Nervous tapping filled the quiet waiting room as 715’s foot rose and fell steadily. Nibbling on a nail, the young woman didn’t seem to notice anything going on around her. She stared at the bright window, eyes glassy and unfocused. Bright flashes bounced off her face but she didn’t react. No, she was far too deep in thought.
1202, on the other hand, was busy doing absolutely nothing. His shoulders rose and fell as he breathed evenly. If someone were to walk into the room they’d think the young man was odd for falling asleep sitting in a corner with his legs crossed under him. But that was far from the truth. The rhythm of his breathing joined his sister's nervous tapping. Slow in, hold, slow out.
The Faifekau who was in charge of the two siblings stood by the -nearly- invisible entrance with their fidgeting trainee flanking them. This one wore a smooth, featureless mask. Compared to the members the siblings had come across before, this mask seemed much more expensive, extravagant. Despite there being no obvious opening for the eyes, nose, or mouth it still appeared that the Faifekau was able to sense everything. Every time they spoke, which was rare, the mask blinked in response to each word.
The trainee was much less impressive. His beady eyes darted back and forth as he messed with his frumpled shirt, constantly pulling the front. Despite being much taller than the Faifekau he, somehow, appeared to be infinitely shorter. With his rounded shoulders and stooped back, those who came across the man felt like he was constantly trying to hide from something. His sweaty hands, which seemed to always be wet, left wet streaks along his white shirt as he continued to pull it away from his clammy skin.
“So, how many rounds are there?” 715 asked. She continued to tap her foot in erratic bursts that almost sounded like morse code.
“Not so much rounds. Rather, you’ll be fighting and accumulating points,” the trainee mumbled. His voice was soft and he spoke like he was eternally ready to scream. “These first bunch of matches will be seeding bouts. To determine matchups and such. Then we’ll split all the candidates into groups and begin the elimination rounds.”
“Take it one fight at a time,” the Faifekau said. Their voice, much like most of the other members who wore masks, was flat and androgynous.
Every time the Faifekau spoke 715 felt a deep sense of familiarity. Something about this ‘person’ felt off. And she couldn’t figure it out.
“How long will the tournament run?” 1202 asked, his voice calm and steady as he continued his meditation.
“Long enough.”
“How many do we have to win to get a good seeding?” 715 peered over at the Faifekau, still chewing on a piece of fingernail she’d bitten off.
1202 also opened his eyes, narrowed as he studied the mysterious members.
“Actually, it’s more about how many times you lose,” the trainee answered. “Any candidates that lose more than 3 times are automatically added to the losers bracket. During the group elimination rounds those candidates will have to maintain a perfect record in order to avoid disqualification.”
“And there aren’t any rules? We can maim and kill if need be?” 1202 asked.
“Death is inconsequential here,” the Faifekau’s cold voice chilled the siblings.
“What the hell does that mean?” 715 asked.
“What the Faifekau means is that the Conglomerate has the know-how to ensure that any who are critically or fatally injured while in the arena can be brought back,” the trainee wrung his hands as he kept his eyes on the ground.
The Faifekau’s head turned in the trainee’s direction but did nothing else after staring at the fidgeting man for a few seconds.
“That’s a bit hard to believe,” 715 mumbled. “There has to be a downside. What is it?”
“W-well…” the trainee began speaking but quickly looked at the Faifekau, as if waiting for leave to continue. The Faifekau nodded before turning back to the siblings. “The Conglomerate has masters at their disposal who can remedy almost anything. The main downside is that any candidates who experience debilitating injury or death will remember the experience. This has been proven to be very stressful on most candidates' mental health, especially when sustained more than once.”
715 shuddered as she listened to the trainee’s explanation. Images flashed through her mind as her eyes darted back and forth from her brother to the two members.
“Eh, so as long as we don’t die or get hurt we’ll be fine? Can we concede a match?” 1202 asked, shrugging as he shook off the lethargy that had set in from his meditation.
“You can,” the Faifekau answered. Something about its tone implied malcontent with the question.
