by Justin Wayne
Chapter Thirty One: My Hell
A rush of voices.
He could hear them from miles away and strained his ears to pick them out, but found them all too muddled and fuzzy. He gave up then and the voices grew louder and louder until they transformed into a roaring crowd.
Rows and rows of dark elves sat around him on the bleachers, cheering and calling out bets. He caught one or two in his favor but for the most part looked to be the local favorite to lose. He searched the audience for a friendly face; the friendly face, but was unsuccessful by the time the commentator stepped outside.
The Arena as it was so affectionately referred to was actually the old battleschool’s training ground; replaced by the new battleschool academy closer to the city which every upper class brood vied for entry. This one however remained near the border of the wild and was often visited only by those in need of some quick coin or looking for new fighters. As such, it was for the most part run down and falling apart with a plain wooden floor about twenty yards across in a circle; enclosed by a stone wall which formed the base of the seating.
With no roof present, many called it the bowl and used it as slang to make secret bets in public.
“Welcome to the Arena!” the commentator called grandly and full of enthusiasm. He smiled and nodded contentedly to himself as the crowd met him with equal anticipation. The excitement tangible, he continued. “We’ve got a great show for you tonight! A three-on-one fight with young up-and-comers facing someone they’ve surely feared their entire lives; our defending champion for over two decades running, and Martialmaster for Clan Graves, the professional murderer: Heller!”
A thick muscled dark elf stepped into the arena then, corded muscle flexing across his arms, chest, and back as he flourished his magnificent scimitar. The jeweled blade spun about effortlessly and so fast it whistled through the air before slapping it down into his other hand with the flat of the blade. Heller narrowed his eyes as Outsider and two other dark elves stepped into the arena. He paused and sized up the youngest boy across from him.
“How old is he, Tenn?” He asked the commentator skeptically.
“Fifteen, but he’s half forest elf so he’s a bit bigger than our average.” Tenn replied seriously. “He doesn’t look like much but I’ve witnessed his every round and he’s quite good; uses his speed and cunning like an extra weapon. Very efficient.” he added quietly so only they could hear.
Heller snorted and spat between him and the boy. “Go fetch the girls will you? This’ll be quick.”
Outsider breathed in and out very slowly and shallowly, monitoring his pulse, then gradually breathed in deeper and faster to raise it to where he wanted it. Not so fast he would risk exhaustion but not so slow as to risk becoming lightheaded when he burst into action. His thin fingers twitched in anticipation and his lip curled back slightly in a faint snarl.
He shook his head and cleared away the animalistic side of him he fought to control. I may be an animal, but they’re monsters, he recited to himself and felt less guilty but decided to keep it under wraps lest his ways become well known to any he might face.
The other two talked over their plan then with a final nod took their places beside Outsider; though they made a point not to look at him.
“All combatants ready?” Tenn called and looked to Heller who gave the nod, then the others, and declared the match on without even glancing at Outsider.
Instantly the reigning champion began spinning his sword from one hand to the other in a constant whirring as he strafed in a circle opposite the three. A confident smirk cracked his face and revealed teeth carved into fangs. As they closed in he inspected the challengers more thoroughly, Outsider doing likewise.
They were similar in height, both taller than average and about that of a human, but there was no comparison in overall size. Heller was still within his second century; a young adult, and in peak shape with heavy muscling that would make a Warrior proud.
Outsider meanwhile was still in his youth even by human standards and had the wiry limbs to prove it, despite the constant physical conditioning he endured. He was strong for his age but had always relied on speed and cunning to take the brunt of his battles.
This will be no different.
The two dark elves split up and came at Heller on each side with their swords poised to strike. One went high and the other low to catch him regardless of positioning but found only air as the champion leapt parallel to the ground and flew between their blades.
He spun on his foot and struck out; severing one of their heads. It rolled to the ground followed by the body and its partner nearly screamed. He scowled and parried the scimitar a few moments then looked at Outsider.
“Help me!” he cried out in desperation.
Heller lunged forward in a quick stab suddenly, narrowly missing the dark elf’s neck as he dodged to the side, then returned to strafing the circle. He spun the scimitar a few more times then side stepped toward him with another quick strike.
