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Blood and Honor

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Chapter 1

***

Dust swirls into the air, settling slowly back to the ground and covering the two fighters in a thin layer of dirt. The larger man's left foot swirls backwards while his right comes forward, steadying his balance, while his opponent completes his back flip and lands in a crouch, right arm slung across his chest and his other out to his side. They glare at each other for a second, the smaller man smirking, before the crouching man leaps into the air and reaches into his shirt, tossing a handful of shurikens at the other man.

The larger man leaps backwards and lets the shurikens clatter into the sand harmlessly, each one kicking up a small cloud of dust. The other man comes back down at him, removing his short sword and slashing out at him... but the larger man's prepared for it. He brings his left arm up and neatly parries the blow with his triple-bladed hand claw, simultaneously bringing his other hand up in an uppercut. A look of horror passes over the other man's face as he falls upon the three blades of his other claw, skewering his throat.

The large man lets his whole weight come down on his claw and retracts it quickly, letting the body fall limp to the ground before removing his weapon. He looks down at him for a moment, then glances up at the crowd, whose familiar chanting begins to surface again... thousands of people cheering his name and praises. His golden waist sash and long blue hair flow in a gentle breeze while he stands tall and rigid, his fists clenched at his sides. The air begins to build an electric fever as the chanting grows louder, and the lone victor hears the familiar sound of success.

"Var-gas! Var-gas! Var-gas! Var-gas!"

***

Fists and legs swoosh through the air, completing punches, kicks, and elaborate sweeps and maneuvers. Most of them feel nothing but air, but some of them land against a wooden practice totem, replete with multiple knobby arms and a spinning torso attached to a solid base. Vargas practices like this for nearly an hour, simply flowing through a series of drills and mock fights with imaginary enemies, keeping his reflexes and flexibility at peak level.

His room is, simply, spartan. A bed rests along the center of one wall, and a dresser stands nearby... which he hardly uses, since he owns few clothes anyway. Most of the space in his room is open, allowing him to practice in private, while several simple exercise machines and props stand to one side. Hanging on the wall opposite his bed and between two groups of exercise machines, his weapons of choice hang on the wall, on a small rack: a set of two three-bladed claws that strap to his hands and wrists.

He stops swinging his fists for a moment and stands in a rigid boxing-like stance, staring into nothing. His eyes glaze over as he thinks long and hard about things, not really knowing how or why he started thinking. Visions of things past and things done, people met and people gone... his hands begin to fall to his sides slowly and his breath starts to level out.

Then a knock comes at his door. He blinks his eyes and shakes his head, snapping himself from his little trance. "Come."

The door opens a crack and a man, dressed in heavy robes and jewelry, peeks his head in. He glances once in the wrong direction before settling his eyes on Vargas. "Ah, my favorite gladiator."

He steps into the room while Vargas grabs a towel and starts wiping himself off, looking at his hands instead of him. "Whadda ya want, old man?"

"I've brought your reward for your work today," He says, looking him over admiringly. "And I must say, you certainly impressed me out there. Marvelous, the way you fight."

Vargas wipes sweat from the back of his neck roughly, his arm snapping out stiffly when it leaves his neck. "It gets the job done."

He glances over at him and snatches the small object from his hands, a rare relic. "That's all that matters."

"Sure it is," The old man says flatly. He eyes him curiously for a second, studying him, trying to find something new to learn about this rock of a man. "Your next fight is tomorrow morning, the arena."

"I heard," Vargas barks back, tossing the item onto his bed and standing stiffly, staring off at the wall.

"...Then have you heard about what comes after that?"

Vargas turns his head back slightly, but only to one side, still staring at the floor crookedly. "Yeah. Tier four."

"Be prepared," The old man says softly, then glances around at his exercise equipment. "...Though I don't have to tell you that. Good night, Vargas."

Vargas looks at the floor for a long moment, contemplating the things to come. Eventually he snaps himself out of it and returns to practicing.

***

A dull roar fills the tunnels leading to the arena, echoing from the walls and floors and adding an electric intensity to the air. Chants break between several groups of people, but no truly solid cheers come from it. There, in the waiting cell adjacent to the doors, Vargas hands his head low and meditates, clearing his mind of all things before his battle. Outside and all around him, the crowd cheers back and forth, first for this fighter and then for his opponent.

Still sunken deep in tranquility, he hardly notices when the finishing blow is made and the crowd erupts, throwing forth a solid wall of support for the victor. The announcer calls the winner and loser and the item betted as the arena is cleared, setting the stage for the next battle, and Vargas shakes himself from his stupor, looking up slowly towards the doors.

And outside, the announcer calls, "...'nd our next fight, made with a bet of a Tiger Mask against a Thunder Shield, begins now!"

More cheering, and Vargas steps forward.

"Introducing our first opponent, the challenged: an uncrowned champion amongst champions and warrior supreme, Vaaaar-gaaas!"

He steps into the harsh light of day as the doors swing open, but he doesn't shield his eyes. Instead, like he's done so many times before, he simply blinks his eyes once, long and hard, and opens them again to look out across the crowd. Thousands upon thousands of spectators cheer his name, lifting him high on a pedestal. But while any normal person might've swollen with pride over this, Vargas instead glares out at them, inwardly scoffing at them. If they only knew the irony of what he's doing.

"And the challenger, a sorceress from lands afar: Tira!"

Another round of cheers and applause goes up for her, though for her they cheer less. She steps out from her gate directly opposite him, her quarterstaff in one hand. He studies her dress while she walks out... a rather elaborate affair, with a pair of tight-fitting black shorts underneath a double-layered skirt that's really two large, circular pieces of cloth that dip down from the point below her navel and wrap around to the small of her back on both sides. These cloths are colored a deep green with a trim of gold, and around her chest is a tight shirt that cuts off just below her bust line, and reaches up and around her neck, covering it and leaving her shoulders and abdomen exposed. It, too, is colored green with golden trim. On her head is a tiara with a gem in the center, no doubt carrying some mystical properties with it.

Vargas can't help but wonder where she got the money to pay for all that. In any case it's irrelevant, and he finally stops walking when he reaches the center of the arena. She comes to a stop opposite him, too, and they stare off for a moment.

"Begin!" Shouts the announcer.

Vargas acts first, slamming his fist into the ground lightning-fast. The earth begins to split and fall inwards, a crack about three meters wide opening up in the earth and racing towards her. She ducks and rolls to one side, then gets to her feet and raises her staff. A ball of red energy channels into its head and she stiffens her stance, holding her staff vertically in front of her. "Fire Two!"

A ball of flame suddenly bursts from the ground in front of him and turns direction, coming straight into his face in a solid wall of flame. He shouts and stumbles backwards, reeling from the heat. She then lowers her staff and runs at him headlong, holding her weapon back to strike at him. He wipes dirt and sweat from his eyes and opens them in time to see her raise her staff into the air and bring it downwards on him.

In a rapid snapping action, he kicks the weapon out of his way with his right leg and slashes upwards with his left claw, gashing her stomach. She shrieks and staggers to her left, giving him time to gather his energies. He assumes a squat stance, pulling his fists into a ball at his left side as white energy swirls inwards into them, gritting his teeth. She stands back up in time to see him thrust his hands forward, hurtling a bolt of pure white energy that pierces her defenses to their core.

The blast throws her backwards several meters and she hits the dirt rolling head over heels. She finally stops rolling and lays sprawled out on her back, aching with pain. She sits up and grimaces, grunting for the effort and looking up to see him run and leap into the air, pulling back his right fist to jam into her, his left hand out in front for balance. The light of the sun casts a dark silhouette in his place, and acting largely on instinct and reflex, she rolls to one side and scrambles to her feet as he lands hard on one knee, stopping himself short of ramming his claws into the ground.

He jerks his head sideways at her and stands to his feet, but she calls forth another ball of energy into her staff, this one a shade of white. "Cure Two!"

A flowing white energy falls down around her, basking her body in its warm light and healing her wounds. He watches as the cuts on her stomach seal up and mend themselves, but grins wryly and clenches his fists. He's got her now.

He thrusts his left leg backwards, spinning that side of his body around while bringing his other up forward, both feet throwing dust into the air. He brings his fists together and claps them into a ball to collect the green-hued energies swirling together there. Quickly they amass and fuse together into a coherent ball, its energy building to a peak, and then he thrusts his arms out and spins in a circle, tossing multiple blades of air at her.

She squeals and holds up her staff in a vain attempt to shield herself from the sickles of air, but they slice into her skin and body, rending her viscously. Finally they prove too much and she collapses to her knees, panting deeply from the pain. She drops her staff and wraps her arms around her midsection, then looks up when a shadow falls over her. She looks far up into his silhouette, watching as he stoops down and backhands her chest with his right claw, neatly delivering the finishing blow.

He turns around and faces the announcer's stand as the crowd again erupts into a chorus of his name, cheering on their champion.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we present to you the victor, Vargas! The prize won, a Tiger Mask!"

He hears the words, but they carry little meaning for him anymore. Behind him, a warm light falls upon Tira as healing magics are cast on her, restoring her to her original condition. She wakes up slowly, blinking against the sun's light and inwardly scolding herself for her loss.

When she finally sits up and looks around herself, Vargas has already left.


This post has been edited by Zephir on 3rd June 2004 00:06

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~Status Report~

* Completed... Dragon's Head
* Completed... Soldiers of the Empire: Disciples (release pending)
* In Progress/Undecided... Of Love and Betrayal
* Planning/Assembly... Where it all Began

One word can describe my feelings towards this story...

Wow.

I don't know what it is about that story, but it leaves me wanting more. I hope you plan on writing more on that. Your style of writing is a bit confusing, at first. However, the content is straightforward and beautifully done. Please, keep up the great work, Zeph.

Very good. I didn't get around to reading this for a while. I can't remember who Vargas is!!

And WhiteStripes is right your descriptions are very good and straightforward. Gives a good clear image of whats happening.

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-- You're Gonna Carry That Weight --

Yeah Zephie, it is really good. I don't think I've ever see Vargas fanfic, but you pull it off nicely.

GIMME GIMME MORE MORE!

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Wow. 1,000 posts.

I miss you all now that I'm in boarding school! ;_;

Blood and Honor

***

Chapter 2

***

A flick of her wrist and his neck snaps, his body falling to the ground limply. She steps back and raises one hand into the air, looking down at her latest victim as the crowd cheers for her.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Your victor: Rika Terral!"

The crowd erupts again at the sound of her name, and she tunes out the rest of what the announcer says in favor of the adoration, basking in its soothing warmth. She turns a full circle several times, bowing here and there to sections of her fans while her opponent rises and walks away, hanging his head dejectedly.

***

Back in the living areas, she walks through a hallway, finishing the last of a fruit. She idly tosses a lock of flame red hair from her shoulder with her free hand and then checks her clothing for wrinkles with that same hand, rehearsing a series of lines in her head. She takes a last bite from the fruit and tosses the core into a wastebasket nearby, then dusts her hands off and faces a large, ornate doorway at the end of the hall, composing herself one last time before knocking.

Inside, the old man swings his door open and finds himself looking at her, smiling wide and opening her arms out to him. "Cicero, my dear old friend!"

He laughs softly and takes her hands, leading her in. "Rika, one of my best fighters, come in, come in!"

