – even a man as bright as he was stumped at what he was gandering at.
“Well, aren’t you in luck, patch-lad?” Blueyard laughed, even at this moment.
“Will you stop–” Evens gasped while lifting himself up on both feet.
“You’ve fought the Giant of the Centum Order, and you’ve embarrassingly lost – now you have a chance to redeem yourself and test your valour against a giant ape. How fitting is that?”
Blueyard’s fervour even creeped out the mastermind of this stunt. “Let us leave, Symon. I want a good viewing of this show,” the stout commander wasted no time to make his way away from the danger.
“Yes, My Lord,” Symon mumbled, though his feet stood firm as he gazed down at Evens – his scornful eyes were no longer slanted. He reached underneath his cloak and unveiled a shortsword, a dagger, and an Arkive – which he then tossed the items to the grass. “That’s all I have. Take what you need to live.” Symon offered his last words. He walked to the cage that housed the beast – the steel ape rocked its dungeon wildly and tried to crush Symon’s head with its paws, but it could not reach him. With a key in his grasp, Symon unlocked the cage and hastily ran after his Lord – at last, leaving the four prisoners behind to greet the freed beast.
The met was at last outside of its cage, with its whole body shone under the moonlight and by the fireside. Its body was even larger than Evens had thought – yet somehow, it did not seem as threatening nor as large as the Prime Sentinel. As if it was a night festival, whenever the ape roared, the crowd of ecliants clapped their hands and cheered – whenever the ape beat its chest, the circle of shielders stomped their feet to the ground.
Evens reached for the sword, Owl for the dagger, Rupert for the Arkive book – this reminded Evens of when, as kids, they’d pretend to be knights and mages from their stories.
“And what about little ol’ me? You’re not going to leave a frail damsel like me without anything to shield myself, would you? Surely you’re not that cruel?” Blueyard wept theatrically.
The bellow of an actual damsel in distress caught the boys’ glance. “Help me!!” The nude woman who was abandoned by the Heart Commander cried out as she crawled desperately yet aimlessly throughout the meadow – only to find her face stumbling against the steel feet of the meteras.
As if she were a delicate flower blooming amidst the field, the giant ape plucked her up in one fell swoop with his massive palm. Like a curious child, it sniffed her body and threw her lightly up and down.
Frightened but unharmed, the unfortunate damsel gazed into the hollow eyes of the meteras. Enamoured by the beast, she lay her delicate hand onto the met’s face – seemingly relieving the beast from its raging stupor.
“Impossible...” Rupert murmured.
“What a marvellous painting – may Ark never burn this sight away from my mind,” Blueyard moaned in ecstasy.
Evens was surprised but not terribly shocked himself – after all, he had tame a meteras before, though Scrapper was not nearly as big as the ape afront him.
“What are you doing, you wench? How dare you halt the spectacle? After all I’ve done for you?” the Commander of the Heart Corp shouted from beyond the wall of shields that separated him from the beast and the beauty.
The unclothed enchantress who had entranced the beast in her spell faced the ecliant who wronged her – her eyes and lips tearing drops of blood. “I am your monster no more! With this treasured beast, I summon–”
Her final words were never heard.
As if she were no more than a dolly, the carriage-size toddler gripped the woman from both ends and tore her apart at her chest like a sheet of parchment. Stringy innards and gallons of blood soiled the verdure meadow – even the veil of the night could not mask away the gory sight. Outwardly lost interest in its broken toy, the meteras chucked away both halves of the lady as if they were no more than rubbish.
The swarm of ecliants cheered in awe at the spectacle, ramming their shields, tapping their feet, and chanting their calls – demanding for more blood to be spilt.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Now, that sight was one to die for. A human who soared too high to the sky – thinking that she could tame beasts reserved for honoured folks,” Blueyard whistled as if he had just witnessed the most spectacular stageplay.
“You’re one mad son of a bitch, you know that? I don’t know if I should be scared fighting against that thing or have you by our side to fight it?” Owl grunted while gripping tightly onto his dagger and pointing it at the beast – his body trembling, yet his stance held tall.
“What am I even supposed to do with this?” Rupert flicked through the holy book in his grasp, perhaps a prayer would do them some good.
“Will you both shut it? This is hardly our first time against a met,” Evens tried to still his heart as he stepped up in front of his comrades. The three had fought together against many meterases in the past before, but they were mainly in the liking of wolves and cougars – none had ever been larger than a wooden cart.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to be a hindrance to you heroes in this battle. I’ll take my rest and pray for you all good fortune. If nothing else, I’m certain that I am very good at that.” Blueyard lay his body on the field, his snowy hair welcomed insects to nest inside, and his blue orbs shut wholly – unminding the ensuing battle that was inches away from his slumbering spot.
Suit yourself… Evens had no room to spare a thought for him – his eyes were fully fixed on the hunk of steel that was eyeing him back.