But Outsider had anticipated the attack by watching those thick muscles bunch together like a cobra preparing to strike and intercepted the slash with a stab to the abdomen.
The dagger easily bit through Heller’s flesh as he wore neither armor nor shirt but didn’t cut deep as he recoiled from the attack and kicked out, catching Outsider under the arm and propelling him away. The champion laughed and touched the incision on his right hip.
“First blood is yours; boy, but mine shall be the last.” he sneered and licked the red from his fingers.
The dark elf charged Heller as he spoke and came in low just as Outsider leapt off his back to go high. The champion once more dodged the strikes with a jump but this time went vertical and kicked them both before hitting the ground.
Outsider’s partner hit the ground and skidded on his elbows. He cursed and hurried to his hands and knees when he heard a thunk. He looked down and saw the end of a bloody scimitar stabbed into the ground beneath him. He looked over at his young partner’s head then his arms gave out and he collapsed.
Heller roared in triumph as he ripped his scimitar free from the body and swung his gleaming blade about so that the young fighter’s lifeblood sprayed the crowd. With a smug grin he turned back to the last opponent. “One left!” he cried dramatically.
Outsider waited for the next move and nearly tripped as a kick came instead of a strike; catching the flat of the blade to the side of his head as rolled away. Heller pressed the attack with rapid swings in an X pattern then a V and intertwined them to keep Outsider guessing. The young fighter backpedalled from the attacks and managed to avoid the series of strikes and leave a line of blood across Heller’s back as he passed behind him.
The champion roared in outrage and spun around furiously with his scimitar leading the way. The blade came in hard and knocked Outsider off his feet when he blocked it. Using the advantage, Heller stabbed at him and nicked his chin and shoulder but was parried from any real damage.
Worried he would look foolish, Heller decided he’d had enough of this game and changed tactics. He held his scimitar with two hands then and let loose a complicated stanza of combos that deflected any retaliation with the sheer number of moves, and could be abandoned at any time to attack by simply elongating one of the many swings.
Outsider watched the latest move and scanned the set until he ran out of room to back away. Heller laughed with a vicious lunge from his combo and found only wall as Outsider saw the pattern break and ducked the blow; sidestepping behind the big man.
Heller turned and found nothing once more, finishing the circle. The crowd jeered at the champion and called out insults as the dumbfounded fighter circled about for his foe when he finally realized he was being shadowed. Outsider mimicked Heller’s movements from behind, just close enough to remain out of sight but far enough back to avoid any surprise strikes.
Impatient and fast to anger, Heller sprinted forward then doubled back and continued the assault until Outsider ma
naged to roll away and take his stance again. He pursued the boy and let loose with a fury of swings and strikes meant to keep the opponent off balance but found the boy to simply keep just out of range of the sword and avoid tiring himself.
Heller however now had sheen sweat covering his fit form and took heavy gasps of air between attacks. Outsider watched this and timed his deep breaths, keeping time with it to foretell strikes, and danced forward just after the scimitar reached out for him. He came in before the sword could and kicked Heller in the diaphragm just as he inhaled; winding him.
Then, using his forward momentum, pivoted on his heel and spun to the side; avoiding the off balance retaliation and rammed both daggers into Heller’s sides from behind.
The champion’s face contorted in agony as his kidneys burst open then went slack as he dropped to his knees. Blood coursed down his back and soaked his trousers with an audible trickling. He turned to regard the youth who had killed him without animosity and surprise only.
“Guess I got cocky…your turn kid.” he mumbled as blood dribbled through his lips. “Your turn to become the most popular target in Hell.” Then he winced in pain and grit his teeth with a scowl. “Finish me off quick, boy.” he stuttered and fell forward with his hands supporting him shakily.
Outsider pulled his head back and with eye contact; a dark elf custom he had had bored into him, slit his throat.
Immediately the crowd erupted into an uproar; calls and bets filling the air as winnings were won and lost. Money passed from hand to hand and a few poison darts were fired at those who fled without paying. Tenn reported the events loudly and for all to hear, even what would come next for their new champion, but for Outsider it fell on deaf ears.
