The crowd around the arena roared for more blood. The master in charge of the ring banged his staff against the ground, and nodded at a guard. The guard signaled and the doors leading to the ring are opened.
Four people walked unwillingly but given little choice by the heavily armed escorts around them. Each of the prisoners were taken to separate corners of the field. Only then did each get a shoddy weapon handed to them.
Spectators shouted, gleefully cheerful at the new promise for battle. Bloodlust roused in them, and they saw this grisly sight appealing. The master raised his staff once again fueled by the applause he attained by having these duels fought by criminals. In the air the hung for a lingering second in order for the crowd to grow in excitement. Then the same bang that the fighters in sound across the arena in order to begging the struggle.
The prisoner clad in green rags rotated the rusty sword in his hand provided to him by the guards. Taking in its weight and poor balance he viewed his opponents; a creature round and pink thing across the stadium stepped backwards in fear, a humanoid fox who grimaced as he moved into a stance, and an angel that scowled at the spectators.
They all knew that until only one stood and they others fell that they would not be allowed to leave. Link charged at the angel not fully caring whether or not that he left openings in his defense. Instead he let the rage inside him boil and take control of his actions. His blade moved in a circular momentum slashing further towards the angel.
In defense the angel brought up his weapon, blocking the flurry of blows. In a counter attack as soon as Link's motion stopped he attacked in a downward directly at his head, while he hooked Link's leg with his own in an attempt to trip. Link fell but dodged the blow by rolling out of way. However this opened him up to a hard punch from the pink creature who followed with a hammer blow directly on Link's ribs.
Almost certain that at least one rib was broken, Link kicked the pink thing out of his way. He moved backward watching the fox and angel exchange blows. A shining thing caught his eye, he darted forward and grabbed a metal box. When the pink thing came back he heaved the entire box at it, knocking it back into the fox. They began to tear at each other.
Swearing in pain Link backed up, as the angel advanced with a burning flower. Soon the green clad warrior found himself enshrouded by flames that burnt his skin leave large swelling blisters. The painful agony only stopped when the flower turned to ashes.
In a rage brought on by this newest attack, Link threw himself upon the angel. With his sword he cut and diced, shredding at the angel's delicate wings and skin. A whirlwind in motion his blade never stopped continuously looking for an opening. The angel blocked well but he did not have the same fuel driving him, and eventually exhaustion caused him to falter where the blade then cut. Then pain took a toll of its own on the body and another opening showed itself. Then another and another.
Eventually the scarped, bloody body of the angel fell. Blood oozed from his numerous wounds and he gave one last scream of pain then passed out. Link stood above him with his sword held barely above the angel's collapsed body. Red fell off his sword in a steady stream as Link's rage subsided slowly.
Tiredness washed over him like a flood. This was not his first battle, nor would it be his last. Yet every time Link let the anger growing inside of him for being used like an animal for sport, he felt even more exhausted mentally. One of the veteran fighters here, Link had been for years. After the initial fire that lit him every time he entered the ring, the strength from his fingers seeped away.
The crowd screeched in pleasure at the angel's strong body being torn. They jeered in cruel at the pain inflicted by the warrior clad green to the white angel. Wanting more, the mass of watchers called sick encouragement.
Link ignored them all. Again and again he ignored them in battle, each time though his spirit waned a little, letting in a fragment of speech that caused more pain.
Stepping over the angel's body, Link wasted a thought on whether the angel would live. A fresh fighter, his body had not yet time to readjust itself to the new tougher lifestyle found in the midst ring. Perhaps though, their might be a chance at survival for him, then the angel would have a chance at winning a brawl.
The pink thing squeaked in pain as the fox delivered a well placed blow to his central nerve cord. Flying out of the ring, it must have hit a wall as loud thud could be heard right afterwards, but Link did not try to see. Instead he blocked the fox's articulate attacks. A blow high, then low, and then low again, the attacks came sweeping down in order to break Link's pattern.