He releases her hands and closes the door behind her, then goes over to a liquor cabinet. "Would you care for a drink?"

"Uh, no, thank you, I've had my fill for today," She replies, still holding her smile.

He smiles back and says, "Well... all the more for me!"

They both laugh as he pours himself a glass... only she inwardly grimaces at his little joke. He sets his bottle down and walks over, while she catches herself staring blankly off past him and glances back up to his eyes, widening her smile a bit. He takes a sip and asks her, "Now... what is it you came to see me about?"

She cocks her head at him and tries her best to act sweet and innocent. "Whatever makes you think I just don't want to visit?"

Seeing right through it, he answers, "Because you're all about business, Rika... and that's what I like about you."

He takes another sip while she hangs her head and chuckles once, then raises her head again and says with a shake of her head, "I can see there's no fooling you, Cicero."

She starts ambling closer and adds, "I've been thinking about the tournament..."

The hand with the glass slowly lowers to his side. "What about it, exactly?"

"...Mostly about the tiers and my opponents... but I've been thinking a lot about our prize at the end. What might we expect once we defeat all our enemies?" She asks while still coming closer, now moving around his side and behind him.

He looks down to his side, trying to keep an eye on her. "You'll be crowned champion, of course."

She lays a hand on his shoulder gently and leans her head closer to his face, speaking softly. "Just champion, nothing else?"

He places a hand on hers and lifts it, turning around to face her. "...Heh... you know as well as I, my dear, that all additional rewards are a secret to be revealed when a champion is crowned."

She steps back, taking his hand in hers and smiling at him sweetly again. "Certainly you can tell me, Cicero? I mean, how big a secret can it be?"

She pauses and cocks her head. "Unless... it's something so important..."

He smiles and walks forward, turning her around and placing a hand on her shoulder as he walks her to the door. "I think you're imagining things, my dear. Now, if you'll please... it's near my bedtime."

She steps out the door and turns around quickly, placing one hand on the frame to prevent him from closing it right away. "All right, Cicero... I'll see you tomorrow. Good night."

He nods and starts closing the door. "Good night. Until tomorrow."

She stands back and watches as the door closes in her face, then spins around and whispers through her teeth, "Blast!"

She storms off down the hallway, low heels clicking on the stone floor rapidly. I almost had it! What's it gonna take for me to get through to that man? And the nerve! Denying me the chance to find out what's waiting for us when this is over... me! Me!

She passes by one of the Colosseum's many employees, who looks at her strangely and asks, "Milady, what're you doing out so late--?"

"None of your business, go back to your work," She answers curtly.

Soon she moves out of earshot and out of sight, and he mutters, "Rude."

Finally she enters her room and half-slams the door behind her, then starts tearing her clothes off and tossing them on her dresser. Next come necklaces and earrings as she works their latches roughly, almost slamming them down on a metal tray, and finally she removes a set of metal rings from her hair and slams them down, letting her hair fall down on her shoulders. She sighs heavily and plants her hands on the edge of her dresser, leaning forward to look at herself in her mirror.

Unruly, straight, and spiny red hair falls down all around her head and torso, splaying out in many directions and generally looking like a mess. She signs again and watches her breath blow a few stray bangs away from her mouth, then stares back at her own light blue eyes, the color of a clear sky. Maybe there's something wrong with me...

She stands up suddenly and grabs a robe, throwing it over her undergarments and tying its sash quickly. She marches over to bed, a dozen things crashing through her mind at once, but most of them related to the tournament and that unknown prize at the end...

***

Night turned to day, light flowing out from the rising sun and its disc of fire to illuminate the lands below. Clouds rolled by beneath the dome of stars above and cast their shadows upon the soils below, and people slept and dreamt, resting for the day ahead. A new day is born today, and in it there are several thousand people sitting in a mammoth arena, impatiently stomping at the floors and calling forth the next challengers. In his cell, Vargas hangs his head low in meditation and waits for the call to come.

"Vargas!"

He lifts his head and walks forth into the blinding light of day, closing his eyes to shut it out. When he opens them again he finds himself in the center of the arena, facing a woman with flame red, spiky hair drawn into a high ponytail. She twirls her battle staff around and plants one end into the ground, standing defiantly and staring fiercely.

"Begin!" Calls the announcer, but this time, both react immediately. Vargas summons forth a great beam of white energy -- Aurabolt -- and sends it in her direction, while she quickly casts a huge ball of fire from the sky and sends it at him. "Fire Three!"

Both spells hit hard, catching them at vulnerable points. She's thrown backwards in the air and reverse somersaults a few times, while he falls on his back and writhes from the intense heat. She's the first to her feet, rolling backwards to one knee and glaring at him. She brings her staff to her front and casts another spell, staring through the great ball of jade energy swirling in front of her. He stands to his feet in time to see dirt swirl into a massive cloud around her, then leap towards him, tossing dust and debris about. She screams out above the wind, "Whirlwind!"

In seconds he finds himself enveloped in a powerful cyclone, tearing at his body like no other force he's seen before. His body lifts from the ground and is thrown into the air, spinning inside the massive belly of the tornado before being thrown like a rag doll to the ground -- ten meters below him.

He lands hard, rolling and planting his face into the sand. He coughs up a lungful of dust and pushes himself up in time to see her stalking towards him, placing her staff aside and removing another weapon from her belt. Acting on instinct alone, he hops to his feet and leaps aside just in time to avoid the shimmering metal shakram flying at him, then turns around and watches it follow its course back to her waiting hand. She catches it and stares him down for a moment, a superior smirk on her face and a serious, studious look on his.

Suddenly she spins around and throws the shakram back at him, then brings her staff around to cast another spell. He stands and waits for it to come within just centimeters of his face, then ducks down to one knee and disappears in a puff of black smoke.

She stares dumbfounded at the smoke and loses her concentration of her spell, the weave dissipating and then fizzling out completely, then gasps and steps back when another black puff appears before her and Vargas slashes at her with his claw. The first blow finds it mark, cutting her across her abdomen, but his second strike is parried by her staff, as is his third and fourth. Thinking quickly, she reaches into her belt and removes a short sword, not longer than forty centimeters, and uses that to parry the next blow while she casts a spell with her free hand, ignoring the sound and puff of dust that her shakram makes as it slices diagonally into the ground nearby. Her low-level lightning spell catches him off guard, giving her just enough time to bring her staff back around and cast a quick healing spell.

"Cure 2!" She calls, then draws a longer sword from its scabbard just beneath her shorter sword's. As the curing spell's energies dissipate around her, she charges forward and swings her two swords, meeting his claws in a furious exchange of parries and glancing hits. They both strike, repel, parry, lunge, spin, duck, and leap, their feet kicking dust into the air as they step, sidestep, and twirl in complex motions and rhythms... almost as if dancing. Cicero sits forward in his seat and watches carefully, feeling the intensity of the fight as he grips his seat's armrests.

She swings her sword and catches his claw, then brings her other sword around to stab at his chest. From the corner of his eye he spots a tiny flaw in her stance and slaps her short sword hard, throwing her off balance and tossing the weapon from her hand. She steps back and brings that hand in to her belly, gritting her teeth while he slings her other sword aside with his left hand and lunges with his right. Again she catches him unprepared and summons a wall of flame that rises from the earth and moves back into his face, basking his body in blinding flame.

He stumbles backwards and falls to one knee... any hit could finish him off now. Seeing this, she immediately charges forward with her sword, bringing it up across her shoulder to bear down on him and growling through her teeth. He casts his eyes to the ground and quickly summons his energies, then pulls back one hand and drives it down to the ground, against the wall of energy gathered there. An explosion of green blades comes from the earth, forming blades of air in the space between them and slashing at her unguarded body.

She screams and staggers back as several sickles of air cut her open, then looks up as he leaps into the air and spins, throwing another series of blades at her. Cicero flinches as she brings her sword up to guard against the storm, but all in vain, for they slice through her again and leave her a bloody mess. She collapses to one knee and pants, not seeing him summon another bolt of white energy and toss it at her full strength. It penetrates her chest and shines straight through, not cutting through her flesh but instead damaging her life energy.

She makes a gargled vowel sound and falls over backwards, lying spread out in the sand. The crowd breaks into a sudden round of applause and cheers, chanting his name loudly. He stares down at her and considers that this may have been the closest he's ever been to losing since his battle with Sabin, then turns and walks back to his cell, ignoring the sounds of a curing wind behind him.

She jolts up and sits with her arms at her sides, looking around in confusion. Upon realizing that she's actually lost a battle, she glances up at stares at Vargas' back as he leaves the arena, then scowls and scrambles to her feet, feeling humiliated and angry. Looking to her side, she sees her shakram and sword next to each other and grabs them up, then storms out the way she came. Cicero rises from his seat and half-smirks, but also half-frowns, feeling proud of Vargas' victory on the one hand, and a little sorry for her defeat as well. He excuses himself from his patrons and leaves out a small door adjacent to the skybox, never seeing the man sitting near to the balcony, leaning on his arms and staring into the arena.

He squints one eye and considers Vargas' victory, playing back over his style and method mentally, then rises from his own seat and leaves.

***

Men, women, and objects are thrown aside and bullied around as she returns to her room, ranting and screaming at nothing and nobody in particular. People soon learn to stay out of her way and dodge the random objects she throws at them, though one man simply walks past her, paying her no mind. She says nothing to him and he says nothing to her, so they pass in peace, and the man continues on until he finds Cicero also walking down the hall in the opposite direction. He takes his arm and stops him, then says, "You are the proprietor, Cicero, I presume?"

Cicero stops and looks him over, then faces him and relaxes. "Yes, I am Cicero, founder of the Colosseum."

"I wish to talk to you about the next bracket fight..."

***

A glass slams into her wall and shatters, throwing shards everywhere and adding to the mess. She screams at it and grabs another, throwing it into the wall and then grabbing a handful of clothes from her dresser and throwing them on the floor, too. She storms over to her bed then and yanks all the sheets from it, throwing them to the ground and screaming again. She stops and looks around at her room, panting heavily and clenching her fists, then sighs and collapses on the edge of her bed, burying her head in her hands.

She'd always thought about what it might mean to be defeated one day. She'd always figured it might mean the end of her life or her career, or at least that she wouldn't be able to fight anymore due to some injury. She'd always though during those times how she would lose, too... if she would make a fatal mistake, what mistakes she might make, how she might let her guard down or misinterpret her opponent's motives... and she thought she'd almost had it down to a point how she could lose a battle. And until this day, she'd never lost a fight... ever. Never during her training or military service had she lost a singles fight, fair or unfair.

The weight of her defeat crushes down on her shoulders and she finds herself stifling a sob. She chuckles grimly and sniffles at the thought of her, of all people, crying... and over something as simple as losing a fair fight to a better man. She stares at the floor through her fingers for a long moment, then stands up and removes the metal rings from her hair that hold her ponytail up, letting her hair fall down. She tosses her head once and stoops down, scooping up her sheets and starting to clean up her mess. Normally she would go get something to eat for dinner at this time, and celebrate with the high-class people that come through... but since she doesn't feel like celebrating and she has nothing better to do, she'll clean her room and then prepare for her tourney match later tonight.


