Chapter Twenty Five: A Want To Win
Who says peace treaties are boring? Who says peace is simple, because Lance is going to find them and relocate his spine. Okay, so it's Lance's fault that he's in this mess, and he wasn't really thinking, but they all need the Alliance if they're going to rescue Genwar from the Galra's clutches. And to do that, he just has to win a battle to the death. No biggy.
System: Caesura
Location: Uris
"Lance."
The call of his name was the only warning the boy was given before Eldar appeared beside him, frustrated and fearful, yellow eyes pale in the light of his Arenphine's dawning predicament, his scent sour and bitter under the surface of his comfort, given as he placed one hand on the small of the Humans' back, another on his cheek to scent him. Lance leaned into the touch, if only to return whatever comfort he could, for Eldar's sake.
Eldar could smell Lance's own discomfort for the upcoming fight, but unable to go against his lover's words, he was helpless to do nothing but sit back and accept what the boy had chosen for himself. Yet, that didn't mean he couldn't support him, and offer calm before the first blade drew blood. Lance certainly needed it as the cheers and shouts sounded out, as Gereen moved to the flat earth away from the canopy, grumbling under his breath about his waning patience, his actions urging others around to hurry. It seemed the spectacle was soon to begin.
Foci had been moving the rocks to make a sort of sparring ring, but it looked like she was trying really hard not to throw them at those that were threatening her family.
Gereen was the perfect target; strutting about in his armour, armed with his sabre that had been upon his hip even before the issue of challenge. But then, that had been more for the sake of intimidation towards the other Solnha leaders that for the act of self-preservation.
"You fool," Eldar whispered as he pulled Lance further away from the centre ring, pulling him so that he blocked sight of his kinsmen. He leant in, his cheek rubbing against Lance's again, silently cursing the sun, the stars, the gods and whoever wrote everyone's stories as to why Lance was to do battle with a strong warrior such as Gereen. And a battle to the death no less.
His eyes skimmed over his Arenphine's body, looking to the marks drawn from this morning's battle; bruises and red marks where hits had met their mark on unprotected skin. None hurt however, they were just the drawings left, the pain washed away by Tho'xemae's hand and a vial of Eyre.
Lance noticed the focus of his lover's gaze, assuring that he felt no pain, no more than a slight sting at the moment of impact and nothing more. But like Gereen, words were wasted upon Eldar, especially when it came to certain things. Lance, of course, was one of them.
He knew why. He knew more worry was to follow and Eldar, a slave to the sidelines, could do nothing but fret and pray that Gereen is the one to fall.
Uilt'xen and the Draora brothers had left them by now; after a salute to Prime and another brief glimpse of concern for their favourite Human, before returning to the canopy where they joined the others that remained on Lance's side. They stood as an honorary wall between him and his opponent, until time came for the fight. It was appreciated, and helped calm Lance enough that Eldar noticed the change in his scent. Fear was still his companion, but it wasn't taking a front row seat.
"Here, I've brought you your armour," Eldar said, pulling forth what Brea had been sent for. She had re-joined Ryul and the others now, leaving Eldar to help Lance prepare.
He took over the job of tying the hand wraps, before he handed Lance Kenmare's knuckle busters. It was extra protection, as well as an extra weapon. And it wasn't like Camseil, the challenge of battle, deemed the opponents only one weapon.
The rules were pretty simple actually:
Only the challengers were to fight. Any influence towards either challenger from beyond the sparring ring qualifies for immediate execution for he who disrespects the fight and the challenger whom he supports.
The challenge is only complete when one opponent admits defeat, or dies. No matter the outcome, the death of one fighter is not to be punished afterwards, as not to disrespect the tradition, or he who lost his life.
Upon the event of victory by surrender, the victory claims a mark upon the other, to forever burden them with defeat, never to rise above he who won.
So… Yeah.
If Lance dies, Eldar can't raise a hand against Gereen in revenge. And same for Orvis and Ovule, although, not hailing from Pantheon, Lance doubted anyone other than the three Pawther would respect the rules set out by the ancient tradition.
At least there was nothing in the rule book that said anything about weapons, armour or the like. It was pretty much a "fight however you want, but be prepared to live with the consequences" kind of deal.
