Chapter V – Let the Games begin
A slicing sound of a sword. A bloodcurdling scream. A numb noise. Followed by nothing else but silence. Even though the eyes of the young boy were opened, the darkness had swallowed up everything except for a lonely light which shined through a small rift, yet did not even reach him.
The time he spent alone in the dark felt like an eternity and he had long lost the track of time. The pressure resting on his body was almost unbearable but he knew he had to stay for he was told that death alone waited outside if they got aware of his hiding. They, the cold-blooded and remorseless death knights.
He tried to crawl deeper into the edge, pressing his face and hands further against his knees because of the fear inside his heart. Barely could he hold back his tears for he was told a man did not cry. Never.
The light brightened and he saw the silhouette of a human being. "By the Goddess of the Sand, he's still alive. You must take him far away from here. I'll see that I make the way free for you two."
Another one appeared, quietly coming towards him. He felt how soft arms encompassed his body before he heard a female voice saying, "Don't be afraid. Everything will be alright. Just have faith in tomorrow."
With ease the woman picked him up and walked into the light. Once his eyes had familiarized themselves with it, he saw the walls, painted in red and a persistent smell crawled into his nose.
He looked at the bodies that lay motionless on the floor but even though he tried to recognize them, they lacked any detail. And it was the same with these two humans. Though he could tell that they were women due to their voices, their faces were nothing more than a blank plate. A blurred memory he had long since forgotten.
Within the blink of an eye, the once calm environment changed. The sounds of clashing metal. Remorseless. The screams. Blood-curdling. The smell. Rotten. The air. Filled with death.
The woman mounted a stallion before it galloped through an ocean of blood with screams of pain caused by those who fought the death knights. Though there was this one, outstanding from the whole rest, clad in black heavy armor with a golden symbol shining on his chest plate. It had to be their leader, the one who slew the most.
Horrible. Just horrible. He never had witnessed anything like that. And in that moment he noticed it; he was not a man. Because he cried. And the tears did not stop running down his cheek. If he just could forget those pictures burned into his mind. Those screams piercing his ears. If he just could forget everything of it.
"Hey, you damned redhead. Stop your pathetic wailing and wake up," shouted an angered voice at Ganondorf. Soon afterwards, two hands grabbed him on his shoulders and tried to tear him up, but he was too heavy for that one.
Ganondorf, still terrified and half-asleep, grabbed for the attacker, got him on one arm and without any other forewarning, he smashed him down. A surprised outcry pierced the air before the man crashed on the floor. Ganondorf did not hold himself back when he warped the arm and kept the one down with all his weight behind him.
After he came back to his senses, he realized that the one was Mikrul, his eyes filled with anger and fear alike and his face distorted with pain. Ganondorf was still too tired to react properly and kept him in the position.
"Told you to not rush in if he has nightmares. Now you know the reason why." Ganondorf looked up and saw Raul waiting at the cell door. "And you, let go of him. Otherwise it will get ugly for you in the next few seconds."
Though Raul's voice remained calm, his threatening undertone could not be overheard. Raul did not move to help his comrade. Ganondorf still needed some time before his jumpy breath calmed down again once he realized he was only plagued by a dream. He let go of Mikrul.
"You can be lucky that it's hard to find another fighter in such a short time, redhead," groaned Mikrul as he rubbed over his arm and shook it to lessen the pain. "Otherwise I would have personally ensured that you only enter the arena today to lick it clean."
"Mikrul, keep your mouth shut or I make you fit for this task," responded Raul, undeterred yet sharp, before he addressed Ganondorf, "And you there, get up. The audience is waiting. You have enough time to sleep afterwards. Even for an eternity if you don't perform well."
Ganondorf followed them out of the cell but his thoughts still clung on the dream. It was not the first time he had it, quite the opposite, though it had become rare with the time passing by. Though he assumed that it was linked to his past, he could not make any sense out of it, just that it was horrible to watch, every time again. Even now when he almost had reached his twenties, he was bathed in cold sweat in the same way as a child.
He shook his head. No time left to overthink it further when Raul opened the gate that lead to the preparation room. He locked it again once Ganondorf had entered. "Your equipment is over there." Raul pointed to one of the rackets. "See that you get it on quickly, your opponent is already inside the arena."
Without losing a word, Ganondorf headed towards the armor and put it on. It protected his full body and was empowered with steel on the arms, legs and parts of the upper body. It looked a lot more gallant than the worn ones they usually gave out to the gladiators. In regard to the tournament it seemed like they were not only supposed to deliver a good fight but look like honorable warriors. Ganondorf sneered. What a disgusting façade.
To his surprise, the armor fit him well. Probably the ones today were specially made for their respective fighters, but it did not have a helmet. Though he did not care much for it. Due to his height, it was not easy for an opponent to get in the reach of his head anyway. He also found one more hindering than helping and every time he had one, he quickly got rid of it.
"Good luck out there," wished Raul when Ganondorf put the sword in his hands and eyed it. Nothing special about it despite the decorative aspect, it was not even one for a long range.
"Thanks I guess," responded Ganondorf before he grinned victoriously once he had bound the sword to his armor. "But I don't need luck." The time had come to make use of all his skills and powers he had gained. The one and only things he needed to become the champion of the most important tournament in his life. He would not fail, now that freedom was finally within his grasp.
The jubilation once he entered the arena was deafening. He thought he was used to it, but today it was a lot louder than usual. When he looked at the audience, he could see that the tribunes were full to the last seat. People even stood in the last rows which were meant as passages. This tournament was loved. Even adored. Today the most skilled would fight against each other, mercilessly to the end. Only one winner would be declared while the rest would find their deaths. Azett knew how to get nothing less but the best out of his tools.