This post has been edited by Zephir on 3rd June 2004 00:12

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~Status Report~

* Completed... Dragon's Head
* Completed... Soldiers of the Empire: Disciples (release pending)
* In Progress/Undecided... Of Love and Betrayal
* Planning/Assembly... Where it all Began

I really like it so far :-) And to the person who asked, Vargas is the man who trained alongside Sabin, and Sabin defeated him. It's Zeph's avatar.

Okay, here are my comments/suggestions:

- Good start, but I found that I had trouble taking sides. By this point, did you want the reader to be cheering for Vargas, or Rita? Or either?

- Maybe add something about all the fixable deaths, like when you can Phoenix down someone. Does it do something to the person mentally, or physically? At what point is it true death?

Anyway, keep it up :-)

This post has been edited by Elena99 on 4th March 2004 17:41

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I had an old signature. Now I've changed it.

Blood and Honor

***

Chapter 3

***

Gladiators battle in the arena above, shedding blood for sport and play, while spectators cheer them on and place bets upon them. Item is bet for item and money for money, and although the fighting is real, the death is not. Before the reaper can claim them, they are healed and returned to strength... living to fight another day. It is in this fashion that the great Colosseum has built its reputation and fame, and in this fashion that warriors the world over have visited its great, ornate halls.

But this is not the way of the underground pits. Here, buried in great chambers under the sands, lives a second culture, borne of the desire for true blood and the real penalty of defeat. Here, there are no healing winds to prevent the defeated from dying... here, there are no consolation prizes... here, there's only blood and honor.

Heels click on the stone below, clacking amidst a rattle of other shoes as they stroll towards the portal ahead. The closer they draw near, the greater the light becomes, until some have to shield their eyes and squint when they emerge into the oddly bright torch-lit chambers of the underground pits. Rika brushes a lock of hair from her eyes and blinks several times, quickly adjusting and looking to her left for her seat. Upon finding Cicero sitting in a special boxed-out section near the front, she walks over and opens a fan, cooling herself with it. The heat is intolerable in here...

She walks up a short flight of steps and comes around his side, and after catching his eye, bows lightly. "Cicero."

"Ahh, milady. Come, do have a seat," He says, motioning to a seat nearby.

She nods and smiles. "Of course."

The announcer's voice is heard in the background, just coming over the din of the crowd as the competitor currently in the ring defeats his opponent by shattering an arm. She sits down and looks around, catching only the last few words of the announcer. Not that she cares much, anyway.

"--Victor: Xerael, of Tzen!"

He takes a bow for his audience, holding his arms folded across his chest, ignoring the cries of pain coming from behind him. Rika looks him over passively, yawning even, then turns to Cicero. "How much longer until my match?"

"Yours is after this one, and that'll be all for tonight," He answers, keeping his eyes on the pit.

She nods her head a few times and adds almost after the fact, "Good."

"Ladies and gentlemen: our next match has been altered from the card. It has now been decided that a special stipulation will be added: this match is now a best of three victories battle, healing permitted until the final round. And introducing the first opponent..."

Vargas' head snaps up. "Best of three victories?"

"Varrr-gaaas!"

The gates before him are thrust open and he walks out into the fighting pit, glancing once towards Cicero's booth before turning his eyes again on his opponent's gate, never catching sight of Rika. As he turns his head back to face front, he hears the faint and distant sound of his opponent's gate opening, and sweeps his gaze downwards to look at him.

And stops in his tracks. Across from him, walking slowly towards him, is a figure he thought he'd never see again, and yet is standing before him now. A sudden flood of memories crashes through his head... memories of training sessions, jokes, warm camaraderie, friends and enemies... betrayal...

His feet find their way over and stop, facing his body towards him. His eyes narrow and his fists clench, drawing up to his sides. Although he fumbles in his mind to find the right words, the other man speaks first. "Vargas... never thought you'd seen me again, did you?"

"No," He replies flatly, shaking his head.

"You know, I arranged for all of this. The rules, the time, the two of us..."

Vargas sneers, "You -- arranged for us to fight?"

"Oh, no, no... I fought my way up here, same as you, I just made sure our fight had the right rules. And you do know why I'm here?" He asks, lowering his head.

Vargas' eyes narrow a little bit more. "I have an idea."

"Good. I'd hate for you to die not knowing why you were beaten!" Just as he finishes his sentence, he hurls himself at Vargas, slashing his right claw across his chest and hurling three blades of energy at him.

Quickly, almost casually, Vargas throws one arm forward, white energies swirling around it in a huge blanketing storm of light. They cascade forwards and form an elliptical shield just forward of his fist, a mass of blue-ish white air that expands rapidly through the air. The three blades glance harmlessly off and fly haphazardly to the sides, burying themselves in the sand to their sides. The shield wears off just as the other man closes the distance, forcing Vargas to assume a defensive stance and guard against his repeated strikes.

Steel clashes against steel as they trade parries and blows with their claws, locking them and swinging them around in wide, grand arcs and spins. An off-balance parry by Vargas catches him and makes him stagger, forcing him to spin around and try a roundhouse kick. Vargas leans backwards and avoids it, but his opponent then comes at him with a series of palm strikes, chops, and kicks that he has to block or avoid.

Their feet shuffle, step, and skid across the sand, kicking dust into the air with each plant of their soles. Vargas lifts his foot to strike, but his opponent raises his own and steps on his toes, forcing it back to the ground. Vargas hits him with a palm strike and frees his foot, then tries again to kick him, but is again blocked. He brings his other foot up, but has it caught by his knee's pit and brought back to the ground, too. With both of their feet tied up, they resort to furious forearm parries and slaps until finally Vargas' opponent finds an opening and punches him in the nose.

Vargas' head snaps back and he breaks the lock on their feet, then stumbles backwards a few steps, trying to regain his balance. His opponent takes this chance to charge forth, arms swinging, but Vargas moves too quickly and blocks his strikes, then finally finds a flaw in his stance and takes advantage.

His opponent takes a step forward and lunges with one claw, leaving his feet spread widely apart. Vargas ducks quickly and moves one leg out, then sweeps it around in a wide circle and catches his feet, knocking them out from underneath him. Vargas stands to his feet and watches as his enemy scrambles to his feet, then collects a familiar ball of green energy into his fists and spins, hurling many blades of air at him as he comes about.

He barely has time to get to his feet again before he sees a storm of sickles coming at him, and so is cut to ribbons by the energies and collapses to the ground, bleeding from dozens of slashes and abrasions. Vargas stands tall for a moment, then spits and walks slowly over.

"The winner of round one - Vargas!"

His opponent's eyes open slowly and take in the view as the healing energies dissipate. The first thing he sees are harsh lights coming from torches high above, and the second thing he sees is Vargas.

"You can't beat me, Darell," Vargas says flatly. "Give up."

"I won't!" Darell spits, bringing his left leg out to his side to try and trip Vargas.

He hops out of the way and stands straight as Darell jumps to his feet, then brings his fist back up in front of him as he anticipates his next attack - an Aurabolt. Darell summons his bolt rather quickly, but Vargas thinks too fast and watches as the holy energy dissipates totally over his shield. Astonished, Darell doesn't move for a moment too long and is caught unprepared for Vargas' sudden rush.

The first punch glances off Darell's jaw, but he manages to block the second and third in time and starts shuffling backwards. They trade a series of parries and kicks until Vargas catches Darell's arm in a swing and locks it up, then catches his other arm and swings it around, locking it up, too. He pulls him in close and implores him, "Give it up, Darell. You can't beat me."

Darell snarls back at him. "Never, murderer!"

He head butts Vargas and breaks the arm lock, then shoves him backwards with a weak and hasty Aurabolt. "Not after what you did to Duncan!"

Vargas slides backwards, his feet digging small ruts in the sand, then falls to one knee and plants a hand to the ground. He looks up and sees Darell charging up for another attack, then looks back down and concentrates hard, pulling as much of his energy together as he can. Darell's power reaches a peak and he unleashes his blast, a bright blast of red-orange flame expanding in a taut column towards Vargas.

But Vargas unleashes his attack as well, energy flowing from his fist into the earth. The ground splits in two and expands, opening a small fissure that quickly snakes out and reaches for Darell, then sits still and absorbs the full brunt of Darell's attack with a clenched jaw. Darell's eyes open wide in shock as he suddenly loses footing and falls into the gap. Acting solely on instinct, he reaches out and snags a rock with his hand, then reaches around with his other and hangs on tight.

He looks down at the deep, dark abyss and exhales a sharp breath, then turns back around and tries to gain a foothold... unsuccessfully. Then a small rain of pebbles and dirt comes down around him and he coughs as he inhales some, then looks up to see Vargas' silhouette standing over him. He coughs a few more times and says, "Come to finish me off?"

He smiles wryly and waits for his answer. Vargas shakes his head slightly and kneels. "No."

He extends his hand to Darell, very much to his surprise. Darell looks at his hand questioningly and asks, "What're you doing?"

"Giving you a way out," Vargas answers. "Just give it up."

"No!" He snaps back, struggling to get a foothold again. "I won't!"

Vargas shuffles on his knee and tilts his head at him, looking annoyed. "You're not accomplishing anything!"

"I'm fighting for Duncan's honor! I'm avenging his death, Vargas!"

Vargas narrows his eyes and glares at him through slits. "He died because he made the wrong choice. Don't do the same thing, Darell."

"And what choice was that?!"

"He neglected me... his only son... and chose Sabin as his successor," Vargas answers, lowering his head somewhat. In spite of Sabin's words to him in their last fight, he still had found trouble accepting that truth... somehow, it was much easier to accept the lie. Leveling his head back up, he asks Darell, "That past is gone. Come on, Darell; just take my hand and let it go."

"...Fat chance..." Suddenly Darell explodes from the chasm as he gains a solid footing and launches from it.

He flies straight towards Vargas, knocking him over and rolling once over in the dirt with him. As both men get to their feet, metal flashes and teeth grit, then both collide again in a furious series of parries and spinning kicks. Rika sits forward on the edge of her seat, soaking up as many details as she can about this fight. A lucky punch by Darell catches Vargas in his stomach, while a following spinning roundhouse catches Darell in the jaw and sends him flying head over heels to his side.

He tumbles in the dirt and whips over on his back, then finds himself staring down the lengths of three metal blades connected to Vargas' hand. He breathes hard a few times and relaxes, letting his arms go out to his sides as he glares up at him. The crowd falls silent and waits to see what Vargas will do, who simply stands over Darell menacingly, with his claws down at him. Breathlessly Darell asks, "Well? Aren't ya gonna do it? You said your past is gone... well, I'm part of your past. Make me gone, Vargas."

Vargas stares at him for a moment, considering it. Feelings of anger and resentment cloud over his eyes, tinged with a touch of guilt and remorse that make him reexamine that part of his life... but only for a moment. He grits his teeth and inhales sharply, scowling and drawing his claw back for one final strike.

But that short moment was all Darell needed. He swings his foot to the side and trips Vargas easily, then scrambles to his feet and assumes an offensive stance on the way up. Vargas spins to his side and rolls in the dirt, also getting to his feet and growling, "You can't beat me, Darell!"

Darell charges him quickly, fists drawn back to strike. "So you keep telling me!"

