Chapter 115
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Chapter 115
The silence is getting to me.
Tens of thousands of spectators fill the field, packed together like arrows in a quiver as they stare hatefully across at one another. Absent of any yells and taunts, applaud and support, the ambience is heavy and disquieting, a hushed atmosphere quiet as the grave, with only the sound of banners snapping in the wind to accompany my death match.
An ominous presence stalks towards me, my legs giving ground before the young hero, awe-inspiring in his multicoloured breastplate and shoulder guards, leg-guards clanking and glistening as the morning light breaks through the clouds. Delicately grasping his ornate twin sabers, his eyes narrow in concentration, swinging his weapons about energetically in an eye-catching pattern meant to deceive and distract. His feet move in semi-circular steps, staying low and close to the stage, a careful gait, his center of gravity low and his shoulders squared, facing me at all times.
A lump forms in my throat as I smack my lips, trying to moisten my mouth, panting behind my shield as I shuffle back, unable to muster the courage to face him head on. My arms and legs are like jelly, my stomach rumbling, too afraid to do anything but retreat away from his terrifying existence, wishing for the strength to turn around and dive off the stage, only certain death keeping me from following through.
Why is this so difficult? Even with Other me made irrelevant somehow, I have faced down Society assassins and soldiers, Defiled and Demons. Where has my courage gone? In front of the girly man-child, my body is tense and shivering, reverting back into that helpless slave in the mines, unable to do anything to defend himself.
Weak.
Afraid.
Worthless.
I will never be him, not again. I have changed; I have grown; I have learned.
I am Rain, Sentinel of the People, and I will win.
Roaring in a blend of terror and challenge, I plant my feet and smash my weapons together, standing firm against my opponent, my determination giving me strength. Stepping to the left, Zian's saber slashes out in a probing strike. Blocking with my shield, the tremor pierces through the metal and into my body, rattling my teeth, my inner organs trembling in the aftershocks. With no idea how to stop it, all I can do is grit my teeth and bear it.
A second strike goes low, the tip digging across my thigh as I hop back, and a heavy thrust sends me staggering away. Like a gong signalling his attack, he surges forward aggressively, swinging left and right in a frenzy of motion, circling around me as he attacks. Block and parry, slash and thrust, our weapons chime in song as I struggle to stay alive, a discordant, staccato melody which heralds my doom. The steady blows ring against my shield, deflecting his barrage of attacks aimed to throw me off-balance, buying time to gather my thoughts.
Fear is nothing new to me, just deal with it, let it be. Remember my training, read his pattern, anticipate and act. He isn't perfect, his attacks are systematic, a practiced routine, otherwise it would be impossible for him to control both swords. I've tried using two weapons and it's more of a hindrance at first. It takes rhythm and order to use both without getting in your own way.
Weathering the storm of unending blades, I study his movements carefully, my mind tranquil and focused, committing his patterns to memory in mind and muscle. The left sword jabs, the right sword executes, his habits easily spotted; Left slash, right thrust, right hook, left chop, his favoured attacks. Done in varying orders at varying angles, there is little deviation from these four moves, sometimes doubling up and attacking with both weapons at once. While unable to freely manipulate each weapon, his ever-changing pattern of attacks is enough to defeat me, eventually. All this information comes at a cost, paid for in nicks and cuts, his weapons too fast and accurate for me to defend unscathed, but it is worth it.
Taking advantage of a pause in his rhythm, my body moves forward for the first time in this exchange, Prancing Stride and Rising Steps, toe, heel, slide and step. Smashing aside an anticipated thrust, my shield rams into his chest, rocking him back. Darting Fang and Uplifts the Sequoia, my sword whistles towards his throat at an upward angle. Swept wide with a flick of his saber, my opponent twirls aside. Momentum carries me past him, my back open and vulnerable. Desperately twisting my body, my shield moves in place just in time to connect with his spinning slash, sending my overextended body crashing to the stone stage.
Fuck, that was close.
Sliding to a stop, I spring back up in a defensive stance, immediately retreating before his ferocious onslaught, my failed attack emboldening him, gaining confidence with each exchange. Left and right, up and down, his weapons flash in a flourish of steel and blood. Pain barely registers as his blade bites lightly into my forearm, then my shoulder, followed by an errant stab opening a gash in my cheek, more of his attacks finding their way past my defences as he too begins to read my patterns. Let him have these cuts, they mean nothing. I've suffered worse, endured through it all, and come out stronger for it.
Distracted by a feint, my shield going low to block as his other weapon is thrust towards my chest. My sword moves to intercept, deflecting it slightly to carve through my meaty shoulder. Clenching my teeth, I move in against the thrust, the weapon sawing painfully against my collarbone, angling my sword to pierce his face.