Block, block, parry, miss, feign, attack, block parry. The rhythm fell in tune as the fox's hands jabbed at any opening and blocked Links every movement. A punch to the already broken ribs stopped his world for a few critical moments. Instead of waiting and watching for the fox's next strike, his vision wobbled as his leg shakily stumbled. Moving he stepped away and out of reach, the fox's arms were shorter than the reach of Link's sword and he used the advantage. Attack, attack, attack, press forward do not stop, attack again, do not let his opening go unanswered. The muscle finely honed in battle before and after Link found himself here, knew the formula and the drill.
However the eyes of the fox were crafty and saw an advantage of their own. Nasty burn marks still marred the skin of the warrior clad in green, and it showed in the way he fought. Careful in not brush himself and let the pain spread further, and more delicately then before so as not to leave already sensitive skin out to be clawed.
Two side steps later the fox stood back to his position near Link's body. Blood soaked the fox's shirt, and an already infected gash on his shoulder slowed his left arm a tad but that mattered not. In a sudden shift the fox went from precise martial fighter to savage attacks that clawed and bit. Link yelled in pain as skin tore from itself and more blood gushed out.
Realizing that he could not win, Link desperately did a final move. He threw his sword blindly. The motion caused the fox's head to turn to see where it went, and the hidden trap was. In that fraction, Link doubled punched the fox; one hand on the chest the other hitting the gut.
In pain and tiredness both fighters fell over. However even the final attack did not enough for Link to win this fight. The fox stood up, even though unable to see in one eye from the repeated beatings. The warriors clad in green did not stand up again to fight, instead the loss of blood caused him to pass out.
A triumphant cheer came rousing from the audience, pleased by the performance of the fighters. The master in charge hit his large wooden staff against the floor, officially ending this particular fight, and then the master cried out above the crowd, "And the winner is FOX!"
Guards came out onto the field to cart out the unconscious bodies of the losers and to march away the winner.
Red, a Pokemon trainer, watched as the unconscious body of the angel was paled in the same cavern-like infirmary he sat in to make sure his Pokemon healed. A nervous youth and a scared one too Red scrambled away when he saw the severity of his wounds.
Deep, and bloody gashes that still bleed and now seeped out puss. The healer's placed herb-infused bandages on the wounds and spoke a few words that crinkled the air with magic. Not much more then that however was done. The healers were paid well to keep the fighter's alive but they were not paid to keep them well.
After all a fighter that died outside of a fight was a waste of resources, a dying fighter that was finished off during battle though was an attraction and added bonus for those who paid to watch. So the healers finished their sorcery and then left the angel as he was. Covered in blood and sweat, and just as unconscious as when he arrived.
Miserably, Red crept over to where the angel lay, unmoving. A truly nice person and truly caring for the health of others Red rearranged his body. Then he took one of the two clean cloths in the room and scrubbed off some of the clinging grime. This place felt so wrong to Red, his own emotions could not comprehend the point of it all. In his mind, so young, naive and pure the idea that blood lust drew people like moths to a flame seemed abhorrent.
"Th-thank you." The angel's eye cracked open a bit, his voice sound weak from the fight but strong enough to be clear. Red opened his mouth in surprise that he had awoken so soon after the healing. Smiling the angel pushed himself up and asked in voice that now grew much stronger, "Do you have water?"
Red fetched some water from a pitcher in the back of this infirmary. Gratefully the angel drank the entire pitcher. "Ah," He sighed in appreciation of the coldness in the water. "Are you a healer?" He questioned rubbing the badges that covered the wound on his thigh.
Red shook his head. "I-I'm a fighter, I guess." In truth he was supposed to lead the Pokemon that were captured here into battle, nut the way the he also was thrust into the brawl caused him to come out with just as many scratches.
"Oh, well they know their stuff here, even if they are lazy gist," The angel announced cheerfully. He moved his legs over the side of stoned bed and wiggled his toes experimentally. Pain shot through his body, and left dulls aches in their wake. "Thanks again then, since I know your in the predicament I'm in, I can actually feel more comfortable with you, " He added continuing his odd conversation in his increasingly happy attitude. "Name's Pit, by the way. That was my first fight here, pretty good wasn't I?" Unaware that his companion was backing up in shock he blithely continued, "Granted this place is sick and twisted. No worried though, I know that I'm gonna get out of here soon enough. Hmm, pretty quiet aren't you? What's your name?"