Or… you know, not, if Lance was to die…
"What are you doing Lance?"
The boy looked up, meeting Eldar's sunset-warm eyes. It hurt to see the worry there, like singular clouds floating in an otherwise clear sky, but there was nothing Lance could do to revoke the challenge he had issued. If he did, then the fighting would continue and he'd still be looking over his shoulder, unable to fully trust the pirates he's meant to be fighting beside.
Panic bubbled up inside Eldar, but it came out cold and harsh, unforgiving like waves that crashed upon the beach on a winter's day.
"Why?" He asked, leaning in, grip tightening enough that it was painful. Lance felt a noise of pain pull from his lips, but Eldar was too focused on a future that may not even pass to notice the hurt he gave to his lover.
"Why? Why did you challenge Gereen to a fight? He is a soldier, one that had fought long and hard, even before the Galra came to us and took away our home.
"I knew him before Pantheon's destruction. He may not have been Prime, nor will he ever be, but he was strong and he fought like one. He was a part of my guard when I took my father's place. He may have been young, but even now, he holds no mark of Dasyure, no mark to burden him, meaning he has lost no battles."
And Lance, pressed tight to the bosom of his lover, felt more than just Eldar's anger. He felt his fear.
"You don't think I can win?"
The words caught Eldar off guard. He pulled back, his own, stormy grey eyes meeting Lance's – rain soaked earth, the russet of a wild pelt, obscured by dirt from the storm that caught it before it found shelter – seeing the hope trickle from inside him. He had needed Eldar's comfort, to ground him, to hold him in the moment. He needed Eldar to fight his demons so Lance could focus on fighting Gereen.
"No, that's not…. it's not what I—"
Eldar dropped his head with a sigh, a wet cheek against Lance's. "You are stronger than him. Even stronger than me when you let yourself go. I fear you will have to, in order to win. But I fear losing you most of all."
He hugged him again, this time his arms strong, but his hold free of pain. Lance settled into his arms, inhaling deeply. "I spoke in anger. It was stupid of me and I already wish I hadn't fallen into his trap," he agreed. "But I saw no other way to show him that violence, mistrust and fighting only for oneself was no longer the way.
"I don't plan to kill him," he added, his voice soft. "I won't become a murderer for his sake, but if it's either me or him to survive, then of course I will fight with everything I have.
"I won't lose myself, because I have you to return to," he said, finishing with a kiss. Rushed, passionate and needy, leaving too much left unsaid when Lance pulled away, far too soon, turning to step into the gladiator's ring.
System: Caesura
Location: Uris
"Is that your choice of weapon?" Gereen asked, his words more of a shout, as he toed the line of the twenty feet distance between himself and Lance; his hackles raised, his muscles rippling under the movement of his fur as he tried to intimidate his Human opponent.
Lance wasn't buying it. With Eldar once more by his side, his body protected in his armour and mask, Lance felt just as invincible as when he had when Eldar had first given him his light-sword. He held it now; only the handle configuration visible, in an effort to hide its true shapes. Lance wasn't an idiot, and he wasn't about to show his opponent the other configurations before battle could commence.
Although, now Gereen brought attention to it, Lance got an idea.
"What? Is it too much?" he asked, turning it over, throwing Gereen's ploy for intimidation back in his face. His disinterest certainly got under the Pawther's skin, but the boy could do better. So he went for it.
"If you're scared Gereen, I can always go and find something smaller." Seeing the other's hard-contained outrage, Lance wished he could beat his opponent with his weapon as is, but that dream was as far-fetched as the reality of winning and walking away from this fight without injury.
Gereen's armour shone in the midday sun; the tight weave a hearty defence, yet enabling complete movement. It was crafted from Dzo, a metal found at the core of Griezian Slur, mined by the Trigamon who had used its insulating abilities to create suits that made them immune to the electric currents of their machines. A simple health and safety feature that had been adopted by many when the small creature's genius was chanced upon by some very lucky Pirates.
Lance wasn't feeling lucky. He knew that the Dzo Suit wouldn't allow the currents from his Gar to have any affect on Gereen. So much for an easy incapacitating move.