I can use that to my advantage.
Exhaling slowly, I shift into an offensive posture, my shield's blade pointed directly at Zian. Giving him my best smile, blood dribbles from my mouth as I challenge him, gesturing for him to approach. Enough dancing. Stand and fight.
Glowering furiously, he hesitates while deliberating his options, my best-case scenario. Give me time to heal while you debate, I can wait all day. I'd prefer it, actually. With only a meter's distance to the edge, if he moves too far left or right, he risks being shoved from the ring, an automatic loss, leaving him with no choice but to approach head on, something he's been avoiding from the start. Always moving to my left, the safe side, hiding in front of my shield while I hide behind it.
Well, I'm not hiding anymore, so what are you going to do?
Seconds pass as I stare him down, Zian's eyes flicking to the crowd as they grow in volume, gaining confidence from their cheers and encouragement. For a second, his eyes lock with someone in the crowd, his mother, Mentor, or maybe his sweetheart, I don't know, but his weapons drop slightly, his grip loosened in a moment of distraction.
Rookie mistake.
Balance on Windy Leaf, into Pierce the Horizon, I charge out, sword aimed for his eyes. Ducking back, he moves to avoid the thrust, sabers lashing out to dissuade me. My shield intercepts one, but the second saber bites deep, thrust deep into my right lung and bursting out my back.
Retreats when I attack his face. Right. Well... He retreated... Sort of...
At least he didn't chop my head off.
Give flesh, break bones.
A slash of my shield slices through his left arm at the elbow, the hand still grasping the saber embedded deep in my flesh. His inhuman scream quiets the crowd, a clear clarion call of defeat. My shield smashes into his face with a wet crack, abruptly quieting his wailing and leaving him dazed. Winding up, I backhand him a second time, my arm numbing at the impact. In a spray of blood and spit, his teeth go flying into the crowd as he staggers aside, tumbling off the stage with a crash.
My sword slips from my fingers and clatters loudly to the stage in the silence that follows, my breathing laboured. I reach for the saber in my chest, every breath bringing new agony, and I grip the blade, my only thought to remove this weapon from my flesh. White-hot pain surges through my mind as I tear it from my chest, my lung burning as it fills with blood, my chest spasming as I sputter and cough, expelling fluid from my lungs.
Tossing the weapon aside, my chi circulates through me as I crash to my knees, my arms hanging weakly at my sides, frothy blood dribbling from my mouth. Taking a deep, gurgling breath, a wet helpless, unhinged laugh erupts from my chest, echoing across the field, only ending in a choking cough as I spit out a glob of blood.
Woo. Winning.
Staring up at the bright, morning sky, the sun peeking out through the dispersing clouds, my mind fixates on just how beautiful it really is. Feeling nothing besides exhaustion and pain, I want nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for days. A cool stream of energy envelopes me, and knowing the worst has passed, I close my eyes for a well deserved rest.
Four fights, four victories, one mine.
Let someone else pick up the spare, I've earned a break.
Chapter Meme
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Chapter 115
The silence is getting to me.
Tens of thousands of spectators fill the field, packed together like arrows in a quiver as they stare hatefully across at one another. Absent of any yells and taunts, applaud and support, the ambience is heavy and disquieting, a hushed atmosphere quiet as the grave, with only the sound of banners snapping in the wind to accompany my death match.
An ominous presence stalks towards me, my legs giving ground before the young hero, awe-inspiring in his multicoloured breastplate and shoulder guards, leg-guards clanking and glistening as the morning light breaks through the clouds. Delicately grasping his ornate twin sabers, his eyes narrow in concentration, swinging his weapons about energetically in an eye-catching pattern meant to deceive and distract. His feet move in semi-circular steps, staying low and close to the stage, a careful gait, his center of gravity low and his shoulders squared, facing me at all times.
A lump forms in my throat as I smack my lips, trying to moisten my mouth, panting behind my shield as I shuffle back, unable to muster the courage to face him head on. My arms and legs are like jelly, my stomach rumbling, too afraid to do anything but retreat away from his terrifying existence, wishing for the strength to turn around and dive off the stage, only certain death keeping me from following through.
Why is this so difficult? Even with Other me made irrelevant somehow, I have faced down Society assassins and soldiers, Defiled and Demons. Where has my courage gone? In front of the girly man-child, my body is tense and shivering, reverting back into that helpless slave in the mines, unable to do anything to defend himself.
Weak.
Afraid.
Worthless.
