Cartlidge: Rise of the Imperfect Flame

by Devon Loos

“Don’t think you can… just because you survive… being hit for the first or second time.” We were told to put on our own mesh suits, designed specifically to fit our bodies. Although thick, the outfit was designed specifically to allow unrestricted movement. While the other soldiers accustomed themselves to the armor, the instructor spoke about our armor’s second feature: plates.

  While design changed dramatically from suit to suit, plates typically covered the arms, legs, chest and head area. The stomach and joint areas were often left exposed to allow movement, though exceptions were common, depending on the warrior’s preference. The helmet covered the warrior’s head completely, exposing only the crest of horns. Each helmet was unique to the warrior, with either slight or radical variations in the design of the visor. The watchers of our group were given helmets that were specifically designed to allow enhanced visibility. My own armor and mesh suit, however, was not ready yet. Since I was human, the armor had to be custom made elsewhere. Instead, the instructors placed weights on me, and then told us all to go on our daily run with our armor on.

  Training went as normal one could expect for a few more days. Half way through the month though we began the actual testing. We were pitted against each other in fights to test our abilities in the arena. On average, half of the recruits fail during the arena section of the testing month. In fact, I came to realize that failure was rather common for recruits, and those who pass during the testing month have already been through their third or fourth year of training. I became nervous as I entered the preparation room. Arena fights were not like simple sparring matches. Here, we were given specialized weapons that recreated the pain of the real battlefield. Though death was rare, it was still a factor in an arena fight. I chose my weapons and sat for a moment to calm myself. While we were able to choose any weapon we wished, we were not allowed any armor. I walked towards the doors of the arena pit. In order to pass, I had to win in two of my four matches. Two of these times I would walk in first, giving me the advantage of surprise, but for the other two I would be on the opposite side of that element. This match I was walking in second.

  “Your first match is Tek.” Brin opened the doors and all but pushed me in. “Good luck!”

  Tek was a recruit with an affinity for WCR’s. A watcher in training. That likely meant that he had already seen me from a distant hiding spot. I had to locate him and closed the distance if I wanted any chance of winning this match. A roaring cheer instantly became a deathly silence as I rose. I quickly scanned the room. The arena was circular, with outer walls that stood ten feet over us. The stands were filled with other recruits, instructors, and other spectators. The arena had a sandy floor, with scattered walls of rock and metal, that acted as cover. Everything was chillingly still. I raised my rifle and stepped towards a large rock to my left. Two shots flew by me, making a ringing sound as they flew dangerously close. A third simultaneously ricocheted off the rock and flew upward before dissipating in an invisible shield. I dove for the rock and hid behind it. I could hear my heart race as silence returned.

  I took a deep breath and counted to three. On the third count I rose from my cover, rifle raised, and searched for Tek. After about five seconds another shot was fired diagonally right from me and shot struck my rifle. I dove behind the rock again and inspected the gun. It was not truly damaged, but refused to continue working, in accordance with the simulation. I dropped it in annoyance and drew my sword. A thought struck me. I grabbed the rifle again and looked for the nearest cover. I turned back towards the rock and set myself to watch for Tek. I slowly raised the rifle again. A shot rang out from my right, and the rifle flew from my hands. This time however, I did not flinch. Tek may have been a watcher, but he was a recruit. He raised himself to change positions. I did the same and charged for him. He sidestepped behind a wall and raised his gun to fire, missing me only by seconds. I had halved the distance between us, and now we both knew he was unable to change his position again. I counted the amount of shots he must have fired in my head. Seven. WCR’s held ten. I did not see another rifle on him. If I could get him to waste three more shots, then I would win.