A flash of bodies and flesh collides, metal scraping by metal and hair whipping in the wind. One man spins while another ducks, one punching with the other kicks. It all happens so fast that the crowd doesn't know what's happening to whom until the dust clears and one man's standing behind the other, cradling his head in both hands. Rika sits forward and peers at Vargas, feet set wide apart behind the kneeling Darell. All around her, a cheer suddenly breaks out from the crowd.

"Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!"

Vargas tenses his arms while Darell growls one last time, then snaps his arms to both sides of himself quickly, breaking Darell's neck in one smooth motion. He steps back and watches his limp body fall face-first to the ground, then looks up at the crowd, still scowling. He looks all around and observes their chanting and cheering, for once actually feeling the slightest bit of distaste for their love of this blood sport. As he glances around him, his eyes happen to fall on Rika and he catches her gaze. They stare off for a moment, each narrowing their eyes.

Him...

Her...

He turns suddenly and walks away, passing through his gate and disappearing into the darkness. In the stands, Rika sits back and turns her head as Cicero addresses her. "You should hurry, they're waiting."

She follows his nod to the crowd and nods also. "Of course..."

She gives one last glance out over the pits as she rises and walks over to the hallway leading down to her pit, still analyzing Vargas...

***

The door slams shut behind Vargas, leaving him standing all alone in his room to stare blankly and think. He stands for a long moment just gazing into nothing, running through a torrent of thought and emotion, an incoherent babble of voices and images in his head from his past. Finally he snaps to and walks forward, sitting down on his bed heavily. Looking downwards, he sees the claws on his hands and stares at them absent-mindedly, as if seeing all of the pain and conflict of his life in them. He begins to unstrap them when a knock comes on his door. "...Who is it?"

"Cicero."

"...Come in," He replies, rising to his feet.

The door swings open slowly, giving a slight creak at one point but none more. Cicero steps in and pans the room until he finds Vargas, removing his claws and setting them up on their rack. "Congratulations on another fine victory, Vargas."

"Oh, shove it," He says, turning around. "You knew that was gonna happen, didn't you?"

Cicero, for once, remains quiet. "He came to me and proposed the stipulations. He knew what he was getting himself into."

He watches Vargas with a stiff gaze as he scoffs and walks away, adding, "Our pasts often catch up with us, Vargas. You can't avoid it."

An awkward silence falls over the room as Cicero stares at Vargas' back and Vargas turns his head to the side just slightly, casting his eyes down and to his side. Cicero decides to be the first to break it and steps towards him. "That's not why I'm here, though. I was thinking that maybe... just this once, at least... you could join us in the hall for the banquet?"

Vargas keeps his back turned on him. "You know I don't like that kinda scene."

"Yes... I do know. But please, indulge me, Vargas. You've never been to one and it would please me if you attended."

Vargas spins around and looks at him hardly, and to that Cicero holds his hands out. "Just this once."

Vargas considers telling him 'no' in no uncertain terms, but eventually realizes that he really doesn't care. Not today, not anymore. He sighs deeply and hangs his head, then mutters, "All right, all right."

A small smile breaks on Cicero's lips. "Good. I'll be expecting you around ten."

He turns around and heads out the door, never looking back nor saying anything more. Vargas waits until he shuts the door before going back over to his bed and slumping down on it, staring off into space again. He'd most wanted to be left alone ever since he got in here... now it seems he won't be able to do that anymore. He just hopes he doesn't bump into the wrong sort of people there tonight.

***

That night in the banquet hall, a dramatic change of atmosphere occurs. In stark contrast to the gritty, barbaric pits and sands of the arenas below, its halls and ballrooms are brightly lit and adorned with festive decorations and plentiful buffets just waiting for guests to entertain. Soft, lively music fills the room from the grand band stage to the front, populated with only the best musicians in this part of the world, setting a lightly energetic mood to the air. It's to this backdrop that many people mingle, dance, and dine, most of them rich aficionados or sponsors -- or simply high-rolling gamblers with a tap on blood sports.

A small fraction of this crowd, however, is represented by the honored and esteemed fighters of the rings; the most successful and renowned gladiators, attending on personal request by Cicero or common courtesy to play to their public. Many hallowed names grace the hall tonight... Arath, the fallen retainer Holdan, Xerael, Rika, Siegfried... and Vargas.

He steps through the grand arch of the banquet hall's doorway, its doors being held open, and looks around him calmly and... curiously, actually...

He's seen many sights in his days, but this is something else entirely... the lights, the colors, the smells, the sounds... all alien to him. He almost wanders about with his jaw open and his face bright with wonder but soon catches himself and regains his composure. Still, he ends up walking randomly forward for a minute, trying to find something he can do, and eventually winds up by the reception area, standing by the drinks and examining them.

A figure pushes his way through the crowd behind as he lifts a drink, then puts a hand on his shoulder just when he takes a sip. "Ah, Vargas! I see you came, after all!"

Vargas almost spits his drink out, but swallows hard and turns around and looks down. "Cicero."

Cicero smiles and steps back, looking him over from head to toe. "Ahhh, well... I didn't think you even had clothes like these, Vargas."

Vargas reaches up and runs a hand down his silk shirt slowly, feeling the texture of it. "I didn't until an hour ago."

Cicero looks up at him, his smile slowly growing wider and a laugh building on his lips. "Hhhah, hah, hah hah! Still the same old Vargas. Good, good, I like that. Now tell me, how are you liking it so far?"

Vargas looks around to his left, then to his right, and finally back down at his drink. "It's been all right so far."

He tilts his head back and takes a shot from his drink, then adds, "We'll see how long that lasts, though."

Cicero looks at him oddly for a moment, then tilts his head and shakes it once. "At least you're giving it a try, my friend. Do stay and enjoy yourself."

And with that, he nods and wanders off, rejoining his wealthier guests to mingle again. Vargas stares after him for a long minute, then finishes his glass and reaches for a new one.

Across the room from him, another fighter mingles with the crowd. She speaks with two men in formal wear, holding a drink in her hands and dressed in a flowing silken gown laced with many sashes and ribbons and with her hair tied back in a low ponytail. She laughs as he finishes a story and sips her drink, glancing around the room as she does so. Her intention had been reflex: take a drink and look about, but her eyes catch sight of Vargas and stop. For a while she just stares at him, studying him in detail from his face down. Humph... he thinks a clean shirt and hair gel make him worthy of being here? Get real.

She lowers her glass and scoffs under her breath, then excuses herself from her company with a small curtsy and walks through the crowd towards him. Vargas leans back against the wall and takes another drink, never once seeing her. Thus, he's quite surprised when a familiar voice suddenly comes up behind him and remarks softly, "Lovely evening."

He spins around and looks down at her, catching her eye. "Too bad your friend from the pit couldn't be here to see it."

She takes another sip of her drink, looking over the top of her glass at him. He shuffles his foot once and turns back to the side, looking away. "What're you doin' here?"

"I was invited. And you?"

He glances back at her and answers, "Cicero wanted me to come."

She stares at him for a second, lowering her glass. "What makes you so special that he'd want you here?"

He looks in her eyes deeply, turning back around to face her squarely. Right here and now he figures that she's a pompous, arrogant, tactless nymph with a grudge to hold against him... and fires back a volley of his own. "I'm Vargas, undefeated and unchallenged, son of Duncan and master of the martial arts. Someone steps up to me, I knock 'em right down. Just like you."

Her face hardens -- especially her eyes -- and she steps closer, arching her head back to meet his. "That was a farce. I should've beaten you."

"'Fraid not," He says flatly.

She scoffs at him and shakes her head. "You arrogant prick."

"Prove me wrong," He says. "You talk with your boy Cicero and set up a rematch."

"Why don't you if he likes you so much?" She asks, crossing her arms.

"I got stuff to do."

She frowns and shakes her head again. "Whatever. I'll see you in the ring tomorrow."

"Oh, wait..." He says, looking down and holding up a finger. "After my next tourney match."

She tilts her head to one side and looks at him funny. "And what if you die in that match?"

He smirks at her and chuckles. "Don't you worry 'bout that. I won't be dying anytime soon."

He takes another sip of his drink, watching her shake her head. "Now take your... 'assets' and go bother someone else."

He waves his hand down at her chest area, still smirking, only this time meaning it. She looks down at her chest for a moment, then clears her throat and shuffles her feet. She looks up at him and brushes a thick bang from her eyes and points her finger from that hand at him. "I'll let that one slide... but you try that again, and I won't hesitate to knock you out where you stand."

He chuckles again and replies, "Whatever you say."

She shakes her head one more time at him and turns away, walking through the crowd again. He watches her leave and shakes his own head, his smile fading into a frown. Several thoughts cross his mind, one of them being that a pretty face can't make up for a hotheaded personality. The first volleys have been fired... the war's on.


This post has been edited by Zephir on 3rd June 2004 00:15

--------------------

~Status Report~

* Completed... Dragon's Head
* Completed... Soldiers of the Empire: Disciples (release pending)
* In Progress/Undecided... Of Love and Betrayal
* Planning/Assembly... Where it all Began

Blood and Honor

***

Chapter 4

***

Rika smiles at him in his head... but it's not a happy smile, nor a comforting one, it's a cocky grin, exuding confidence and pride. She mocks him quietly like this, drifting in and out of his view but never leaving. Vargas' feet move beneath him, carrying him over the dirt mindlessly. Normally he doesn't let such a thing bother him so much, or let someone get in his head like she is... but she'd decided to make it personal, and it's certainly getting that way for him. Even the sight of her face is getting on his nerves... her fire red hair, her sky blue eyes, her small, slender nose and full... luscious... red lips...

He shakes his head and slaps himself mentally. What the hell're you thinking?! She's the enemy. So deeply is he stuck in thought that he's actually surprised when he comes back to and looks up to see an arena full of spectators, staring down in the pit.

Staring at him, and his opponent, and cheering for each in turn as the announcer calls their names.

"Xerael, and Vargas!"

The crowd's cheers fall on deaf ears, for both of them crack knuckles and ready weapons, priming for battle. Eyes narrow and concentrate on reading the other's intentions, and feet square off in the sand.

"Begin!"

Xerael quickly brings his battle staff around and aims it at Vargas, hurling a massive ball of flame at him. It singes the earth and closes the distance rapidly, then burns furiously against Vargas' shield, swirling over and over impotently against the wall of Holy aura. Xerael draws his staff back, surprised and intrigued. The shield dissipates along with the spell and Vargas flashes his claw at him, then charges headlong with one arm drawn across his chest.

Xerael steps back and holds his staff close with both hands, concentrating on a powerful spell. A deep, dark power forms within and around him, coloring the air with a mixture of red and black hues. They swirl inwards like a pinwheel-shaped smoke cloud, gathering together into a weave of arcane magics the likes of which Xerael has spent years perfecting. He grits his teeth and counts the seconds off as Vargas draws closer, finally finishing the last rites of his spell and releasing its energy in a massive wave of magical power.

He smiles to himself as the punishing spell Quasar seems to disintegrate Vargas into nothing on contact... but the moment's only fleeting, as a hard kick sends Xerael lurching forward with a yelp. He barely has time to even stand up straight again before Vargas starts slashing away at his back, cutting into his flesh deeply and in a hurry. Xerael manages to turn around and start blocking with his staff, but not before Vargas has a chance to cut a few straps on his armor and break it off.