Ganondorf headed towards a separated tribune in which the very important persons resided or at least those who Azett deemed worthy of his presence. When he was near, one of these people surprised him. Usually, the spectators up there wore a noble garb and other expensive clothes. Yet one had a more chivalric looking outfit and his bodily stature made him appear like he was a man who had been out there, on the real battlefields. His warrior-like appearance did not fit with the rich and prosperous people surrounding him.
Their eyes met each other, a mere moment yet in an instant the expression of the man darkened. Ganondorf could not tell why or if he was even the reason because the man soon turned his head around to his neighbor, Azett.
Ganondorf could not afford to get distracted by the man's behavior when he reached his assigned opponent. He took a look to see that he was armed with a trident and he wore a light armor, combined with a shield and a helmet. If he knew that one or not, he could not tell. Not that it made any difference.
Both directed their view to Azett who stood up and raised his arms to silence the audience. Only when they calmed down he began his short speech to open the games. Once he finished, the audience began to scream helter-skelter again, showing that they only waited until it would finally begin.
Azett looked down to his two gladiators. "Today it will be the first and only time you do not solely fight for us but for yourselves as well. Therefore I expect you to show us an outstanding fight we have never seen before. And let me assure you of one point: I do not accept anything less than this."
"We will not disappoint you, master. Otherwise, death by the hands of our opponent shall be the apology for our unforgivable failure," answered Ganondorf and the other man simultaneously while they bowed down before Azett.
There were no words that could describe even roughly how disgusting Ganondorf found this ritual that every gladiator had to perform before fighting. If it was not Azett who attended, it was another person they had to take this oath. This action should show the complete submission towards their master in front of the whole audience. Failing to do it had severe consequences as it was treated as extreme disobedience.
Ganondorf and his opponent looked a last time at each other in peace before they walked apart to the middle of the arena, knowing only one of them would leave this battlefield alive. Once Azett would raise his hand, accompanied by a loud drumbeat, the fight started.
"Is this all you've got? How pathetic. I expected more from you," shouted Ganondorf disdainfully albeit his voice trembled due to the exhaustion. "But it makes this easier for me."
The sun shined remorselessly from the sky. The rays reflected from the steel Ganondorf held in his hand, covered with blood of his opponent mixed with his own. The sweat ran down on both of them, though the heavy armor he wore made the heat even more uncomfortable than it already was.
"Do not think it is over here because it isn't," responded the man who braced himself on the trident that stuck in the earth. A result of Ganondorf's reckless attack who sliced his sword continuously at his opponent to break his defense. Even though he had to take some hits himself that inflicted bleeding wounds on his unprotected parts, he broke through it and with a hard hit, he cut through the upper body of his opponent and blew him away into the dust.
The man had recovered by now and lifted himself up, though his bent posture showed that it had hit him hard. He took the trident again and wielded the shield in front of him when he carefully walked towards Ganondorf. Both of them had already used up a lot of their stamina which meant that the last clash would come and declare who would be the winner in this round. Ganondorf felt confident. He had not a single doubt that he would be that one.
The audience screamed in excitement because they knew the end drew near when the two combatants faced each other. A small distance divided them by now and only one would see another day.
Then there it was. A slice. A clash. Ganondorf's sword crashed into the foe's shield. A stab. A moan. Two of the trident's points drilled through Ganondorf's blood-smeared armor.
The man was near Ganondorf now. Even though his sword remained in the shield, his left hand was free. Towering above the other and not only trained with steel but in fighting with bare hands as well, his fist crashed into the enemy's skull. His opponent stumbled backwards, the impact only lessened because of his helmet. Otherwise it would have been over by now.
Ganondorf's hand hurt. He shook it to lessen the pain, but the foe's defense was low. The short confusion would be his doom. No time to lose now.
He pulled the trident out of his body, ignored the pain as good as possible, and recovered the sword. Remorselessly he struck at his rival, through the armor, through the flesh, through the muscles. Again and again. No time to rest now.
Ganondorf charged forwards, the blade aimed at his opponent. One strike. Another hit. Blood. The enemy was unable to dodge these assaults. Finally, the man was at his mercy. But Ganondorf had no mercy for the doomed. He would never get it either. He had to satisfy the sword's hunger for flesh and its thirst for blood. And strike. Again. And again.
For a short moment, standing face to face with him, Ganondorf saw it in his eyes. Fear. Even visible through the ventail. The one and only fear of a doomed man had drawn near. His death.
The trident, far out of reach. The power to hold the shield up, lost. It was done. Just done. It took one further stab for Ganondorf. The sword ate through the chest of the man, accompanied by a painful groan. The slain man even lacked the strength to reach out his arms for his slaughterer. He fell down on his knees. Only choking noises left his mouth when he crumbled against Ganondorf's own chest.
He felt it then. One heartbeat. A second one. Followed by the last. Only silence remained. The man had taken his last breath.
The audience cheered pleased. They enjoyed the fight. They enjoyed how two men pierced steel through each other's body until one of them was dead. Disgusting. Plainly disgusting. There was just no other word to describe it.
Ganondorf felt no remorse that he had killed him. No pity. No sorrow. And neither grief nor regret. Nothing. Those feelings had long since gone because the same fate would have awaited him if he had only hesitated a single second. In the end, death always accompanied him, sticking on his hands once they had first placed a sword into them. And either it was the one of his enemy or it would be his own.
The first victory was his and with it, he was one step closer to freedom with only two fights left. Ganondorf raised his hand to claim the triumph all his own while the body of his opponent lay motionless in the sand before his feet. Once again the rush caused by the sheer exhilaration of gaining victory overshadowed pain and exhaustion alike. Never would he let anybody or anything take this moment away from him. And especially not on this day.
Under loud jubilation he left the arena. He had to get fit and prepared for the next game of death.