He strode from the battleground and through the now-unlocked door leading to the lower-end preparation room. He closed the door behind him and shut out the world. The voices grew distant and the roar of the crowd muted to an echo within the old room. Abandoned desks and tables lay desolate and covered in dust; forgotten.
Religiously and without conscious thought, Outsider laid out his daggers and wiped them clean of blood thoroughly, then pulled his leather padding and tunic over his head. He set them aside and opened the small vial lying nearby. In silence he inspected and cleansed his cuts with salve then stitched them shut impassively. His routine finished, he looked up at his handiwork in the mirror to ensure his sutures would hold.
You got lucky, he told himself. Only reason you won was Heller’s complete underestimation of your skills and his own blind assurance he was undefeatable. He slammed his hands down on the desk and leaned heavily on them.
A figure appeared in the mirrored image behind him. “I saw your match.”
Recognizing the voice, Outsider dropped his gaze from his reflection and stared down at the supplies before him; hands still on the table. The silence grew uncomfortable then and Saleane approached him.
“What’s the matter?” She reached out for his shoulder and he shrugged her off. She held her hands together in front of her and stared at the many pale scars that lined and spiraled across his gray back like constellations in the night sky. Among them she saw the newly closed wound still seeping blood from the corner and sighed.
“I just came here to tell you I’m sorry.” she whispered quietly. “I know it’s not the first time I’ve had to pretend…but it will be the last.”
He moved slightly but couldn’t bring himself to turn and face her. Instead he looked up to the reflection of her before him.
“I can’t treat you like that anymore.” She breathed shakily and tears ran down her cheeks. “You hate it here and I know you would leave at the first chance, but that’s not enough. They’ve been so terrible to you and so many others. This city is full of nothing but murderers, liars, and thieves.”
Her words rang true with him but echoed with something else; something darker and unstable. The venom in her voice was something he had rarely heard from her; one of the many reasons she was the one dark elf he could trust and love.
“I’m to become a priestess, we’ve always known it. But I won’t remain like the rest of them. I’ll take this power they give me, just as you have with your training, and I’ll use it against them.
“But from the inside.”
His eyes grew wide as he watched her reflection turn away from him.
“They’ve made new plans for this arena and its champion, so you will be busy with your own life anyway.” She paused and took a quivering breath. “You’re strong, and such a good person…you deserve so much better. I’m sorry.”
Then she disappeared through the door and vanished into the crowds.
The whole world seemed to shake and warp around him. The walls and floor and ceiling all fell away and he was left there floating in a white abyss, all alone. A rushing sound like water filled his ears until he thought his head would explode. He looked around for something.
Something to hold onto.
He could see everything he had ever known laid out before him. So much of it; nearly all of it; nothing he wanted to remember. A field of inky blackness with pain and evil rampant within it made up the vast majority of his short life. Just looking at it made him shiver and retreat further into himself.
But there was a light. A small fragment of white that shone not like a beacon so well was it hidden; but like a forgotten and lost treasure for him to find. Something he had felt he always had to earn.
Her song echoed in the empty plane around him; weaving in and out of his being.
He reached out into the darkness and it clung to his skin; his pure white skin! It filled him up; consumed him entirely. He cried out but was silenced as the darkness slid down his throat and gagged him. The darkness burned like fire inside him and scorched his organs, boiled his blood, and travelled through his fried veins until it reached his heart.
Thoroughly tainted, he was sure he would become a monster like the rest; could remember the evil he had already done but imagined himself relishing it from now on. The white world around him faded to gray.
Then he broke.
He fell from his levitation and hit the nondescript ground. He tried to pick himself up but instead found his limbs dead. Ahead of him sat a portrait nearly devoid of color now that the darkness was within him. Only a small pinprick of white paint was left upon the canvas; easy to see with all the black gone.
His heart ached for it! To chase away the darkness and pain that had so filled it and made it heavy; too heavy to move. He willed himself to crawl forward and attain it, to take it back as his own but couldn’t.
Saleane appeared then in the canvas; her movements mesmerizing and fluid as if she was painted. She grew larger on the screen as she moved closer then picked up the light.
