Wow. About time I updated, yes? Hmm… about that:
ReAdErReSpOnSeS!
FlyHigh4Life: Female summoner, eh? Everyone loves the femme fatales (Bad, I know. Couldn't help myself)… I'll do my best! I'm glad you like it.
Ruainin Teilene: Thanks for the criticism, and steal the idea if you want to! Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and if I can provide any sort of inspiration then I'd love to read them! In fact, use the characters if you want. Thank you for reading!
Mastari: Hats off to you for reviewing! Thank you very much, and I hope you like the latest chapter!
Melomancer(x2!): Lancers, oracles, and summoners. I guess it's only a matter of time before I'm asked for a womanly Oracle… I'm running out of male chances! Thank you for reviewing, and I'm glad you enjoyed it!
2sidez: Whoo-hoo, still along for the ride! Glad you're still loving them!
And now, the chapter begins… but first, the shameless plugging of a game called Wizardry: Tale of the forsaken land
…play it.
This one has a little lighter fare…
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Chapter 9: The Monk
"fünf-fingriger Tod"
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He'd been promised a fortune.
The sand churned under his bare feet as he circled his opponent. The man he faced was an ogre's size, easily twice his own. He was not scared. Wickton 'Wick' Silversmith had a goal, and his medium-sized, well-toned frame did not falter once.
He'd been promised women.
He knew his opponent did not have a name worth knowing. He'd heard the crowd shout various monikers, among them Beast, Man-eater, Slayer, and Anvil. The monstrous man was covered in black leather straps and gigantic, gleaming spikes, with an enormous axe in his right hand. Wick had no weapon. Wick was the weapon.
He'd been promised a mansion.
Calm hands reached up and tied a sand-encrusted headband around his top, making his brick-colored hair stand nearly straight up. Knees crouched, shoulders loose, hands to his side, and away, Wick waited for the first move of the behemoth.
He'd been promised even his old life back.
Wick had never been tempted to even take the offers, mostly because his old life was nothing special. Shael Silversmith, his brother, owed the local gambling lord money, and currently sat in his cells. Wickton fought in the sandy, palisade-walled arena for him, and him alone. His first opponent of the day, this 'beast', would go down like a tree before the day was out.
Wick had his own promise.
The crabways dance was abruptly ended, the muscle-bound monster of a man raising the axe high above his head, spinning it so the edge faced Wick as he roared. Muscles tensed, trying to change the unstoppable axe's direction to smash the puny insect that DARED enter the arena, his turf, in hopes of beating him… Tendons creaked, veins pulsed, eyes bulged and vocal cords boomed throughout the pit…
Wickton uncoiled.
"Hame-do"
The boy was first one place, then suddenly directly in front of the Beast with an open palm placed directly against the over-muscled chest. A sonic boom rocked the palisade walls, the crowd nearly knocked from the balconies surrounding it. Beast's ribcage caved in, shards of bone nearly piercing the heart of the man. Down he went with a roar, axe dropping from his fingers to land edge-first in the orange grains… and Beast came down on top of it, fatally skewered by his own blade.
"What? How? How did you kill him that fast? It's impossible!"
"Lord Tax, if I may have my next opponent..." Wick's yawning vocal cords seemed oddly loud in the stadium...
"You... you are weary. Go and rest, you will have another opponent tomorrow."
"I am hardly spent, and without wounds. I earn cash multipliers by multiple opponents, yes? Give me another one, I am ready."
The crowd's myriad calls of blood rang out in the arena, and 'Lord Tax' could not afford to disappoint his audience. Still, he'd set numerous bets against the boy, and couldn't afford to lose much more. He would need time to renegotiate his money...
"I will multiply your current winnings by three, if you rest now."
"I can hardly do that, when it will not cover the expense I wish to reach."
"It is for your own safety, boy."
"It is not for my brothers' safety. If you will not give me an opponent to fight, Lord Tax, I will fight you."
"Me? But there is no cash prize in defeating me."
"But I lay claim to your belongings, if you die."
"…very well. Bring in Tattoo!"
---
This new opponent was smaller, his own size. Black-toned, with eyes that spoke of anger, hatred, and fearlessness. She hated everything. Tattoo killed her opponents deliberately just to see them die. Tattoo was not human, in any sense of the word...
Tattoo was named for the markings on her beak, black lines forming odd patterns on the orange bone. Ebony feathers rustled as the regal-necked head turned towards her new prey… her new kill. Tattoo was a black chocobo, and she hadn't lost a match. The head shook, protesting the thick chain around her neck as two obese men ripped it free and hastily closed the door behind them, to stay out of her way. She screeched…
"You're… you're not serious." Wickton blinked a couple times, visibly taken aback by the pit-fighter.