“Yes, like the Faifekau has said, you can,” the trainee took over. “But, there are repercussions. You’ll receive penalties from the Tu’i, who will be watching. This all ranges depending on their whims and how much they like you, as a candidate.”
“Well, then I guess conceding is out of the question,” 1202 rubbed his chin as he stood, hopping up and down.
“That’s stupid. We should forfeit if we feel it’s unnecessary. You don’t get to call the shots, brother,” 715 said. There was an unnecessary sting to her words. Something was bothering her.
“Fine, fine. We’ll make the choice when it’s time. I have one more question,” 1202 stepped out and stretched his hips. “Who or what are the Tu’i? And why are they so important?”
“Who they are,” the Faifekau rasped, voice low and dangerous. “Is none of your concern.”
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---
The siblings stepped out of the dark hallway, squinting as the bright light that flooded the expansive arena nearly blinded them.
“Good luck,” the masked Faifekau said as they closed the door with a soft click.
“Heh, I guess,” 1202 rubbed the back of his head as he meandered towards the middle of the arena. “It’s weird. This place looks so much smaller from the room.”
“Feels small but looks big,” 715 commented as she followed. “Something’s definitely wrong with this place. I still haven’t been able to figure it out. By the way, have you been feeling alright since we got here?”
“I been good, why?”
“I dunno, I’ve just been feeling really off. Really agitated,” 715 massaged her neck, each step sending a stiff shock crashing through her body.
“Eh, maybe you just needa get punched then you’ll feel better. Come on, let's get this shit crackin’.”
Without waiting for his sister, 1202 walked into the marked off area of the arena with his chest puffed out.
Across the way their opponents stepped into the light. An odd group of 3, they all moved with long, loping gaits. To the viewer it felt as if they all didn’t know how to walk or that their legs weren’t the same length. Their arms were also long, hanging down and nearly scraping the loose dirt on the ground.
As soon as 715 crossed the barrier, chimes rang overhead and they felt an invisible push, urging them toward their opponents.
Without a break in their strides, the 3 oddly shaped people broke into runs. They galloped, dropping onto their hands and using them to run.
Surprised, the siblings activated their tatau and shuffled forward, taking a ready stance as the galloping opponents closed the distance.
The 3 split up, 2 heading towards 1202 and 1 barreling down on 715. The siblings smiled as their bodies relaxed.
“Buncha idiots,” 1202 mumbled as he hopped forward and intercepted the closest opponent. “My sister’s stronger than me you dumbasses.”
Backing up 1202's statement, 715 launched herself at the lone opponent, catching them mid-stride as all four limbs were still in the air. She flew through the void, leg tatau flaring and leaving a trail of light behind her. The packed dirt crumbled under the force of her taking off. With a sickening crunch her empowered right knee, reinforced by mana, crashed into the defenseless opponent’s oversized jaw. It let out a whine as it’s jaw slid out of its socket. It showed her the whites of its eyes as it lost consciousness.
1202, meanwhile, found himself sandwiched between the two remaining opponents. They circled him after skidding to a halt, using their arms to keep them steady as they hopped back and forth.
Pivoting, 1202 ducked under a wild swipe as one clawed at his head. He noticed how thick their nails were.
“Are you guys even human? Fucking weirdos,” he muttered as he weaved under another flailing attempt.
The two opponents grunted at one another, quick guttural bursts of some odd speech. 1202’s ears twitched as he tried to pick up on their intent. With a low growl, the one behind him sprung, launching itself.
1202 brought his arms up, shortened his base, and pivoted quickly. The tatau on his right arm flared to life as he threw a short uppercut. The one who’d jumped at him found itself eating the reinforced fist.
The satisfying crunch of the connecting punch brought a smile to 1202’s lips. But it was short lived as he felt a searing pain emanate from his side as the other opponents long claws raked at his exposed side, tearing off a chunk of lean muscle.
1202 screamed as he collapsed. Hot blood splattered as the opponent barreled into him, cutting his yelp short. He landed with a crunch, his lungs seized as he was sandwiched by the, surprisingly, heavy opponent.