He could smell her perfume and taste her skin on his lips. She was so close. She held up the light before him upon her palm. He focused on it entirely and using all of his willpower; everything he ever had, fought the darkness within him just to move his arm forward and reach out for the light.
Straining and shaking, sweating beads nigh exhausted; he gave it his all and reached out fully for the light. His fingers were less than an inch from hers and he was about to touch it. Then she closed her fingers around the light, extinguishing its little flame, and melted away as the world flared black as night.
Within the darkness he could feel control of his body return to him but without the drive behind it. His heart gave out without its light and the blackness crept in until he was lost amid the churning sea of ink. If he had had the will to fight left, if he hadn’t given everything he had trying to reach the light, he knew he would be able to resist. But as it was..
He moved easier then and took a deep, shaky breath to fill his lungs.
And hot blood splashed into his open mouth.
He shook his head and found Blaine before him; hand missing and spurting blood rapidly with each panicked pulse. The wounded dark elf stumbled backwards and wailed violently as he clamp
ed down on his stump; tripping Blaide and gripping his shirt.
Outsider backed away and suddenly all the wounds he had accumulated were fresh and burning anew. The numerous cuts stung like match heads pressed to his flesh and small dark spots blotted his torn tunic. Even the blood in his mouth seemed to burn him as he spit it out.
Blaide crouched near his partner and screamed for him to calm down and let go of him; promising him he would finish the match in time to get him a healer, when Outsider’s blades pressed into his back and burst out his chest.
Blaine stared in horror as Blaide’s face contorted in anguish with eyes raving; searching his brother’s face almost accusingly. His brother’s blood splattered across his face and in his eye but disappeared against the blood already soaking him from his wrist. He looked past the crumpled form of his brother and to the one behind it with two daggers dripping.
There, he saw a pain in itself. A pain he didn’t understand and hoped he never would. Not comprehending; he felt only rising anger and festering hate. As Outsider turned away and refused to kill him, Blaine leaped to his feet with his brother’s sword and bore down on him.
Outsider didn’t hear him approach over the sound of the audience and only turned when the cries turned from awestruck to malicious; with many cries of “kill him!” and “finish it!”.
He saw Blaine’s eyes, then a white hot pain split his skull and seared his face. He imagined a lightning bolt striking him through the head and frying his brain it was so intense. He recoiled immediately and stumbled back to the wall, clutching his face with one hand and a dagger in the other.
Blaine followed and reared back for a final strike when he saw the hard look in Outsider’s open eye. The look that promised death. It was somewhere between calm and rage and a look he had never been able to replicate. He had seen it numerous times in his father’s and brother’s eyes but never against him.
Seeing it now, he thought better of his actions and dropped the sword before passing out from blood loss.
Outsider left them all behind once more and resumed his typical system: washing his blades clean before patching himself together, however this time took considerably longer. He watched his progress in the mirror as he poked the needle through the soft flesh of his forehead and pulled the string taut, then repeated twenty four times with extra caution on his nose until he reached his lower cheek on the opposite side.
He winced as he rubbed more salve across it to sanitize the wound and clamped his jaw shut to avoid screaming. His fingers gripped the table until indentions remained in the wood. Staring at the new scar across his face he knew it would become his signature feature and yet another way he would be forever marked for what he was.
He snuck out of the arena through the back and took his time returning to the house. He was in no rush to resume training and wanted nothing more than to ease the searing torture in his head. He spent the next several hours relaxing just outside the border of the city, lying on his back atop a dead tree where he had long ago hung a hammock.
He returned knowing he would face punishment for his delay, and possibly for defeating two nobles of his own clan, but couldn’t bring himself to care. As far as he saw it, what else could they do to him? How could they top what had already befallen him whether by his actions or not?
But when he walked inside he found Dren waiting for him in his room; all smiles.
“That was a good match.” he exclaimed and slapped him on the shoulder. “I thought for sure you were dead, but you played it smart and kept the less experienced Blaine in his older brother’s way. Clever.” Dren recounted and nodded his head knowingly. “So here’s the deal. You proved yourself capable of besting the Martialmaster of our own house; so typically you would become his replacement.
