Crimson tears cascading from her eyes, each tear a silent prayer to the gods for mercy, like a desperate cry for help before an uncertain death in futility. All that for the last words of her opponent, a mockery, “Is this all you got?”. The glim light fading away from her, turning everything around into dark nothingness, devoid of any color or emotion. The impenetrable silence devouring her ability to stay awake, to keep her senses alive fueled by the single question in her mind: “WHY?”
It was a picture drawn by gods: On that little plateau surrounded by a deep pit of emptiness, in the midst of a silent audience all around, lay one fragile body in a puddle of red darker than the darkest ruby in all of the emperor’s treasury. Next to that fragile body: the triumphant winner of this shattering fight, not even acknowledging the body next to him. His triumph echoing amidst the silence, an outcome veiled in the unexpected, yet somehow anticipated by every person around.
With this deafening display of power, the hope and confidence of the audience vanished; they realized that their champion, once invincible, now lay defeated on the floor. The epitome of strength among them was overshadowed by an even greater obstacle.
Emerging from the emptiness around the plateau, a single bridge ascended, spanning the length of the abyss between the platform and the cages. As the triumphant victor began his solemn march towards the bridge, traversing it, a collection of 5 figures, robed in pristine white, passed the champion, hastening toward the woman lying almost lifeless on the ground. At the other end of the bridge, at the entrance to the cages a mysterious figure was lurking in the shadows. Its voice concealed by the rumbling eruption of the crowd only to be heard by the champion. “This was an official match for your placement, if she is dead, so are you. This is not allowed to happen! No payment for the next 3 months… And you’re back on probation! If you stand out once more, you’ll be kicked out, Two”. The champion’s reaction: a silent scoff.
The murmur of the crowd grew louder all around the arena. Fast silent hurrying voices were uttering their disbelief.
“She is the strongest!”
“What is he?”
“Is she dead?”
“Is that really only Club Two?”
“Maybe she wasn’t that strong after all.”
“How is a suit allowed to kill a challenger during an official trial?”
“Can she survive?”
“How strong is the rest, if that was only their Two?”
“Naamala was our only hope.”
Every single person in the crowd, aware. Naamala fought for them risking her own life. Yet, it proved fruitless. For all they knew, she might’ve just lost it.
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The 5 white robed figures scurried around, encircling the body on the ground, lifting it and dashing back towards the cages on the other side of the bridge. Their robes flew gracefully in the air, amplifying a distinct green cross on the back of their robes, adorned by delicate yellow-golden impressions drawing towards the front, so that if the robes were to be closed, the outline of a golden Club emerged.
Naamala’s heart clenched as that paining memory flooded all over her once more, the pivotal moment she was so desperately trying to correct. She saw the fall of the boy named Beli. That moment he crashed into the single individual wielding total power and authority. In a sudden instant her memories faded out of existence. Only for the next heartbeat to collapse her mind under the weight of foreign memories spewing chaos within. She snapped awake, her screams resonating her tortured psyche. A fleeting moment passed, the echoes of her scream dissipating into the void, along with that searing pain. She analyzed her surroundings, taking in the sight of 5 club-medics, wearing their distinctive white robes, glittered with these yellow-golden lines on their front. They were stunned, frozen in place, their wide eyes reflecting shock and disbelief, losing their ability to speak. Naamala grappling with vertigo and her vision blurred, rose up from the semi-hard surface below her fragile body.
“Don’t ever touch me.” She uttered the command as if everyone was beneath her. Only then did she cast her gaze downward, her eyes tracing the contours of a body. Etched onto the skin she recognized wounds, scars, and streaks of blood on faintly purple-tinged skin. It took several heartbeats for the realization to sink in – these were her wounds, her scars and her blood staining that very own flesh of hers. She was dressed in nothing but snug underwear, concealing only her most intimate areas. With this realization, a surge of nausea overcame her.
The feeling of danger crept over her, she needed to escape, her fight or flight response kicked in and she was incapable of fighting in her current state. She stood up haltingly, the persistent vertigo challenging her to maintain her balance. The medics remained frozen in disbelief. She took in her surroundings. It was a chilling dark room, only bathed in light by small shimmers of overhead lamps, focused on the operating bed where she had lain. Among the clutter of unfamiliar equipment and old discarded items, boxes loomed against the walls, towering on top of each other. The operating bed shone in its mint condition. However, everything else appeared messy and neglected indicating that she was fitted and underwent surgery in a storage room that had seen little use recently. When Naamala glimpsed the sight of the solitary door, she began her approach.
The medics remained rooted in place, shocked by something Naamala couldn’t discern. With a creak, she flung the door wide open, the sound seemingly breaking the spell on the medics as their perplexed gazes finally followed her movements. Naamala looked back, noticing the medics’ focus shifted. Without hesitation she broke into a run, a single thought exhausting her mind: “I need to get out of here.” She noted the footsteps of the medics gradually receding from their frozen stance. With a sudden urgency, the footsteps accelerated and grew louder with each stride - they were chasing her! She pushed herself to outrun herself, tumbling once, tumbling twice. She couldn’t stop, she knew, for the thought of what awaited her if she were to be caught was too horrifying to think of.
A question arose her mind: Where was she going? She blindly followed the long bitter corridor, with cells to each side of the empty corridor. In front of her, to the right of the corridor, a junction emerged, “maybe I could hide there!” Abruptly she was thrown out of her trance of relentless flight. A searing, stabbing pain went through her head, shrouding her thoughts in an incomprehensible thick fog, her mind wavering on the brink of collapse. As a hand seized her wrist she surrendered to unconsciousness once more, powerless against the sheer amount of pain engulfing her.
A voice, escaping her sight: “Get her to Phobos where she belongs and don’t you dare lay a finger on her!”