by Greg Ramsay
Suddenly, Bladetooth broke into a lumbering charge. Bruce side-stepped his downward swinging blade, firing an arrow into his breastplate. Bladetooth staggered a step, but to Bruce’s shock, didn’t fall. In that split second, he was pinned in close to Bladetooth by his inward swinging blade. He ducked under the blade only to receive a shockingly fast, brutal knee to the jaw.
Bruce’s head rung like a bell upon impact with Bladetooth’s corrugated metal knee pad. Staggering to shoot again, Bruce was violently propelled to the ground by Bladetooth’s massive fist. Bruce slammed hard onto broken concrete, his bow arm pinned under him. Bloodlust laden screams blasted his ears, amplifying the disorientation he felt. Using his free hand, Bladetooth lifted Bruce off the ground by his head like a helpless ragdoll.
All he could see through Bladetooth’s huge fingers was Savage’s empty smiling face. Through the pain in his head and neck and the gradually fading disorientation, Bruce heard a voice.
“Fight.” Savage said softly in his mind, but he thought he could see her dead lips moving.
“Fight on, always!” both Jonathan and Reva demanded.
Bruce took a breath, grabbed a thermite arrow from his quiver and slammed it hard into the eye slit of Blatetooth’s helmet. Before the massive Mot could finish laughing, Bruce hit the hidden button to trigger the thermite, withdrew the arrow as it heated, and swung again. The super-heated arrowhead melted through the ancient rusty metal of Bladetooth’s helmet then slammed hard into his eye. Bruce suddenly found himself flying through the air. Landing hard across the pit he could heard his opponent screaming in agony caused by the super-heated thermite that ate its way down the inside of his face.
Bruce rapidly readied another arrow then waited until Bladetooth turned his way. Roaring in pained rage, Bladetooth charged for Bruce, wildly swinging his sword with no depth perception. The twang of a hyper-advanced metallic bowstring would be the last sound he ever heard. Bruce loosed his arrow which flew cleanly through the metal of the helmet and burrowed deep into Bladetooth’s skull via his remaining good eye. One more body thumped the ground hard, lending its slick blood to the collection.
Bruce huffed, anticipating another hulk would be coming to crush his skull. To his surprise a small nimble Mot with a long braid of blonde-green hair jogged through the crowd. Without so much as a greeting, he slid down the railing on his hind quarters while throwing improvised knives. Bruce was forced to shield his eyes with one hand while countering the remaining projectiles with his bow. Seconds later the Mot’s beady blue eyes stared up at him from under his guard.
“Ragerip will kill you now, bye!” He exclaimed with a screechy voice while slicing at Bruce’s midsection with further daggers.
Luckily, Bruce’s armour was completely unaffected by his rapid but weak strikes. For once Bruce had the rare opportunity to apply his martial arts skills on an opponent that wasn’t big enough to just ignore anything that wasn’t an arrow. Violently, he smacked Ragerip away using his bow like an extension of his arm. They exchanged rapid melee combat. Bruce was able to easily block or parry the majority of Ragerip’s strikes but quickly found the Mot was too fast to keep up with forever.
If it weren’t for this armour, I’d probably be dead by now... Bruce realized. In one motion, he grabbed Ragerip by the arm, twisted his wrist until he dropped the blade, caught it in midair, and swung it for his throat. At the same time, Ragerip had intuitively gone for his throat, forcing both to block before jumping away. Bruce rapidly loosed an arrow for Ragerip’s heart, but he side-stepped just fast enough that it caught him dead-centre. Ragerip used the momentum imparted by the arrow to help him backflip rather than land flat. His head raised with a warcry the second his feet hit the ground.
Damn he’s tough. Best end this. Bruce reasoned. Once more, he went for a clean headshot that abruptly cut his opponent’s warcry short. One left, should be fine, arrow count is more than sufficient... just gotta hope it isn’t another tank. Bruce thought hopefully.
To his dismay, he felt the ground shake again. Shit! Iceblood, the final challenger to the throne, stomped down the barely functional stairs amidst countless cheers. Like Bladetooth, he was imposingly large, but had black eyes, strangely blue-green mottled skin and a curious lack of armour. He marched ever closer to Bruce wearing nothing more than a standard loincloth. His only weapon was a massive club that was just the top of a hydro pole with some miscellaneous metal objects attached for extra impact points.
“Your little toy will do nothing for you.” Iceblood said, pointing to his bow with his free hand.
“Tell that to your friends.” Bruce said calmly, pointing to the bodies Iceblood stepped over indifferently.
Bruce could tell his opponent’s appendages were far bluer than the rest of him, but wasn’t sure immediately what to make of it. Wasting no time he loosed an arrow directly for Iceblood’s head, which he slapped away rapidly using his club. Oh come on, he’s huge and fast?! Bruce loosed two arrows into Iceblood’s chest. Not the slightest bit fazed, Iceblood charged in swinging. Ready for that, Bruce dodged deftly, barely escaping due the speed of his charge.
