Like a raging bull, Azwa rushed forward. His spear was extended as far as possible, its tip pointed right at Hamza’s neck.
Hamza stood firm as he awaited Azwa’s attack. His feet stayed rooted in the sand, and he held his sword lazily by his leg. The distance between the two warring men kept closing: fifteen feet, ten feet, five feet. CLANG!
Azwa’s spear lurched forward, hungry for blood. In the mirage-inducing sand, Hamza twirled on his foot and shifted his center of gravity. Swinging his sword upward, he intercepted the heavy spear, causing it to divert past him and miss.
Due to Azwa being thrown off balance, Hamza had the opportunity to lunge forward and strike at the unprotected Quraysh man.
“Arg!” Azwa screeched as his leg was ravaged by Hamza's deadly strike. He tried to counterattack, and bring his spear back around and impale Hamza, but it was too late.
Azwa fell to one knee, and with a firm look, he watched as Hamza released a horizontal strike right at his neck!
Plop.
A soft noise echoed throughout the ravine as the sand cushioned the bloody heads fall.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Cascading rings sounded all around; warriors bashed their shields, shouted, and cheered for the companion's victory. ‘Just like that,’ Thorne smiled as he joined his fellow soldiers in the celebrations.
Hamza glared at the opposing army as he held his sword up to the sky, interrupting the banging; “Collect, you're dead!” He bellowed. Turning his back, Hamza retreated to his army, and the clanging resumed for multiple minutes before the man on the horse held up a closed fist for silence. “So, five have stayed,” Hamza said as he watched the proceedings at the sandstone well. Sure enough, five of the eight warriors sent to retrieve Azwa’s remains had stayed standing at the well. They held out their weapons aggressively, prompting a duel once again.
“You five go forward, " the mysterious horse-riding man whispered. He pointed once again at Hamza, then at the other three officers by his side, and then… ‘me.’ Thorne smiled, ‘Finally, I get to do something.’
He hefted his spear alongside him and walked with the other two men.
He felt a sharp nudge at his ribcage out of nowhere. Thorne swiveled his head in panic; it was…Hamza. He was looking at Thorne while grinning.
“Hey Thorne, how you doing?” he asked, a cheeky smile on his face.
Eyes widening, Thorne stared at Hamza in disbelief before he saw it. Hamza flickered briefly, revealing the actual individual behind the body: “Damnit, Zal.” He muttered while glaring at his teammate, who was chuckling to himself.
“Oh, and what's up, Lyra?” Zal said, this time grinning even wider. “How's it like being a man?”
“Smelly.” Thorne heard a deep voice grunt.
Thorne leaned over slightly to look past Hamza—no, Zal—and see Lyra. Just as it had with Zal a second earlier, the man he was looking at flickered, revealing the blue-robed Lyra for a split second.
“Wow.” Thorne grunted under his breath, “Technology sure is something.”
“Procka and Moravian are also here with us,” Zal said, pointing at the other two officers walking with them.
Thorne stared at the other two, and sure enough, Procka and Moravian flickered in and out of existence as he continued staring. “Wow, " Thorne whistled. This technology sure is something.”
Thorne then scratched his chin in confusion, remembering something, “But why was I the only one who wasn’t an officer.” He pondered.
“Who knows?” Zal said, patting his shoulder. But now, let's just do the job.”
The five-person team ambled up to the enemies by the well. Thorne had traded his plain spear for Zal’s sword during the walk. It had caused looks of confusion from both armies, especially from their opponents. Thorne didn’t care, however, ‘I am not going to fight with a spear.’ He thought as he watched Zal swing the spear around naturally; it was as if the spear was glued to his fingers.
After a minute of walking, the group had reached their awaiting foes. The enemies all wore full plate armor and were armed with a thin curved saber and a large wooden shield.
The one in the center held his head high as he looked down at Thorne and co; “I am Utbah, and you will be my opponent.” He pointed at Thorne, curling his lip in an ugly sneer. The man's sweat glinted in the desert heat as he withdrew his sword.
