My lungs expand and collapse in preparation of the pain I know will soon follow. The assessor has already taken control of my forearm, and though he stands a few feet away from me, his mental grip holds my arm firmly in place. His mind begins to dig into my wrist, puncturing the layer of skin with the utmost care and precision. Every muscle in my body cringes in protest, tensing in panic. No blood drips out of the wound. The perfect coordination and control of the incision would almost be enough of a distraction from the throbbing pain, if it weren’t for my shaking limbs.
I can barely keep my eyes open as I watch the exposed plaque. My vision blurs and I bite down in an attempt to control the impulse to yank my arm back and dart away. I can feel the temptation sinking deeper, encircling my will. I won’t last much longer. My fingers clamp tighter around the physician’s arm, trembling uncontrollably. “Part of your muscle tissue healed around the existing plaque, and he will need to cut through that as well in order to replace it. But he is almost done.”
My legs wobble at the announcement and she has to steady me. I feel her free hand pressing against my back, though not in a comforting way. Her expressionless demeanor unsteadies me. How can she stand there perfectly poised, as if the assessor was simply drawing a picture on my arm? The trembling in my body intensifies. I shut my eyes, breathing in slowly and shivering as beads of sweat roll down my neck.
I can’t help my teeth from clattering together at the heating sensation. The pain sears through every layer of tissue at my wrist, reaching an almost unbearable climax and then it starts to recede, numbing away with the healing touch from the physician. My breath catches as soon as any sensation of pain leaves my mind. I open my eyes then, freezing in place at the sight of the black armor enclosing my body. The physician is gone and the assessor is simply watching the wall as it flexes back into its original place. I turn my arm around, but my wrist hides beneath the dark suit. The physical assessor must have wrapped each section of my armor around me while the physician was healing the gash on my wrist. I press my fingers against the new addition to my suit. A white symbol drawn on my left arm. It looks like a letter ‘E’ lying down on its back with a dot on top.
“Thirteen.” Seven’s voice brings me back, turning my eyes in his direction.
His hand is wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword and though his eyes remain glossed over, I can almost feel his will breaking. I turn around and head back to the eating lounge, where the rest of the team has already assembled, all dressed in black, all ready for battle. The tables have been propped back up against the walls, leaving the room looking like a glossy and pristinely white shoebox. I take my position in the perfectly straight formation and wait.
Seven makes his way to us, pensive and at a very slow pace. He stops to face us, but doesn’t look up. “Our battle today will be regulated by dictum. You all know the rules that govern most battles and even though battles by dictum are also subject to standard rules, more or less, they have rules of their own.” His eyes find their way to me and for a split second I think I see regret in them, but before I can be completely certain, he looks away, hardening his façade into the commanding leader he is.
“Standard rules remain in full force.” I ignore his unemotional tone as he lists the rules we have become so accustomed to fight by. “You shall not engage in combat with either unit leader in the arena. You shall not engage in combat with any member of your unit. You shall obey every direct order I give you without hesitation or questioning. You shall not engage the crowd until you prove yourself victorious at the end of the battle. In addition, rules by dictum are as follows. Entrance to the arena will not be subject to formation protocol. This means we are going in blind, entering the arena at random, without knowledge of what will be waiting for us on the other side. Every one of you will battle against the member of the opposing unit with your same identification number, as shown by the symbols on your left arms. You are allowed to engage in combat with other rivals only after defeating your matched opponent and only after the designated fighter matched to that rival has fallen. You are not allowed to work together in any extension. All confrontations will take place one-on-one.”
My forehead crinkles in frustration. “They can’t be serious.” Seven’s eyes snap to me, hard and unmoved. “They can’t be. We have always trained and fought as a team, how are we going to survive if we fight separately?”
He exhales, frustrated, either because of my interruption or something else, I can’t tell. “The rules are as they are. Any disregard thereof will result in your immediate disposal.” I open my mouth to respond, only to see him knit his eyebrows together, warning me. Something in his expression looks different, pleading with me to comply. I want to yell at him, demand for the leader who cares about us, not the one who punishes us and actually seems to enjoy the process. I can’t bring myself to do more than just stare at him.
He makes his way past us and we rotate our bodies to follow him. Several officials watch us march out of the hall, down the glossy corridor, and into our awaiting transport. Once inside, no one speaks, no one moves, no one responds to anything in particular. We are machines. Machines of war surrounded by silence. It is absolute. Unchanging. It binds our armors. It binds our minds. The space shuttle doesn't even creak in protest of our somber spirits. Instead it honors our fear, wrapping us inside its bowels and holding us close. We are its children. The children of death.
After what seems like endless hours in torturing stillness, the shuttle stops. Seven stands, rigid and commanding. We know the drill. We have done it many times before. Our bodies react to his action in hasty unison, standing erect and bashing the shielded end of our swords on the metal floor. The harmonious clank reverberates through the walls of our mother, acknowledging our commanding officer.