He fired an arrow into the back of Iceblood’s knee, just missing his tendon because he had to avoid a backwards swipe from Iceblood’s long pole-club. Bruce’s face betrayed his shock when Iceblood stood laughing joyfully and readied to charge in again. So, he’s huge, fast, and is a no-sense-no-feeling type, must be frostbite or some other nerve issue... would explain his name. Trying for a headshot got him nowhere, thanks to Iceblood’s quick reflexes.
Eager to finish the fight before he found himself trapped by an opponent he couldn’t slow with pain, Bruce drew an explosive arrow. He aimed for Iceblood’s head and waited a moment for the Mot to block his shot. When he did, Bruce smiled coldly. Iceblood faltered in confusion that gave way to agony. The arrow burrowed deep in his midsection and blew up, blasting his innards in a spray of gore that sent the crowd into a roaring frenzy.
Somehow Iceblood survived, coughing blood from his mouth as he lay on the ground in a pool of gore. Mercifully, Bruce fired one last arrow into his head. There, it’s done. He thought, his body finally beginning to falter, along with his painfully throbbing head. Filled with vindicated rage, he thrust his bow into the air like a true champion, bathing in the cheers.
Why not...they’ll just go back to hating me later. Might as well embrace this success. He thought, his expression contrasting his joy. His intimidating armour and terrifying bow had nothing on his lethally cold blood-spattered face, his new arrow cuts only helped make him look like a monster that emerged from hell having killed everything he found. The scar-faced soldier that had somewhat allied with him thus far was the first to push through the cheering throng to join him in the pit.
“These corpses attest to defeat, he who stands is your true ruler! Raise your voices for the king!” he screamed, holding up Bruce’s free hand like a referee would a champion fighter.
Bruce was shocked by the sheer number of cheers that rang out over the occasional audacious boos. He wasn’t at all offended by his decriers because he had a plan for them.
“What is your name, soldier?” Bruce demanded.
“Claw.” He replied.
“Claw, you are my new General for the Mots. I want you to gather everyone at the King’s Tower, I have a decree all must hear.”
“It will be done my King.” Claw stated then left immediately, leaving Bruce to journey to the tower amongst cheers and protest.
An hour later, everyone had gathered, including an overjoyed Spirit, who as always remained at his side.
“Hear me all of you, Mot and Human alike. Today as a true King I will not disrupt your ways of life like I arrogantly did before. Instead my first order will give everyone a chance: those of you who willingly wish to be a slave or a master, shall be permitted to do so, but not in my city! You will instead take all your things and move to another Mecha effective IMMEDIATELY. Any who do not leave yet continue to operate in t
hat fashion WILL BE KILLED. The rest of you, be you a slave wishing to escape, or just one against slavery, regardless of race, you are welcome here forever, without recompense! Master’s Mecha will henceforth be known as Freedom Mecha, a place where all in need of safety can find a home! All soldiers are hereby ordered to enforce this, and any who remain will be expected to contribute to trade and fostering positive relations between the races. I do not expect change to happen overnight, but together, as a city of like-minded survivors, I know we will succeed! That is all, best of luck to all who leave. I bear no grudge against you, and will not act against you unless you act against us.” Bruce concluded his first attempt at a King’s speech feeling somewhat awkward, but to his surprise there wasn’t near as much uproar as he expected.
Mots were natural wandering scavengers, so a peaceful opportunity to rebuild elsewhere was outwardly fine by them. Finally free of all the burdens that weighed on his mind, Bruce led Spirit to the pit. Together they silently buried Savage with her weapons.
“Shouldn’t we keep the gear?” Bruce asked.
“She didn’t have much and, honestly, I don’t want her tainted junk in anyone else’s hands.” Spirit said coldly.
“Alright.” Bruce conceded, too tired to debate.
Savage only hurt her after all, can’t expect her to understand what she did for me... Bruce thought, reflecting on all the things she did to teach him, including her death. Then, exhausted at last, they walked back to turn in for the evening. The next morning, he awoke feeling mostly okay save for some sore muscles and a bit of a headache.
“The herbs you gave me worked great... again. Thanks.” He said quietly to Spirit who had just woke up.
“Mhhm... So what now? You did it. War on slavery solved, everybody wins. Freedom of choice and all that.” She said with a hint of irritability.
“I know... I would’ve liked to abolish it outright once and for all... but who am I to deny them their honest choices when I had so few? They’ll always be welcome here if they tire of that life. We have to try a positive example this time, trying to abolish outright with nothing to back it ends... badly... things will work out.” Bruce explained.
“Mhhm” Spirit grumbled. After a long breakfast, her mood seemed to improve.
“I wish you had’ve kept you mask on during the challenges, now you might have more scars!” Spirit said like a fussy mother, Bruce just smiled.
“Whatever... So, you never actually answered my question.” She said almost playfully, coming closer to him. Oblivious, Bruce just said
“I don’t know.”
Wordlessly Spirit stripped nude, wrapped him in her arms and kissed him.
“How about that?” She breathed in his ear. Shocked, Bruce leaned back.
“I...” Spirit could see his face contorting with the effort of trying to reject her.