He grunts and backs away, erecting a hasty shield to buy himself time and hiding behind it. Vargas strikes at it a few times and spits, then backs away a few steps as he performs a series of swinging arcs and pose switches. Xerael thinks quickly and waits until the shield drops, then feints inaction and watches while Vargas charges forward, arms swinging... and just when it seems that Vargas will engage him hand-to-hand, Xerael slams his staff into the ground and summons a wall of flame that rises in front of Vargas and slants backwards, washing him with a curtain of fire.

Vargas curses and stumbles backwards, wiping his face off. I swear, that's the last time I get hit by that spell!

When he finally stop shaking his head and looks up, it's to see Xerael forming another spell with his staff and preparing to launch it his way. Vargas crosses his arms over his chest and snarls, and when the spell finally comes his way in the form of a powerful lightning bolt, he disappears in a cloud of black smoke and reappears behind Xerael, powering up and releasing an Aurabolt attack before he has time to react.

Xerael falls forward, somersaulting once and landing on his back. He begins to get up slowly, placing first one hand and then the other on the ground while getting up. Vargas comes up behind him, weapons ready to attack, and Xerael turns his head to the side to listen for his footsteps, and just when Vargas stops moving and prepares to strike, Xerael spins around and levels his staff at him, unleashing a tremendous burst of dark energy that slams into Vargas' chest and explodes.

He's lifted into the air and thrown backwards several meters, but he manages to remain upright and lands on both feet, sliding backwards and collapsing to one knee, then placing a hand on the ground. He pants hard for a moment and finds himself thinking not of the fight, but about Rika... again.

That style... it's a lot like hers... He muses. He's from Tzen, though I don't know where she's from... maybe they were Imperials?

Xerael comes at him with a series of strikes and lunges with his staff, but Vargas blocks and parries them all without thinking, his mind still far away. Xerael grits his teeth and slashes away furiously, but unsuccessfully. Growing frustrated, he steps back and slams his staff in the ground, causing a great burst of ice magic to explode between them, knocking both men backwards.

Xerael takes the time to cast a quick healing spell on himself, while Vargas falls to one knee again, gasping for breath as he stifles a sob, because somewhere in the middle of his musing, his thoughts had turned to Darell.

Damnit, Darell! Why'd you make me do it?!

Xerael notes his inaction and makes another opportunistic move, summoning a quake under Vargas' feet.

I helped you! I studied with you!

The chasm grows larger and the ground shakes, but still he doesn't move... instead, breathing harder, his breaths becoming ragged and labored.

If I can kill my friend... if I can kill my own father... if I can do that...

He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, forcing a tear down his cheek.

Then... I can... do... just about anything...

The earth falls away beneath his feet and he finds himself suddenly weightless, plummeting downwards into a deep chasm with no end in sight. He throws his head back and up to the sky, opening his eyes to the harsh lights of the domed ceiling.

Anything.

His eyes close again as his arms stretch out to his sides, as if he's offering himself to some powerful deity for divination.

And suddenly he disappears in a cloud of smoke, and reappears in front of Xerael. Actually half-expecting this, Xerael only pauses for a moment and takes a step back, then uses his staff again to attack Vargas... but this time, Vargas slaps it aside effortlessly, throwing it several meters away. Taken aback and without a weapon to defend himself with, Xerael attempts to erect a shield and falls back further, trying to put distance on them. Vargas acts too quickly and teleports behind him, slashing at him with his claws twice and gutting his back. He then teleports back to the front and kicks and punches and slashes with shocking speed, carving him up surgically in a matter of seconds that seem to pass in slow-motion for both of them.

When all's said and done, Xerael's falling in a somersault to his side, blood pouring from several wounds. He lands hard and rolls while Vargas floats back to the ground after a high jumping roundhouse kick, assuming a tough-looking stance with his fists clenched at his sides and his legs apart. Everything falls silent for a split second, a brief period of time where time slows and only two things matter: Vargas and Xerael, one dying and one alive.

Vargas' hair flaps in an odd breeze, now loosened and hanging all about with his hair tie gone, and the crowd explodes in a great cheer, chanting his name yet again. Cicero leans back in his seat and places a hand on his mouth, watching him with concern. Next to him, Rika opens her fan and waves it, cooling herself off and smiling at him. I've got him.

A chill runs down Vargas' spine as he stands looking at Xerael's body, and a tear rolls down his face... and at that moment only one word comes to mind in his head, repeating over and over.

Father...

***

Later that day, after Rika has won her match with her next bracket opponent, Cicero goes to Vargas' room and stands in front of it, breathing in deeply once. He checks himself and stares at the door, then swallows his fear and knocks on it lightly, and waits.

Inside, Vargas sits on the floor in a meditative stance. In front of him a ball of fire floats in the air, cradled between his two cupped hands and rolling over and over calmly. He then opens his eyes, ignoring the sound of knocking coming from his door, and concentrates on the fire, moving one hand out ahead of him. The fire then begins to swirl and form a snakelike column, bridging the space between his hands and following his right palm. His heart beats faster and a cold sweat breaks on his forehead, and he holds his breath as he extends his arm further and feels through the fire, making it extend outwards and reach across the room.

He then grins widely and allows the fire to dissipate, then lets his hands fall into his lap. He did it. He manipulated the flame. The next level in his training, and he did it on his own.

The knock comes at the door again and he jumps, mildly startled. He calms down quickly and rises, composing himself on the way up. "Come in."

Cicero opens the door slowly and steps in, then closes it behind him and crosses his arms in front of him. "I, uh... came to speak with you about--"

"About what?" Vargas says, cutting him off and turning around.

"You looked distracted back there, in the pit..."

Vargas crosses his arms and levels his head at him. "...What about it?"

"Just wondering if that was going to be a problem in the future."

Vargas shakes his head slowly, with cold eyes. "It won't."

Cicero looks in his face, studying the lines and folds... then nods. "Let's hope so. You're due up in a couple hours."

Vargas tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "Again? After a fight like that?"

"Yes, again. Your rematch with Terral?"

Vargas slowly nods, diverting his eyes to the ground. He'd totally forgotten about that. Cicero looks him over during their silent moment and then uncrosses his arms, turning back around and heading for the door. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. You've been through rougher gauntlets before, and you've already beaten her once."

"Wait, Cicero..." Vargas says, stepping closer as Cicero stops and turns to face him, his hand on the doorknob. "When exactly is our fight, again?"

Cicero pauses for a second before answering, swinging the door open as he does so. "In three hours. You have that long to prepare."

And with that, he steps out and closes the door behind him, leaving Vargas standing alone and staring at his door. He stands for a long while with his arms crossed and his head down, drifting into an almost meditative state of contemplation.

Three hours. I can meditate for a while before then, practice some... nah, I could use some rest. Xerael actually took a bit out of me. Shoot, this whole week's been takin' a lot out of me. I'll be glad when this whole thing's over. I'm getting tired... too many bad memories, too many new enemies...

An image of Darell flashes in his head suddenly and that finally forces him to consciousness. He looks around his room in slight confusion, then gathers his composure and walks off to his bed, sitting cross-legged on the floor mattress and beginning his meditation exercises.

This post has been edited by Zephir on 3rd June 2004 00:17

--------------------

~Status Report~

* Completed... Dragon's Head
* Completed... Soldiers of the Empire: Disciples (release pending)
* In Progress/Undecided... Of Love and Betrayal
* Planning/Assembly... Where it all Began

Blood and Honor

***

Chapter 5

***

Rika stares at the curtains ahead, smirking as she practices slices and moves with her sword. Although normally confident, today she feels that much more so, since she thinks she knows the key to beating Vargas. Across the arena from her in his own antechamber, Vargas waits with dulled anticipation for their match to begin. While subtle doubts about his ability to fight after his last bout circle through his head, he still feels for the most part that he can win. After all, he beat her once; surely he can do it again.

The gates open up in front of them following the announcement of the match and their names, and each steps forward into the arena. A momentary rush of applause bursts from the audience, followed by a shallow din as they simply stand and stare down each other. They each crack their knuckles and wait for the call to start, narrowing their eyes to squints. The din lowers even further to a low silence in anticipation of one of the biggest rematches in Colosseum history, then is broken suddenly by a loud declaration: "Begin!"

Vargas scouts her out easily, raising his energy shield right away to block the massive lightning bolt summoned down from the heavens. As the energies of his shield fade away and collapse, she pulls her sword and rushes at him, striking quickly enough to slice open the skin on his stomach but then engaging in a parrying battle with him. They trade fierce blows for a moment as she pushes him back a few steps before he locks her sword up and throws his fists down, throwing it to the ground and then striking with a hasty Aurabolt. She takes the full force of the blow and is vaulted backwards through the air, back flipping once before righting herself and landing on her feet six meters away. Vargas makes a quick charge at her, claws flashing in the sunlight as he jabs and lunges at her, but is shocked when she pulls out a set of her own claws and starts blocking and parrying his strikes with ease.

Noting his expression, she grins and locks both his weapons, drawing him in closer. "Surprised?"

She then kicks him in the gut, sending him stumbling backwards. He wipes dust from his face and shakes his head, looking up to see her step backwards a few steps and perform an all too familiar set of martial arts pose switches and arcing practice strikes. His jaw hangs open for a moment as he realizes that there could only be one way for her to learn those moves, but shuts again as she charges and fires an Aurabolt at him, grinning. He raises his shield in an instant, deflecting the blast away from himself.

He only has a few seconds to think of a counter plan before his shield collapses again, revealing her coming towards him at a headlong charge. He scowls and raises his fists in a defensive stance, watching as she leaps into the air at the last moment to deliver a high jumping kick to his face. A kick that hits nothing but smoke and air, for he teleports away from harm and behind her, waiting for her to land on her feet and spin around before swinging sideways in a high roundhouse kick intended to meet her jaw... but then his kick only meets air, since she also disappears in a cloud of smoke. Totally dumbstruck, he completes his kick and stares in disbelief at the cloud hanging in the air in front of him.

"Miss me?" She asks from behind him with a cocky grin.

He turns to face her, bringing his arms up in vain as she fires a large bolt of flame at him, knocking him flat on his back. She then leaps into the air, striking a pose for a split second before coming down with her knee aimed at his head. Finding himself at a loss for the first time in a long time, he only looks up at her come down at him in the air and rolls out of the way at the last moment, hearing her knee drive hard into the earth, the blow no doubt dulled by her kneepads.

He rolls up to his feet and staggers backwards, wiping dirt from his face and trying to regain some sense of composure through his confusion. She wastes no time in bringing the fight back to him, throwing a series of small fireballs in his direction that he can only dodge by leaping from side to side and ducking left and right, just avoiding each one as it explodes in the ground and tosses dust in the air. After the tenth fireball he starts to feel ridiculous ducking and rolling to and fro, and decides to do something about it. The next fireball hurtles in his direction, going up into the air for a moment before coming back down in a ballistic arc, and just as it's about to hit him, he teleports away and lands in front of her, falling to one knee. She looks down at him with a smirk on her face as he immediately drives his fist in the ground and opens a chasm underneath her.