  I looked to my right. A decently sized pile of rocks sat a meter away from me. I glanced around the wall. Tek, no longer behind cover was staring directly at me, rifle raised. He understood the situation just as well as I did and also knew that I had no other gun. I tossed my sword towards the pile, and readied myself to jump. A shot rang off, blasting its way through the metal wall I used for cover. The shard missed my head by only a few centimeters. I steadied my breath and forced myself to roll to the rocks. Tek fired again, sending the bullet across my back. The pain of the simulated round was surprising. My back felt as if it had been burned by a metal bar that had been left in the sun too long on a summer day. I could not bring myself to rest my back upon my new cover. I looked over the pile to find that Tek had moved. Immediately I realized he was to my right. Before I could react, Tek fired his last shot into my leg, then charged towards me, his rifle raised to strike me. I twisted myself over my stunned leg and rose my sword to block his makeshift bludgeon. I pushed hard with my other leg and forced Tek off balance, while bringing myself to a standing position. I quickly followed with a slash that struck downwards on his torso. Tek fell to the ground, weaponless. I stood over him, pointing the sword at him while balancing all my weight on my good leg. I waited for someone to call an end to the match. I looked up for a moment in confusion, and felt my sword knocked away from Tek. He had something in his hand. It was a knife. Before I could retaliate, Tek twisted his body and struck my leg with his own, causing me to fall to the ground like an unstable tower of cards. Tek knocked away my sword and placed his foot on my face. I was now defenseless.

  “Enough!” The commander called, “The match is over! Tek is the winner!” Immediately the walls of the arena disappeared, and the sandy floor became hard like marble. Tek removed his foot and extended his hand to help me up. I refused it, too exhausted to move. I sat for a few more minutes as Tek and the spectators left. I heard the footsteps of someone drawing closer. It was Brin.

  “What the heck was that?”

  I covered my face with my hand. “I thought I won the match.”

  “The match doesn’t end until your opponent is completely disarmed, surrenders, or you deliver what is considered a killing blow.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why did you stop?”

  “I thought he was disarmed.”

  “Never assume anything. Never lower your guard until you’re sure your opponent is incapable of retaliating.” Brin pulled me up by my arm. I went directly to my bunk in the barracks. My next fight was tomorrow, and I needed time to rest and think about how to improve upon this.

  The next day was the same, except this time I was on the opposite side. The arena had taken the form of a miniature deciduous forest. There were too many trees to count, yet they all reached no higher than the walls of the arena. The floor was made of dirt. I chose to take an extra pistol as a precaution, but it would also mean my opponent would also be allowed a third weapon. I perched myself in a rather thick tree on the opposite side of the arena with a clear view of the entrance and waited. Minutes later my opponent entered. She was a woman I did not recognize. This was problematic. I would have to take the time to study her fighting technique. She looked around, whether for cover or me, I was not sure. She had two tomahawks tied to her belt, and carried something large on her back. It was an AM launcher. Anti-matter launchers were portable cannons designed to take down large targets. AM launchers fired a small sphere of anti-matter that created a controlled field of destruction upon contact. Anything inside of the field would disintegrate completely. If too much normal matter made contact with the anti-matter, such as if there was a group of targets or if the sphere hit the ground, an explosive amount of energy would be released, making the blast even deadlier. The portable launchers could only carry three shots, but only a single one is needed to end the match instan
tly. I would have to end the match before she can fire the launcher.

  I made sure that her gaze was in another direction, then leapt from the tree. I landed loudly on my feet. A light flew over my head, screeching as it reacted with the air, then crashed into the far wall. The woman swore in Rovanekren. I raised myself over the rock and fired a few rounds. She hid behind a tree, then fired another shot towards me. I sprinted away from the rock moments before the shot hit. The shot reacted violently, then exploded, sending me forward into the ground. I saw the figure of my opponent and fired another round. She twisted and fell over. I rose to my feet and readied myself. The match hadn’t been called yet, so the shot wasn’t considered “fatal.” I quietly moved into a position where I could see the woman. She had disappeared, leaving only the launcher. After disabling the launcher, I climbed the adjacent tree and scanned for my opponent, holding myself steady with my free hand. Deathly silence filled the arena. A branch twitched. Something whistled through the air and knocked me out of the tree. The fall stole my ability to breath. I gasped for air and, after a moment, forced myself to breath properly. A sharp, hot pain filled my shoulder. One of her tomahawks had embedded itself in me, just between my collarbone and shoulder. Trapezius, I think? My last health class was almost three months ago. The pain was localized to the wound, which now oozed warm blood, but any attempts to move my arm resulted in jolts of pain shooting through the arm and most of my torso. I fought the pain enough to draw my pistol from its holster with my left hand. It was immediately kicked away by the woman who was now standing over me, tomahawk raised to kill.

