The Trinity Sitch - Book 4: Heart of the Fury
Chapter 11: Arena
Ron stood there transfixed. He had gone from the safety of his own home, the life of adventuring put on hold, perhaps for good, a beautiful loving wife who was talking with him about when (not if) they would start their own family, a promising career he knew he would excel at, family and friends who not only loved but supported him to this:
He was very likely going to die, and with the knowledge that if he did, hundreds more would soon follow.
There wasn't time to consider why they were sending some kind of battle-bot to fight him. There was only the fight. There was only the soul-less single slit eye of the thing as it circled, taunting him, waving the twin scythes in the air leaving trails of yellow-orange plasma. His hands tightened on the grip of the alien sword. It was so large, so heavy, so foreign to him. He had been briefly taught to use swords, but only smaller, lighter, more elegant blades than the huge double edged weapon they had given him. What he knew of them would not avail him this day.
The operators of the battle-bot must have known this. They wanted to put on a show for the masses, most likely wanting to cause him the most fear and pain. The fear was there, alright. Every so often the thing would twitch, making moves so fast he could not follow it. It would start a charge, then back off as he waved the five foot long blade ineffectively in the air. The sword was made for a Torellian warrior, hulking six and a half to seven foot tall humanoid creatures who had been raised since birth to fight.
He was just a slight young man who had dabbled with this sort of thing simply because certain people kept telling him it was his destiny! Why him? This isn't what he wanted from life! He only wanted to be a hero because that is what the love of his life was!
A man does not set out to become a hero. He either is or is not.
The thing finally attacked.
In a motion he was sure no different than the other fake charges it had made before it stepped toward him the twin scythes descending from different angles. All he could do was swing his own weapon in a sweeping arc, hoping to deflect the blades as he stepped away, backing down from his attacker.
Why couldn't this be like when he held those other swords? Why couldn't it be the Lotus Blade or the Sword of the Effurien in his hands?
The tip of his blade made contact with the battle-bot's weapons, sending a shower of sparks into the air as his naked steel met the plasma fields surrounding the curved blades.
The moment his blade touched the second scythe, the first was already striking in a counter-move, hitting his blade and driving the tip into the ground. It took all of his strength to maintain his grip on his sword. Knowing he did not have the strength to force it upwards, he pulled it straight away, sending another fountain of charged plasma into the air.
If the bot had possessed a face, he was sure it would be leering at him by now. It was only toying with him, knowing he did not have the skill or the strength to do any more than make clumsy attempts to defend himself.
What did he know? What bits of skill, what lessons had his one-time mentors taught him that he could use here? The blades were coming again, descending from above, about to split him in twain. Move! His mind screamed!
He twisted his body away from the blow, feeling the crackling energy surrounding his opponent's weapons shoot by his body. He could feel the intense heat even through the armor. His sword spun out, its weight turning his twist into a full three hundred sixty degree spin.
The tip of his sword raked the chest armor of the bot, sending a shower of orange sparks as it creased the outer layer. He backed away as the thing surveyed the damage he had done. A mighty shout went up from the review stands.
He felt a slight rush. By accident he had drawn 'first blood.'
It told him something else.
A sword this size was not meant to be manhandled. It was not the strength of the swordsman but the blade itself that could do damage. He only had to guide it, to strike with it, not just use it as a club. How had the other warriors used it? They did not hold it like a baseball bat, pulled back over their shoulders to put their entire strength into it.
Slowly he started twirling the blade over his head, the tip sweeping faster and faster. The crowd got quite once more as the bot started circling him again, trying to assess his new tactic. There were no more feints, this time it charged once more, again sweeping its weapons at different angles.
Ron used the momentum of his sword to twist him away from the attack once more, not trying to block but merely to dodge. His arms were starting to burn, but he kept his sword in motion. Another attack came and this time he was in position. One of the arms of the creature was higher than the other and he changed the arc of his weapon, bringing the tip across the exposed arm. His body was spun away as another blast of energy erupted from his strike. By the time he had twisted around once more he could see the bot backing down, looking at what he had wrought.
The energy around the blade was stuttering as broiling plasma poured from a ruined conduit. Moments later it winked out completely. The crowd was on their feet, shouting unintelligible things at the ring.
Spinning the sword over his head, his teeth set, Ron advanced on the bot. His blade spun so fast he was sure it would lift him from the ground as if he were some kind of gyro car! He could feel his heart quickening, his breath coming in measured bursts. His sword descended on the mechanical horror in a blur of polished, hardened steel. It raised the dead weapon to defend itself.
Ron swung the weapon lower.
The blade hit the dusty floor of the ring, along with most of the mechanical arm it was attached to.