I will never be him, not again. I have changed; I have grown; I have learned.
I am Rain, Sentinel of the People, and I will win.
Roaring in a blend of terror and challenge, I plant my feet and smash my weapons together, standing firm against my opponent, my determination giving me strength. Stepping to the left, Zian's saber slashes out in a probing strike. Blocking with my shield, the tremor pierces through the metal and into my body, rattling my teeth, my inner organs trembling in the aftershocks. With no idea how to stop it, all I can do is grit my teeth and bear it.
A second strike goes low, the tip digging across my thigh as I hop back, and a heavy thrust sends me staggering away. Like a gong signalling his attack, he surges forward aggressively, swinging left and right in a frenzy of motion, circling around me as he attacks. Block and parry, slash and thrust, our weapons chime in song as I struggle to stay alive, a discordant, staccato melody which heralds my doom. The steady blows ring against my shield, deflecting his barrage of attacks aimed to throw me off-balance, buying time to gather my thoughts.
Fear is nothing new to me, just deal with it, let it be. Remember my training, read his pattern, anticipate and act. He isn't perfect, his attacks are systematic, a practiced routine, otherwise it would be impossible for him to control both swords. I've tried using two weapons and it's more of a hindrance at first. It takes rhythm and order to use both without getting in your own way.
Weathering the storm of unending blades, I study his movements carefully, my mind tranquil and focused, committing his patterns to memory in mind and muscle. The left sword jabs, the right sword executes, his habits easily spotted; Left slash, right thrust, right hook, left chop, his favoured attacks. Done in varying orders at varying angles, there is little deviation from these four moves, sometimes doubling up and attacking with both weapons at once. While unable to freely manipulate each weapon, his ever-changing pattern of attacks is enough to defeat me, eventually. All this information comes at a cost, paid for in nicks and cuts, his weapons too fast and accurate for me to defend unscathed, but it is worth it.
Taking advantage of a pause in his rhythm, my body moves forward for the first time in this exchange, Prancing Stride and Rising Steps, toe, heel, slide and step. Smashing aside an anticipated thrust, my shield rams into his chest, rocking him back. Darting Fang and Uplifts the Sequoia, my sword whistles towards his throat at an upward angle. Swept wide with a flick of his saber, my opponent twirls aside. Momentum carries me past him, my back open and vulnerable. Desperately twisting my body, my shield moves in place just in time to connect with his spinning slash, sending my overextended body crashing to the stone stage.
Fuck, that was close.
Sliding to a stop, I spring back up in a defensive stance, immediately retreating before his ferocious onslaught, my failed attack emboldening him, gaining confidence with each exchange. Left and right, up and down, his weapons flash in a flourish of steel and blood. Pain barely registers as his blade bites lightly into my forearm, then my shoulder, followed by an errant stab opening a gash in my cheek, more of his attacks finding their way past my defences as he too begins to read my patterns. Let him have these cuts, they mean nothing. I've suffered worse, endured through it all, and come out stronger for it.
Distracted by a feint, my shield going low to block as his other weapon is thrust towards my chest. My sword moves to intercept, deflecting it slightly to carve through my meaty shoulder. Clenching my teeth, I move in against the thrust, the weapon sawing painfully against my collarbone, angling my sword to pierce his face.
I can use that to my advantage.
Exhaling slowly, I shift into an offensive posture, my shield's blade pointed directly at Zian. Giving him my best smile, blood dribbles from my mouth as I challenge him, gesturing for him to approach. Enough dancing. Stand and fight.
Glowering furiously, he hesitates while deliberating his options, my best-case scenario. Give me time to heal while you debate, I can wait all day. I'd prefer it, actually. With only a meter's distance to the edge, if he moves too far left or right, he risks being shoved from the ring, an automatic loss, leaving him with no choice but to approach head on, something he's been avoiding from the start. Always moving to my left, the safe side, hiding in front of my shield while I hide behind it.
Well, I'm not hiding anymore, so what are you going to do?
Seconds pass as I stare him down, Zian's eyes flicking to the crowd as they grow in volume, gaining confidence from their cheers and encouragement. For a second, his eyes lock with someone in the crowd, his mother, Mentor, or maybe his sweetheart, I don't know, but his weapons drop slightly, his grip loosened in a moment of distraction.
Rookie mistake.
Balance on Windy Leaf, into Pierce the Horizon, I charge out, sword aimed for his eyes. Ducking back, he moves to avoid the thrust, sabers lashing out to dissuade me. My shield intercepts one, but the second saber bites deep, thrust deep into my right lung and bursting out my back.
Retreats when I attack his face. Right. Well... He retreated... Sort of...
