Obert moved through the sand like an adder. He kicked up sand with each step, weaving and feinting, but Victor just stood still, aiming the point of his enormous spear at the man, bracing himself. In a fight between equals, minus the interference of Energy abilities, Victor didn’t doubt that a competent fighter with a spear could kill a master swordsman. It was simply a matter of reach. The problem was that this wasn’t a match between equals, and energy was a factor. Obert didn’t try to dart past Victor’s spearpoint; he surged with hot, tingly Energy and then exploded with speed.
He ripped through the sand, throwing it up in a red wake, and darted to Victor’s flank. Victor was no slouch, and he spun, tracking the man’s movement, but Obert didn’t try to close further; he hacked his sword through the air, and, again, hot Energy flared, and a blade of cutting, brilliant light tore away from his sword and straight at Victor.
Victor figured he could dodge it; it wasn’t that fast. He also figured he could knock it aside with his heavy, sturdy spear. He didn’t, however. He stepped to the left, just enough to avoid most of the blade, then he feigned a stumble and cried out as the hot Energy sliced into his ribs and over his back, biting deeply into the thick muscles beneath his shirt.
Hot blood sheeted down his side and back, and he made a show of rolling over his shoulder and wincing as he scurried to avoid a follow-up cleave. He’d taken a risk with his armor; he wasn’t wearing his disguised clothing for the battle. He’d put on a simple yellow shirt with short sleeves and a pair of soft, pale gray trousers. He fully intended for them to be red with blood before long.
The cut on his back was a good start; it was a real gusher and took several seconds to close despite his enormous vitality and inherent regeneration. Obert wore a grin as he watched the blood soak the fabric, circling him. Victor grinned back, but he did it in a lopsided, idiotic manner.
“What a fool.” Obert closed with him again, driving forward with big sweeping cuts that batted aside his spear. Victor could have pulled the spear back, avoided the cuts, and then thrust into the man, breaking up his momentum, but he couldn’t appear too competent. Instead, he widened his eyes and took far too long correcting his spear’s guard as Obert fought his way in and, quick as a wink, thrust his blade into Victor’s chest, just beneath his right shoulder.
Victor saw the blow coming and stepped back just enough so the sword didn’t impale him more than a couple of inches. Still, he cried out and scurried away, whipping his spear around to prevent Obert from following up. A new sheet of blood ran down the front of his shirt. “Come on, pendejo,” Victor hissed. “You can’t hit harder than that?”
He wasn’t sure if he’d wanted Obert to hear him, but the man did, and fury ignited in the golden eyes within that eagle-mask helm. Obert went wild, surging with Energy, blurring as his momentum began to mount, and he pounded great flaming hacks into Victor’s spear as he kept him at bay, but just barely.
#
“This is the end, isn’t it?” Kynna hissed. She looked away from her beleaguered champion and locked eyes with Thorn. “Get Tomorran away from here. I don’t want him to—”
“I’ll not leave, mother!” Tom jumped up, dodging her attempt to snatch his wrist. “If this is the end of our house, I’ll see it with my own eyes!”
Kynna stared at him for a moment, listening as the crowd gasped, cheered, and jeered as the sounds of weapons colliding rang through the arena, accompanied by Obert’s fierce grunts and Victor’s belabored breathing. Finally, she nodded. “Very well. You should bear witness. You’ll be a man soon enough.” She looked back to the arena floor and her blood-drenched champion. Had he delivered a single injury to Obert? “Dead Gods! How much blood can he have? If the sand weren’t red and black, we’d see the path of his progress.”
No one responded to her words. The mood in the box was grim, and why shouldn’t it be? Most of the staff—the guards, the soldiers, the bureaucrats—would be dismissed. She and her kin would be shipped off-world. Would they get a say in their destination? She’d failed to look into that detail. Thorn would know— A hoarse scream from below jerked her thoughts back to the debacle of Victor’s battle, and she saw him rolling away, cradling his right arm. “What happened?”
“Obert near took his arm off, Your Majesty,” Bryn, the one who’d given her “champion” a bracer, replied.
“It’s over then. He could barely stand against him with two good arms.”
Thorn nervously clenched his hands together. “Don’t lose hope, My Queen.” Even he sounded unconvinced. Kynna watched Victor, saw the pain and fear in his eyes as he crouched, his spear loosely gripped in his right hand, while his left hand seemed to be holding his gushing right arm together. Obert stalked toward him, a hungry smile on his face.
Kynna groaned. “He’s going to finish him. Watch, then, Tom. Watch and see our nation crumble.” Kynna followed her own advice, sending Energy into the pattern for Clear Sight and filling her vision with a view of Victor as though she stood but a stride away. His chest heaved for breath, his face was drenched with bloody sweat, and his clothes—his clothes were shreds of crimson-stained cloth. She looked to where blood gushed between the fingers of his right hand as he held his ruined arm together. Kynna stared and frowned. Something wasn’t right.
Nothing gushed between those fingers, and she was sure she could see the biceps beneath his shredded shirt flexing as his hand adjusted itself on the spear. Even so, he still crouched there, his footing all wrong for a man in a deadly battle. He looked defeated, but—
Thorn gasped as Obert surged with Energy and streaked over the sand. His passage was difficult to track as he wove left and right, leaping and redirecting himself. He flanked Victor, streaked up, into the air, and then down, like a fisher eagle going for a carp in the Cray River. In Kynna’s heart, she knew it was over. Obert was about to impale Victor, about to cleave his mighty sword, Brightfire, through his body, spilling his insides out onto the sand—clang! The sound rang out, and blood fountained into the air.
