Shadowed Flight- Chapter 1, Stay Down

Tightly wound curls streamed past a triangular, kittenish face as the young woman reeled backwards, recoiling from violent heavy kick that had caught her in the stomach. Her armor had prevented her from getting the wind knocked out of her after being slammed by a steel plated boots, but the resulting reverberating of the breastplate left her stomach churning and her lower abdomen into something similar to muscle fatigue. She didn't like the feeling. It hurt. And she didn't like the person that gave it to her. He was going to hurt.

"BASTARD!!!" her shriek rose to the shrill pitch of a banshee's and instantly shattered the eardrums of anyone within a 5-meter radius of her.

There was only one person, but the keening battle cry was enough to send a tingle of shock through his body and upset the firm grip he had on his weapon's hilt. He recovered and secured his hold on his sword, taking a few tentative steps forward towards the buxom harpy clutching a javelin in covered hands, the intimidating spear absurd against the dainty lace. Her creamy kid leather gloves, more suited for keeping a lady's hands smooth than insuring a grasp on a metal pole handle, clenched in irate distraction around the pole handle.

Glenn wasn't exactly pleased with his first opponent in the tournament, but there hadn't been any way for him to complain. The drawings had been entirely random. Or so they had said. After all, who could justify setting him up with a little girl probably a year his junior and almost a foot shorter than him? He had known right off that she posed little of a threat, being so diminutive that her ridiculously disproportioned lance dragged in the muck of the pit, but there were other issues to deal with.

Glenn noticed her crouched stance, the tension in her hunched body an obvious clue to the building up of momentum for an attack. From the way she was hoisting the hefty rod up gave way to the possibility of a jump and skewer maneuver. He was surprised by how quickly the redhead teenager opposite of him had forgotten the basics of fighting. Subtlety was the key to throwing off your enemy. He bent his knees slightly in preparation to slide out of the way and behind her when she did spring on him, so he could take advantage of her confusion and send her sprawling in the mud.

Misinterpretation can be a fatal mistake.

"AAAAAAHHHH!" A high, echoing scream rendered Glenn numb as the young women flung her spear to the side and leapt on him, fingers bared. His sword flashed as it was wrenched out of his hand and nestled itself in the thick folds of mire.

/This can't be happening to me./ Glenn was barely aware of what he was thinking before he felt sculpted fingernails tearing grooves down the side of his face.

***

"Sir, that is not a legal move!" Dario's usually mild voice rose to a tone of complaint. He squinted at the scene unfolding in the arena below, where Glenn had collapsed, facedown, due to what appeared to be a release of intense humiliation. Even as a thousand spectators drew in a collective breath of astonishment, punctuated by a series of noticeable giggles, the seemingly delicate girl clambered onto Glenn's back and began intertwining her hands with his hair, bloodied by parallel gashes oozing red on the side of his face.

/I have to make Glenn cut his hair. / Dario observed as the young women made sudden, jerky movements with her gauntleted arm. His little brother's hair was short compared to Karsh's, but the length of his burned-wheat bangs was graspable enough for his opponent's jeweled fingers. The gems of the girl's rings scintillated in the sun as Glenn, spitting out mud, lethargically tried to pry the scarlet-tipped hold of petite death off his scalp.

"Again, sir. . ."

General Viper didn't even look up from the tablet where his pen was noting the exact happenings of the comical match.

"Actually, nowhere is it noted in the rules that pulling hair, clawing, and other such taboo methods ratifies deduction or disqualification. I believe that the tournament statutes were written when dragoons were mainly men, and that it was thought personal pride was sufficient to prevent such cheap practices. Now that more and more women are nominating themselves for recruitment, I suppose we really should be more thorough. . ."

He looked up and glanced at his daughter, who was dutifully assisting him in recording observations made on the fighters before them, as she did every year.

"Come to think of it, we should probably update those codes. . . Riddel, would you please make a note of that?"

"Yes, Father." Riddel murmured, distracted. Her violet hued eyes flicked up and down as she alternated between watching the tournament and scribbling her version of the face-off in a leather-bound journal.

"Aren't you going to do anything about it now?" Karsh asked.