Something strange appeared in Thorne’s eyes; it was text. The game was prompting him to speak!
“I am Ubaydah. May you receive what you deserve on the day of judgment!" Thorne snarled as he glared at his enemy.
Zal then took the initiative and pointed at one of the other men, the one parallel to him. “I am Hamzah, " he shouted, extravagantly brandishing his spear, “And you will be my opponent.”
“I am Shaybah.” The man responded, unsheathing his sword.
Only Lyra and one other warrior remained. No words were spoken, and the two released their weapons in preparation.
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“ATTACK!” His enemy, Utbah, screamed.
The Quraysh warrior lunged forward and threw an overhead slash right at Thorne's skull. With precision, Thorne ducked under the attack. The air tickled Thorne's neck as his enemy's sword raged by him. Thorne hurriedly used his momentum to launch an upward strike at Utbah’s chest!
His enemy jumped back in response. Thorne attempted to lunge forward and pressure the ma further, but unfortunately, his foot got caught in the slippery sand. Thorne’s sword shot up to a defensive guard as he anticipated a counterattack. None came, and a moment of reprieve was had in the duel.
Utbah and Thorne created a dangerous status quo; the pair circled each other in the sand, knowing that one wrong move would result in the other's death.
‘Why am I so exhausted.’ Thorne cursed as he felt his muscles tire, ‘This body…is hungry and tired.’ He realizes as he felt fatigue and weakness crash over his body.
His face hardened as sweat dripped down his nose, ‘I need to end this quickly.
“Alhamdulillah!” a tsunami of noise assaulted Thorne as the small army of Muslims erupted in noise.
Thorne glanced at Zal quickly; he was standing tall, his blood-coated spear pointing high to the heavens. His enemy lay dead in front of him, a spear-caused hole where the warrior's heart should be.
Thorne smirked sightly, ‘I really need to finish this up,’ he thought as he saw his opponent's face fall upon seeing his dead ally, ‘Can’t be heaving Zal make fun of me.’
Thorne lunged forward and slashed right at his enemy's neck. The attack was as apparent as it was powerful; it couldn’t be dodged or parried; it had to be blocked.
‘And there it is.’ Thorne grinned.
Utbah held his sword with both hands as he braced for the inevitable clash of iron. It never came. Thorne slithered his way out of the block and shifted his feet to change his momentum to his left side.
“ARGH!” He screamed as he unleashed his deadly left hook!
BAM!
The hard fist connected with Utbah’s chin, and the man lurched backward. Gritting his teeth, Thorne jumped forward, and with his other hand, he stabbed upward, right at his enemy's chest!
Thorne fell on top of his enemy as his razor-sharp blade plunged through a chink in the man's armor. A squishing noise reverberated in Thorne’s ear as he intimately heard, felt, and saw every detail of Utbah’s death.
Blood shot from the man's chest right into Thorne's mouth. Copper assaulted his nose and mouth as he shoved the now-dead man off him. He grimaced and spat. He stumbled away from the corpse. It was angled in the embrace of the sand; blood seeped through the wound and squirted out of the man like a faulty hose.
“ARG!” Thorne screamed as he turned away from the corpse, holding his sword up triumphantly.
“ALHAMIDULILAH!” Clang! “ALHAMIDULILAH!” Clang! “ALHAMIDULILAH!”
Thorne breathed heavily as he brought his shirt upward. He rubbed the rough cloth across his face. ‘It's all red.’ Thorne noticed as he took the shirt away from its cleaning duty, ‘all with another man’s blood.’ Thorne looked back at the corpse. The man's shock-filled face, his fountain of blood, his mangled and bruised face.
Thorne turned away quickly as he saw the corpse. This isn’t real.’ He berated himself as he blinked rapidly. The coppery smell assaulted him as he slowly trudged away from his fallen foe, ‘It's not fucking real.’
Thorne heaved a few deep breaths, shaking his head, trying to regain his composure and stop his racing heart.
“Thorne!” A voice rang out. It was quivering and loud; the voice was fearful.
Thorne swiveled around to look at the noise source. It was Zal.”