The bout between men and beast commenced around a pillar of flame.
For a beast as large as the met – it was fast. Lunging forward on all four, it took the ape no time to close the distance between it and Evens. Its metal paw that was still dowsed in blood rose to the air and swiped towards Evens.
In the nick of time, Evens held his sword up to parry the blow – but armoured with steel or not, the swipe sent Evens rolling across the mud.
“Evens!”
He could not tell whether the cry came from Rupert or Owl, for his ears were ringing wildly. Evens groaned on the grass as tears engulfed his eyes and drools dribbled from his tongue. If not for the blade shielding his blow ever so slightly – no doubt, his ribcage would have wholly caved in, and his bones grinded to dust. Evens could not yield yet – not when he could still hear steelmen praying for his downfall in the crowd – their foul verses ached his ears far more than any blows the monkey could do. He dug his sword into the dirt, and with it as a cane, he lifted himself up. When he arose, he saw Rupert and Owl engaging the beast. What are those fools doing? Evens couldn’t help but receive emotional damage on top of his physical trauma from being subjected to the atrocity ensuing before his eyes.
Owl had climbed his way to the monkey’s neck, but no matter how hard he swung, his dagger was not sharp enough to pierce the met’s steel hide. From where Evens stood, it looked no more than a fly buzzing around a giant.
Rupert somehow managed to have the ape become engrossed in the Arkive. It sat still and held the tiny tome up with its massive fingers – though it wasn’t long before the studious ape reverted to its primal fury. Unable to comprehend the words of God, the ape tore the Arkive in half just as easy as it was for it to tear the lady in two.
Having outlasted their worth, with each hand, the meteras grabbed hold of both Rupert and Owl – and as if they were no more than useless junk, the ape flung the two idiots flying, where they landed by Evens.
“Those were your bright ideas?” Evens rolled his eyes – seeing his foolish friends in pain somehow slightly relieved him of his.
“I almost had him…” Owl groaned as he caressed his rear, which plummeted directly to the ground.
“A little more, and I’d have put the fear of god in him…” Rupert spat grass and dirt out of his mouth before refitting his wooden leg back to his stub.
How did we ever manage to survive this long? Evens lamented as he stared at the pair of fools. The three of them had known each other for over ten years, and over half of those were spent battling mets together. Evens still could never forget their first-ever bout – three men armed to the teeth only to barely scrape by slaying a wolf coated in steel. Unlike the small mutt that they fought, the ape here was far too tall for them to deal any decisive blow. If only we could have it lay on its back… Evens mumbled as sweat from his back drenched his ragged shirt wholly. The sweat seeped deeper into the deep gashes by Symon’s lashes. One source of struggle was enough for Evens, and he removed his shirt – bearing his scarred body for all to see. As he held onto the tattered cloth that was once his shirt, torn and ridden with holes, making it longer and looser than it normally was – a plan arose in his dome. Maybe… Evens’s heart began to beat once more, though not out of fright but elation. He gazed promptly at Rupert and Owl, and with no words exchanged – the three boys nodded their heads.
“What are you curs doing? Engage the beast!” the Heart Commander commanded from his pitiful throne of stone.
“Stop stalling, cowards!” the circle of shielders chimed in their rage.
“Get ‘em, met! Rip them to shreds!” the crowd of drunken ecliants slurred their words.
“…” The horde of human slaves had no words to spare, but their once-sunken eyes had lightened ever so feebly at the thrilling sight.
“You wanted a show? Well, we have a show for you!” Evens announced to the crowd of awed spectators – he and his friends fully stripped bare of any garments attached to their skin, displaying their hidden fruits and moon for all to see.
The swarm of lookers gasped audibly and covered their eyes as if they hadn’t been stripping human prisoners of their clothes these past few nights.
Evens cared not for the appalled viewers; his sight was on the steel ape. With the dagger that Owl lent to him, Evens chucked it at the met – it didn’t even leave a dent in its steel hide, but it did draw its gaze and anger. “Round two, monkey.” The nude hero pointed his sword at the ape as he stood afront Rupert and Owl – ensuring that the beast’s anger was solely reserved for him.
This time, Evens took it upon himself to charge at the ape – bringing the fight to his foe and away from his occupied allies. The ape, too, lunged towards Evens, and as predicted, it tried to swipe its giant paw at Evens’s ribs once more. Having learned from his mistake, Evens leapt into the air and flipped his body wholly over the ape’s fist. Evens knew if he hadn’t dodged that, his whole body would have been folded like a sheet of parchment. As his feet returned to the ground again, Evens held his head in place to quell his dizziness.
The outwardly confused ape, who was wandering why the fly afront it had not been swatted yet, burst out to a wrathful roar and began to violently beat on its chest once more. Its palms the size of Evens’s head were thrown relentlessly towards Evens, trying to grab hold of him – yet not a single effort was met with success.