He winced and rubbed his own cheek as the nameless female below hoisted Glenn to a half-sitting position and began slapping him viciously with her free hand. The other one was being used to suspend him by hanging him by his hair. Her ornate gloves, which were as pretty as any pair Riddel had ever owned, were first smeared darkly with the slime of wet earth, then layered a faint pink as the Glenn's previous injury drizzled rivulets of color. The knitted lace trim fringing her wrist became speckled with garnet bits.

"What hasn't she done? Is she going to start kicking him in the crotch next?" Dario groaned, awed.

From where she was laboring over accounts, Riddel chimed a bell-like laugh, and made a mocking sign of the cross as she worked.

"Well, in the matter of whether she will become recruited as dragoon is at an end." General Viper stated calmly in reply to Karsh's inquiry. He shook his head in pity for his olds friend's son, and mirrored Riddel's religious gesture, although his was a mite more sincere.

"But since she isn't breaking any rules, the match goes on." He glowered agitatedly at Dario, who was anxiously leaning forward in his seat. Glenn was trying to wrench the keening girl off of him, but wasn't having much success.

After another moment's struggle, Glenn appeared to give up completely and lapsed into a quivering huddle of hysterical laughter. His actions reflected the sentiments of the crowd completely, which seemed to be on the verge of a riot. People were throwing things into the ring, yelling taunting comments to both Glenn and his cosmetics-laden competitor, and appealing for a decision to be made the general by waving wildly at his specially built compartment.

"What the matter with Glenn?" General Viper quipped sharply. "Why won't he fight back?" With an expression that said very clearly "Why aren't you training him right?" Dario slumped, embarrassed, into his seat under the scrutiny of his employer.

"I don't know. Maybe because it's a woman?" he offered feebly.

"Many of today's fighters are women. To refuse to strike any woman, especially one that is obviously out for you blood, speaks badly of your judgment. No dragoon should refuse to defend himself on the grounds that the fairer sex is exempt from retaliation."

"Yessir." Dario mumbled weakly.

"That is just stupidity."

Dario gave the faraway Glenn a meaningful look that could easily be translated into "Kick her ass." even though the distance between them dispelled any hopes of him being able to see his face, even if Glenn wasn't so distracted.

"Stupid." General Viper said under his breath. "But noble. Extremely stupid, yes, but still noble." He made another scratch on his black tome.

Besides them the legs of Karsh's chair suddenly scraped against the glossy hardwood as he stood up and it was pushed back. The grating sound made Riddel jump, startled at the interruption of her intensive writing.

"Damn!"

"Karsh!" Riddel exclaimed severely, the glare of reproach in her gaze as she laid her stare on him. "I invited you and Dario here on the condition that you be quiet and allow us to concentrate.

"Keep a civilized tongue." General Viper added a less scolding reprimand. He surveyed his daughter with a wry face, as if the mild profanity had somehow infected her with an illness. She rolled her eyes heavenward and clutched the dragon-skin volume to her chest, enunciated by baubles sown into a pattern on the material of her bodice. ***

Meanwhile, Glenn had finally decided that the shame of being beaten by a woman far exceeded that of hitting one. His threw his hand out, hoping to just push her down so he could have a few moments to collect himself and retrieve his sword, but it just so happened that he couldn't do much of anything right while he was up against the fiery pixie.

Her chest plate only went halfway up her breasts.

*** "Oh dear." Riddel sighed.

***

The busty young girl yelped in shrill surprise and shot backwards a pace. On instinct she let go of Glenn, but that was only so she could swing back her petite hand and catch him full in the face. With a fresh smattering of red squirting out of his wounds on contact, Glenn was thrown down again. The muscles in her bare arms flexed as she bared her embroidered fists defensively.

"You pervert!" she snapped at a perfectly normal volume for her. Which meant everyone could hear it.

The legions of spectators immediately took up the call.

"Pervert! Pervert!" Half of the crowd chanted enthusiastically as they would the name of a favored competitor.

The others just tittered.

*** "Did he just grope her?"

"Yea." said Karsh, who had slunk back into his seat with a jaded expression.

"Hm. That really should be another violation. Riddel, could you. . .?

"Yes, father."

Riddel wrote down another issue that would have to be resolved before next year.

"We can't just end the match right now?" Dario asked, gray eyes narrowing in disgust as a few crows of "Child-molester!" was shouted down at his hapless little brother.

/Give me a break. Glenn's only a kid himself. /

"The match is only over when one of them is knocked out."

