Vaela hurried after Hermit and caught up. “Wings? What do you mean?”
He pointed to one end of the arena and then the other. On each side, a tent was set up. He and Vaela wove through the crowd, Hermit expertly elbowing to the front. A voice boomed from one edge of the pit where a large chair overlooked the arena. “From side A, we have an experienced fighter. He’s been on a hot streak lately… THE PHOENIX!”
A man emerged from the tent on the left. He carried a sword and shield. No. Vaela looked closer. The man’s sword had no edge, instead just being a large metal rod with a hilt. The man ran down the steps that led to the edge of the pit. Metal rungs were embedded in the wall and he dropped his sword and shield into the pit before descending the ladder.
“From side B, a local favorite. She’s killed her last three opponents… Saveen, THE METEOR!”
A stout woman exited the tent on the right. Unlike her opponent, she didn’t immediately descend the steps. She scowled down at the crowd theatrically and cheers rang out. Vaela searched for a weapon, but the woman carried none. Did she mean to fight empty-handed? As if hearing her thoughts, the woman extended a hand back towards the tent and a hush fell over the arena. A man wearing a metal helmet came out, dragging a mace behind him. The head of the weapon was enormous, a hunk of stone crudely lashed to a long handle. The man made a show of heaving it behind him. He “attempted” to lift it several times to hand it to her and the crowd laughed. He tossed his helmet on the ground in frustration. Saveen shoved him to the side and gripped the handle. Vaela held her breath. There was no way… She couldn’t possibly mean to lift it, let alone fight with it.
The woman yanked it into the air with her clearly enhanced Strength and swung it fully upright. For a moment, the hunk of stone hung poised in the air. Her shout rang through the arena and she Swung the handle down. The mace Crashed into the helmet with a thunderous crunch and a plume of dust and dirt exploded upward. As the debris settled, the woman flung the handle to the side and scooped something from the ground. She thrust it overhead and Vaela’s blood curdled in her veins. The metal helmet–not dented, but flattened. The crowd erupted, screaming, stomping, clapping.
Vaela’s breathing came in starts. That… that was what Timura might face? How could she hope to survive such a monster?
Surah and Hermit cheered with the rest of the crowd. Vaela clenched Hermit’s arm. “Where is she?”
Hermit pointed to the tent that the first combatant had emerged from on side A. Vaela swallowed hard and stepped towards it. The woman, the Meteor they’d called her, prowled down the stairs, her mace held in both hands. Vaela avoided looking at the head of the weapon. She might only have the length of this match to find Timura. She hoped the Phoenix could run fast.
Hermit caught her arm and pulled her back. “Hold on, kid.” She wrenched her arm away, but he spun her to face him. “Think for a second. If you find her in that tent, you’ll have to convince her to stop. Maybe she listens, but maybe she doesn’t.”
“If I do nothing, she could die.”
“I’m not saying do nothing.” Hermit pointed to side B. “There’s a way you can ensure she isn’t hurt during the fight.”
She ripped her hand free and spun away. No time to listen to his antics. He’d already burned her once. Surah stepped in front of Vaela and put his hands on her shoulders. “Wait, listen to him.” He stooped down so they were eye-to-eye. “If you register on the other side, you would be her opponent.”
Vaela froze, mid-step. That meant… “I could just let her hoop me, no fighting.” She licked her lips and glanced back at the arena. The Meteor tossed her mace into the pit. It landed with an ominous thump. She jumped the ten feet down and Landed forcefully on the dirt. A hoop was dropped to each of the combatants and they held them overhead.
The man seated in the high chair overseeing the arena, looked to each of them. “Are you ready?” The Phoenix nodded. The Meteor spat on the ground. “Then FIGHT!”
Both of them threw their hoops to the side. The Phoenix scooped his blunt sword up and slid the shield on his arm. The Meteor shouldered her mace. One hit from it to the chest or head and her opponent would be dead, the match over in an instant.
Vaela pushed Surah towards side A. “Find Timura, get her to stop if you can.” He nodded and wove through the crowd. Vaela grabbed Hermit and pointed her stick to side B. “Let’s go.”