Kynna’s eyes struggled to make sense of the scene. She stared at Victor, trying to see where Obert’s sword had cut him, but the image didn’t match what she knew she should see. Victor stood tall. His spear was thrust into the air, and dangling from the blade was Obert’s lifeless body—his head fully impaled on the spearpoint. Victor had driven the spear under his chin and out through the top of his skull! Brightfire lay in the sand, her flames flickering faintly, and Victor slowly turned in a circle, displaying Obert’s corpse to the suddenly silent crowd like a grisly banner.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Very well.” The judicator let go of his wrist, and Victor plunged his hand into the still-hot chest cavity, wrapping his thick, strong fingers around the organ. He pulled it out with several wet, visceral pops, and then he stood, holding it aloft. The judicator’s voice rang out above the crowd’s hysteria, “The champion of Gloria claims his opponent’s heart!”
Again, the crowd erupted, but this time, there was a mixture of sounds—some cheering, sure, but also gasps, laughter, screeches, and outraged curses. There were too many sounds for Victor to discern them all; to him, it was just a crowd roaring, and that made him smile.
“Leave the arena, Champion. I must see to the house Vennar and their removal from this world.” With that, the Judicator climbed atop his flying disc and whisked through the air to Vennar’s boxed seating section. It was vacant. Victor glanced over to Kynna’s section, and it, too, was empty. He shrugged, waved the heart through the air one more time, basking in the noise from the enormous crowd, and then stomped over to the tunnel that would lead him to his ready room.
When he stepped out of the sun and the crowd's noise, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief and sent the heart into his storage container. He flexed his shoulders, rolled his neck, and looked at his arm. “That sun of a gun almost cut you off!” It had been a close thing; Victor had misjudged a glancing blow and caught almost the full brunt of Obert’s magical sword strike. If not for his hard-as-rocks titan bones—
“Victor!”
He looked up to see Kynna and his usual escort, Bryn, standing in the ready room. “Oh, hello, My Queen.” He bowed low, his shredded shirt hanging in bloody tatters, dripping on the ground.
“Stand, Champion.” When Victor complied, she folded her arms over her chest. She was dressed in a lovely yellow gown that really made the deep blue crystals of her crown pop with color. “Tell me now, was it luck? Did the grace of a sleeping god touch you? How did you win when all was so dire?”
“Oh, hrmm.” Victor frowned and rubbed his chin. “I guess it was mostly luck—”
“Hah!” Bryn cried, striding forward to yank her bent bracer from his arm. “I suppose you ‘accidentally’ blocked his killing blow with my bracer?” She put it on her arm, and the metal smoothly reformed to its original shape.
“Guard Bryn!” Kynna’s voice was sharp, and Bryn whirled to face the queen, falling into a bow that nearly had her on the floor. “I’m so sorry, My Queen! He frustrates me so—”
“Be still.” The queen stepped past her to confront Victor. “I’ll not have you play games with my family, Victor—my house. Was it a lucky accident or not? If you say yes, I’ll remove you from your position and put in the champion I earned today—my pick from Vennar’s cadre.”
Victor sighed and shook his head. He looked from the queen to Bryn, still on her knees. “Do I need to worry about my words leaving this room?”
The queen glared down at Bryn and flicked her fingers to the door. “Leave us.” Bryn scrambled to her feet and hurried out, joining a small group of people waiting in the hall. When the door clicked shut, Victor said, in a low voice, “No accident. I wasn’t going to lose, but did you want me to trounce that guy? Do you want the negotiation with Xan to go well? If I didn’t look like a lucky idiot, King Groff wouldn’t negotiate so easily—”
“You...” Her eyebrows rose, and she regarded his shredded, bloody clothing. “You went through that torture for...for easier negotiations?”
Victor lifted his sleeve and rubbed the dried blood covering his shoulder and biceps. “I heal fast. See?”
“But it must hurt...” She stepped back and ran her eyes up and down his figure.
“I mean, in the middle of a fight, all pumped up with adrenaline—it’s not that bad.”
“What...how...” She clenched her fists and took another step back. “Who are you, Victor? What are you hiding? Obert was tier-nine. Don’t tell me you’re so high.” She tapped her temple behind her right eye. “I can see your Core’s Energy levels.”
“My Queen,” Victor sighed, stepping toward the door. “There are many factors to a person’s strength. You must know that. It’s not all about level.” He turned to her and grinned. “Besides, I don’t think I’m that far below some of these guys.” In his mind, he chuckled at the idea that he had a heart to eat and a Class refinement to go through. “Now, Your Majesty, if you wouldn’t mind, I could use a bath, some clean clothes, and a quiet place to reflect on the strange customs in this world.”
Kynna’s crown glittered and twinkled in the light as she shook her head, pressing her dark, blue-stained lips together. “Our customs are strange? I feel I should ask what you intend to do with that man’s heart, but...I don’t want to know. Come, then, Champion. Let us return to Gloria; we have much to celebrate. The entire city will feast tonight.”