She leaps off to the side and rolls, avoiding his attack and rising to her feet in an attack stance. He jumps up to his feet as well, spinning and throwing several air blades at her, hoping to score a hit with a proven attack. It doesn't work. She jumps into the air and rolls, tightening her body size and deflecting the sickles that come close with sheaths of energy emanating from her claws. His jaw drops again at his surprise, firstly that she can block his air blade attack, and secondly that she can reproduce the shield energy he's perfected. To his knowledge, he'd been the only person alive to learn that technique, even including his father.

She spins one last time and lands on her feet, removing her staff and casting a spell simultaneously. The hair on the back of Vargas' neck stands on end when he sees the ground in front of him start to swell with a pool of fire, followed by him snarling. 'Ohhhh no... not again, Rika...'

He ducks to one knee and lowers his head while thrusting a fist forward, forming a compact shield around himself that deflects the force of her second-level fire spell. Through the flames and holy magic, he can see her starting to spin in circles, wrapping herself in a thick blanket of green-colored energies. Glancing off to the side he can also see dirt starting to swirl into the air, being blown about by massive eddies of air. He snarls again just as his shield collapses, then leaps straight up in the air and teleports away, narrowly avoiding the tornado of air blades and wind thrown at him. He reappears off to her side and plunks down on the ground, nearly winded by this point.

However, she doesn't give any more chance to catch his breath than he did and brings her staff back around to bear, summoning the very powerful spell of Meteor. He rises and watches in stunned silence as a rip in space opens in front of him, unveiling a black portal filled with stars and vast dark space, and populated with hundreds of meteors... hurtling in his direction. He steps back and tries to shield himself, but his efforts are in vain as large chunks of rock slam into the earth around him, ripping giant craters and gashes in their wake. Several large ones also hit him, breaking bones and bruising him badly.

She giggles across from him as the portal seals up and shuts the meteor shower away, leaving him on his knees, battered and bleeding. He coughs up blood and tries to stand, rising off one knee first and trying to ignore her incessant laughing. She saunters over to him arrogantly, feeling victory very close at hand. He struggles still to get on his feet but finds his strength nearly gone, then shields his face from the dust she kicks at him. "Oh, you're enjoying this, aren't you?"

She laughs again and replies, "Very much."

"Well... don't sing your victory song just yet!" He exclaims while jumping into the air with a high roundhouse kick.

She ducks under it quickly and swings her foot around in a sweep, aiming to knock him off his feet. He lands on his feet and hops again to avoid her leg sweep, then does another roundhouse kick that she also ducks under. She stands back up to her feet and also tries to kick him with a rising roundhouse, but has her leg caught in his arms. Acting before he can, she hops up with her other leg and kicks him in the back of his head, forcing him to release her as he staggers forward. She pushes up with her hands and hops to her feet, spinning around to deliver a backhand to his head.

He, too, spins around, but catches her backhand on his cheek and ducks to the side, three small cuts opened on his face. She moves back on top of him right away, kicking away at his midsection and head relentlessly. He staggers away from her, feebly trying to block or deflect her offense with limited success, when she finally swings one leg back behind her and pulls her fists together at her side, gathering energy for an Aurabolt. Reacting mainly on instinct, he manages to teleport away at the last moment, landing some distance away and thinking he'd lost her for a second.

He hadn't. She teleports right in front of him, refusing to lighten her attack with a series of furious strikes. Metal blades clash together for a brief moment as he defends himself, but soon she gains the advantage and slashes away relentlessly at his chest and midsection, gashing him in many places. Finally his arms give out on him and his eyes glaze over, and she finds herself landing a kick, then two punches, then another slash and kick unopposed. She grins and spins around one last time, landing a hard backhand and a high spinning kick to his head.

He spins in the air and tumbles over to the side, then lands hard in the dirt and rolls, coming to rest on his back. The crowd springs to its feet and cheers for her, the only person to have ever defeated Vargas. She steps back and revels in the admiration, raising her hands to the air and bowing to them, and then to Cicero. Cicero stands up and steps forward, nodding his head at her before walking away through the crowd.

Probably gonna give him a talk. Hmph. No matter,' She muses, still grinning.

Behind her, Vargas begins to drift slowly into death. His heart slows and grows weaker while his mind begins to shut down, blood also pouring from so many cuts and internal injuries. Despite the enormous pain he's been put through, the whole ordeal begins to seem oddly surreal and even pleasant, beginning to seem as if it doesn't the tiniest bit as his vision fades into darkness and his eyes close... then a sudden bright light and warm feeling surrounds his body as healing magic stops him from death and restores him to full health.

His eyelids snap open and he stares at the sky above, colored a darkening purple and orange by the setting sun and low clouds. 'But what... oh...'

He sits up suddenly and looks around, finding himself sitting alone in the arena under the gaze of thousands of fans. The realization of his defeat finally hits him then and he glances about for Rika, but when he finds her he only catches a glimpse of her back as she exits. He sighs at length, deflated, then stands to his feet and looks up at the spectators, but can only do so for a moment before he hangs his head in shame and humiliation, walking off to the closest exit... which just happens to be the one she left through.

This post has been edited by Zephir on 3rd June 2004 00:18

--------------------

~Status Report~

* Completed... Dragon's Head
* Completed... Soldiers of the Empire: Disciples (release pending)
* In Progress/Undecided... Of Love and Betrayal
* Planning/Assembly... Where it all Began

Blood and Honor

***

Chapter 6

***

There's a hint of excitement and energy in the air the following morning, most of it over Rika's win, and most of that felt by Rika herself. She walks down the hallways with a confident gait, putting a little spring in her step, so to speak, and even smiles and waves to people as they pass her. She flips her ponytail off her shoulder and grins as she rounds the last bend and walks down the hallway leading to the sparring room. She glances around at the architecture idly, studying the... rather bland, Spartan decor. The walls are all simple stone painted white; the floors a dirty, scuffed beige; and the ceiling high and flat. Even the air is plain and drenched with the stench of old sweat and grime.

She breathes in deeply and exhales loudly, taking in the scents happily. Nothing like a good workout in the morning. She walks up to the gym's double doors and pauses to push against them, opening them up wide and stepping inside. A man flies through the air in the center, somersaulting and landing hard on the mat with a yelp. A loud slap of flesh against flesh sounds as another man takes a punch to his chest and doubles over, then takes a high knee to his face and reels back again, falling on his back. Vargas stands over him, breathing hard but otherwise undamaged, looking unusually intense and perhaps even a bit angry.

She pauses at the doorway and watches him beat them up, then when she catches his eye she places her hands on her hips and scoffs tauntingly. "Takin' it out on the little guys, huh?"

He glares at her for a second, then glances at them and watches them get back up. He looks back up to her and pants, "Just a warm-up."

"Really? Care to take on a real sparring partner?" She asks, sauntering over.

He looks her over from her head to her toe and back again, then shifts his weight and turns around to grab two sets of sparring gloves, tossing one set at her. "You come here to gloat?"

"No, not at all," She starts. "Just came for my daily workout."

He narrows his eyes at her and finishes putting on his gloves, then slaps them together and starts walking in circles around her, waving his fists around in a loose fighting stance. "Interesting moves you showed yesterday."

She jabs at his face and has her shot blocked quickly and easily. "You like 'em?"

They spin around each other for another half-circle until Vargas throws a fast right jab, left jab, right bodyblow combination. She blocks them all easily and starts hopping on her toes as he answers. "Was wondering where you learned 'em, actually."

She hops a few times on her toes and then stops, bobbing first to her left and then to her right, swinging with a rapid series of jabs and bodyblows that he manages to block and dodge with ease and speed. "You're pretty good," She remarks.

"So I thought." He suddenly attacks her with a wild flurry of punches and low kicks, forcing her back a few steps before she finally counters his offense and sticks him in the face and chest a few times. "Then you come along!"

"Hey, don't be a sore loser jus' 'cause I had your ticket that day!" She lunges back at him with her own combinations and forces him back a few steps, pushing them both back to where they first started.

He finally hops back a step and holds his gloves ready, taking a short breather with one arm high and the other low, both bobbing up and down. "You still haven't answered my question!"

She hops on her toes again and starts moving in a circle, then tilts her head sideways and asks almost playfully, "What question?"

He jabs at her face twice and has them both blocked, she grinning at him the whole time. "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

She pauses mid-step and starts bouncing in the opposite direction, changing the flow of their little dance. "I used to be an Imperial soldier. You learn things in there, y'know?"

He circles about her a couple times, then rushes at her suddenly, punching away. She blocks them all, but he drops down suddenly and sweeps her legs out from under her by swinging his leg into them. She falls flat on her back and lies there for a moment, staring up at him smile down at her, satisfied. One man in the audience laughs giddily at the sight. She sits up on her hands and nods at him wordlessly, then gets back up and raises her fists again. "Okay... okay..."

He raises his, also, and starts circling again, then charges with a jab with a kick aimed at her ribs. She blocks the jab and the kick and comes back with a standing sidekick of her own, aimed at his head, but he leans back to avoid the kick and drops down again to do another sweep. She scouts it out beforehand and simply hops over his leg and waits until he's standing again to kick him in his chest, making him stagger back from the force. He glares at her through narrowed eyes and bared teeth, watching her taunting smile. "The Empire doesn't explain where you learned moves like that."

She stares at him for a moment, still smiling, then cocks her head and glances away. "I did some traveling before I was drafted. I went up north to Figaro and met a martial arts master."

Martial arts master... He steps back on the mat and raises his fists again, holding his place and stance. She raises hers as well and pauses, then charges at him with a fast series of jabs and low kicks. He blocks them all and counters in-between her attacks with some offense of his own, using jabs and kicks wherever he can. They trade blocks and parries like this for a few seconds, flesh and gloves meeting each other over and over until that's the only sound heard in the gym besides their grunting and panting. At one point he ducks down and tries to sweep her feet again, but she jumps and upon landing tries to do the same to him. He hops too, and swings a high roundhouse at her that goes over her head as she ducks. While she ducks she puts some spin in her legs and leaps in the air, spinning in a half-circle until she's facing up at him in mid-air with her feet stretched out at his chest. When he stops spinning and looks down again, he sees her two feet collide with his chest and shove off.

He falls onto his back and rolls backwards and up on his knees, while she pushes off of him and lands on her back, then kicks her legs and pushes off the floor, standing upright again in one motion. They both pant heavily and glare at each other, but Vargas breaks the silence by wiping his mouth off and standing up again. "Who was your master?"

She waits for him to get on the mat again and raise his fists before she follows suit and answers. "Duncan, of South Figaro."

She wastes no time in charging straight at him, leaping in the air with jumping kick. He knocks her bare foot aside and blocks the jab aimed at his throat, then counters with a hard body blow that she blocks, but still stumbles back from his power. He charges forward quickly to capitalize, and they trade more jabs and low kicks until she manages to kick him in his chest, pushing him back again. She then jumps at him in the air with a high kick, but he grabs her leg suddenly and twists, throwing her into an uncontrolled roll that ends with her landing on her back.

Three guys in the audience get excited at that and make several exclamations, hopping a bit and pushing on each other. She lies there for a moment just breathing, taking a rest break and studying him, then finally lets her body go loose and stretches out. She pauses for another moment, then asks him while still looking at the ceiling, almost out of breath, "And who was yours?"

He pauses for a long moment, trying to decide if he should tell her or not, while also wondering how they got onto this whole conversation in the first place. "...Duncan."