“However you’re you and that isn’t going to happen. So instead, we’ve an open challenge next week in the arena to face you for the honor. As such, you’re training needs to increase tenfold. I mean morning through night, constantly.”
Outsider studied Dren’s face for a moment, mulling over what he had heard and hadn’t heard. “Why do you want me to win?” he asked at last and gauged the old drunk’s reaction.
Being sober at the time, Dren was fully capable of masking his face as one of his station had long ago mastered. “Because I want the house to get only the best. With your victories against a champion and a Martialmaster, we’re going to have a lot of eyes on us from now on. We need the extra muscle around here.”
Outsider couldn’t deny the logic. The house he lived in, for he refused to call it his house, was no small player in the city of Duskenbaijan and often found itself in the middle of power struggles involving political scandals and assassinations. He himself had been tasked with a few, though after a recent failure in which someone had seen him leaving after, he hadn’t been sent any more.
“Are they going to try and move up a peg?” Outsider asked, curious to how the house’s movements would affect him. “I know they don’t use me for contracts anymore but if so, they might be made on my head now.”
Dren nodded and laughed. “Still wish to be a somebody?”
“I’m just a weapon to them.”
“Either way,” the older dark elf waved away the remark and took a deep draught of a bottle in his hand. “You’re not much of a secret anymore so I’ll make sure you’re informed just enough to get by.” He moved in closer, suddenly serious, and the alcohol on his breath stung the wound on Outsider’s face. “Don’t think I trust you just for these killings you’ve done in the arena. If you had it your way, my head would be in my lap and you’d be prancing around on the surface where they hate you just a little less than we do.”
He slapped Outsider across the face; splitting his sutures. “I haven’t forgotten the promise you made me as a child when I had your heretic parents killed.” He took another swig of the potent drink. “You vowed to do the same to me didn’t you boy? Well it isn’t going to happen kid; I’ve got my eye on you.”
He strode from the room then and stumbled up the stairs outside his door noisily and muttering curses. Outsider sat heavily on his bed and clenched his knuckles several times until he was calm enough to sew up his face again.
As soon as he closed his eyes it seemed he was awake again.
Dren held to his word and pushed him even harder than before; rising with the dawn, metaphorically, and not returning to bed until long after the guard was out. The armory became his new common place and he spent many long hours there practicing with weapons he used less frequently such as the bow and sword. His weapons were in pristine condition at all times and his new set of blackened leather armor kept washed.
After half the week had passed, Outsider found himself so exhausted each night he had no time left to think; no long hours at night to mull over the things he missed and how badly he hated his life. As such, he found a renewed motivation to work and with new vigor set to his training each day harder than ever.
Such became his new day to day schedule: wake, train, collapse. By the time his match was upon him, he was more than ready to face whatever challenge presented itself. He was more accurate, faster, stronger, and deadlier than he had ever been; even taking time from sleeping each night to study techniques not taught to him.
He breezed through the first four rounds without incident and took only a minor hit in the last. He found himself detached from it all as if a spectator; watching his victories without feeling them. As such, he never heard the names of those he battled.
Being the current champion, he was introduced last anyway, often missing even the echo of a name from within his room, and entered the battleground to fend off the last opponent of the week.
A slim figure stood opposite him, wearing sleek armor in varying shades of black dependent on stance with a mask-like helm that covered the entire head and face; obscuring all facial features. All in all it appeared he was fighting a three-dimensional shadow.
But when it drew a pair of obsidian-
bladed dirks he knew his opponent’s identity immediately and honestly had expected it sooner. He strafed a circular shape opposite Blaine to create a pattern he would soon break once it stuck.
But Blaine seemed to have the same idea and quickstepped the opposite way into a dive then rolled to his feet striking out with both dirks in overlapping arcs. Outsider gave ground as he fended off the cunning strikes and had to admit he had improved greatly in the months since last they fought, as well as obviously having the wizards grow him a new hand.
Then with the initial shock past, Blaine’s momentum was soon countered and Outsider pressed back. He deflected the first dirk with a twist of his wrist and knocked the second wide with his bracer, then stepping forward with his back facing him, kicked Blaine straight in the chest and blasted him off his feet.
