Mary King watches as her nephew, Marc, walks out into the arena that they’ve constructed in the center of the city. She hates the building, and all that it represents, but is professional enough to know that she must support the games that had become their only form of entertainment.
Four pillars in a square, all 30 feet apart from each other, represent the boundaries of the fighting grounds. A layer of rough sand covers the floor in the fighting ground, an attempt to emulate the ancients that had created these bloody games. Obtaining the sand had been the hardest part of the entire construction, every other material looted from collapsed buildings. 20 feet away from the pillars are cheap metal bleachers, filled to the brim with cheering members of the city. Only 6 days have passed since the advent of Genesis and already they scream for blood, she thinks to herself.
The crowds cheer as Marc struts onto the arena's sand, kneeling down to pick up a handful and closing his eyes in a prayer for strength. Mary had always loved her nephew but the system’s arrival had brought out his flair for the dramatic which, when combined with his excellent physical form and surprising acceptance of their new reality, had turned him into the supposed “Hero of Cedar Lake”. She’s barely able to hold down the urge to roll her eyes every time someone uses the term to refer to him, already deifying him due to his defeat of the Fisher Crab. He’d confessed to her that he just happened to get lucky with his stab but he’d never admit that to anyone else.
Across the sand from Marc stands a young man that had wandered into the city and demanded to fight the so called Hero. He is the polar opposite of his opponent, a contrast only made more evident by their upcoming conflict. Marc stands tall, at about 6 foot and 4 inches, with blond hair and startlingly blue eyes, while his opponent is only 5 foot and 5 inches, covered in a messy mat of black hair and flat brown eyes. Perhaps his most distinguishing feature is his lack of any emotion, a somewhat disturbing effect that produces a feeling of instability.
Mary had cautioned her nephew, trying to convince him to ignore the challenge, but he was too caught up in his own legend, truly believing himself to be a Hero. He had been training non-stop since the fight with the Fisher Crab but she still felt uneasy, this strange young man setting her on edge. She’d trusted her instincts for her entire life and they had never led her down the wrong path.
Finished with his prayer, Marc stands up and takes out his shield and sword, both looted from the medieval museum that had appeared in the city, and addresses his opponent.
“This is your last chance to leave this fight goodman, no one will look down on you for changing your mind”, he yells out, adopting that idiotic persona that had helped inspire the hero worship. Mary rolls her eyes, no one around to see her, and then focuses on the opponent. Instead of responding, he just calmly stares and flourishes his two knives, slowly walking towards Marc.
Shaking his head in pity, Marc begins walking forward, adopting his battle stance. With shield raised, he holds his elbow back and rests the tip of the blade on the shields rim. Genesis may have brought about endless misery but no one could fault its ability to fill their heads with knowledge. Marc had known absolutely nothing about sword and shield combat before but now was considered the town expert, having gotten his Shield Defense and Sword Mastery Skills to level 6. This was the highest combat Skill level in the city, another addition to the hero persona that he had built around himself.
At around 10 feet apart his opponent stops and raises his knives to eye level. Slowly spinning, he looks at everyone in the crowd and ending with Mary, making eye contact with her. The arena goes completely silent as he looks onto them, subdued by his strangely intense gaze. He ends the slow spin after a few seconds and stares back at his opponent with condescension in his eyes.
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“You are weak. None of you will make it into the Trials.”
Marc looks back at him with anger in his eyes and feels his temper rise. He’d managed to keep a decent hold on it recently, understanding that he needed to appear as the charismatic and calm Hero, but it takes hold of him and he can’t stop himself.
“Who the hell are you calling weak, asshole? I killed the Fisher Crab. I’m the Hero of Cedar Lake!”
Mary looks down at the arena and feels her stomach beginning to turn. Something is very wrong here. Marc’s opponent was far too confident and his strange pronunciation allowed her to pick up on the capital T in trials, suggesting that he somehow knew about something that was coming their way.
Just as she’s about to stand up and call for the match to end, she feels a strong hand on her shoulder and turns to find her husband, Damian King, returned from his expedition to make contact with some of the outlying towns. His skin white as a sheet, he shakes his head. His voice whispers into her ear. “Do not challenge him. Marc is lost. We can’t stop him.”
Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. “How can you say that? He’s your nephew!” He finally makes eye contact with her and she can see the sorrow and pain in his eyes, along with something that she’s never seen before. Fear. The man that had conquered countless businesses and fought off dozens of hostile takeovers was filled with fear.
“That man can kill us all …”
She turns back to the arena and sees Marc beginning to curse at his opponent, trying to get him to come forward and fight. Before he can say anything else, however, the man raises his hand in a stop gesture and speaks, the entire city becoming quiet to hear what he says.
“You will be dead before this knife hits the ground. All of you are weak. Become stronger.” He then throws his knife up into the air, the metal catching the sun and creating a mesmerizing image that attracts her eyes. It continues to spin hilt over blade, casting the light in a beautiful pattern, as it rises into the sky and then falls down, where the man catches it in the same position.
In the time that she’d been watching the knife rise and fall, Marc begins to fall to the ground. As he hits, the cuts on his throat and stabs to his sternum become visible, leaking blood out onto the sand. She hears a scream and it takes her a while before she realizes that it is coming from her, watching as her nephew dies on the sand of the arena.
Somehow managing to speak over the sounds of her screams and the crowd’s sobbing, all of the city hears the man as he walks out of the arena.
“Get stronger.”
A few hours later, Mary is wrapped up in a blanket in her home. Damian sits across from her, pouring her a cup of tea to try and calm her down. He tells his story as he works.
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“We made contact with Whitewater after the first two days. They had a few scouts out looking for food and one of them happened to recognize someone in our party. They were … they’re not in a good place right now.” Silence stretches for a few seconds as he stares down at the cup, gathering his thoughts.
“That man apparently showed up after about 5 days. They think he was one of the one of the randomly selected. Anyway, one of the scouts told me that he started talking to himself after a few hours, mumbling about strength and Trials. He then … He…”
He holds back his tears, the sheer fear and sadness of what he had seen threatening to overwhelm him. “He challenged 10 people, just like he did to Marc, and brutally killed all of them. Anyone who tried to stop him was also killed … he then told the entire town to, and I’m quoting, ‘get strong enough to kill me’”.
He hands Mary the cup. She can barely believe what she is hearing, the sheer insanity of the situation threatening to break her. She doesn’t let herself succumb to the sorrow though. Her whole life had been filled with struggle, one challenge after another on their rise to influence. She would not let this crazed man destroy what she had helped build.
Taking a sip, she responds, anger visible in her voice but held in check by an iron will. “Then that’s what we’ll do. We just have to get strong enough to kill that bastard.”