Joe stretched himself awake. He had a bed now, it had happened somewhere during his 9th sleep or his 5th battle. He rubbed at where yesterday’s opponent had scored a cut on his leg, the wound no longer there, merely a bruise which throbbed. He performed his morning ablutions in the crockery pot, washing at the sink which he now had access to. He sat down to tie his shoes and contemplated the small luxuries he now enjoyed. Luxuries paid for in blood. Luxuries, although maybe not equitable, he felt he had deserved. He had thought, he had fought and he had won. So far. He looked up at the wall where the door would eventually appear. Today was his last day, his last battle. And this time, he knew his opponent. He remembered the woman, the exquisitely beautiful woman, whose dagger was faster than his eyes could track. He remembered the way she had almost playfully taken the bald man’s life. He could see no weakness except in defense, yet if she was faster, what did it matter. A shield would just slow her down, armour too. He reflected on what he had learnt in his time thus far. Thought on the tactics he had employed to great effect or those that had failed and had almost taken his life. In the kaleidoscope of memories he sought an answer to the woman’s speed. Finding nothing he looked within. The twig had now truly become a branch. A pulsing beam of fire that threatened the once immovable node with unrestrained violence. Joe attempted to add to the branch, but as it had done the last few days, it refused admittance. He felt frustration because he somehow knew the answer to his problems lay in unlocking the node. Yet he did not know how. Too late. The door began its final ascent, the noise now parallel with the scent of death in his mind. Resolve calmed his heart and strengthened his mind. It will not be my death today. It. will. Not!.
—
Brea watched as the man strode out of his door, a sword resting on his shoulder free and easy. The man’s face had hardened, and his eyes held a glint that Brea recognised as something she held on her own. The man knew what and how to do what was necessary. She was somewhat surprised when she had found out she would be facing this nameless man. Her uncle had told her the night before and had been very close to treason when had told her of his strengths and weaknesses. How could he be so strong with muscles like that? She looked him up and down, taking in the dark long hair that framed his angular face. ‘Not altogether unhandsome’ she thought. She mentally checked over her stock of hidden blades, wondering which one would end this man’s life. Each blade had been baptized now, each one with one life or more to its name. She had notched lines on their haft to that effect, memorializing each life she had taken. Her father had done the same thing and her main blade held all his notches on the opposite haft. She forced down the urge to grab that dagger, the one that held so much meaning to her. Now was not the time.
—--
Joe looked the woman up and down. She stood within her overlarge hoody, hair cropped and short, her hands hanging ready at her side. He could feel her accessing him and wondered what she could see, what she thought. Any advantage for manipulation and tricks. His intuition told him that would be useless. She was sure to have his measure, he could hope that he was better than her.
The doors were now shut and the two watched each other across the blood red sand. The walls extended and distended in the torchlight like some hellish sea. Joe could feel his heart rate increase as the tension built. He removed the sword from his shoulder and placed it before him in readiness. Then he dropped it to the floor. The woman’s eyebrow raised in response as Joe took up a boxing stance. He hated giving up the reach of the sword but he knew that they would be competing in speed. Speed which the sword did not give him. He squeezed the cloth that we had wrapped around his fists in preparation. He would end like he began. His fists his only company.
The woman made the next move, sending two throwing daggers in Joe’s direction. He dodged them nimbly to the right. Just as Brea had predicted. Off balance for but a moment Brea had closed the distance and thrust towards Joe’s jugular with expert precision. Joe twisted his neck bringing his body just out of reach. It wasn’t far enough as Brea had adjusted her own thrust and scored first blood, the dagger leaving a bloody trail against the side of his neck. Still, Joe had launched his own counterattack with his twist as his right pistoned out towards Brea's abdomen. Quick as a flash Brea had already retreated yet Joe’s reach was no joke. He caught the billows of her hoody and pulled. A great ripping noise ensued as Joe pulled the front half of the hoody straight from Brea’s body leaving her exposed in her leather gambeson arrayed with knives. The hoody must have had a weak stitch on purpose Joe thought not taking his eyes off Brea. She didn’t show any reaction except for launching a salvo of daggers in his direction. Joe jumped over the daggers, his strength giving him great height. This was a mistake. For what goes up, must come down. Unable to turn in the air he was a flying duck. Brea took full advantage and threw two precise daggers. One hit him square in the stomach, the other luckily grazing his leg. He grunted as he landed, the pressure of which sent a surge of blood through his now open wound, spraying both the dagger and the blood onto the sand.
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Things were going badly. Yet Joe did not panic. Too many recent brushes with death had instilled him with a sense of calm. A sense of continuance almost. He sucked back the pain, partitioning it in his mind. All there was, was his next move. Brea had believed him to be temporarily frozen from the pain and shock so had taken the opportunity to throw one of her last daggers, leaving only her father’s. Joe rolled beneath this dagger and as regained the horizontal used the momentum to swing his leg out like a scythe. His leg caught Brea directly in the knee and there was a sickening crunch. On the floor for a moment Brea pushed herself back onto her one good leg, grimacing at the pain. Joe likewise had a hand over his wound stemming the flow of blood. Brea drew her last dagger and pointed it at Joe. “For my family, my family’s pride and my own, I will not let you kill me today”. She pressed down on the side of the dagger triggering the mechanism within. A short explosion ensued and then the dagger burst from its handle like a large bullet eviscerating Brea’s hand as it did so. The blade itself found its home directly in Joe’s sternum, barely missing his thundering heart. As Brea screamed as her hand was torn asunder, Joe tumbled to the floor grasping at the blade that was fully within him. This he could not pull out.
His breath became laboured as blood began to fill his lungs and he began to panic, his hands tearing at the narrow sliver in his chest. He could not die today. He would not die today. Yet, words hold no power. Words could not dislodge the blade from his chest. Words could not close the fatal wound. Brea watched as Joe struggled, holding her own hand in her other as she balanced on one leg. She felt no pity for the man but felt enough respect to witness his final moments. He had fought well.
‘I will not’ Joe screamed impotently in his mind. ‘I will not die’. His heart began to beat slower as the pressure in his circulation waned. ‘I will not’. Tears began to form at the corners of his eyes. ‘I will not’. And then, a thump. Then a louder thump. In his navel the blue flame was blazing fiercely, and with each thump a pulse of energy was sent down the branch. Thump. Thump. Thump. Brea cocked her head as she heard the noise. ‘What on earth?’. Then Joe went still and the doors, all the doors, began to rise. Thump. Joe’s body rippled like he had become water itself. Just prior, a pulse had hurtled down the branch from the blue flame and had slammed into the node. Weakened and impotent, the node imploded allowing the flame to ignite the now empty space within. Now two flames burned fiercely within Joe. Still, his heart was still, his eyes empty. Thump, thump. The blade, once stuck, began to rise out of Joe’s chest like Arthur’s blade from the lake. Thump, thump. The blade collapsed onto his chest as the wound closed rapidly behind it. Thump, thump. Electricity shot from the flames weakening them greatly that struck Joe’s heart one after another. Still his heart remained still. Thump, thump. Now the flames were as weak as candle flame but the electricity was sent again. Thump, thump, thump. His heart began to beat once again and Joe sucked in a great surge of air into his sudden lungs. He coughed, spraying blood from his mouth like a halloween fountain. Brea turned back from the door and watched as Joe struggled back to life. Then she turned back and dragged herself through the open door.