They shoved their way through the crowd. People eagerly filled in around them, pressing closer for a better view. The sounds of her labored breathing filled her ears. So quiet. All around her the crowd leaned in, collectively holding their breath. She looked to the pit. The Meteor and the Phoenix approached each other. With a shout, the Phoenix charged and the audience roared. He swung his sword at her head and she blocked with the handle of the mace. The blade rebounded off and he thwacked it into her ribs with a crack. The woman winced to the side and he brought his blade down towards her head again.
She dropped her mace and caught the bladeless sword in one hand. The Phoenix’s eyes widened and he jerked the hilt, but she held on. Her stance shifted, her hips dropping slightly. Her back leg Kicked forward. The Phoenix realized too late and desperately raised his shield up. Her leg Smashed into it with explosive force and he flew backwards. His body arced through the air and landed heavily, rolling over several times before coming to a stop.
Vaela stopped pushing forward, completely transfixed. Was he… dead?
A hush fell over the arena for a moment. The man groaned and his hand shot out, pushing into the ground. Cheers erupted and he clambered to his hands and knees using only one arm. His other, forearm still through the handles of the shield, hung down. He spat blood onto the ground and staggered to his feet. The Meteor tossed his sword to the side and picked up her mace. She sauntered over, taking her time to close the distance.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Hermit tugged on Vaela’s sleeve and she jolted back to her senses. No time. That-that monster would crush that man’s head in only a few seconds.
She elbowed her way through the crowd and they burst out near the tent. Catcalls rang out from around the arena, people clamoring for the Meteor to finish him. Vaela rushed to the front of the tent where an attendant perched on stool. “I need to register.”
He waved her quiet, eyes fixated on the fight. Vaela stepped past him and his hand shot out in front of her, though he didn’t bother to turn around. “Inna minute.”
She snorted and followed his gaze. The Phoenix hunched over, his shield arm dangling, the shield obscuring his other hand. His head drooped, eyes half-lidded. The Meteor thrust her mace overhead and the arena thundered with the crowd’s response. She stepped into a braced position and cocked the mace back, the massive head dipping behind her shoulder. A battle cry, guttural and animalistic, tore from her and she Swung the mace overhead in an arc.
As it reached its peak, the Phoenix jerked upright. His shield hung by his side, revealing his other hand. A ball of Fire raged around his fist and he punched forward. The Meteor’s cry cut off as she tried to twist out of the way. The Fireball slammed into her chest and knocked her off her feet. Her mace fell to the dirt, leaving an imprint. She screamed and rolled on the ground. The Phoenix stumbled forward, his sword far out of reach, his shield dangling from his broken arm. The dirt extinguished the Flames and the Meteor reeled to her feet. Her chest was badly burned, not even bleeding from the cauterized blood vessels.
Vaela’s stomach turned at the sight of the two of them. How were either of them still standing?
Hermit stepped up next to her. “The fear of death.” He tipped the head of his staff at the combatants. “You’d be surprised by what people can do when they feel that.”
She ran her thumb over the edge of the new notch in her stick. “How will either one win? They can’t even hold their weapons.”
The tent attendant turned away from the match and wiped his nose. “Eh, one’ll kick th’ otha out cold.” He snorted a laugh and shook his head. “Or dead. Anyway, wanna register, do ya?”
Vaela tore her eyes away from the match. “Yes, I need to fight Timura.”
The attendant shrugged and scribbled on a scrap of paper. “Don’ getta choose. Name?”
“Vaela. And I have to fight Timura.”
He looked up from his paper. “Yer battle name.” He jabbed a thumb towards the pit. “Ya know, what’ll make yer opponent shit ‘eir pants and all.”
“Oh, uh, the Charmer.”
The attendant rolled his eyes and scribbled it down. Beside Vaela, Hermit groaned and slapped his head. “Nobody will soil themselves over that. How about “the Blood Witch”? Oh, or the “Heart Ripper”? Hey, write that down.”
The attendant glared at Hermit. “Too late, init?” He handed the completed form to Vaela. “Take it ta th’ fella in there.” He thrust it to her and she took the paper. As soon as it left his hand, he turned away and watched the fight, cheek resting on a fist as if he were already bored.
Vaela lifted a flap of the tent and hesitated. Hermit was no longer by her side. She looked over her shoulder and he saluted her with his staff. “On your own now. I’ve taught you everything you need.”