Whether he had to duck, roll, or leap over the ape’s blow – Evens had no choice but to commit his all to them. Now that he had stripped all of his clothing away, his body was far lighter and nimbler – he was confident that he could outpace the ape, though he knew he could not outlast it. He had lost count of how many blows he had dodged and how many breaths he had taken in such a short amount of time. C’mon, guys… Evens tried to glance back at Rupert and Owl, but he was spared no chance by the unyielding beast.
The ape, more enraged than it ever has, gripped both of its palms together and swung it to the dirt like a war hammer.
Shit! An exhausted Evens barely managed to leap a step backwards – if he hadn’t, his squashed corpse would have been splattered over the small crater left behind by the monkey’s fists. “You guys ready!” Evens screamed out to his friends behind him.
“All done! Run back, Evens!”
“On it!” Evens wasted no time dashing back to where his mates were, nor did the beast waste any time to chase after its prey.
After such a magnificent display of resilience in the face of the beast, the hero was then retreating away – and the spectators were not content. “Fight back, coward! Fight back!”
“You fight back!” Evens shouted out to the crowd; his words quelled their endless prattle. That’s what I thought, Evens smirked, having nearly reached his friends. He turned his head back once more, only to find the ape was right near his tail – he must have been more tired than he had thought. He kept running. Blood rushed into his legs, his bones crackling and piercing his skin with each passing step, and his back lathered with lashes felt as if it was still being whipped as the night’s gale blew onto it. He no longer needed to turn around to tell that the beast was a feather away from him – its heavy breath was breathing down his neck, and its fingers kept skimpily grazing past his skin. “Now!” Evens commanded, and with the little strength he had left in his legs, he leapt into the air once more – wholly putting his faith in his friends.
The meteras reached its arm out to grip Evens’s leg – but no matter how long its limbs were, it never gripped its fingers around Evens’s ankle, and instead, it merely gripped handfuls of dirt. The mighty beast had plummeted face first to the grassy meadow by the rim of the large bonfire – lighting its humiliating fall for all spectators to see and silence. No matter how big it was, it’d fall eventually. By its heels was a long rope, fashioned using the clothes stripped from the three boys’ backs and woven by Rupert and Owl when Evens distracted the beast. Each end of the rope was held by Rupert and Owl before the beast tripped over it and tumbled to the ground – if the ape had been any bigger, Evens doubted that two men would have been enough to fell the beast.
Evens’s last desperate jump had him fallen to the dirt as well, but he had dodged the same fate as the beast – of being stumbled over by a petty trick that only kids could devise. Even with the beast fallen and rolled over with its belly up – Evens had yet to end the bout. Despite his arms shaking, and his fingers could barely fold inward, Evens took hold of his shortsword once more – dragging the bent blade and his twisted legs across the field. The bright flame of the great bonfire blasted its embers at Evens. With no clothes to shield his hide, the heat grazed his gashes of today and his gashes of old – yet that did not bother him at that moment. Standing atop the crumbled ape, Evens lifted his blade to the sky; it took all he had for that slight act.
“Do it, Evens!” Rupert and Owl cheered for Evens.
“Cowards! Fight the beast head-on!” the crowd and its master hissed at Evens.
None of their words mattered in Evens’s ears – all he could hear was the panting of himself and his foe, each at their last might. His arms surrendered, and the sword descended unto the meteras’s neck. Barely any blood gushed out from the blow, for Evens could not remove the lodged sword inside its prey. With a battered body and soul, Evens descended from the beast’s corpse and limped towards his comrades – he had won, yet he felt not like the victor. His clothes were torn from his skin, his chest was bruised and caved, his limbs twisted and maimed, and his sword was lost – all while the vanquished foe suffered a mere prick to its neck.
No cheers nor applause were given to Evens, as expected – though there were no moans nor hisses either, that was not expected.
We did it, boys… Evens grinned feebly while holding a thumbs up. That would be his last feat of strength. He felt as if all manners of steel anchors were chained to his body, sinking him down to depths unknown. The amount of life-threatening bouts that he had experienced in the past few days was enough to last him a lifetime.
“Evens, watch out!” Rupert and Owl shouted as they ran towards Evens.
What? It was too late; his body had been seeped of any strength it had left – it was a wonder that he even managed to move for so long after all of the debacles he had been dealing with in the past few days. As he lay on the grass, not able to budge a single muscle, his eyes pointed forward – and he could have sworn that he had already fainted and was in a nightmare.
As if it were a walking corpse, the ape arose from the dead, with the blade still sealed tightly in its throat – inhibiting any blood to spill out. Its mighty roar was no more and was now merely feeble gargles. It stumbled from side to side, unable to hold its footing as it once did - no doubt that it was on its last breath. Yet even on the verge of welcoming death, the beast dedicated its glare solely to the beaten Evens. Its monkey paw, big enough to crush a skull to powder, slowly crept down to Evens’s battered corpse.