In a fluid motion, Ron followed through with his attack, setting his feet but letting the sword sweep over his head once more. The thing had no time to even bring the other scythe up as the sword clove its head from the rest of its body.
Ron followed the sword around, planting his foot once more, bringing the blade to a stop, relief flooding his body as the remains of the bot fell to the ground, some kind of fluid pouring from the stump where its helmeted head had once been.
He couldn't catch his breath. In one moment he had been sure his life was about to end.
In the next he was standing there victorious, the crowd standing and…
…cheering him.
Slowly he got to his feet, turning to look at the battle-bot he had just bested.
Red fluid was pouring onto the ground. He glanced back at Sagan, at the nearly undetectable bionics the older warrior had. Then he looked back at the prone figure.
That wasn't hydraulic fluid. That hadn't been a battle-bot!
It was a Torellian with special combat prosthetics!
Ron had just killed him!
Under the mask he turned white as a ghost. He killed a man with his own hands! He looked at the blood spilling from the stump and suddenly sunk to his knees, feeling his gorge rising. The sword dropped to the ground as he struggled to get the helmet off of his head, managing to do so as the contents of his stomach spilled onto the dusty floor of the arena.
The cheering stopped as he retched, trying to block the image from his mind. Pain, like a vise gripped him, making him feel as if his head would split in two. There was a commotion, but he barely heard it as he stared at the puddle of his own sick, trying to comprehend what had just happened to him.
Dimly he started to realize he had ripped the helmet off.
Every alien here knew now he was not one of them. He was human.
Rough hands grabbed him from behind, hauling him to his feet. Something was shoved back into his hands as he came face to face with a polished silver helmet.
"Now is the time, Golden Warrior! Fight!"
Sagan let go of him. The sword he had been given was slightly smaller than the one he had just used which the large Torellian now spun over his head in a swirling arc of death.
Ron stood there, holding the new weapon, not feeling anything but the blinding pain in his head and his chest, fighting back the urge to fall down and retch again. The silence that had befallen the crowd had become a bellow of rage as the crowd surged from the stands, their own sword snapping free of the clasps on their backs.
His vision started turning red as his sword came up, rage burning inside him.
They would pay for what they had done to him!
NO! A new voice screamed in his head.
The red haze vanished, swept away by the voice he had heard.
KIM!
It may have been her voice he heard, but what he saw was a group of something charging Sagan and him. This time they were clearly robots, fifteen feet tall, their double limbs ending in cybernetic weaponry. The time for sword play was past. Battles of honor were no longer an option, an interloper was in their midst, pretending to be a Torellian.
It was an affront they could not ignore!
"Move!" Sagan ordered as he shoved Ron aside just as a laser gatling canon mounted on one of the gigantic mechanoids opened up, ripping the dirt floor in great gouts of dust. He tucked and rolled as the beastly thing tracked them, More of the robots were moving into position, bringing their weapons to bear. In the back of his mind he noted they looked like skeletonized versions of Diablo Bots.
This he could deal with!
His sword swinging above his head once more, he charged the nearest one, leaping into the air just as it fired on his position. The explosions below his feet added to his momentum as he sailed up, bringing the sword crashing down into the exposed systems peeking from around the armored frontal plating. Repeating the move he had used on the arena floor, he separated the head of the thing, sending the whole thing crashing to the ground as he leaped free, hurtling himself at the next one.
Sagan could not believe what he was seeing. First the timid seeming human had demonstrated a mastery with a ceremonial sword that would take a lifetime of training to accomplish, now he was meeting combat Torelloids head on with it! That was something only a division of trained warriors armed with state-of-the-art armor piercing weaponry would attempt! He dropped into a crouch, charging the next robot himself, bellowing a the war cry of his clan.
He saw a second battle-droid fall as the gold and black armored human sailed through the air, spinning his great sword over his head like the bladed children's toy that was used to train young warriors (Sagan had no idea, but those toys looked amazingly like Spinning Tops of Doom!)
Ron landed once more in the center of the ring. Bravado and mysterious skill aside, he was badly outnumbered. The battle-bots surrounded him, their weapons leveling. His logical mind told him that he could never dodge them all.
He was still going to try. Muscles in his legs tensed as the sword began to spin once more.
A single laser shot from the gathered warriors lanced into his side, burning part way through his armor. The plating saved his life but the pain brought him out of his adrenalin fueled combat high. He dropped to the ground, the sword sitting beside him discarded. More troops poured into the arena floor, surrounding both him and the old general.
Ron looked up as a pair of black armored boots stopped right in front of him. A gauntleted hand gripped his neck and hauled him up. Pale eyes regarded him from darkened slits in the black and chrome helmet the Torellian wore.