"Red." It came out immediately after the question in a mechanical way, he was still looking at Pit as though he had lost his sanity. After all people never escaped here did they? At least in his two months here Red had been told that repeatedly by the veterans of this hellhole. The only way to leave was to die.
Approvingly Pit nodded his head. "I like that name," he decided after testing the name out, "and because you were decent and cleaned me off when I was filthy, when I leave I'm taking you with me. Anyway escape plans always work better with two people. So…" Pit stopped and seemed out words to say.
Not wishing for Pit to remain in wishful thinking Red bleakly said, "I don't think there is an escape."
With a knowing smile PIt smugly stated, "That's what they want you to think. Don't you know that when you lose hope, they win? What are you made of anyway," He winced after that query as an injury on his side reopened and began bleeding more. "Gods, that guy was a good fighter."
Wrapping the second remaining clean cloth around Pit's waist, Red stopped the flow of blood. Red stammered out then, "I-I don't re-really fight much." Making sure that Pit's wound did not overrun the cloth, Red wrung some of the blood off onto the stone floor.
This time Pit looked surprised, "I thought they only sent criminals who fight, here. Or are you holding out on me?" A well-known information tidbit was that criminals with fighting ability, once convicted were sold as slaves to this place where the Master held sows.
"I'm a Pokemon trainer, and they capture a lot of them from the wilds. That's why I'm here."
In sympathy Pit grimaced, "God this place is sick, making someone that can't even fight much and forcing him to survive out there." He rubbed his now scarred hand through his ruffled, and blood soaked brown hair. Plans and thoughts zoomed in and out of his head at an amazing rate.
Defiantly Pit grinned, he liked a challenged when it came and he already hated this place. "Don't worry, Red. Stick with me and we'll find a way out. Somehow."
Red just shook his head, but part of him listened to every word that spilled from the angel's tongue. As he went back to see how his Charizard was doing, he felt for the first time since he arrived there was a glimmer of elusive hope. Even should that hope fade, in a place like this where they were treated according to their fighting ability and winning score and he being not a fighter needed that glimmer. For the first time since being arrested Red felt a bit of his tension fade, and after the many months, Red was grateful for even that much.
By the time Kirby woke up from the fight, his injuries were already half-healed. Pain still clung to his body like hunger haunted his stomach. He moved off the bed he sat on and moved clumisily to the door. Kirby left that infimary and made his way through empty hallways to where the slop called dinner was served. All prisoners here had ten minutes to reach the room or it would be shut for the night and the unlucky one would have wait till morning for food.
Kirby though had trained himself to always awaken right before the doors to the kitchen were opened. Then he ran down the halls, the need for food driving him to ignore the pain etched violently into his pink skin. Entering the room right before the main crowd did he situated himself in the corners of the walls waiting for a cook to slam a bowl of soup in front of him.
More fighters entered then more, and even more. They all sat down barely acknowledging each others existences, after all who wished to fight to such extremes with people they actually knew. Added on the Master of this place was known for his joy of forcing friends to fight each other, and would gleefully watch them be forced to cut at each others lives. For sanity's sake it was wiser to not form many bonds.
Watching with wide eyes, Kirby noticed something though. There were so many people now. Far more than when Kirby first had been sold here. At that time there had been barely any and they had always been trying to escape. Now though even new people just mulled along when not fighting, creepy now that he though deeply about it. Even when a bowl was slammed down before him, Kirby kept thinking.
Everyone hated this place with all their mind, yet people stopped fighting it. Now everyone seemed to stop their living when not fighting. Granted fighting to a bloody end for people who watched for grisly sport sapped away energy but nobody did anthing. The spark in people's eyes all died away in but a day. Kirby wondered why. He had been here for a long time yet others had barely been here yet they also defeated.
The thought puzzled the pink creature, as he was unable to come up with a he pushed to the back of his mind, and eat the rest of his tasteless food. Still, it was funny though.
End
Hooray, chapter one is up! I've had this story in mind for a little whil now and I'm glad I finally have it started. Reviews are greatly appreciated.