***

"What the hell were you doing?" she bawled. "This is a fight! Don't you know any respect?!"

She stamped her foot with the air of a spoilt child throwing a tantrum. Her leather boot, dyed a vibrant scarlet, can down hard near his head, and would have crushed Glenn's skull if he hadn't twisted out of the way. A wave of the watery filth smacked against the Glenn's nose as she continued to kick up muddy puddles onto him.

/Feminists usually cover up, don't they?/ Glenn thought crossly. From the very beginning she hadn't been shy about directing her cleavage towards the appreciative males in the stands.

He tried to get up. As long as he was conscious, he was still in. Attempting to prop himself up on an aching arm, he sank wrist-deep into the sodden dirt, where he felt something thin and hard, pressing persistently against his palm. . .

The reincarnation of Jezebel continued to harangue him mercilessly, voice creaky and hoarse from all the insults and screams she had brayed at him earlier, with one arm wrapped protectively around her upper body. ***

"She really should just k'o him already." Karsh remarked.

"Hush!" Riddel insisted, taking down notes in her book at a frantic pace.

*** Glenn securely curled his fingers around the hilt of his recovered blade and brought it up with the all the strength of someone who had endured all the slapping, scratching, and pitchy tirades he could in half an hour.

He didn't really swing it. He just threw the closest solid thing he could find at her full, lip-glossed mouth.

The flat caught the side of her head with a sickening crack just as she was going on about how he should be dragged into the streets and publicly castrated.

Her legs immediately gave way underneath her. Glenn held his breath, hoping that he wouldn't have to drive a stake through her heart to finally keep her yammering lips shut.

She didn't get back up.

With a shuddering sigh of relief, Glenn sat back properly in the mud, bringing his hands up to his bleeding cheeks and his knees up to his chest. He watched, bemused and gulping air from exhaustion, as his opponent's prominent chest went up and down like a ship bobbing in the water as she breathed evenly. Her cherubic face conveyed a sense of inner tranquility as she "slept", crimson bits of springy bangs strewn over her dirt-flecked eyelids. Perhaps she was dreaming about yelling at him.

/So much cuter half-dead. / he thought.

*** "What's their problem?" Dario snarled irritably as an influx of disappointed booing and disapproving hissing rained down upon Glenn, panting in the ring and checking his injuries.

"They're not displeased with the victor, Dario. They just didn't want the match to end." General Viper informed him calmly. "Happens every year after the highlight of the tournament draws to a close." There was almost a hint of amused self-conversation in his voice as the general continued. "They act if this was merely entertainment."

"To them, it is." Riddel said lightly, flawlessly lined eyes scouring the columns of text she had written down. "Most of them don't know or have forgotten that this is where we evaluate the city's youth for entry into the Dragoons."

General Viper was not exactly a stringent leader, but he was succinct when admitting recruits. He was extremely prejudiced to any flaws that a man or woman's technique might show, and it was at the tournament where he sifted out those he might want to have trained as a Dragoon.

That's why the tournament wasn't merely an event where youths waved their weapons at each other to entertain those who watched, but the most nerve- wracking experience that any person aspiring to be the next Garai or Radius had to overcome. After the tournament, which General Viper would watch attentively and take note of the best participants, those he had been impressed with would be asked to the manor to be audition for admission into the dragoons.

"Sir, is Glenn?. . ."Dario trailed off uncertainly.

"Glenn just made it past his first round. He has at least one more to go before I can make a decision upon him."

"How does he look so far, then?"

Riddel was laughing very softly beside him, and he didn't know why.

"What exactly have I seen so far? There isn't a man in Termina that can't kick someone else in the stomach. Then all hell broke loose and the last thing even slightly combative that Glenn did was throw his sword at that woman."

Karsh, who would have found that funny at any other time, frowned. It was most displeasing for him to hear those words, as true as they were. Dario had forced him to spend some extra training time with Glenn before the tournament so he could get some practice, and he had personally made sure that Glenn had exercised his offensive and defensive skills. Now it seemed like a waste.

"Sir. . ."

"Oh, are you complaining too now, Karsh? Don't worry, Glenn has another chance to prove himself."

"And if he should chance upon an unorthodox opponent again, father?" Riddel inquired curiously.

"Then there's next year." General Viper said dismissively. "It's not like Glenn's too old to try again. This is his first audition and he's only 15, at that."