  “Enough!” The commander’s voice brought me both relief and shame. The woman moved to remove the tomahawk, but was stopped by the medical officers, who then carried me to the medical room. I spent the rest of the day there as the doctors removed the axe and stitched me back together, using some sort of strange foam. The foam filled the wound and stimulated the cells, causing a rapid regeneration of tissue. They constantly praised me for the injury, saying it was “something to be proud of” since it was my “first battle wound” and how “everyone gets one by the time they graduate”. I found little joy in the matter.

  The next day I woke early. My third fight scheduled as was the first of the day and I needed to be awake early if I wanted any breakfast. I made my way to the cafeteria and sat alone as I usually did, and began to eat. My arm was still very sore from the last match, though the doctors seemed confident that I was still eligible to fight.

  “So, ready for your match today?” Tek was eating with his friend at a nearby table.

  “Nah, I am done. I took a round to the forehead that last Mevaktevchehevok. Nothing too ... but imagine if ... had been my eye? I will just try again next year, when I am ready.”

  “Sorry to hear. I just need one more … to pass.”

  “Well good luck to you then.” Tek finished his meal and left. His friend soon followed. I sat for a moment and thought about their words. My Rovanekren was still too unrefined. I thought about how Tek’s friend defaulted, and considered if I should as well. There was no shame in it. Several others have already backed out as well. I finished my food and readied myself to leave. I could return to the barracks and rest but had an urge to go directly to the prep room. It was my “sense” again. I considered ignoring it. It was this same feeling that had brought me into this in the first place. I thought for a moment. Perhaps I could win? The feeling grew stronger, no longer an urge, but a want. I was compelled. I can win. I had to win. I walked towards the prep room. I was going to win.

  [Chapter 5: The Spark]

  I had to enter second this round. My opponent, Jevack, went with only a single weapon. This was a dangerous situation for both of us. This would mean that neither of us would be able to rely on a backup weapon, should we find ourselves in a difficult situation. I had to choose wisely. I lingered, nervous about which weapon to use. My sense had left moments before entering the room. It would not help me now.

  “Hurry up, or you’re not getting anything!” The instructor attending the prep room shouted impatiently.

  “Ok, ok.”

  I decided to rely on luck. I closed my eyes and reached for something. If it was a rifle, then I would take that. If not, I would take a sword. I opened my eyes to find myself clutching a shortsword, freshly crafted. I tested its weight. It was heavy, but well balanced. This was my weapon. I told the instructor I was ready, and he allowed me to enter the arena. The room’s design was fascinating. The walls were entirely symmetrical, separated by a simulated river that seemed real enough to drink from. A large, wooden bridge allowed for crossing over the river. Jevack was standing in the center of the bridge.

  He swore in Rovanekren. “Wai do I haff to fight ta haff blood?”

  “What? Are you scared of me?” I shouted in Rovanekren. He seemed surprised, then irritated. Thankfully, he also had a sword. This meant I would not have another repeat of my fight with Tek.

  “Nah, I juss don think iss fair for yuu is all.” He readied himself, then spoke in Rovanekren.

  “This will be quick.”