“You haven’t taught me shit.”
“Hmm.” He scratched his face and then extended a hand out to her. “Go for the balls.”
“I’m not planning on fighting!”
He chuckled and turned away. She stomped into the tent. Good-for-nothing idiot. No way in the Pits would she be his pupil. She’d be dead before the week was over.
Only three other people were in the tent. One held a blunt sword and shield and was practicing strikes. Another held a staff across their lap, eyes closed in deep concentration. Near the exit of the tent, a woman sat at a desk. Vaela crossed to her and slapped her paper down. “I need to fight Timura.”
The woman cocked an eyebrow and scanned one of her papers. “Even if I let you cut the line, no ‘Timura’ on the list.”
Right, she’d go by a battle name. Vaela leaned over and tried to scan the list. “Any ‘Shadow’ names?”
The woman covered the paper with an arm. “You’ll fight the next available combatant after these two.” She jerked her chin towards the other fighters in the room. “Now give me your stick. Sanctioned weapons only.”
Outside the tent, the cheers of the crowd crescendoed. The woman leaned back and stuck her head out of the tent. A moment later, she returned. “Bloodfest out there. It’ll be over soon, she’s about kicked his head in.” The woman rose and pointed to the man meditating with his staff. “Mr. Defiler, your turn’s coming up.”
Vaela rushed over to the man. “Hey, Defiler, let me go next, it’s important.”
He leered down at her and opened his mouth–
“And the winner is… THE METEOR! Another opponent killed, folks–that makes four in a row!”
The Defiler shouldered his staff. “Run home to your father. This is no game, girl.” He knocked into her as he pushed past.
Vaela tightened her grip on her stick. No. This wasn’t a game. Which meant no rules. “Hey, asshole.”
He spun around and she smashed her stick upward into his groin. He howled, dropping his staff, and doubled over. The attendant and other contestant stared at her, mouths gaping. Huh, Hermit’s advice wasn’t so bad after all. Vaela tossed her stick to the attendant and scooped up the staff. She jabbed it at each of them. “Problem?”
The other man eyed the Defiler who was vomiting on the ground. He swallowed hard and shook his head. Vaela strode up to the exit. The woman checked her papers. “Um, okay, then. You’re next, uh, Charmer.” She grabbed Vaela’s slip and pulled the flap of the tent back. A man waited on the other side and she waved the paper at him. He grabbed it and jogged to the man sitting in the chair overseeing the arena. In the pit, the Meteor, miraculously still standing, walked a victory lap. A team of two men with a stretcher carried the Phoenix’s body off to the other side. His face was unrecognizable, a mass of blood.
Vaela averted her eyes and focused on the messenger. He handed the paper to the announcer who read it and nodded. “Up next, we have two newcomers. Who will spill first blood? From side A, we have… the Twisted’s Disciple!”
Vaela’s heart skipped a beat. Across the arena, Timura emerged from the other tent. She held a staff similar to the one Vaela held. Her face was pinched with fear, her shoulders rising and falling visibly even from the distance.
“And on side B, we have, um, Th-the Charmer!” He frowned. “Let’s hope they’re more fearsome than their name implies.”
A wave of relief flooded through Vaela. She had done it. Timura would be safe. On the other side, Timura tilted her head and craned forward. Vaela gave her a small wave. The attendant gave Vaela a nudge. “Go on. Get down there then.”
Vaela descended the steps, her heart racing. Something about the crowd, all the eyes on her. Her hands jittered and she twisted the staff as she walked down. The Meteor dragged her mace to the very center of the pit and dropped the handle. “I’m… not… DONE!”
A hush fell over the crowd and Vaela froze. The announcer leaned forward. “You know the rules. Your match is over. Go to the healers then you can get your payout.”
The Meteor shook her head and raised her arms over her head, gesturing to the crowd. “Don’t you want more?”
The crowd stomped and cheered. A messenger sprinted to the announcer and they held a hurried conversation. The announcer rose from his chair and the crowd’s roar dulled to a murmur. He surveyed the entire arena and then extended his hands out. “Very well. For the first time, we’ll allow it… A melee. Last man, uh woman, standing wins.”