The crowd resonated with Lance's confidence with different levels of support and jibes for Gereen's future. Dart and Ryul were still shouting for bets, but now someone had thrown in the idea of how the loser would die. Would it be death by incineration, loss of blood, or would they watch their still-beating heart be pulled from their chest?
Thanks Bumi. That's a real nice image to stick in my head, right before I start a fight.
They were all waiting for the first strike, the first blow to draw blood and determine the winner before the final swing of the blade. There were many calling for Gereen's blood, not as many for Lance's. Many feared the Human's reach of victory, what with his puny cylinder he held. It was a kitten compared to Gereen's lusting beast, baring its sharp fang, wanting for blood.
Orvis and Ovule, perhaps more restrained that his sister, sat back and leered, calling for death and blood, although neither seemed pretty specific on who they wanted to step away victorious. The idea of the Arroyo standing with him left a chill on Lance's spine; something he didn't want to think too strongly about.
Lance needn't focus too hard though, as the cheers and cries for the smaller of the two combatants drowned out any support for Gereen. It seemed gladiatorial warfare was a fair pastime in outer space. Shiro could attest to that.
The memory of the paladins was a shock to the system. Lance's entire body went cold and dreadful thoughts filled his suddenly very empty mind.
If he dies, he'll never see them again.
Does he even want to see them again?
Would they ever learn what happened to him?
Would they care?
Would they tell his family—
"Ready little Human?" Gereen held his sabre higher, his voice calling Lance back into the moment. The wetness upon his eyes bit and stung in Uris's wind; Lance blinking them away quickly to hide any sense of weakness. He took a step forward, fearing raising his voice in answer to his enemy would show the cracks in his mask. Eldar could certainly sense the sudden shift in his lover, if the look upon his face was anything to go by.
Electric-salt sadness, toxic waste fears and noxious fumes of volcanic anger affected the keener noses of the closer gathered crowd. Viridall and Eldar exchanged nervous glances, their eyes narrowing in fear and uncertainty whilst Gereen's widened. He tasted Lance's fear, and tasted his certain victory.
The Arroyo siblings snarled at the scent of nearby prey. They were able to keep their minds from bending to instinct's will by the interruption of heavy footfalls. Gereen's to be exact, too eager to start the hunt, had accepted Lance's approach for action rather than wait for the sound of another to announce the beginning of the match.
Held out like a metal wing, posed like a bird attempting flight, Gereen held his sabre; his own trophy from destroying a Galra base on the Planet Zaltarish. It hummed with energy, the light powerful enough to fight the sunshine, a purple hue of Galran Energy enveloping the reach of his arm.
Lance felt himself recoil, inwardly flinching, watching the same light he had associated with Shiro. The thought of fighting his Hero brought him uneasiness, the idea of this spar turning more and more sour by the second.
There was homesickness there too, but Lance couldn't spread his attention right now, no matter how much his memories called to him from the recesses of his mind.
Lance rolled, watching the swing of the sabre slow, his mind catching with confusion when his own eyes, pulled from the movement of Gereen's feet moved to his eyes, to see his goal. Surprised, when he saw Gereen's smirk directed, not to Lance, but to Eldar who stood behind him, watching with baited breath as his Arenphine stood in the way of danger.
"This is more than just a show of strength for him," Pidge's voice resounded in his mind. "He's trying to win favour for his own ranks and drag yours and Eldar's name through the dirt in the same battle." Hunk joined in. "He's sure he'll win because he focuses on size and strength. He's overconfident."
"I sure wouldn't mind if he shared," Lance sassed back. It had made him feel a little better that he could still be sarcastic in the face of imminent death, what with all the odds stacked against him.
"Don't let him take lead of the spar," Shiro's voice said, pulling Lance back from Gereen's strike, body already moving from instinct, rather than thoughtful movement. "Tease him first. Get under his skin and rile him up before you draw your blade. We know what you're capable but he does not."
But one swing was not Gereen's first move, and he darted in again. Back, back and back, he darted, trying to focus on the enemy before him and the sound of Keith's voice: "He won't kill you. Not after how much he has said he wants you. You won't fall here. You'll win and go on, and you'll come back to us. That I swear."