At least he didn't chop my head off.
Give flesh, break bones.
A slash of my shield slices through his left arm at the elbow, the hand still grasping the saber embedded deep in my flesh. His inhuman scream quiets the crowd, a clear clarion call of defeat. My shield smashes into his face with a wet crack, abruptly quieting his wailing and leaving him dazed. Winding up, I backhand him a second time, my arm numbing at the impact. In a spray of blood and spit, his teeth go flying into the crowd as he staggers aside, tumbling off the stage with a crash.
My sword slips from my fingers and clatters loudly to the stage in the silence that follows, my breathing laboured. I reach for the saber in my chest, every breath bringing new agony, and I grip the blade, my only thought to remove this weapon from my flesh. White-hot pain surges through my mind as I tear it from my chest, my lung burning as it fills with blood, my chest spasming as I sputter and cough, expelling fluid from my lungs.
Tossing the weapon aside, my chi circulates through me as I crash to my knees, my arms hanging weakly at my sides, frothy blood dribbling from my mouth. Taking a deep, gurgling breath, a wet helpless, unhinged laugh erupts from my chest, echoing across the field, only ending in a choking cough as I spit out a glob of blood.
Woo. Winning.
Staring up at the bright, morning sky, the sun peeking out through the dispersing clouds, my mind fixates on just how beautiful it really is. Feeling nothing besides exhaustion and pain, I want nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for days. A cool stream of energy envelopes me, and knowing the worst has passed, I close my eyes for a well deserved rest.
Four fights, four victories, one mine.
Let someone else pick up the spare, I've earned a break.
Chapter Meme
Chapter 115The silence is getting to me.Tens of thousands of spectators fill the field, packed together like arrows in a quiver as they stare hatefully across at one another. Absent of any yells and taunts, applaud and support, the ambience is heavy and disquieting, a hushed atmosphere quiet as the grave, with only the sound of banners snapping in the wind to accompany my death match.An ominous presence stalks towards me, my legs giving ground before the young hero, awe-inspiring in his multicoloured breastplate and shoulder guards, leg-guards clanking and glistening as the morning light breaks through the clouds. Delicately grasping his ornate twin sabers, his eyes narrow in concentration, swinging his weapons about energetically in an eye-catching pattern meant to deceive and distract. His feet move in semi-circular steps, staying low and close to the stage, a careful gait, his center of gravity low and his shoulders squared, facing me at all times.A lump forms in my throat as I smack my lips, trying to moisten my mouth, panting behind my shield as I shuffle back, unable to muster the courage to face him head on. My arms and legs are like jelly, my stomach rumbling, too afraid to do anything but retreat away from his terrifying existence, wishing for the strength to turn around and dive off the stage, only certain death keeping me from following through.Why is this so difficult? Even with Other me made irrelevant somehow, I have faced down Society assassins and soldiers, Defiled and Demons. Where has my courage gone? In front of the girly man-child, my body is tense and shivering, reverting back into that helpless slave in the mines, unable to do anything to defend himself.Weak.Afraid.Worthless.I will never be him, not again. I have changed; I have grown; I have learned.I am Rain, Sentinel of the People, and I will win.Roaring in a blend of terror and challenge, I plant my feet and smash my weapons together, standing firm against my opponent, my determination giving me strength. Stepping to the left, Zian's saber slashes out in a probing strike. Blocking with my shield, the tremor pierces through the metal and into my body, rattling my teeth, my inner organs trembling in the aftershocks. With no idea how to stop it, all I can do is grit my teeth and bear it.A second strike goes low, the tip digging across my thigh as I hop back, and a heavy thrust sends me staggering away. Like a gong signalling his attack, he surges forward aggressively, swinging left and right in a frenzy of motion, circling around me as he attacks. Block and parry, slash and thrust, our weapons chime in song as I struggle to stay alive, a discordant, staccato melody which heralds my doom. The steady blows ring against my shield, deflecting his barrage of attacks aimed to throw me off-balance, buying time to gather my thoughts.Fear is nothing new to me, just deal with it, let it be. Remember my training, read his pattern, anticipate and act. He isn't perfect, his attacks are systematic, a practiced routine, otherwise it would be impossible for him to control both swords. I've tried using two weapons and it's more of a hindrance at first. It takes rhythm and order to use both without getting in your own way.Weathering the storm of unending blades, I study his movements carefully, my mind tranquil and focused, committing his patterns to memory in mind and muscle. The left sword jabs, the right sword executes, his habits easily spotted; Left slash, right thrust, right hook, left chop, his favoured