The shuttle doors open to a metal enclosure, our steel keeper before the battle. I’ve never seen the arena at the Markram Capital. There are no windows in the transport and only one door. Fighters call it the door of glory. I call it the door of hell. The shuttle leaves, taking the army officials with it and sealing the wall behind us. I turn to look at Seven and see his hand wrapping around the hilt of his sword, asphyxiating the handle between his pale fingers.
I walk forward, stopping next to him, my eyes focused on the door before me. “Most people picture hell as a fiery inferno of darkness. But they are wrong. Hell is white, white as snow. Spotless. Stark. Incandescent. A sandy cage of crystal glass where strangers come to gloat at the monsters they have created.”
Seven’s voice comes out flat. “You are not a monster.”
“Are you sure about that? We kill for a living. Thrust our blades into the souls of our rivals only to satiate the blood thirst of a crowd that wouldn’t enjoy anything more than to see us die.”
He lets out a grunt, barely loud enough for me to hear. “We fight to live.”
“We fight to survive. This is no way to live.” I drop my head and look at the metal floor before me.
“What are you saying?”
For a second I don’t think I am strong enough to answer, but when I open my mouth, my words come out in a whisper. “I’m saying maybe this isn’t worth it.”
Seven leans closer. “I think we are worth it.”
My eyes snap back up, tears pooling at the edges of my vision. “I think we are damned.”
Seven grunts in disapproval and I turn my eyes in his direction. My lips curve slightly at his wrinkled forehead. I don't think I've ever really smiled at him. I’ve laughed with him over trivial matters, but never really smiled. The thought makes my insides flutter and I want to suppress the feeling, but I can't. Pain stabs my chest as the longing inside me clutches every inch of my mind. It is easier to suppress the way he makes me feel when I know he can't sense it behind his soldier wall. I shove my thoughts aside before he can grasp their full meaning, but the warmth emanating from him pries me open. I am not sure if he knows how detectable his Markram ability can be, especially when it der
ives from the considerate man and not the brutal soldier.
His mental touch wraps around me like ribbons of fire, traversing through my mind and decoding every emotion. I turn my attention back to the wall, concentrating on keeping the one emotion I don’t want him to find tucked inside the most secluded corner. Seven leans closer to speak in my ear and his breath brushes against my neck. Chills spread down my spine at the caress of his lungs, doubling the speed of my heartbeat.
"Thirteen." I try to bury my treacherous feelings deeper into my core, even though I know he already sensed them. "Thirteen." My neck moves instinctively at his commanding tone, but my eyes won't set on him. They hesitate, scared, exposed, fragile. "Look at me."
The pleading sound of his voice breaks through my resilience and my gaze moves as if by an invisible force. His blue eyes ripple through me like two profound oceans full of longing, and the blazing heat from his touch intensifies as he dives deeper, pouring every word he can’t say into this simple touch.
I can feel myself slipping. “Stop it.”
The gate begins to open and he freezes, immediately withdrawing from my mind. His expression hardens back to the emotionless leader, but something soft and tender lingers for a moment. “We aren’t done yet.” Then, it is gone.
I let out a scoff. “Of course we are.”
He frowns, visibly irritated, but turns around to address the rest of the unit. “Whatever awaits us outside this gate, I expect you to fight for your life. Abide by the rules as much as you can. But if you find yourself in mortal peril, or if any of your teammates requires your assistance, you have my permission to engage. No, you have my order to do so. I will take full responsibility for your performance. Don’t hesitate. Don’t flinch away. Honor cannot be taken from you, unless you give it away willingly.”
Adrenaline begins pumping through my body. Something about the certainty of his words makes me realize he always meant to tell us this. The charade back at the training facility, in front of the army officials, was just that, a show. He bites down, fighting a smile. “Courage in battle and honor in life.”
We rush into the giant stadium, only to be immediately scattered by an ambush. The rival unit wastes no time, their razor-sharp swords slicing through the air, killing nearly half of us within the first five minutes of the battle. I hear Seven yelling commands, but his voice gets lost amid the bloody chaos that surrounds me. I begin to move away from the main group, only concerned with my own survival.
A rival player approaches me. I see the matching symbol on her arm and move toward her without hesitation. Raising my sword high above my head, I thrust it down, meeting her blade with a loud clash. The momentary vibration traveling through our limbs distracts me, guiding my eyes to her face. Blood drains from my body, turning me to stone.
No.
She smiles at me. “Hey, sis.” My lips are shut tight. My legs have turned to ice. My heart has stopped beating. She can’t be here. She is an illusion. An illusion created by Eleven to torture me. I stumble back, directing my eyes to the fights around me, until I find the one person I am looking for. His purple eyes meet mine in spite of his confrontation with Seven and he grins, pleased. My stomach knots as every image around me begins to spin and my legs give out from under me, slamming my body to the ground. I clutch handfuls of sand in a feeble attempt to crawl away from the nightmare standing in front of me. Something clicks under my palm and the ground begins to tremble. The fear in my sister’s eyes makes me turn around toward the dark, repugnant-smelling tunnel opening under the arena.