She lifts her head and looks up at him, somewhat surprised. "Duncan?"

He nods his head at her, and decides to say nothing more in response... partly because he's too tired.

We trained under the same master...? She asks herself, still lying on the ground and staring at him. Finally she rolls over and gets back on her feet, raising her fists again. She starts hopping on her toes again, although weakly, and moves in a semi-circle off to his side. He starts to raise his own fists and follow her, completing a half-circle, and then lashes out with a few quick jabs. She blocks them and returns with a few jabs of her own, and they then graduate to trading several kicks and punches, and hopping over leg sweeps and ducking under spinning kicks. She kicks high and he ducks, he returns with a punch that she blocks, she tries to kick him in his ribs but he knocks that aside and then counters with a kick that she also blocks. They block a few punches from each other again and then try to kick each other at the same time, which only ends up with both of them blocking the other's kick and pushing off, shoving them away.

She hops back a step and starts bouncing on her toes again, ready to go, while he starts to raise his fists again, but stops himself and lowers his arms. "You know... kickboxing isn't really my thing."

She stops moving for a moment and stands still, though she still holds her arms up. "Yeah... me, neither."

They remove their gloves and toss them aside in front of a slightly confused crowd, then start circling around each other. He glances and points to one of the men in the crowd, realizing they almost forgot something. "Ref us."

The man gives him a blank gaze and then nods, reluctantly moving closer to take up his role. They hardly pay him any attention and raise their hands again, starting to circle each other once more... only this time their hands are in a grappling position, not a boxing one. They walk around in a semi-circle for a second, then lunge and grab at each other's shoulders. She then steps sideways and presses her right forearm into his shoulder and pushes her own shoulder into his, trying to force him back. He being stronger and larger, he holds his ground and wraps his arms around her shoulders, then twists sideways and lifts her up with all his strength.

She's pulled into the air and tossed to the side, falling over on her back and rolling back over onto her front. She hardly has time to think before he jumps on her again and wraps an arm through one of hers. She scrambles around and tries to reverse their positions, but he keeps an iron grip on her arm and tries to wrap his other arm over her throat. She fights hard and finally manages to flip herself over, worming out of his arm lock and placing one of her own on his wrist. He tries to fight out of it, but she wraps her legs around his waist and starts rolling to her side, flipping over on top of him and pushes against his arm, pinning it against his chest. She presses her forearm down on his chest and tries to pin him, but he fights against it and manages to keep at least one shoulder from touching the mat.

They hold position for a long moment, fighting each other, and then she decides to ask him a burning question. "If we had the same -- master, then why-urgh-didn't we ever -- see each other?"

"I never--" He starts, lifting both of his shoulders from the mat. "Actually joined -- the regular school -- until late."

"Home training?" She asks, pushing his shoulders back to the ground.

"Some," He grunts through gritted teeth.

The referee scurries over and drops to one knee beside them. "One, two--!"

Vargas lifts his shoulders from the ground suddenly, breaking the count and lifting himself back up in the air. He gets himself a few centimeters off of the ground and then pauses, gripping her arm as she holds his, and then whips himself over. Caught unprepared, she finds herself thrown off balance and rolled over, though still gripping his arm and with her legs wrapped around his waist, which he uses as leverage to reverse their positions. Her back slams on the mat loudly, feeling as hurt as the sound was loud, forcing air from her chest in a grunting vowel kind of sound.

"One--!" Says the referee, but he hardly says that before she lifts a shoulder from the mat.

She grunts and uses all of her strength just to keep a shoulder up, his build being so much larger and his power so much more that she can't match him there. "He teach you -- this?"

He growls and tries to force both of her shoulders down, but she keeps switching from holding one up to the other, never giving him a chance to pin. "Taught -- myself."

Finally he forces both of her shoulders down and leans in, pressing his forearms into her.

"One, two, three!" The referee stands up quickly and steps back, giving them room.

They both suddenly relax on the count of three, with Vargas sitting back and releasing her while she lets go of his arm and unwraps her legs from his waist, splaying out. He sits for a moment and pants, then places his hands on his thighs and gazes at her. "Wanna go for two out of three?"

She turns her head to the side and stares off in the distance, past the crowd and into nothing, panting breathlessly. She looks back at him after a long pause and relaxes a bit more. "Yeah."

With a loud, drawn-out growl and gritted teeth, she plants her knees into his stomach and pushes high, planting her hands on his shoulders and flipping him over her and onto his back. Flesh hits the mat behind her as he somersaults over; then she kicks her legs up over her head, backwards, and rolls over on top of him again, using his shoulders for leverage. She tries to pin him again right away, but he powers out before the referee can begin counting and plants his feet into her abdomen and then pushes off, throwing her off of him and into the air.

She drifts back about a meter and lands her feet, groaning for the force of it, and then stands up and backs away, totally out of breath. Her hands rise up in the air in front of her in a grappling position, then dip down along with the rest of her body as he charges her full-on. As he gets near he tries to grab her, but she ducks low and plants one hand on his stomach and her other on a thigh, then pushes her shoulder into his torso and lifts up, tossing him back and over her onto the mat.

The spectators all pull back and say a resounding "Oooo", some also clapping and laughing. Vargas lies on the matt for a second, then flips over and glares up at her standing back from him, holding her hands ready and breathing steady. She holds one hand out to him and waves towards herself, motioning for him to get up, to which he narrows his eyes and growls and then rises to his feet. He spits once and starts to circle around her again, watching her hands, feet and eyes for any telling signs of her next action.

"So whatever happened to the old man?" She asks almost casually.

Caught off guard, he can only think to blink at her and ask, "...Huh?"

"Y'know, the old guy. Duncan?" She asks while still circling. "How's he doin' lately?"

Suddenly she springs forth and clasps him by his shoulders, while he does the same, pretty much from reflex. They lock up for a moment until she steps forward and adjusts her position, catching him in a headlock quickly. He tries to power out and reverse it, but she keeps one step ahead of him and blocks, then grips tighter. With a snarl and grimace, he plants his feet on the mat and grabs her around her waist, then lifts her up in the air and over his head, holding her there for a moment and then dropping down on his back. She gets dumped on her back as well, though the force of falling from that height knocks the air out of her.

The spectators simultaneously exclaim "Oooo!" and watch with curiosity as she just lies there, blinking and staring at the ceiling. For a moment she honestly can't remember what she's doing there or why she's on her back, but it suddenly clicks and she rolls her head to the side to see him getting on his feet again, equally winded. She stares at him and rolls over, starting to get up, too. "Hey... so... how's he -- doin'?"

He stands up and stares back at her, waiting for her to get back on her feet, just panting. "...I don't... feel like talking about it..."

"...Why not?" She asks, tilting her head.

"I just don't." He starts circling again and raises his hands, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on her.

She shrugs and does the same, then charges at him, ducking at the last moment. He reaches for her but ends up grasping nothing, and then feels himself being lifted in the air as she places her shoulder into his gut and grabs him around his waist. He just holds on while she powers him up onto her shoulders and arms, groaning, then twists to her side once she's gotten him up as high as she can and slams him down on the mat. He lands flat on his back, and hard. She scrambles over on top of him quickly and pins his shoulders, watching his blank gaze and fighting his feeble attempts to power out of the pin.

"One, two, three!" The referee stands back and raises his fist, indicating a pin for her.

"Daddy kick ya out'?" She asks, getting off him.

He blinks at her, confused. "What?"

She bends over and steps away, leaning her face closer. "Daddy? Duncan? ...Why don't you wanna talk about 'im, huh?"

He scoffs and starts to get up, but stops and glances at her again... then scoffs again and rolls up onto his feet. "I don't want to. 'Ey, can't you just leave well enough a-OOF!"

She tackles him just as he turns to face her and grunts, "No!"

They splash and roll on the mat for a bit, scrambling and clawing at each other as they attempt to get some sort of hold or pin on the other. Finally she gets him in a sloppy pin and gets up to a two count, then has it reversed on her and winds up on the bottom as he tries to pin her. The referee gets up to a two again before she breaks the hold and reaches up with a leg, planting it on his chest and pushing off. He fights her at first but can't hold off forever, eventually giving up and drawing back... but not before he grabs her leg and falls back, wrapping his legs around it and applying an ankle lock. She starts squirming and sits up, reaching for him and her leg.

One of the spectators points and whispers something to the guy next to him as she slaps at his hands futilely, then reaches over with her other leg and begins to kick at his hands repeatedly. With a final, pained grunt he lets go and rolls off to the side, leaving her to hold her poor ankle and sit in place. He gets up and turns back to see her trying to get up, but having trouble getting her foot to support her weight. He almost smiles and goes over to her to finish the job, but ends up being grabbed and rolled over on his back, back under her again as she tries another pin attempt. They roll back and forth for a while until he gets a hold on her and locks on tightly, his fists wrapped around her waist. He stands up with her, holding her from the front, and then powers her into the air and starts to lift her over his head to powerslam her, but only gets her up to his chest level before his arms give out on him. Her whole body weight comes down on his chest and shoulders as she rolls over onto him, and both of them collapse on the mat, she falling over right on top of him.

They just lie there for a very long moment, too tired to move or speak. Their hair fell down during their match and is now splayed out all over the place; her hair covers his chest and falls on the floor, his hair spreads out in a wide blanket over the mat, and more of her hair's fallen up in his face. Neither of them cares to do anything about their position and so they both lie there and take something of a break. The referee stands dumbfounded and fumbles for something -- anything -- to do, turning to his buddies for help. "What do I do?"

One of them leans forward and tells him, "Count 'em out."

"What?"

"Count 'em out, you know," He says, slapping the back of his hand in his other palm.

The referee nods and says, "Oh, okay..."

He then turns around and looks between them, still confused, and starts counting. "One... two..."

He keeps counting until he gets to five, when she finally works up the energy to turn her head over and look up at him. "Yo... ya gonna move 'er wha'--?"

He doesn't answer her for a while, letting the referee count to seven. "...You first."

She sighs heavily. "Uhhh... fine."

The referee counts eight as she plants one tired hand on the mat, then pushes up and plants her other hand.

"Nine..."

She then scoots over and rolls right on top of him, making a sloppy pin attempt. The referee falls down to one knee and counts to two, but Vargas shifts out of the pin and tries to roll her over again, and they end up getting into another tumbling battle of holds, locks, and pin attempts. She grunts at him during one of these attempts, "So, you gonna tell me?"

"Tell ya what?" He grunts back.

"DUNCAN."

"I told you, no."

She tries to wrap his head, but he evades and goes after her exposed arm. She grunts at him again, "I'll keep asking until ya do."

"Okay, you wanna know?"

"Yes."

"Fine."

He growls and manages to grab her around her torso, then rolls over and tries to pin her, going nowhere as she fights him on it hard. "He died, okay? He died."

He feels her head duck down and start rubbing into his chest hard, causing his skin to burn, then feels his grip on her loosen and finally slip as she breaks out. The people stand on their feet as she gets him a surprise hold and flips him onto the mat, landing on top of him and forcing his shoulders down, putting all her weight on him.