attacks. Done in varying orders at varying angles, there is little deviation from these four moves, sometimes doubling up and attacking with both weapons at once. While unable to freely manipulate each weapon, his ever-changing pattern of attacks is enough to defeat me, eventually. All this information comes at a cost, paid for in nicks and cuts, his weapons too fast and accurate for me to defend unscathed, but it is worth it.Taking advantage of a pause in his rhythm, my body moves forward for the first time in this exchange, Prancing Stride and Rising Steps, toe, heel, slide and step. Smashing aside an anticipated thrust, my shield rams into his chest, rocking him back. Darting Fang and Uplifts the Sequoia, my sword whistles towards his throat at an upward angle. Swept wide with a flick of his saber, my opponent twirls aside. Momentum carries me past him, my back open and vulnerable. Desperately twisting my body, my shield moves in place just in time to connect with his spinning slash, sending my overextended body crashing to the stone stage.Fuck, that was close.Sliding to a stop, I spring back up in a defensive stance, immediately retreating before his ferocious onslaught, my failed attack emboldening him, gaining confidence with each exchange. Left and right, up and down, his weapons flash in a flourish of steel and blood. Pain barely registers as his blade bites lightly into my forearm, then my shoulder, followed by an errant stab opening a gash in my cheek, more of his attacks finding their way past my defences as he too begins to read my patterns. Let him have these cuts, they mean nothing. I've suffered worse, endured through it all, and come out stronger for it.Distracted by a feint, my shield going low to block as his other weapon is thrust towards my chest. My sword moves to intercept, deflecting it slightly to carve through my meaty shoulder. Clenching my teeth, I move in against the thrust, the weapon sawing painfully against my collarbone, angling my sword to pierce his face.I can use that to my advantage.Exhaling slowly, I shift into an offensive posture, my shield's blade pointed directly at Zian. Giving him my best smile, blood dribbles from my mouth as I challenge him, gesturing for him to approach. Enough dancing. Stand and fight.Glowering furiously, he hesitates while deliberating his options, my best-case scenario. Give me time to heal while you debate, I can wait all day. I'd prefer it, actually. With only a meter's distance to the edge, if he moves too far left or right, he risks being shoved from the ring, an automatic loss, leaving him with no choice but to approach head on, something he's been avoiding from the start. Always moving to my left, the safe side, hiding in front of my shield while I hide behind it.Well, I'm not hiding anymore, so what are you going to do?Seconds pass as I stare him down, Zian's eyes flicking to the crowd as they grow in volume, gaining confidence from their cheers and encouragement. For a second, his eyes lock with someone in the crowd, his mother, Mentor, or maybe his sweetheart, I don't know, but his weapons drop slightly, his grip loosened in a moment of distraction.Rookie mistake.Balance on Windy Leaf, into Pierce the Horizon, I charge out, sword aimed for his eyes. Ducking back, he moves to avoid the thrust, sabers lashing out to dissuade me. My shield intercepts one, but the second saber bites deep, thrust deep into my right lung and bursting out my back.Retreats when I attack his face. Right. Well... He retreated... Sort of...At least he didn't chop my head off.Give flesh, break bones.A slash of my shield slices through his left arm at the elbow, the hand still grasping the saber embedded deep in my flesh. His inhuman scream quiets the crowd, a clear clarion call of defeat. My shield smashes into his face with a wet crack, abruptly quieting his wailing and leaving him dazed. Winding up, I backhand him a second time, my arm numbing at the impact. In a spray of blood and spit, his teeth go flying into the crowd as he staggers aside, tumbling off the stage with a crash.My sword slips from my fingers and clatters loudly to the stage in the silence that follows, my breathing laboured. I reach for the saber in my chest, every breath bringing new agony, and I grip the blade, my only thought to remove this weapon from my flesh. White-hot pain surges through my mind as I tear it from my chest, my lung burning as it fills with blood, my chest spasming as I sputter and cough, expelling fluid from my lungs.Tossing the weapon aside, my chi circulates through me as I crash to my knees, my arms hanging weakly at my sides, frothy blood dribbling from my mouth. Taking a deep, gurgling breath, a wet helpless, unhinged laugh erupts from my chest, echoing across the field, only ending in a choking cough as I spit out a glob of blood.Woo. Winning.Staring up at the bright, morning sky, the sun peeking out through the dispersing clouds, my mind fixates on just how beautiful it really is. Feeling nothing besides exhaustion and pain, I want nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for days. A cool stream of energy envelopes me, and knowing the worst has passed, I close my eyes for a well deserved rest.Four fights, four victories, one mine.Let someone else pick up the spare, I've earned a break.Chapter Meme