  I climbed the stairway to the bridge and readied myself. Neither one of us moved. It was as if time had stopped. Eventually I took a step forward. Jevack twitched, paused, then did the same. We were still apart by two meters. Another step, followed by a step of his own. We were trying to wait for the other to make a move. I hoped that he would leave an opening in the attempt. Another step. We were now close enough to allow contact. Some of the spectators began to plead, yell, shout, and demand a start to the fight. I struggled to stay focused. For a moment, Jevack looked away. This was my chance. I was already swinging, stepping backwards as I swung parallel to the direction he was looking. He couldn’t see the blade. Instantly he reacted, almost flinching as he threw his blade up to protect himself. The blades struck, causing both to recoil. A cheer erupted from the crowd. Jevack was already in another swing. I raised my own blade in defense, deflecting his strike. I spun, careful of my footwork and swung at the opening, like a baseball player hitting a home run. Jevack raised his guard in time, but the strike sent both of us backwards. Jevack fell. I quickly recovered and went for a finishing strike. Jevack twisted his body enough to evade the strike, struck the side of my blade with his arm, and followed with a swing that found its target: my leg. I fell backwards. Immediately Jevack attempted a finishing thrust. I used the upper part of my forearm to redirect the blade, causing a scorching pain from the simulator. Immediately, I delivered a blow to his leg with my other arm, sending him on one knee and forcing him to use his sword to maintain balance. I followed up with a straight kick into his chest, sending him backwards to the ground. We both quickly recovered and became fixed in another stalemate.

  “Am I tougher than you thought?” I shouted I figured taunting may bring him to swing first.

  “Maybe humans are tougher than you think!” I continued. “Or maybe you’re just a bad fighter!”

  “Shut up!” Jevack swung viciously. His sword swept clean through mine, creating a sharp noise as the blade snapped. It rotated through the air landing in the water. I froze, paralyzed in shock. Jevack swung again. I panicked and raised my arms in defense. I was going to end up with broken arms. There was a strange, electrical sound. Jevack flew backwards, violently. He nearly fell over the stairs of the bridge. His sword had impaled itself in the outer wall of the arena. My gaze shifted to my arms which were now glowing dark purple. Not knowing how, I had just triggered my powers again. King’s powers, the Rovanekrens called it. I reached for the hilt of my sword. The broken blade was not much, but it was still sharp. I walked over to Jevack and held the broken sword to his neck.

  “Enough! Jacob, you have won. The match is over.”

  Jevack kicked me away and jumped to his feet.

  “He cheated! He used king’s powers against me!” Jevack shouted. The instructors huddled together to confer with the commander. It was obvious that they were deciding how to react. Finally t
he commander spoke up.

  “Jacob shall remain the winner of this round, but we simply cannot allow another match like this. Jacob, since you have demonstrated a clear advantage over your fellow recruits, you will be given a challenge much more suited to your level.” I nodded, silently. “To truly challenge your powers, your next fight will be against one of our best fighters. You’re dismissed.” I froze for a moment to let their words sink in, then awkwardly bowed and turned to leave. As I opened the doors, several medical officers rushed in to care to Jevack, who waved them away and limped to the exit.

  I couldn’t sleep that night, so I rested the whole day. My opponent wanted to have the match scheduled at the end of the day, so I had plenty of time to myself. What had I gotten myself into? Why was it that every time I followed this strange “sense” of mine it led me deeper into trouble? How was I supposed to win against a trained warrior? This was the second time I had summoned my powers, yet I still did not know how. Before I knew it, it was dusk. My match was soon.

  My final match was different in a variety of ways. I was allowed any weapon and tactic at my disposal, along with my mesh suit. It had just been finished, as if specifically for the occasion. I was considered the challenger of the match, so I would enter second. Before I could choose a weapon, I was stopped by Brin.

  “Your opponent is a warrior who graduated just last year. His nickname is Walker. He won all four matches during his testing month.”

  “I thought you were only allowed two successful matches.”

  “That rule was made just after his graduation. Let’s just say he’s called Walker because he’s the only one who ever walks out of the arena.”

  “Great. Can I just quit now?”

  “No. Listen, he uses a custom weapon set. Twin claws. He’s also very agile. Don’t hesitate if you get a shot or you’ll miss. Above all else, don’t let him get close. He gets a little… psychotic in combat.”