Four red eyes peek out of the darkness and an ape-looking creature with six long limbs exits the tunnel. My heart skips a beat just as the beast fixes its attention on me. It lunges forward, grasping my armor and pinning me down. It digs its nails into my leg, making me cry out in pain and begins dragging me back into the tunnel. I lose the grip on my sword and hear my sister scream, leaping forward and raising her blade against the animal. The sharp sword pierces through one of its limbs and the creature releases me.
I roll away and watch my sister lean over me. She places something inside my hand and gives me a big, reassuring smile. “I love you.”
I open my mouth to speak, but the hairy creature bites into my sister’s torso and pulls her away, shaking her body like a ragged doll. Her horrific cries of pain scorch their way through me, tearing my insides apart and releasing all of the anger I had been bottling up. The high-pitched sound of my own scream echoes around me as I leap to my feet and pick up the sword resting next to me. I tuck whatever she gave me inside the pocket at the hollow of my throat and sprint into a run. The beast doesn’t even turn as I leap onto its back and plunge my sword into the top of its neck.
The animal wobbles down, dropping my sister onto the floor and collapsing next to her. I crawl to her. “What are you doing here? How did they find you?”
She coughs blood. “I let them catch me. It is all … part of the plan.”
I shake my head. “What plan?”
“I’m sorry.” She coughs again, turning her head to the side. I can barely believe my eyes. This can’t be happening. “I love you, sis. I’m happy I got to see you one more time.” She tightens her fingers around my hand. “Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.”
I see my sister’s shoulders shake as the last ragged breath leaves her body, turning her into a corpse. I take her hand in mine, tracing the scar on her palm with my thumb. It really is her. Lying in front of me. Dead. The reality of what just happened hits me with full force. My baby sister just died at the hands of a beast, in the hell I’ve been trying to escape. An almost uncontrollable rage wells up inside me, racing through my limbs like an unquenchable fire. My monster breaks free. The excruciating shriek escaping my lips pierces the air and I have to cover my ears to restrain the pain it causes. It absorbs every noise, consuming every shout generated by the observing crowd. The stadium seems to have grown quiet, silenced by the agonizing cry hurting every part of me.
I stand up amid the massacre of lacerated bodies and look around to find most of the fighters around me dead. My lungs struggle for breath at the sight of the fragmented armors, twisted limbs, and pools of gory blood. The macabre spectacle extends, only to meet the eager expressions of a silent crowd that requests an even more gruesome conclusion. My stomach heaves at the sight of Eleven, watching me intently, inviting me to approach. I search for anything that could quench the unbearable grief and find my sword, covered in blood, lying next to my sister. I pick it up and gaze up toward the dusking suns, two golden stars bracing each other for an inescapable fate.
I hear Seven shout out just as I begin to walk forward, set on an undeviating course toward the leader who used me to get to him. Confronting him in battle will mean my certain death, but if he dies in the process, then my life will have meant something. I see two rival fighters darting in my direction. One pauses while the other prepares to engage. I don’t even blink. I don’t even think. They are obstacles. Deterrents to my purpose. I duck under the first blow and in one swift motion, rotate my body and swing my sword across my attacker’s torso.
The next rival hesitates, but I don’t even give her time to retreat. I raise my blade and she meets it in the air, pushing back against it. I release the pressure and step aside, letting her wobble her way forward as she losses her balance. My steel cuts through the back of her armor and she falls to her knees. I begin to turn just as someone grasps my arms in an iron clutch. “Don’t do it.” Seven’s words fill me with rage, boiling a ranting rave of emotions.
I push against his arms with every ounce of energy I have left. “Let go of me.”
“I can’t let you do this. Please.” His pleading tone only enhances my anger. Did he not see what just happened? I stop, shocked. No. He did. He understood. And he knows what I’m about to do. Had he known all along that my sister was here? Did he know I would have to fight her today? My lungs inflate as I inhale all of my feelings of frustration and betrayal into them and ba
sh my head back. Hard. I hear something crack and Seven grunt in pain. His grip loosens and I use the newly acquired space to yank my elbow into his stomach. Then, I run.
Eleven waits for me, only three of his fighters remain. He gestures for them to stay grounded as I spring forward, sword in hand. Nine and other fighters from my unit shout at me as I break the first rule of the battles by engaging Eleven in the arena. He grins openly, meeting my blade in the air and shoving it aside with his own. His legs take a swift step in my direction and his hand grips my wrist. The arena and everyone in it disappear from before my eyes, quickly replaced by a field of wild flowers. I struggle in vain against the unseen clutch of his fingers and hear Seven let out a powerful shout just as a stabbing pain cuts into my waist.
My eyelids flutter and I swing my blade against my attacker, but there is no one there. An agonizing cry escapes my lips and I fall to the ground, unable to remain standing. The dusty air of the arena rushes into my eyes, blinding me, and I collapse at Eleven’s feet. I hear Seven screaming in the distance. His tone of rage rises above any other sound and, for an instant, everything in the stadium goes still. My body wants to give up, but my mind hangs onto the sound of his voice.
Markram Battles: Omens of Doom (Part II) Page 6