Dario made a sound close to a growl in his throat. General Viper only smiled indulgently at the vaguely disrespectful gesture, knowing full well that Dario was simply indignant for the sake of brotherhood.

"But what are the odds, eh? Lets keep going on with the tournament."

The standby paramedics were supporting Glenn as they escorted him to the medical facilities within the manor, where he would get a chance to be healed and rested before his turn to fight came back up again. Two were nominated to see to the discarded weapons and clean them before returning them to their owners, and several picked up the concussed loser to be transported to a different hospital, reserved for the eliminated.

It had been Riddel's idea to separate the two groups of combatants. She didn't want any after-match unpleasantries to interfere with her treating of patients, whom she attended to herself during the intermission.

"Dario, there will be 3 more matches before the recess. Now that Glenn's gotten past the preliminaries, he will have to fight again shortly. If you want to visit him in the hospital, you may do it now, but come back quickly."

"Yes, sir. Thank-you, sir." Dario responded.

General Viper nodded, and then addressed his daughter.

"Riddel, you are to see to those in the hospital of the left wing. Do your best to see that they are all brought up to the same state. There will be nurses to assist you, and I recommend you use elements instead of medication. We don't have much time."

"Yes, father." Riddel obediently replied.

Then he gave orders to Karsh, lounging by the window and watching the next two fighters (both females) set up.

"Karsh, you'll be needed in the right wing hospital. No doubt that some of the wounded there are ready to wreak havoc after being knocked off in the first round. They might need forceful attention to keep them quiet while the doctors do their work. Several Dragoons will already be there to help you. Try to be gentle. Most of them are injured."

"Try. . ." Karsh scoffed quietly. Then: "Yes sir!" aloud.

After a nod of acknowledgment, General Viper lost interest in their two companions to watch the match unfolding beneath. He gave a reminding touch to his daughter's robed arm, and as she edged closer to the vast window, she gave a dismissive wave to her friends to tend to her duties as her father's assistant for the day. The pair of woman on the field seemed to be determined to conduct themselves as properly as possible after the debacle between Glenn and his feisty enmity, and were politely shaking hands and exchanging gracious smiles that expressed the core of chivalry.

Karsh impatiently eyed the door as he slid down further in his antique seat. Dario grinned at his ill-concealed ennui, knowing full well that Karsh disliked having to be on his best behavior for extended periods of time. But the invitation to sit with the general and his daughter was a great honor that spoke of high favor; to decline was social suicide. It didn't do anything for your career either. So he had stayed.

It was actually kind of strange, the general wanting more distractions when he had complained other years about the level of concentration. And that had been just with Riddel too, whose pristine manners allowed her to say nothing and breath softly for hours if she needed to. But Dario wasn't going to question it.

"Seeya." He muttered lowly to Karsh. He got up (gingerly, as not to disturb the Viper family, who were intently tracking down every movement of the two fighters below.) and tread cautiously on the carpeted floor until he reached the entrance. Once out into the hall, he picked up the pace and sped towards the flight of stairs, the soles of his scuffed boots leaving dim echoes bouncing off the roughly hewn walls.

***

Yes, I have finally updated. I'm much too tired to make a big deal over fussing this very. . . unusual chapter, but that's pretty much the reviewer's job anyways. I will say that I have never written an epic before and finished, so if I'm going to go ahead and admit my low will power without shame and beg anyone out there who cares to give moral support so I can get through this.

I guess the only reason I'm posting this is because of Dixxy. . . for months I'd convinced myself that it was futile to continue, simply because the prospect of a 20+ chapter fic seemed lethal. Upon discovering she still thinks about it, I'm went back to my writing career and spent a 4hour block tweaking and editing until I was ready to post the first official chapter of my fic. So thank you to her.

I know have maybe a chapter and a half in storage besides this, so the next update will probably be up before the end of this moth, unless an unforeseen obstacle chews off my hands. Also, I know my writing style has been altered. I decided it wouldn't hurt to bring some humor into the parts that could use some. I can get all angst-y later. Tell me if you found it funny; it's my first try and if it's inane, I'll go back to being serious. I'm also out of practice, so . . . bear with me.

If you have any remote interest in this, review. It'll probably be the only thing that'll keep me going with the writing . . . oh, and sorry for being so pathetic. Life experience takes its toll. . . or whatever.