"You could have been a hero for the day, you pathetic human! Now all you will be is food for the lizard-curs! Nobody makes a fool of Darkoth Den Taag in his own arena!" The hulking warrior spat in barely discernable Arkonian. He roughly threw him to the ground.
Ron tried staggering to his feet as an armored fist crashed into his face, knocking him back to the ground. He scuttled backwards, trying to get away, only to run into the tree-trunk sized leg of the alien battle-bot. He pushed himself erect to face his tormenter. Another fist sailed at his face as he ducked, the metal glove brushing his sweat matted hair as it passed over him.
Angered, Den Taag kicked him in the gut, sending pain lancing through him once more. He fell to the ground, gripping his injured midsection. The laser burn was starting to hurt more and more.
"I will give you this! I thought you would not last a minute against the Harvester. You fought well." Den Taag kicked him in the jaw, sending him head over heals back into he dust.
I can taste my spleen, Ron thought abstractly
Den Taag reached over his shoulder, freeing his sword from the magnetic grappler on the back of his armor. At the touch of a hidden trigger in the grip yellow plasma bathed the blade. He held it menacingly at Ron's face, the energy field crackling before his eyes.
"That fool old Death Crone from Arkonia was wrong. You are no great hero come to save her people. You're nothing but a boy somebody showed how to use a blade. You're nothing, like your whole pitiful race!"
Ron couldn't believe it! The Torellian military governor of Troxxite was actually gloating!
Taking a chance, he shot out his legs, twining them with the armored alien's and yanked sideways. Surprised, he went down hard on his back. Ron was up in a flash, ducking past him as a laser canon equipped robotic arm took a swipe at him. None of the armor plated beasts would dare fire with their leader lying among them.
Den Taag was only down for an instant, battle-honed reflexes kicking in as he sprung back to his feet, swinging his own weapon in a deadly arc. The tip of the weapon raked across Ron's back.
Once again his life was saved, barely, by the armor he himself was wearing, but the energy field doubled the damage the long weapon would do. He cold feel it burning his already abused flesh as he was pitched forward by the blow. He knew he was at his end. The pain was growing more and more intense. Despite the charring effect of the energy sword, he could feel his back bathed in his own blood. He staggered to his feet once more, facing his adversary.
These things honored combat, well, that's what I'll give them!
Bravado aside, he could feel his strength failing. It was all he could do to remain standing.
Den Taag's weapon rose. He was not even bothering with the usual spinning attack with the massive blade. Ron, in desperation, charged the Torellian, catching him in the midsection, bearing him down to the arena floor. He screamed in rage, a red mist filling his vision again.
Only this time it was not an all consuming battle rage that had almost claimed him.
Ron! I'm coming! He heard in his mind.
There was a sudden cracking sound from the domed ceiling of the ring. Huge pieces of stone fell around them as Ron tried to get to his feet. A hulking battle-bot sailed through the air overhead as something shot through the crowd of warriors like a silver and black blur. It stopped, it's lithe form, like that of a slender woman with flowing silver hair, dressed in a dark gray and blue suit that hugged her curves, reached for another of the combat drones, spinning the massive multi-ton machine over her head, throwing it into another once. Small explosions went off as laser power magazines were torn asunder.
In a flash she did the same thing to another of the battle-bots.
Ron clambered off of Den Taag, who was trying to scramble away himself. He got up onto his knees, trying to see what was happening. His eyes went wide as he recognized who it was attacking the robots.
It was KIM!
It WAS her voice he had heard!
What had happened to her? It looked as if she was literally made of metal!
Strong hands gripped him under his arms, hauling him up.
"Hurry, while they are distracted, we must escape!" Sagan shouted at him.
"It's Kim!" He tried shouting, his voice almost failing him.
There was a flash of movement and they were both borne to the ground. He saw a gloved fist rising to strike his benefactor.
"Kim! No! He's with me."
She turned to look at him, her eyes, all covered in the silver metal, he could not read.
He's one of the good guys! He thought at her with all the strength he could muster.
She didn't respond, except to grab both of the men by protruding parts of their armor, all three of them sailing up into the sky through the hole she had ripped in the roof.
The floor of the old wreck was not level, but it was close enough for them. At least the inside was relatively dry, which was more than they could say about the greater portion of the jungle. They had never seen anything quite like it before. There were, of course, jungles on Earth, but this was an entire planet covered in a lush, green veldt. According to Sagan, there were even oceans, but the plant life had extended itself even over the surface of the water, choking it out just as it had the solid surface.
It was becoming dark quickly in the graying twilight.
"I am not ready for sleep." The large Torellian said as they found the small crew cabins of the downed starship. "I will take the watch this night."
Ron started to translate for Kim, but she put up a hand. "I can understand him."
"But he's speaking Arkonian."