The promise caused Lance to stumble.
Right into the path of Gereen's blade.
"LANCE!"
The drum of thunder ripped through the crowd; Aliens stamping their feet and calling out as the first drop of blood was drawn, falling to the dusty grey ground of Uris's valley floor.
Cries filled the air as Lance's arms screamed under the weight of Gereen's sabre, inches from his head. He barred its movement with the flat of one of his duel blades. The other lay claim to Gereen's thigh, having found a shift in the thick weave. The wound was shallow, not like the one that had caught Lance across the underside of his right forearm, where a slow steady stream of red trickled. Kenmare's knuckle buster had protected his hand and wrist from the sabre's sharp fang.
The scent of metal permeated the air, fuelling Gereen's sinister smile. He flexed his arms, the blade dropping closer to Lance's forehead. Noise surrounded him, but Lance couldn't split his focus. He poured forced into his arms, then using Gereen's second attempt at striking him, let himself be thrown back, out of reach of the Galran sabre.
The curving blade extended three and a half feet from the hilt. An impressive weapon, and fooling Lance in the belief that it was heavy. He had thought that Gereen would need two hands to wield it. He had hoped the Pawther's choice would slow him down.
But shown by the frontal charge, the changes in direction from direct to right-side attack, Lance knew he'd made a mistake. He'd been fooled by his own assumptions, surprised by his opponent's swiftness that came at him again.
Lance jumped back. Gereen followed, the sabre held in one hand and suddenly, the boy was on the defensive.
Lance was not too proud to deny that Gereen had skill with the weapon of his choice, despite its status of newly acquired, leaving him little time to have practised with its weight and balance.
True to Eldar's claims, Gereen was am excellent fighter. Lance didn't doubt his position in the Pantheon Guard for a second, instead letting himself curse to the fool he had been for thinking Gereen wouldn't have been a hard target as Eldar with less arms.
There was a reason Gereen was yet to fall to the enemy, and he was about to show it.
The Galran craft was to be credited for half the skill in the slice and dice movements that saw Lance on a continual retreat, the design having optimised the heft of the blade with weight and appropriate material, meaning the Pawther opponent was not restricted with both use of his hands as he advanced. He had enough battleground experience to apply knowledge to movement, performing perfect twists and turns to keep Lance on his feet, guessing from what angle he might try and strike from next.
Left, right, left, parry.
Lance's left arm swung up with one blade to deflect the glancing blow, the second pushed in and up to support. But he left himself open to Gereen's curled fist, meeting it square between the eyes. The crunching of bone was sickening, the spray of blood metal in his mouth. His eyes watered and everything unlatched from his focus for a moment.
Then came the pained cry of Eldar, and Lance couldn't let his mind wander too far. He let his body fall back, out the way of the second strike, his body twisting just before he hit the ground, turning it into a roll. A blur of white in his vision and suddenly his feet was wet. He was by the river. He had found his bearings.
Gereen allowed Lance to regain focus. He held his advance, tail swishing back and forth, eyes a dark and unforgiving black as the scent of the copious amounts of fresh blood enveloped his being. His mind succumbing fought sentience in favour of ancestral instinct.
The hunt had been given. Gereen simply had to take it.
But Lance was not a mere sacrifice to the raging beast. He himself had experience in combat, against a diverse number of opponents, even before he joined the Solnha ranks.
As a Paladin he had trained against the Altean Gladiator Androids, observed their movements and copied. He saw their weaknesses and closed the gaps in his own defences, further still when he sparred against his Solnha family. They themselves were skilled, as they were unpredictable. Fighting with them, Lance could only get stronger. He wasn't that same boy in the cargo ship corridor, frightened, alone.
He wasn't the same boy, and he was going to prove it.
Lance waited for Gereen's next stab, a strategy forming in his mind. He lowered his blades, bowing his head yet not breaking eye contact with the Pawther's feet. He let the top of his body slump and took heavy breaths, mimicking tiredness.
A hush drew in over the crowd, much like summer rain, washing away the warmth and comfort of a perfect day. Like electricity in the air, Lance could feel Eldar's fear upon his skin. Biting-cold snow and steel striking rock. It urged the monster closer.