Outsider left him to get to his feet and instead backed away a few paces to formulate a plan of action. He knew he could defeat Blaine in open combat, however he also knew how cunning and devious Blaine was; especially since his defeat and Blaide’s death. He didn’t want to risk getting a serious injury that would lay him out of commission and ruin his training regimen or permanently hinder him.
He had to be cautious when fighting the unstable.
As such he watched idly as Blaine took a knee then stood slowly, gauging Outsider’s response. When he did nothing, Blaine continued forward and began a steady stream of spins and slices as he closed the gap.
When they finally connected, he spun on a single foot and leaped forward with a roundhouse kick that connected on Outsider’s upper shoulder and drove him to one knee. Then to continue his movement the whole way through, he slashed out upon landing and hit the flat of a knife. The blow parried, Blaine was in too close to effectively use the longer-bladed dirks and quickly retreated as Outsider fought his way to his feet and drove him off.
His turn to press the attack, the current champion came forward with a steady gait; counting down the number of steps between them until his number was reached and he slid across the ground with a sweep that stole Blaine’s legs from under him. Continuing his sweeping kick, Outsider used the sideways momentum to swing his legs up and windmilled on his back and shoulders then pressed off to his feet in the blink of an eye.
Once more he let Blaine take his feet without resistance. However he closed the distance this time and met him head on with full fury. His knives twisted a complicated dance within the zone of safety Blaine held his dirks in. Outsider bounced his blades off them and gradually wormed his way through his defense until the aperture between the dirks was wide enough to have kicked through; Blaine’s hands drove at least shoulder width apart.
Taking full advantage of the fact, Outsider leaped up and kicked off Blaine’s chest once more into a backflip, then landed it on hands and feet as if he were walking on all four, then took a sprinting start straight ahead as Blaine staggered from the blow and tackled his legs.
Blaine fell hard on his front and his head bounced off the floor loudly. Outsider rolled from him and straddled his back with his knees, knives poised for the kill.
However he hesitated as he remembered the look upon Blaine’s face when Blaide fell and they had let each other be after the match. As much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t help but empathize with him for losing someone he cared about and not being able to do anything to bring them back.
Outsider stood and faced the crowds, not really seeing them at all, then turned for his room to forget them. He was through with this and ready for the next day. A day of training and conditioning that would allow him to forget everything else without having to harm anyone.
He was two paces from the door when the dirk spun through the air and imbedded itself in his shoulder blade.
He grit his teeth, determined not to scream, and fell against the wall. The blinding pain shot through him and coursed through his veins to every fiber of his being. By the burning he knew it had pierced muscle tissue; exactly one of the things he had hoped to avoid, and would take some time to heal properly.
But he quickly formulated a course of response and stood quickly, dodging to the side as the inevitable stroke fell. The dirk stuck in the wooden door and Outsider struck out with the hilt of his dagger upon Blaine’s ribs to gain some breathing room. His right arm wouldn’t respond properly and instead twitched slightly as the muscle assessed the damage done to it.
Using his one good arm, he parried the dirk coming at him and kicked the back of Blaine’s kneecap with just enough force for it to buckle. He held his dagger to Blaine’s throat to finish the job but without his other hand to hold him steady, he took a backward headbutt to the face and stumbled away as his sutures ripped open agonizingly.
Half blinded by pain and the blood now running down his face into his eye, he didn’t see the boot coming until it struck him in the mouth. He felt his lips bust and the rusty taste of blood coated his tongue.
He tripped backwards over uneven ground and did a somersault in the air; landing hard on his front. Still on his knees, he turned and blocked a series of attacks but soon felt the dirk pass across his upper arm and part flesh. He ignored it and shook the dirk away at the price of deepening the wound.
Blaine used downward strikes to force Outsider down every time he attempted to stand and pressed on relentlessly; unleashing every combo and technique he knew against the champion to defeat him.
