As Tyrant had told him long ago, Pits accounted for nearly a third of the entire island, but he'd never disclosed just how much of that the Roundfields made up. There were three of them, two for the combat Rounds and one for the death Rounds. Each Roundfield was at least the size of a city block, if not bigger. In a black circle surrounded by a wall of chain-link fence, two competitors would battle it out until one gave up or died. Spectators could sit in stands outside the fence or stand on something like a scaffold within the battleground—of course, it was at a respectable distance from the actual fighters.
Beneath those Roundfields was something little better than a prison that served as lodgings for the fighters. Each one received their own room, only a tad bigger than a standard prison cell. Within was a bed, a hook on the wall, a light, and disappointment. Communal interaction was frowned upon, as it was believed to promote bonding—wholly detrimental to a competition of killing. Each contestant received their meals through a slot in the door. Whenever their fight was to happen, guards would lock the others in their rooms until the participants had abandoned the space.
Participants would enter the Roundfield through small tunnels on either side of the circle. A set of stairs in two places connected the underground space to the surface world, making it impossible for the participants to see each other. Anonymity was both valued and disregarded. All fighters, regardless of origin, would be called by their real names; however, they also did not know whom they'd be fighting until they stepped onto the Roundfield.
Antithesis currently walked toward that fate. He knew there were eleven contestants—six male, five female, with himself included—and that two had already been eliminated. Why there was an odd number was simply due to timing. Traditionally, twenty were used in the Turnir Rounds, which wouldn't start until twenty had joined. In the case of the Royale, as most called it, the tournament happened four times a year, regardless of participants. The number could range from six to sixty, depending on how many arrests the Roundsmen made.
A black jumpsuit clothed Antithesis's body. Each participant wore the same outfit, provided by the Rounds, to ensure that no one possessed unfair advantages or restrictions. Unlike the regular Turnir Rounds, the Royale allowed participants weapons. However, the contestants did not choose their own weapons. Instead, a group of about six rich spectators selected weapons for each. These could range from sharp sticks to machetes—no firearms were permitted, as that would make the fights quick and boring.
He reached the mouth of the tunnel that would lead him to the Roundfield. Two guards stood behind him, both armed with rifles. Outside, the announcer's voice rung through the arena.
"Welcome, spectators, to the third day of the Royale!" an enthusiastic woman's voice shouted. The crowd cheered and screeched like a group of rabid geese. "Today we feature a match between Taniki Bansen, originally from South, and Tetsuhiro Morinaga of West!"
As soon as "West" was said, the entire crowd erupted into a torrent of booing. He knew he wouldn't be favored in weapon selection. Those from South were characterized by darker skin and wild-looking hair, but there had been at least four of those in the initial lineup. Based on the name, his opponent seemed female.
The announcer continued, "Challengers, to the field!"
One guard pushed Antithesis forward with his gun, and after a small stumble, he strode down the tunnel and onto the Roundfield. He stopped about five feet from the center, as did his opponent. Bansen was in fact female, though her strong build and dreadlocked hair made her look masculine. Her eyes were intense but bloodshot—had she been crying?
"The challengers will now receive their weapons!"
Antithesis's gaze drifted upward. Behind the fence was a concrete tower, the top of which extended into the battlefield itself. A rectangular window allowed the spectators within—the group of rich bastards, usually—insight on the happenings of the battlefield below.
"The judges have decided the weapons of the challengers solely based on names and sexes," the announcer said. "For Morinaga, a bar, and for Bansen, a spear."
A guard came from either tunnel to hand the competitors their weapons. The bar he received was a black bat made of solid metal; Bansen received a wooden pole with what looked like a stone spade on the end. The guards abandoned the duo moments later, and the gates behind them closed.
"The match will now commence!"
Much faster than he'd anticipated, Bansen dashed forward with the spear in her hands. Antithesis managed to sidestep her stab, though she swung the end to smack into his side. Despite the wood being very hard, the hit wasn't entirely devastating. She looked solid, but for some reason, her attacks weren't reflective of her stature. Either her appearance was a lie, or emotions took over her actions. Based on her eyes, it had to be the latter.
Gripping his bat tightly, Antithesis delivered a savage blow to Bansen's back. She moved out of the way, but her shoulder received the brunt of the blow. Using the back of the spear, she stabbed Antithesis in the stomach. Stronger this time, the hit managed to bring on pain, as well as evict all air from his lungs. Before she could stab him in the face, however, he managed to lift the bat and meet her blow. As air flooded him once more, he swing the bat in a circle before jerking it to the side. Rather than stagger, Bansen held firm and stabbed again.
Antithesis jumped out of the way, but the stone spade nicked his shoulder enough to draw blood. A hiss escaped from his mouth like helium from a balloon. Shaking his head, Antithesis took the bat in one hand and smashed it upon the spear. As he'd anticipated, the staff snapped in half, but to his surprise, Bansen wasn't fazed. She instead grabbed the other half before it could fall and cracked it against Antithesis's temple. His head whipped down, but thanks to a blind kick, he managed to buy himself enough time to back away from his challenger.
She was much more nimble than he'd expected, but Antithesis could tell that he was superior in terms of physical strength. If he could get her on the ground, all would be over.
She dashed for him again, and Antithesis did the same. Right before they could collide, however, Antithesis slid on the ground and knocked Bansen off of her feet. She hit the ground hard, and her spear parts flew from her hands. As much as he didn't want to, Antithesis recognized what he had to do for survival—for Tyrant. Shutting off all emotions, Antithesis stood over his opponent, lifted the bat, and brought it down upon her head in a single, devastating blow.
The crowd practically orgasmed when her head split open, but Antithesis only felt emptiness. Granted, that was the intention, but he wasn't completely dead inside. The only thing keeping him from completely succumbing to guilt was the thought of Tyrant. Had he been merciful, he could have been dead. He could have never seen Tyrant again, and he wasn't sure if he was willing to accept that.
He turned up to the spectator booth, but rather than grins and laughter of approval, he viewed the men discussing something with mildly troubled faces. They only returned their gazes to the battlefield when the announcer spoke again.
"It seems we have a development in the Royale," she said, her voice just as surprised as everyone else's faces. "This has only happened twice before in history, but a new contestant has been added to the Royale. Usually we do not disclose the names of the contestants in the actual match, but special request from our sponsors tells us otherwise. Without further ado, I present the twelfth addition to the Royale: Souichi Tatsumi of West!"
The tunnel gate across from Antithesis opened. Clad in the black jumpsuit of the other contestants, his ash blonde hair tied up, was a stern-faced Tyrant.
Antithesis dropped his bat and his jaw.