Gereen saw his chance, saw victory, and charged.
Lance waited, weighing his blades in light, yet firm grasps. He watched the footfalls, ignored the desperate yells of his supporters. Despite Gereen's skill, he had a certain predictability about him when it came to his attacks. As Lance assumed, he was a "hack-and-slash" fighter, determining the brute strength would win him the battle. And of course, an exhausted opponent would be easy to cut down.
If he stayed still.
Just as the sabre sliced through the air to where Lance's heart stood, his lower half twisted, one knee bending to take him to the side and down, dropping away from the stabbing blade, now cleaving through thin air and nothing more.
The Human followed through with a blade to the gut, but Gereen's armour was thick and the weave forced the weapon to glance slightly, leaving only a shallow cut from abdomen to hip. Unperturbed, Lance moved again; a swipe of his legs too weak to swipe Gereen's feet from under him. Instead they connected, then hooked around one ankle, pulling Lance in close to bury his second blade deep into his enemy's thigh.
Anger and pain took the Pawther's mind. Right slash, left slash, he swung in near-panic, body moving on adrenaline alone to detach the biting jaws that clamped his leg. Lance rolled away, only one blade in hand. The other was lodged into Gereen's bone, causing the desperate swings of his sabre, searching for Lance through the pain.
The Human was up, on two feet, far from the reach of the blade. His own smaller held in his hand, he held it before him, finding the sigil of the triskelion. He hoped the weapon's transformative abilities would remain, even as it was to stay in halves.
Sure enough, at the press of skin on metal, the threads of metal that formed the blade balanced themselves until Lance held a small staff, no longer than four feet. It was lighter, enabling Lance to hold one end cleanly with both hands, extending his reach just that little bit more. The tip crackled in frightening blue light, sparking bright despite the sunshine around them. It clashed with the glow of purple as Gereen, still with his wits about him, parried the jab aimed to connect blade and Gar.
It was Lance's strategy; to open up a pathway from weave to skin and allow the effects of the Gar's energy to electrocute Gereen. If not to incapacitate him, then injure, or tire him, allowing Lance to move in on the attack.
Yet Gereen's experience showed him Lance's plan from the moment the blue light sparked. He bunted the Gar, and with his free hand, pulled the remaining dual blade from its housing of flesh and blood. It turned on Lance as it flew through the air. The boy lifted his Gar to defend himself, tensing to catch the hefty blade. But when metal met metal, the gar simply absorbed the weapon, shifting in Lance's grip until it was once more the seven-foot Gar, decorated with blue pathways of energy that saw surges of electricity run up and down the lengths.
Strength wells up inside him; the ocean at his back as he surges forward. He let instincts move his body; his blood turning to saltwater, liquid and fluid as he charges his enemy head on, the gar held in two hands beside him, a twist of the hips to start the momentum and the pull of his arms to bring the weapon sweeping around. Gereen vaults the motion, voice gruff in curses from the pull of tendons in his leg. He isn't badly wounded, but there is pain from movement and its enough to scrunch his face into a grimace and entice the crowds in crowing for the Human's victory.
Gereen refused to fall.
Lance jumps back, ducks tight to the ground underneath the swing of the blade. It is heavy in Gereen's hands now; he wields it with two hands. When Gereen swung again, Lance jumped out of reach, then back in, striking the returning attack, the flat of the sabre blocked by his gar. But the wound in the Pawther's thigh did little to drain his strength and Lance, unprepared, was not ready for the second strike; desperate, unpredicted.
The blade caught Lance's left shoulder.
"It seems you are not as meek as you first appear, little Human," Gereen said, licking his lips to rid the blood from skin caught by fangs. He was wasting time and energy on baiting his opponent, trying to keep up the pretence of assured victor.
No one was assured anymore. Many of the Alien's supporters had turned on their Captain, the crowds cheering unanimously as Lance stood once more, no mind to the pain in his arm nor those that stood behind him. His only focus was Gereen and procuring victory before death. In the brief moment of respite, Lance's arsenal of jeers surfaced, aiming for the weak points in Gereen's confidence.