But Outsider knew more and deflected them all, mind working furiously to identify them by his stance and posture as well as grip on the weapon. A few he didn’t recognize and nearly fell prey to, but ultimately managed to keep blade to blade contact; ruining the attack. They did however cause him to question how Blaine would know such advanced moves that even he, specifically trained and raised to fight, didn’t have knowledge of.
A sudden movement to the side and Blaine had done a three hundred and sixty degree turn on one foot and kicked out with the other with full force. On his knees as he was, Outsider had no choice but to block it with his one good arm futilely.
The kick knocked his arm into his chest and he nearly fell over if not for his wounded arm’s surprise decision to obey and catch him. He turned on his arm to face the ground and stepped forward just in time for a second kick to push him forward fast enough for him to twist back around and see Blaine throw the second dirk.
Reacting without conscious thought, Outsider flicked his dagger forward and amazed himself when it clanged into the airborne dirk mid-flight. The two blades whistled through the air in opposite directions several feet away.
Both of them disarmed, but Outsider obviously wounded, Blaine charged him to finish the match with his bare hands. He built up speed and traction for a good kick as he had done before and counted down the strides until he would leap forward.
Outsider looked side to side, knowing he couldn’t win in his current state and tried to raise his arms in defense; but his right arm still wouldn’t obey. His eyes widened. Grimacing, he reached behind him and biting down against the fire burning in his very nerves, plucked the dirk from his back with a spurt of blood, and hurled it forward.
The dirk seemed to freeze in the air for a moment; coming to a complete standstill in which he could make out every insignificant detail about it. His blood smeared across it, the warped reflection of the arena across its length, and the light glinting off it; even the drops of red spinning from it like a comet’s tail seemed stalled.
Then time resumed and the dirk sunk into Blaine’s chest just below his heart with a thump that seemed to echo throughout the entire arena and reverberated through Outsider’s body as if he had been the one stabbed. Blaine’s steps slowed suddenly and went slack as he clumsily stumbled forward to lean against Outsider.
The mortally wounded fighter clung to the champion desperately to stay upright; hanging onto his shoulders. Outsider held one hand against his back, and jerked the dirk in deeper with the other. Blaine convulsed and collapsed, dragging him down to the ground with him.
; Outsider breathed in deeply to calm himself and shake away the regret that shot through him. Blaine was no friend of his but they were nearly of the same age; so young, and so ignorant to the error of his ways. He could have changed with time as he matured, he told himself even though he knew it wasn’t likely. He shook his head and stared down at his body then glanced up at the crowd before him.
At someone who shouldn't be there.
At someone who couldn't be there.
Blaine stood in the crowd now; his face the most hate filled scowl Outsider had ever witnessed.
A cold numb set into Outsider then. His lips shook and his entire body shivered. His wide eyes set back down to the figure lying against him, whose blood was at this moment spilling on him and running down his arm. With trembling fingers, he gingerly pulled the mask off his fallen opponent.
A thick mane of white hair tied back in a ponytail fell from it. An earthy scent like the wild Shadowverse wafted past.
Outsider shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to look into the face and be sure. So much pain had already ruled his life and shaped it he couldn’t accept that any god would do this to him after everything. He refused to believe it. He couldn’t believe it. There was no way it was her. Not her.
Not Saleane.
And then she looked up at him weakly and smiled with tears streaming down her face, her beautiful face, and opened her mouth to speak but only blood spilled out. Her eyes, those navy eyes that so entrapped him within their gaze, now ensnared him. He reached out and held her close, weeping, and tried to cover the wound. Tried to stop the blood that gushed from her chest.
Her trembling hand rose up to his face and he held it there; savoring her soft touch, when words filled his head in her melodic voice; her song flowing behind them.
I’m so sorry..I wanted to win…spare you from having to fight so many…you could focus on escaping again…I wanted to become Martialmaster so I could..could fully destroy the house my father has risen..
I wanted to save you…
I…you’re the greatest person I’ve ever met..
The words seemed to lose focus and consistency; like sand sifting through his fingers.
I wanted so much for you…for us..
He pulled her closer and his tears dripped into her hair as he hid his face.
I’m sorry..
He held her against him until he could feel her stuttering heartbeat.
I love you..
Every last one.