"This is your opponent, boy. Die or leave, it is your choice."
"I…"
But Tattoo waited no longer. She was fast, she was strong, and she had perfected her technique. A headbutt to the ground, then a bite to the neck was all she needed, and the fight would be over quickly. Bird feet pounded the sand, closing in on Wick lightning-fast…
Wick reacted.
…but she hadn't expected her beak to be grabbed, to be flung over the shoulder like a sack of potatoes and thrown to the sand on her back. She was further surprised when an elbow was dropped on her stomach, Wick following soon after and rolling to his feet as the bird scrabbled on the ground to regain her footing. Both tensed, Tattoo choking and gasping as Wick tried to regain his composure.
Tattoo bit.
Not a parakeet's finger-severing crunch, but an eagle's arm-removing slice. The first one caught Wick's tight blue shirt, the second cutting his leg under his loose green pants. He stifled a yell of surprise, stumbling back as Tattoo pressed her attack. Fresh red now spattered the sand as each new bite barely grazed his ever-dodging body and face. The knifelike beak would kill him by vein-cutting alone…
Wick spun.
To the side he went, disorienting the bird with tattered clothing and blood spraying out to the sides. The spin didn't stop once he'd reached the sides, a foot raising instead and thoroughly dizzying and blinding the bird with a head-rocking kick. She backed up as he dropped to the sand, arm held to staunch the flow of a few of his arm wounds.
Tattoo panicked.
She couldn't see! She couldn't see! Her sight was gone! What had happened? Her sight was all she had left, other than her will to live, and now that it was gone, she would lose the other as well! She would die! …Hands on her face, a soothing touch with human thumbs massaging the muscles behind her eyes… what was the human doing? Couldn't he see she would KILL him if she could SEE him?
"Hush… I think you can understand me. Can you? …I'm going to talk anyway, and if you still want to kill me afterwards we can keep fighting it out. I have a plan that can get us both what we want… You want out of here, and I want my brother. Lets force Lord Tax's hand…"
Escape? …Tattoo had not thought of such a notion in quite some time. Her wings had been clipped, and there was no flying away. The idea had merit, though, and if it displeased her captor then she would eagerly do so. But how to let him know? Very few humans could understand the language of the 'monsters'. Tattoo stopped struggling, as her vision cleared, trying to think of a way to tell him…
"I thought you might like the idea. Just go along with me, okay?"
Tattoo warbled gently, a noise she had not made in years…
…and the crowd had gotten impatient. Lord Tax stood up, as blue eyes stared narrowly down into the pit as irritation radiated from his features. "What is the meaning of this, boy? I give you an opponent to fight, and you do not fight? There is no victor yet!"
"Give me my brother and Tattoo will let you keep your life."
She would? …Perhaps if it meant her freedom. …Ajora forbid she ever saw the man's lanky face again…
"She cannot get up here, boy. Her wings are worthless."
"I have a very strong throwing arm."
One hand dipped down to pull a small rock from the sand…
Wickton threw.
One of the pillar-like wall sections cracked and splintered with the force of the stone, threatening to collapse. It would not harm the structure enough to collapse it, but his point was made. Tattoo doubted the boy bluffed… he would certainly not balk at throwing her on top of the wall. Frankly, she kind of liked the idea.
"What say you now, Lord Tax?"
"…bring the boy's brother. NOW."
"One other thing, Lord Tax…"
"WHAT?"
"…Tattoo goes with me."
"Are you insane, boy?"
"My next stone will be aimed at your head, Lord Tax."
Wickton hurled.
And a wine cup shattered on the banquet table near Tax's hand, glass shards spattering the floor. Tattoo was liking the boy more and more, but she did not think much of leaving her 'master' alive. Events could still be worse, however.
"V-very well."
"Very well what? You want your head burst like a melon?"
"No! uh-er.. take the bird with you."
The crowd roared, protesting this, as many had bets on the winner… but Tax calmed them, saying he would pay each of their bet winnings in full regardless their wager. He wanted to keep his audience… and
Wickton left.
---
One year later, Lord Tax was found dead in his home, his throat cut by a wound that seemed not from any weapon. Black feathers surrounded his body, and many of his possessions were stolen. As only his window had been open, and none of the doors in his LOCKED house had been forced, the city watch could not find a possible culprit. It was later found that Lord Tax Ragoh and several other individuals were involved in illegal sports, gambling, and smuggling. The murder was immediately written down as the results of an underground dispute, and the arena was disbanded. Wickton, Shael and Tattoo have not been found to this day.