"And it seems that you are not as strong as you claim. I admit, I had feared defeat from the first blow, yet here I stand with barely a fatal wound upon me, and it is you that is beginning to tire."
If he had the mind to, Lance would scold himself for the useless taunting that did nothing more than anger the Pawther, providing fuel to the fire of rage that consumed the air, stealing the oxygen until Lance was choking on the fumes of bloodlust. Taunts and jibs were another weapon to throw the balance of the minds, but Lance didn't know Gereen enough to know where to strike where it hurts.
{Like you hurt Keith?}
Lance's strike jars, allowing Gereen ample time to dodge, but quick thinking brought the end of the gar around fast, catching Gereen once again upon his thigh, where Dzo-weave split and weakness stood proud in thick red blood. The gar met flesh, the electricity pulsing and the Pawther bellowed a cry of pain. Lance screamed too, unable to hold back noise as the sabre met his flesh. Blood welled from his chest; the warmth of his life-force trickling from the cut buried in his chest. His ribs, and Gereen's lack of strength saved his life, but the line of metal from Lance's victim to his own chest created a pathway for the Gar's energy to surge back upon its wielder.
A bright blue spark flashed in the valley as the two opponents were flung from one another.
The valley is alive with noise as onlookers watch one rise to his feet. It is Gereen; his armour cracked in places and missing in others. Lance, who was thrown towards the tumbled rocks at the base of one valley incline, is yet to resurface. They can neither see, nor hear him.
Eldar breaks away from those gathered under the canopy, but before he can leave its shade, Ovule bars his path, back to the arena. "You cannot go to him," he hissed, his tongue darting between sharp teeth. He's smiling, enjoying the spectacle without a care to the victor. Eldar has been on the sidelines with his heart in his throat for too long, and now that Lance has fallen, all he can think is to be there by his side, ritual be damned.
Orvis stands beside her brother, crossing her arm. Her look is one of a challenge, and Eldar would have no greater pleasure than cutting their throats; these who bar him from his Arenphine. But he cannot.
"If you interfere, both of you will be put to the blade," Viridall says, voice firm as he joins his Prime. A firm hand on the shoulder stops Eldar's thoughts of rushing his obstacles. But it is Gereen who freezes him in place with a bellow of laughter, wiping away the smear of blood oozing down his chin. It stains his fur, yet the colour of fire is not that which flows through his veins. It's Lance's blood.
"Come little Human, we are not done yet."
And there is Lance, bruised, bleeding, but alive. His mask is gone, the hand wraps too. He only holds one of Kenmare's knuckle busters – the other one lost when he was thrown to the rocks. His first wound has stopped bleeding, but the sabre to his chest appears deep, if the amount of blood was anything to go by. But what catches Eldar's eyes immediately is the tears in the boy's shoulder pads, his left pauldron missing and the undergarments of fine-weave armour torn.
Above the old scar of Ovule's teeth marks lays another. Gereen had sunk his teeth deep, tearing armour, flesh and muscle when they were forced apart. The damage is extensive; its effects crippling.
Lance cannot raise his left arm.
Lance is shaken.
Not from Gereen's inflicted wounds, nor the force of impact; although that greatly winded him, and possibly knocked him unconscious for a moment or two.
No, what shakes him the most is that he heard Anadón's voice. Not in his mind, but next to him, as if Anadón was once again with him, just another face in the crowd, watching him fight. It is a frightening thought to think that Lance is falling prey to his monsters again, after being free from their manacles for so long.
But then, was he ever truly free? Was Anadón faking death to lure Lance into false security, so that when he snatches it all from him there will be no energy to climb back up.
The crowd cheer and scream, the worries for their Champion gone as quick as they had come, now calling for the two fighters to finish the battle. Only one could win. They could all sense that they were drawing to a close.
Lance ignored his family, ignored the prickling of Eldar's eyes upon him, ignored the confidence of Gereen who wasn't as affected by the gar as Lance hoped. Hoped? Yes, he wanted him on his knees, writhing on the floor, begging for the pain to stop, for Lance to put him out of his misery.
{Kill him.}
No!