So this is how I go… Crushed to death by a monkey… Evens scoffed, there was nothing else to do but laugh.
The dark sky blinded his eyes, the windy night blew his dark hair, the grass itched at his skin, and the flame burned at his body – Evens still felt all of them but no steel paw.
What’s taking it so long? Even Evens was becoming impatient – a sweet relief of death was far better than waiting for it. As if a boulder rested atop his dome, lifting his neck alone felt as if his spine was crumpling together – but the pain fleetingly faded when he saw the sight ensuing before him. “What are you doing?”
The man who had been resting on the meadow for the entire bout was no longer on his grass bed – and instead, he was wrestling his lanky body onto the great ape, stopping the beast at its track. “Glad you’re doing well, patch-lad. A marvellous showing of might you’ve flaunted – far more splendid than any else I’ve witnessed in all of my days! Even if Ark denies it – I will record that magnificent bout of yours to my mind for eternity!” his laughter louder than all else from the crowd, despite the situation he was in. Like a man pushing a mountain, he gritted his teeth and firmly planted his feet into the dirt before pushing the met inch by inch away from Evens. Though no matter how hard he clung onto the ape – his feeble might would soon give out.
“Just stop… We’re dead men anyways…” Evens muttered.
“Is that so, patch-lad? Oh, how I long for that day to come,” Blueyard grinned, even though the ape was thrashing his body about like a doll. “But unfortunately for me, I am not so fortunate.” The man in white claimed, for once, his eyes of blue seemed as sunken as they were when Evens first saw them. “A dip in flame, shall we?” he spoke to the ape, and with his frail body and arms, he ushered in inhuman might and flung his whole body, like a comet ploughing its bearings towards the meteras – felling himself into the pit of flames along with his prey. As his cloth and flesh were gnawed onto by fiery fangs, his eery grin ever lingered as it always had – the light of his sapphire orbs unburnt by the sea of flames. See you, patch-lad. Those were his last words, or so Evens read his lips before they scorched to flame.
The meteras quaked wildly in the bonfire, trying to escape, yet despite being engulfed in flame, Blueyard would not release his grip from the squirming ape. Its scream was likened to that of a human on its last breath, and its hide of steel melted off its bones like thawing ice.
The fire show endured fleetingly, yet for that brief moment, it felt endless – with ecliants, humans, and steelborns all in silence while holding their breath as their gazes were being consumed by flame. Only when the once great ape was no more than glints of embers and a puddle of molten steel – did the crowd reclaim their fervour.
The meteras had scorched away in the great bonfire alongside Blueyard – the flame was so vast that Evens could no longer even discern their corpses amidst the cinders.
Evens tumbled his dome to the dirt once more, knowing that the threat was quelled. He coughed blood to the sky, and it rained back onto his face. Every inch of his body trembled feebly as if an earthquake was beneath him. It’s finally over… Evens sighed as he closed his eyes.
“Evens, get up!” Rupert shouted at the top of his lungs – his voice was raspy from all the shouting as if he had swallowed a handful of needles.
What now? Evens opened his eyes, his mind having to fight his body to allow it to happen.
“We’re under attack!” Owl crouched down next to Evens – he then wrapped a Sentinel flag around Evens’s bruised corpse and lifted him up.
The sound of the steel clashing and men wailing could be heard from where Evens lay – no matter how weak he was, their voices were far too loud to escape his ears. “What’s happening…” Evens could feel his eyes dozing away, but a few last words were able to be uttered before he succumbed to his weakness.
“A horde of mets is swarming the campsite. We gotta’ run!” Owl grunted, despite his own wounds, he rested Evens’s body on his shoulder and dragged him across the meadow.
“Are you okay, Evens?” Rupert asked, as he then rested Evens’s other half on his own shoulder, despite it being hard enough already for a man with a pegleg such as himself to walk.
Another win, guys… A hollow and pathetic smirk it was, as Evens’s eyes finally yielded to fate and his vision blurred to the evening’s veil – a final sight, from far away, was lit by the great bonfire.
Men of steel battling beasts of steel – men of flesh falling prey to swords and claws – and at the end of it all, an uninvited auburn beacon emerged from the verdure shroud of the Junkwoods and approached the fray between steelmen and beasts.
The beckoning light held not the sigil of the Blacks, they were not stripped bare of their honour like the humans, nor were they vicious and mindless in their march like the meterases. Their numbers were few in between when faced with the Sentinel army and the horde of meterases, yet their charge held firm as they rushed into the hearth of battle, hoisting their fulsome four-star flags – their strides and cries were not that of beasts, but far fiercer.