His face was chock-full of blood and sweat. His legs trembled as he panted; “Go help…” he pointed, “Lyra.” He managed before slumping down to one knee.
Turning, Thorne watched in horror as Lyra--in the shape of an Arab man--was slapped brutally across her face. Her armor, while previously being dirty from sand and dirt, was now riddled with blood. No brown or yellow stains could be seen on her armor. There was only a putrid red. A thin slash could be seen on her stomach, and she was barely standing up.
‘He’s toying with her.’ Thorne realized as he pumped his legs in the fastest sprint he could manage.
The man punched again, right at Lyra’s head. She luckily ducked under the fist, but Thorne did not feel encouraged.
‘That’s all she has.’ Thorne realized as he tried to hasten his pace. Her eyes were swollen, and her pale face was devoid of sweat, ‘she’s bleeding out; I have to be fast!’
Thorne saw the man lift his sword up. A wide grin was on his face; his teeth were dripping with Lyra’s blood, and with a heaving step toward Lyra, he swung downward.
“ARG!” Thorne grunted. His arms ached and stung as sand tore into his bare skin. He lurched forward and threw all his weight behind his sword.
Thorne struck at the Quraysh warrior's blade, and it flung right out of his hand.
“Huh.” The man gasped. His eyes widened as he took in Thorne’s emaciated figure. That was the last thing he ever saw as the warrior's head fell down to the unforgiving desert floor.
Nearly collapsing, Thorne willed his muscles to heave his sword up to the sky. He had won!
Thorne turned his head to look over at Moravian and Procka’s battle. Procka was bashing her shield against her enemy with unreal strength. She lunged forward and implemented her momentum with incredible finesse and power into her attacks.
‘Shell be fine.’ Thorne sighed, ‘That’s good.’
He then turned to look at Moravian. The undead had been placed in a scrawny young warrior. Moravian only stood as tall as his enemy's shoulder. He wielded two long curved knives and moved with quick steps and unexpected leaps despite the restricting aspect of the sand.
Throwing his small body forward, Moravian suddenly leaped up in the air. He held one dagger in a downward grip and postponed it to point right at his opponent's neck.
Seeing this, his burly enemy brought his shield up with practiced haste and braced for impact. It never came. Instead of attacking as he had telegraphed, he instead feinted with his downward-gripped dagger and stabbed forward with his other blade. With precision, the iron dagger slid naturally into one of the holes in the man’s armor.
“ALHAMIDULILAH!” Clang! “ALHAMIDULILAH!” Clang! “ALHAMIDULILAH!” Clang!
Cheering erupted from the small army as Moravian pranced around in victory. He seemingly had boundless energy and wasn’t affected by his host body’s malnutrition and thirst.
“ALHAMIDULILAH!” Clang! “ALHAMIDULILAH!” Clang! “ALHAMIDULILAH!” Clang!
The cheering intensified to a whole other level out of nowhere. Thorne swiveled his head to look at Procka’s battle. Sure enough, she stood over her foe. The Quraysh warrior’s face was bruised and swollen from all the shield bashing, and he had seemingly collapsed just from the constant beatings. With a ceremonious vigor, Procka lifted her spear up, to the delight of the army, and brought it down with fury, right on the warrior's neck.
“ALHAMIDULILAH!” Clang! “ALHAMIDULILAH!” Clang! “ALHAMIDULILAH!” Clang!
“RING!” An artificial tone rang out in his head. Thorne franticly stared around; ‘I can’t fight anymore.’ He thought in panic, ‘This body can’t take it.’
Luckily it wasn’t a fight that had started. Instead, a blue text materialized in front of Thorne, as well as the rest of his teammates.
Congratulations on completing the first stage of the battle of Badr Sack! Would you like to continue?”
“NO!” All five of the students shouted.
Thank you for playing the battle of Badr Sack! Virtual reality shutting down in 5…4…3…2…1
Darkness enveloped Thorne, but not before he could look one more at the man he had killed. The emaciated corpse stared back, and Thorne could swear that the body smiled wide, its bloody teeth sparkling in the arid sun.