Lance said he wouldn't kill him, he wouldn't lose himself just to win!
Lance yanked his mind from the shadow's grasp. He searched for the light inside him, the hope that would stand beside him and guide him to victory. He felt the touch of Eldar against his cheek, heard the soft peeling laughter of Roamer. Memories of his Solnha Family and the time spent with them. Memories of the Paladins, and those still on Earth. His families, who he was fighting to protect.
He lent on them for strength and somehow found the fight still in him to lift his right arm and level the gar with Gereen. The smile fell from his face and he readied himself for the final confrontation.
The valley filled with the echoing of footfalls, the cries of two warriors charging in while they still had the energy to hold their weapons. Sweat and blood made Lance's grip weak, but he held his weapon straight and true, halting a few steps before impact, letting Gereen close the distance with his burst of speed. Sabre held out ready to push the gar aside and follow through with a kick, Gereen jumped into the air, to add his weight to the momentum of falling.
But in the motion of jumping, he had trapped himself in mid-air, giving himself no leverage to dodge. Watching his trajectory, Lance knew where to hold out his gar, the tip aimed for Gereen's abdomen where the earlier attack had weakened the weave. His thigh would've been a better target, but that was blocked by the sabre. Regardless, Gereen fell upon Lance's gar and the tip of blue energy.
But weak from blood-loss and the extensive fight, Lance couldn't keep his grip and the pair collapsed to the floor, quick to separate before the next strike. They stood apart, panting.
Lance's brow was moist with sweat, his hair sticking close to his face, his long fringe threatening to obscure his vision if it got in his eyes.
The thought had taken his focus, in the time it took for Gereen to chose his next move and act upon it.
Lance woke himself up quick enough to dodge, his only escape route to slide between the Alien's his legs to catch him unawares. But, it was a fatal mistake when Gereen's tail whipped up, then back down. Lance had no choice but to use both arms to protect himself, his shoulder screaming in pain from movement and the pressure of the limb on the gar he held above his face. It lifted, ready to strike again, but before it could, Lance pulled the gar into it's handle configuration and rolled. The ground was uneven and he didn't need to work too hard to put distance between the pair.
Up, up, he had to get up.
Lance scrambled to stand. But Gereen wouldn't let him up easy. His rage announced his approach in a roar; "This is my victory, wretch. I will win today."
"Then take it. And save me from your drawl," Lance replied, sabre striking the ground where he lay moments before. The taunts finally found the chink in Gereen's armour, worming under his skin until the guttural roar was the only sound to be heard in the valley.
It was warning enough to Lance who felt his focus pool in his mind, numb to the pain and everything around him. Whether it was adrenaline or a sudden rush of energy he didn't know he had, Lance had the speed and manoeuvrability to dodge every slash of the beast's claws.
With his gar held out for balance, he back-stepped away from unbridled fury, hearing the roar of an unleashed monster. Death was now his future, if he did not win.
Gereen had abandoned his sabre and struck out with his claws, again and again yet could not find purchase in Lance. He was nimble, agile and intensely focused. It was as if he could see the attacks before they came, his body moving before Gereen's, taking him safely out the way.
And, as if his body knew before his mind, Lance felt the pads of his fingers slid against the smooth argumentum metal. They found the sigil and hid it under their press before Lance could see it, yet he felt it with the warmth of blue light that shone as the gar was pulled back into its holding with speed greater than Lance had experienced in all his time fighting. He didn't fight it though, relinquishing to whatever instinct pulled sword from sheath, filling his body with strength.
"Surrender or die," Gereen screamed, a wild look in his eye as he launched forward, claws outstretched. Desperation had all but driven him mad, blinding him to the dangers before him.
Lance, levelling his light-sword, charged.
His sword hummed as it carved through the heat of the midday air, the crackle of energy deafening all as raw power found its voice through Lance.
The roar that ripped from his lungs wasn't human. Body twisting in rage, he took advantage of his flexibility and balance, darting in to meet Gereen's unprotected abdomen with his weapon.
Gereen's scream was louder; a signal to the end of battle.