The other, who’d been caught jumping, skidded across the dusty floor. It’s tongue hung loose as it flopped over, breathing shallow.
The one on top of 1202 wrapped it’s clawed hand around his head and jumped up, swinging him around by the head. He spluttered as he was swung about, left arm flopping uselessly. Searing pain ran down his spine as the thing spun him by his head.
The final opponent grunted, its wild thrashing stopped as its grip loosed on 1202’s head. He slipped out and landed on his already injured shoulder. He whimpered, more from the shock of crashing into the ground than from the pain. A numbness had already settled on him. All he could feel was a dull burn that was growing.
A heavy thud alerted him to the presence of a body landing behind him. He lay still, concentrating on not losing consciousness. Overhead the sound of crashing glass filled the arena. He whimpered as he was rolled onto his back.
“You’re so hopeless,” 715 chuckled, flashing a brilliant smile at her brother. “I’d help you up but it looks like you’re ready to die.”
“Shut up…” he muttered as the masked Faifekau and the trainee arrived at their side.
“Well done, candidates,” the Faifekau sounded pleased, their flat tone lilting just a bit..
715 felt like they were smiling at her behind the mask.
“We’ll take him to the viewing room and tend to his wounds there,” the trainee mumbled. Without waiting for an answer he scooped 1202 up in his arms.
1202 let out a pained yelp as he was jostled. The pain was much more noticeable when he was moved.
---
Carefully, the trainee lay 1202 down on a long padded table in the waiting room. His left arm was mangled and hung at an odd angle. The gash on his side was staunched by an odd, jelly-like substance that the trainee had applied before they left the arena.
“Can I watch?” 715 asked. “I’ve always wanted to know how you guys heal and stuff.”
The trainee looked at his mentor. The Faifekau nodded. The trainee nodded at 715 and motioned for her to stand off to the side.
1202, covered in sweat and blood, lay on his back. His eyes flitted back and forth behind his eyelids.
The trainee let out a long breath, steadying himself. As he did his posture straightened until he was standing at his full height. He seemed to be a completely different person, emanating supreme confidence as he looked down on the injured 1202. He began mumbling an incantation under his breath as the tatau that covered his neck and throat gave off their brilliance. A thick blob of ichor dripped out of his mouth as he bent over 1202’s unconscious form.
It was bulky and black and seemed to be made of absolute darkness. As soon as it made contact with the young man’s skin it spread out, rapidly encasing his injured shoulder and arm. A small bit detached and made its way over to the large gash. With a loud sucking it absorbed the gelatin that had been applied and replaced it, covering the whole of 1202’s injured side. Minute droplets spread out and covered other spots on his body, superficial injuries and weeks old bruises.
715 inhaled as she watched the odd magic spread along her brother's body.
“What the hell is that? What’s it doing to him?”
“Eating,” the Faifekau answered, a hint of a chuckle hidden in his voice.
“What?!” 715 inadvertently stepped toward the Faifekau. Before she could complete the motion she found herself frozen mid-stride.
“Be still, girl,” the Faifekau’s metallic voice sent chills down her spine.
The trainee continued his mumbling, eyes closed as sweat actually beaded on his brow. Still frozen in the act of taking a step, 715 noticed the odd sight.
All along 1202’s body the black ichor squirmed as it set about its grizzly task. Just like the Faifekau had said, its fervent movements reminded 715 of a wild animal eating. It’s body, if it could be called that, jiggled back and forth, vibrating all along each and every part of her brother’s body it touched.
The color in his face slowly returned. His breathing deepened as he let out a raucous snore.
715’s brows knit in confusion as she doubted what she was hearing.
The trainee finally stopped his weird mumbling, straightening out and stepping back from his stooped position. He took a sharp inhale and the ichor unlatched with a slimy suckling sound from 1202 and flew straight into his mouth. He coughed, rubbing his chest.
“He is resting now,” the trainee muttered, his face pallid. His shoulders sagged noticeably as he returned to his stooped, hunchbacked posture.