"I know, but…" she pulled of her glove, displaying a chrome colored hand. "…ever since I got here and this happened to me, I can understand what he is saying. Maybe it's part of the powers we're supposed to have."
"Powers?"
She nodded. "One of The Blessed Mother's acolytes used some kind of magic spell to bring me here from Yamanuchi. She told me that I was the second part of the Trinity, then, before she could say anything else, I could feel what they were doing to you back there. I changed into…this and the next thing I knew I was flying straight to you."
Without another word, Sagan and Kim started helping him remove the ruined sections of his armor, exposing the bruises, burns and the great gash across his back. With a gentleness unimaginable from such great hands, he examined the injuries. He forced Ron to sit down on the bunk and disappeared forward, returning with a dusty case.
"This is one good thing the Arkonians have given us." He said as he produced a can that looked much like a Terran aerosol. He sprayed it over the wounds, using his hands to liberally coat the areas as the expanding foam swelled over the charred and ruined sections of his flesh. Almost immediately the greater part of the pain died away, though he was sure the room was now tilting at a greater and greater angle.
"The pain-dampers in this healing foam will make you dizzy for a few hours, but you should be much better by morning. I do not have the proper knowledge to tell you how this works, only that it liquefies damaged cells, causing them to flow and bond, effectively healing the worst wounds. I suppose a race such as yours needs this to improve your chances of survival, considering, for the most part, you are weaker than us."
Kim favored the man with a sidelong look at the comment. Perhaps he had missed her throwing the robots around like rag dolls.
Feeling much better, Ron put a hand on his wife's thigh. She responded by taking his hand and holding it gently, giving it the lightest squeeze.
Ron was almost sure the alien was smiling behind the mask of his helmet as he left the two of them alone in the old cabin.
Kim, on the other hand, was not. Even though the silvery metal exposed every detail, right down to the tiny hairs on her face, Ron could not see her pupils. He looked into those, eyes, wondering exactly what he was seeing.
She unsnapped her bracelet then slipped off her other glove, sitting on the slightly tilted bed. Ron could still see the dismay in her face when she saw that both her hands had turned to bright metal.
"Ron, help me out of my suit." She said with break in her voice.
"Do you think that's wise? I mean, what if they catch up to us or something. We'd have to get…"
"Ron, please. I just want out of this thing. Right now!"
Not knowing what else to say or even if he wanted to he helped her pull off the boots, despite the muted pain he was still feeling, noting even her feet, in fact every space between her toes were covered by the metal as well. Not waiting for him, she shucked off the now-tattered cargo pants and started peeling the dark gray suit off her body. Free of the garment, she turned away from him, hunching in on herself as if she was ashamed to be undressed in front of him.
He put a hand on her bare shoulder. If he closed his eyes he would not have known he wasn't touching her bare skin. He pulled her into a hug, despite her attempt to pull away from him.
Every inch of her body looked as if it had been plated in chrome.
He ran his fingers through her hair. It felt somehow…stiffer, like each individual hair had been covered in the material. She turned to face him, her oddly unexpressive eyes locking with his. Tentatively she reached for him, gently drawing him to her for a kiss.
Her lips were as soft as ever, as was her skin, but there was something different. He couldn't put his finger on it at first, until she became more passionate, opening her mouth to his, her tongue dancing around inside his mouth. Then it was clear to him. There was no moisture. Whatever it was that covered her on the outside had covered the inside of her mouth as well. Somehow the shiny, opaque layer of metal was coming between them.
Despite that he wouldn't, couldn't stop kissing her. With each passing moment she became more and more intense. Finally she broke away from him, hunching down on herself again, hiding as much of her body as she could.
"What if I can't change back?" She asked softly in the dying light.
His mouth worked, but no words came out. He was furiously trying to remember what they had been told before. "What did this girl say?" he finally asked.
Kim told him about her subterfuge as the false-Yori, and the brief statements she had made to remind her what the old crone said to them.
"I guess we weren't paying enough attention, then." He said.
The light of dusk was finally fading away. Kim had no idea how far she had flown from the place she had been brought to. She only saw the vast expanse of green jungle beneath her as she flew. "What do we do now?"
"For now? We rest." He pulled her toward him again, lying down on his side so as not to reopen the rapidly healing wound on his back. "Tomorrow, it's Mission Time." He wrapped an arm around her waist. In the dark he could imagine it was her real skin against him. She was still warm and soft, though the metal surface was smooth and dry.
"Mission?"
"Lives to be saved, people to help." He said as the mild narcotic effect of the healing salve took over. "I will tell you all about it in the morning." He yawned, drifting off to sleep.
Somehow, her body either changed into or covered with living metal, both her and her husband spirited away to an alien planet, she was strangely content. She was with Ron. People needed their help.
The universe was as it should be again.