Chapter 103: Growing
Amon’s heart pumped thunderously and rapidly, it felt like it was about to beat out of his chest.
“Begi—”
‘FUCK!’
The fourteen year old boy suddenly lunged at the little girl. At first he had some lingering doubt and hesitation when he looked at the shy and awkward lass, but overtaken by the manic atmosphere and the influence of his peers, the bottled sorrow, shame and unfair rage within him finally exploded, turning its gaze towards the mob’s villain.
Yela was similarly overtaken by the crowd’s atmosphere. She didn't know what she did wrong, but she had the urge to profusely apologize while bowing her head.
Suddenly, she did not even get to do that as the young man had already lunged with a punch. The atmosphere of thunderous chanting and chaotically clanking chains affected her too, so she was late to react and stumblingly fell to the left.
Luckily, Amon’s lunging punch was more like a wild swing, so he missed widely. In the process his back was now totally turned to the little girl, and he hastily tried to turn around. Fortunately for him, it was not in her nature to capitalize on such an opportunity.
‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’
“Amon, mess her up!”
“Don’t be tricked, she's probably just like the rest!”
The young boy spun around urgently, his arm cocked backwards before he widely swung once again. Of course, he repeated the motion without any semblance of dexterity or finesse whatsoever, and Yela proceeded to stumble out of the way again.
“Umph!”
“Hrrmph!”
“Rraaah!”
Three wild swings failed to break the air as Amon loudly exerted himself.
“Eep!” A high pitched voice squeaked.
The young boy kept swinging and swinging, and the little girl reacted each time like a frightened bunny. Currently, her movements were no less unsightly as Amon’s, but surprisingly she had always managed to dodge at the last second.
The slave crowd’s blood and screams rose higher in turn, as each bumbling swing just barely missed the flustered and floundering little girl.
Although Amon was obviously unskilled, to the untrained eye it seemed as if it was only a matter of time before he hit her. Every near miss got the crowd’s blood and adrenaline pumping, as if it was some sort of justice for all the past wrongs done to them.
“Amon! Amon! Amon!”
A few of the mercenaries, including some of the veterans huddled around Nadia, looked towards Balon with confusion. With all that talk before the fight, they expected the little lady to at least throw a punch at her opponent.
Actually, going off of Balon’s words, they even expected her to resoundingly crush him. Yet, this situation wasn’t at all, “Stepping on others to reach higher heights.”
So just like this, the two played cat and mouse for some time.
Amon stuck to the same pattern. He never stopped his wild swings. As he chased her he even felt somewhat powerful, but he also felt somewhat embarrassed for his constant misses.
To this, he thought diligence and perseverance was the answer, and continued to swing although his stamina was draining.
Time mercilessly continued to flow, and as the present events flourished and bloomed, gradually, everything started to change.
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The resounding unison of the slave’s chains eventually started to separate into a senseless jumble of metal noise. Which then, only diminished further into infrequent rustles whenever a slave dejectedly shifted about.
The spirited and thunderous chanting of those once unified voices, quieted down to occasional bursts of desperate encouragement, before finally fading away into despondent silence.
Yela too now looked completely different. The panicked expression from hastily dodging her opponent’s strikes was now gone. Transformed into an empty, emotionless expression.
The distance between Amon’s strikes and Yela’s body had never changed though— whizzing by but only a few inches from her skin— but the fluidity and nimbleness of the girl’s movements gradually started to become deft.
Now, instead of hastily throwing her body to the side— just to scamper upwards from the ground in an effort to dodge the next wild swing— she had started to decrease the distance of her movements, and lower the exertion from her dodges. They were now smooth, effortless, and extremely efficient.
A fist would approach her, but like water, she was already flowing to another direction, taking a step to the side as soon as that fist was swung.
The mercenaries especially, were surprised how her movements suddenly started to become skillful. Yela first looked as much of a beginner as Amon was, but now the scene to them looked no different than an experienced warrior playing around with a novice.
The shrewd ones who were particularly worried about their lives snuck a few glances at Balon, expecting him to be pleased. Yet, he still had that same neutral expression.
Only Nadia was able to notice the subtle shift on that same unchanging countenance, before it soon disappeared.
The beautiful warrior turned her head, looking back to notice just what it was that caused him to raise his brows in surprise.
From the little girl, what was once short, sudden, and calculated side steps, were now the graceful sways of that of a dancer.