He’s doubtless making excuses about us being ‘family’, struggling for a war to fight instead cuz has no idea how to love someone... not that I do per say, but I’m done waiting for him to see me properly. To her shock, he didn’t blurt anything out or go all stoic on her like he did on the island, he just stared in to her eyes. I’d mount him, but with what happened on the island, probably not the best move... antagonizing might work though. She thought, noting him still staring like an idiot. Smiling lovingly she sat down a few steps in front of him. slowly she laid down on her back and gradually spread her legs.
“You aren’t brushing me off anymore! I am not your sister, so just admit that you love me, dumbass.”
Blushing, Bruce disrobed, slowly he got into position above her.
“Are you sure you want this?” he asked nervously, inwardly worrying things would change between them.
“Don’t give me that look, we’ve seen it all before, albeit not in this context... You, silly King, have proclaimed the virtue of choice, so I’ve chosen to be your Queen, and I demand you accept my choice!” Spirit answered, her soft voice a mix of undeniable seriousness and wanting.
“Yes, my Queen.” He said at last, giving in to both her wishes and those that she’d finally managed to awaken in him.
Epilogue
Bruce and Spirit marry in the Holdfast he grew up in. They have two children named Oliver and Lyra that they raise as wise politically, trained warriors so they can live the lives they wanted without fear. Despite his misgivings, Bruce does well at fatherhood, at least according to Sergeant Hanzo– who has no children. Spirit ends up having to handle the more emotion/sentimentality based lessons for her kids, while Bruce focuses on training, and taking them on excursions to the new Master’s Mecha so they have informed opinions of the world of their own. Their Freedom Mecha becomes a thriving dystopian city over the next twenty years where anyone regardless of race can come if they’re anti-slavery or escaping it– safe under the protection of the Blackbows, as Bruce promised years ago.
The threat of their power maintains the uneasy peace for many more years. After thirty years of uneasy peace between their factions, a Mot rises to become King of the slavers. His name is Oppression Hammer. Like Bonerend, he is dangerously intelligent, strong, and driven to conquer. He musters an army spanning far beyond the reach of his citizenry, bolstered by other distant slave-based factions.
Having advanced warning of this, thanks to his network of traders, Bruce, too, raises an army of freedom-minded multi-racial soldiers. Thanks to the efforts of his trusty Sergeants Birdy, and the Hollywoods, his army is bolstered by hundreds of efficiently trained Spetsnaz level warriors. They, being the next generation, are commanded by Bruce’s now seasoned children. Oppression Hammer strikes them first, formally starting the true war to decide, once and for all, what Ideology will rule the new world. It takes months for both forces to truly gather, resulting in many smaller back-and-forth skirmishes.
Together, Bruce, Spirit, their determined children, and hundreds of variably trained civilians-turned-soldiers finally engage the enemy head-on in a massive frost-barren field. The land, situated between what was once Quebec and Ontario, would come to be called ‘The Bloody Divide’. Enacting age-old Mot custom, Bruce challenges the slaver King for his kingdom, in hopes of halting further bloodshed. After a brief but brutal battle, the aging and worn out Bruce barely wins, sustaining near life-threatening injuries. He is luckily saved by the Holdfast’s surgical technology but is rendered unable to shoot his bow.
Though his sacrifice isn’t in vain, he does manage to once more secure a temporary peace. As the years pass, Bruce refused to become a sitting King, insisting on training humans and loyal Mots as best he can while personally campaigning to other colonies. Spirit end up having to properly teach them archery. Thanks to the efforts of Spirit and his children, for the most part, uneasy political understandings were formed, and half of the new world (which was a combination of nuclear-terraformed North Americas) is divided between human and Mots. Legislation to ban slavery of either species was signed by a coalition of Kings two years later.
Both sides remained on their sides, interaction only existed for trade or to enforce the new laws... as nothing took effect immediately. Bruce finally honoured his mission on paper, righting the wrongs of his father, respecting his teacher, and secured reasonable safety for all those that people like his father sold to ruin. Though perhaps his greatest success was formally securing all of the guns and ammunition spread amonst the Holdfasts and discharged all of them while Spirit watched. Onlookers saw it as a form of celebration, which ironically meant tools of death once more brought people together.
As Bruce and Spirit aged they were finally forced to leave their students to take up the mantle of responsibility...lead by their children... the next generation of Blackbows. Spirit died first, leaving Bruce a lonely old man with a failing body. He finally passed, surrounded by family and students, in his sleep. Human and Mot alike erected statues to the King and Queen who fostered relationships that allowed knowledge to spread and peace to flourish, which enriched both sides. Decades of steady pea
ce ensured the legacy of the original Blackbows lived on in the stories of the next generations. Each one of them remained vigilant, ever mindful that peace never lasts, and war stays the same.
About the Author
Greg Ramsay lives in Cavan, ON with his family, a cat that thinks he owns the universe, and two overly-yappy little dogs that serve as the cat’s punching bags, unfortunately for them.
Read more at Greg Ramsay’s site.