He fell to the dusty valley floor, clutching his side where Lance had aimed his sword not to pierce, but to glance, like before. The light-sword had cauterised the wound, but the pain of burning flesh was what chained Gereen to agony, his cries stemmed as he clamped his jaw shut, the warrior inside him preparing to stand and fight. He had been trained to serve and to protect, to lay down his life if duty asked for it.
Defeat wasn't something he accepted easily.
"Submit," Lance hissed, already stood over his opponent, holding his sabre to the Alien's bare neck. Gereen flashed his teeth. Lance responded by pushing the light closer to him, enough that fur singed and the Pawther was forced to pull his head back, breaking eye contact with the Human that held him captive.
"Submit or die," Lance cursed, a tempest in his eyes as strength remained, waiting for the choice to grant him retreat or swift blow from his blade.
The demand saw Gereen falter. His eyes remained up, staring at the silent onlookers, yet the Human saw nothing but he who remained underneath him. Gereen was at his mercy, if he chose to surrender.
"I will never surrender to you."
The words carried into the air, whipped up in the torrent of spectators muttering in rushed voices, wondering what was to happen. Would the Human really kill the Pawther? Has Lance really won? They hoped so of course, but doubt was their companion when comparing the smaller creature to the towering size of a warrior guard.
And now, with the stubbornness of Gereen, they were witness to his execution. By Lance's hand.
Lance drew back, anger upon his features. He didn't think Gereen stupid, or someone who didn't value their life over their pride. The attitude was similar to Rayon's, yet Gereen was putting his life on the line. This wasn't a spar against a friend that knew when to stop. He was fighting Lance; a boy that he had hunted since their first meeting, someone he poisoned, someone who he twisted through the use of others, separating him, trying to isolate him.
Lance is someone who has every reason to exact revenge and none to not want to do so.
"Death, death, death," came the chant from the crowd, demanding an end to the age-old Pantheon ritual, none there to stand for Gereen after his loss. And still, the expression on his face did not change. He just stared up at Lance, who held light-sword poised over the old guard's neck, ready to pierce done, severing the tether to life.
"Surrender and I'll let you live," Lance said again, voice as cold as steel. Gereen just smiled. "What is it, little Human? Do you not want to kill me?"
"NO!"
Lance's shout was a surprise. So was the act of withdrawing his sword and casting it aside. He lent down, taking Gereen by the collar as he laid a fist into his jaw, again and again. "I don't want to kill you! I don't want to kill anyone!" Lance hit him again, repeating the blows, despite their lack of energy that did little but turn the Pawther's head to the side.
I want peace for my family, for all families out there. I want an end to the war so I can create a home with Eldar and create a family for the two of us. Surely you want peace too?"
Gereen spat blood from his mouth. "Peace is impossible."
"Then why were you a guard?"
The question stopped the Pawther short, eyes widening as Lance's words pulled memory from the tension in the air. "You swore loyalty to Pantheon, to the old gods to protect the land, the royal family and the kingdoms. You fought to protect others and upheld the laws to keep peace in a city that had never before seen war.
Peace once existed upon Pantheon yet you say it impossible? You achieved it before, so why can't you believe you can achieve it again? Why throw your life away for the sake of an idea that isn't true!"
Everyone can hear Lance's words. They resonate loud and clear throughout the valley, as they had when the star-child took his wrist. She watched him now, a smile upon faint features, listening to the words that she needn't help Lance find this time.
"Why waste your skill, your strength in fighting with those that want to stand beside you?"
"They don't—"
"They do! If not, why would they board your ship, listen to your commands, follow your lead?" Gereen had no answer, just a blank look and a slack jaw. He truly didn't understand. He wanted revenge for Pantheon, for his home and all the people he lost, revenge for his family. He didn't understand that another had found him, ready to help him as he had helped them, telling himself it was for his gain and not any other reason. The whispers of the Arroyo were venomous too, dragging him down to take advantage of those that put their trust in him.
Had he really not seen it?
"Submit Gereen. Dying only cements the chance of never finding peace in the future."
It was the honesty in Lance's voice that calmed the pair of them. The admission of not wanting to kill, but to work together, even if it was something that Lance had been saying from the start. The only difference now was that Gereen had finally heard him.
"Very well Little Human, I submit to you."