The girl seemed to be moving slower as if she was in a trance, but now her movements seemed to predict where Amon was going to swing, while as she had already fluttered away from the area of that corresponding strike.
Her facial expression had changed too. An aloof arrogance revealed itself on her face, and from the blank stare the girl once had, her eyes now held a powerful yet tranquil sharpness.
“What the…”
One change came relentlessly after another, and now another had appeared that captivated those with sharp enough eyes to see it.
The little girl…slowly seemed to be guiding her opponent along into her dance.
It wasn’t so clear at first— merely a strange likeness in their movements.
Nadia noticed how she expertly played with his point of view, appearing specifically in the edges of his sight to spur him to move how she wanted.
When she spurred him to lunge, the girl would mirror him in the opposite direction— just out of his sight so as not to alarm him.
When Amon saw the fleeting threads of her black hair in the edges of his sight, urgently he would spin around to swing at her. Yet, when his fist flew through the air she was already behind him— her back no more than a few millimeters away from his own as they spun around simultaneously.
As their dance progressed something otherworldly started to emerge, and now they were seemingly shifting through time and space itself in resonance.
There was a strange, abstract, and mystic emotion to the combination of their dynamic movements, and although Amon’s actions were not as fluid, there was a vague feeling of natural perfection from their shared dance.
Like there were intervals in a music scale, going from one note to another— there was something about their movements that touched on the interval perfections of distance and time.
The more Nadia watched, the more she felt like she was watching flowers bloom and wilt.
…This was no longer a battle, but an exhibition.
Guided along by the little girl in a trance, their dance was beautiful, graceful, dangerous, and abstractly divine.
…Yet, all things must end for new things to begin.
Amon was already wheezing at this point, devoid of air. It was already surprising he had lasted this long, owing to Amon being a farmer, before he was once again put to work in the fields— of course this time, it was for free as a serf.
Toiling twelve hours a day, everyday, did have its merits though. He had lasted this long honorably.
The atmosphere seemed to change as soon as the puppeteer realized her doll was falling apart. In the next moment, those with great perception were enraptured by a strange mirage— they saw as clouds were swept clean from the sky by an overwhelming force.
The dragon-blooded children especially, saw either the lashing of an enormous tail or the unleashing of gigantic wings upon the sky.
By the time that strange illusion passed, Amon was already on the ground, while the little girl had her back turned to him and one of her legs extended.
Those who were immersed in the momentary illusion already concluded that she must have swept him off his feet, in an unromantic sense of course.
The girl spun around again, this time her hand was raised towards the skies, but not in a fist. The hand resembled a beast’s claw more than anything, and it was quickly descending down towards the boy’s throat.
Aela’s eyes raised for a second as her own hand started to itch. With a hint of intrigue and curiosity, she wondered to herself how much damage those ordinary human nails would do to Amon’s throat.
Everyone’s gaze was locked onto the scene.
WHOOSH!
The hand stopped inches away from the boy’s throat, and whether it was the overwhelming force of her hand, or Yela momentarily touching upon the intangible draconic source, but a bursting hail of wind had assaulted Amon. His hair flew up from off of his dumbfounded face as the cool breeze soothed the sweat that was all over his skin.
It was surprisingly pleasant for him, and only those with keen eyesight saw as the dispersing winds had actually cut a few strands of hair from off of his head…
At the center of everyone’s attention the little girl stood frozen at what she was about to do. Her eyes were wide in an expression of horror and shock. She had the feeling that she was not only moments away from inflicting pain onto another, but moments away from taking a life altogether.
Many of the slave crowd heaved a sigh of relief, and only Dais and some mercenaries were left frowning. They were obviously unsatisfied from the result, but in the end did not give voice to their displeasure.
Yet…in that time where everyone was immersed in the fight, two figures had unknowingly crept in, one of which, was especially more expressive…
THUNK!
Amon, who was sitting up, fell fully to the ground as Yela winced back.
His head thumped on the ground, and Yela saw on the boy’s face a large purple indent around his eye.
A tinge of sorrow and compassion welled up in her heart as she felt his pain, before her eyes took in that object not far from the boy’s anguished face. It was a goblet made of pure silver, and the contents leaked out on the ground to reveal it was a type of high class wine.
The startling change alerted everyone to the man— no, the boy who threw it.
A voice as annoying as fingernails on chalkboard escaped from his mouth, “How humiliating.”