She holds her breath and grits her teeth as the referee counts... then sighs in relief when he gets to three and rolls back and away, letting Vargas kick out and flail for a moment. She somersaults backwards and rolls to her feet, looking up at him with a grin and noting his disappointed look. Then the weight of what he'd said sinks in and her smile fades into a frown, but she doesn't have time to let that sink in, since he gets up and charges her, knocking her on her back again. They tussle for another moment, eventually ending up with her getting some sort of wristlock on him from the side while kneeling. "...How'd he die?"

He starts standing up and mutters, "He was killed."

"Killed?" She asks, then is pulled from her feet as he breaks the lock, grabs her legs, and lifts them off the ground, literally pulling her feet our from underneath her. "Whoa-OOF!"

Another "Oh!" comes from the crowd, while she just lies there and stares up at him, who pants and stares down at her. "I killed him."

He watches her somewhat stunned and silent gaze, returning it with a stony one. "So you see? I'm a murderer."

With that said, he steps over her and walks away through a gap in the gathered crowd, not saying another word. A dead hush falls over the room after he leaves, most of them stunned. For her part, she sits there through that long moment and just stares off after him... hardly thinking about anything at all, actually, besides those three words, I killed him.

This post has been edited by Zephir on 3rd June 2004 00:20

--------------------

~Status Report~

* Completed... Dragon's Head
* Completed... Soldiers of the Empire: Disciples (release pending)
* In Progress/Undecided... Of Love and Betrayal
* Planning/Assembly... Where it all Began

I'm posting this here instead of in a PM because...well, it's relevant to the topic.

I like your writing style, and this is well-written. It flows nicely.

That's not what you wanted me to comment on, though. I'm not sure what you want me to say. I don't have anything to rip apart. This isn't exactly a bastion of feminist rhetoric, but there isn't anything significant to complain about, either. It's pretty typical and unoffensive, but I don't really see why you thought I'd have a problem with it, either...

The only thing that's a little silly is that Rika is so gorgeous even though she gets her face pounded daily. That's more of a bone to pick with the entire genre than with your work in particular, though. Most fiction of this type isn't realistic about the way people would look after being warriors for years.

--------------------

Veni, vidi, dormivi.

I never said she was totally scarless. I did take that into consideration, though, and there's Cure magic to make up for that, and the Colloseum reeks of it. IMO, only the most serious injuries would leave large, obvious scars given that ability.

--------------------

~Status Report~

* Completed... Dragon's Head
* Completed... Soldiers of the Empire: Disciples (release pending)
* In Progress/Undecided... Of Love and Betrayal
* Planning/Assembly... Where it all Began

I love it. Cant say much else. Truely maginficent.

--------------------

If you've been mod-o-fied,
It's an illusion, and you're in-between.
Don't you be tarot-fied,
It's just alot of nothing, so what can it mean?
~Frank Zappa

Sins exist only for people who are on the Way or approaching the Way

Incredible. Awesome. This is probably the best FF6 Fanfiction I have EVER seen.

Blood and Honor

***

Chapter 7

***

Dust throws into the air, following Vargas' foot like a tidal wave erupting from his soles. His foot swings in a wide arc, setting him into a low defensive stance as his hands block a strike from her. Rika then throws a punch, and makes the mistake of letting her guard down on her left. He grabs her wrist skillfully in his right hand and in one swift motion brings his left leg around in a high sidekick that knocks her back. She stumbles back, bleeding from her nose, and can only watch as he lands a heavy backhand across her chin, knocking her on the ground.

She lies in the sand for a moment, breathing dirt and groaning through the intense pain, then feels herself being lifted by her shoulders onto her knees. She grunts again and struggles against his arms feebly as he grips her chin in one hand, and her head in his other. He bites down on his teeth and tenses up, preparing to snap her neck, and in that one very brief moment he considers everything that happened to get them to this point.

***

The day had started off normal enough: breakfast at nine, shower at ten, and a few hours of meditation and light exercise after that. Then he'd wound up in the sparring room, doing some light workouts when the announcement came: the next fight, and the last one both would have to fight in, would be between him and Rika. It was the last match, the championship bout, the one that would end it all for them, that could allow the victor to retire at the top of their game.

But he wasn't going to worry about any of that then. He'd simply gone about his routine, eaten his dinner, and meditated in his room until the time came. Rika, meanwhile, had spent her day doing much of the same. She'd taken her preparation very seriously, warming up in her room with muscle exercises and concentration exercises, never stepping out of her room to talk with anyone... but such is her way. And then it was time.

She and Vargas both left their rooms and went to their places, silent and contemplative. Neither was feeling especially joyous or especially disturbed, or nervous. Both were intense, putting their game faces on and speaking with no one, placing this match far above any other they had ever fought. Each person defeated the other in battle, each person being the only one to ever have done that. Cicero had considered talking with them beforehand, but decided against it. They needed to focus.

The time drew nearer and nearer until they were opposite each other, in the waiting areas behind the pit, ready to go out and prove their superiority to the other. They breathed deeply and cleared their minds of thought, waiting only for their names to be called.

And they were, and they stepped out into the pit.

***

It all comes down to this. This is the moment thousands of people have been waiting for since Vargas and Rika were announced the top seeds in the tournament, the moment where the best meets the best and everyone will find out just who is superior. Spectators lean forward in their seats, bite their nails, and shift nervously around, watching as they both square off in the pit below and do... nothing. For the longest few seconds it seems like they'll just stand around and do nothing, but a bellowing voice echoes over the arena, and gives them their explanation. "Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please?"

A pause, for dramatic effect. "Today is a special occasion, not only because this is the final battle to crown our champion, but also because this is only the third battle to be fought under Marandan pit rules in this Colosseum."

Trapdoors open in the floor and posts arise through them, with loops for chains and ornamental tops. Several stagehands come through doorways and begin hooking chains up to the posts while the announcer continues. "Long before Maranda was known as a place of tranquility and beauty, it was once a center for the study of the art of war, and the birthplace of many great warriors. This heritage lives on today in this recreation of the infamous cage and pit fights of the First Hundred Years. In this match the rules are essentially that there are no rules. No holds are illegal, no technique unwarranted. There will be up to three rounds, with the winning condition for each one being that one fighter must be sufficiently wounded or incapacitated such that they can no longer continue. Usually this requirement is fulfilled by death."

Rika glances up to the announcer's box on those words, taking her eyes off Vargas for only a moment. He, too, looks up at the announcer, but uses just his eyes. "One death per fighter is allowed, but two deaths, barring extenuating circumstances, will not be reversed. The best two out of three wins the match."

The announcer stops and looks around the pit at Vargas and Rika, while the stagehands finish their work and exit, clearing the ring for the two. Cicero rises to his feet and inspects the area, a virtual study in barbarism: chains run from post to post in a circle, enclosing the area in a ring of steel studded with sharp spines and tacks, ensuring that anyone foolish enough to get pushed against them would be cut. The posts are large and thick, made of a metal so sturdy they almost beg to be used as weapons. Atop each post is a small torch, lit with a hot-burning fire meant to make the ring hotter than it normally would be, to make the fighters more aggressive... and, incidentally, to push them to their limits. Sand covers the floor, but it barely conceals the hard, dark rusty brown steel floor and the emblem etched into its center: the emblem of the Dragon's Neck Colosseum. Cicero steps forth a step and halts, letting a deep silence fall over the small arena until all attention is focused on him, save for Vargas and Rika, who continue to stare off in deep intensity.

"...Begin!"

A gong crashes behind him and the two in the pit draw their weapons, each donning a pair of their finest claws. They start circling each other, brandishing their weapons, waiting for a good opening... then charge at each other at the same time, flashing steel blades about in a flurry of quick parries and swinging arcs. They trade strikes for some time, she swinging at him with a backhand and him ducking, he countering with an uppercut and she dodging. Kicks hit air and punches find nothing as they both read each other and manage to avoid or block most of their offense.

Rika wonders why he can follow her so well suddenly, then scowls as she continues to block and parry. Should've never gotten in that spar with him...!

She narrowly ducks under a wide swing by him, then decides to mix it up when she rises to her feet again. She waits while he kicks at her, catching his leg, and then immediately follows it up with an Aurabolt that catches him square in his chest. Pain shoots through him as she lets go and allows him to fly straight back and into one of the poles, smashing his back into it before falling on his face. Groaning and aching, he rises to his feet again and tries to assume a defensive stance, but she moves too fast and catches him across the chest with a few well-placed slashes that slice him up from shoulder to waist.

He gets frustrated quickly like this and counters with an Aurabolt of his own, at least managing to push her back and give himself room. Dust swirls in the air as she skids to a stop and falls to one knee, panting, then she looks up and grits her teeth while making another charge at him; her attack, however, meets only more metal as he parries and blocks her attacks, gaining the advantage by going over to a strong defense. Unable to get anything done, she grunts and kicks off his chest, backing away and loosening up with some practice sweeps and poses.

A split second passes as they both regain their bearings, then they charge at each other, each hoping to gain the offensive. Flurries of parried strikes intermingle, but neither can gain any kind of advantage, instead just trading blows indecisively again. Rika begins mixing kicks into her arsenal, but the first one she throws gets caught by him... allowing her to hop up and kick him in the back of the head, falling on the ground herself but still hitting him. He grabs his head and steps back while she kicks her legs in the air and spins over and back onto her feet, getting up as he comes at her again with his fists flying. She manages to parry each one and lashes out with another kick, this time catching him in the ribs.

She smiles at the sight of his wince, then throws another kick at him, aimed at his head, one which he ducks under and crouches to attempt a legsweep counter of his own. Thinking fast, she hops over his foot, then hops again as he tries a second time, only he starts to slowly rise up on his second attempt and winds up throwing a high spinning roundhouse at her, aiming for her head. She ducks under this, too, and counters with a legsweep attempt of her own, but he also hops over her foot and prepares to dodge a kick, then reels in pain as she quickly spins while rising to her feet and slashes the backs of her claws across his stomach, cutting three long gashes in him.

Seeing him distracted and off-balance, she grins and drops to one knee while casting a spell, throwing her hand out in front of her as she finishes and summons a second-level fire spell. He sees it coming though, and in the split second that it's cast he disappears in a haze of smoke and reappears before her, punting her in the chest. She falls over backwards and grunts, surprised, then starts rolling sideways in the dirt as he continually tries to plant a knee in her or slash at her with his claws. Finally she manages to get far enough away to roll over and get back on her feet, where she throws a hasty Aurabolt at him; which, as she expected, he deflected using his shield. Seeing her opening, she rushes at him just as his shield drops and engages him hand-to-hand, managing to get the better of him soon enough and pummel him with backhands, bodyblows, kicks, and slashes. Tasting victory is close, she steps up the ferocity of her attack and begins to ignore the pain his punches and cuts cause on her, finally getting the shot she needs, and taking it.

The last things he sees before losing consciousness are her fist backhanding him across his face and cutting him, then her high roundhouse kick to his head, and lastly her claw embedding in his chest, right at the heart. He stands on his feet for a long moment, coughing blood and slowly becoming more relaxed, before he finally falls to his knees and then his back, defeated. The crowd gives her a standing ovation, cheering for the victor of round one as she revels in the adoration. She spins in a circle while celebrating and comes back around to face him, watching as curing magics emerge from the air and surround his body, sealing his cuts and healing his bruises. He opens his eyes and looks at the dirt for a second, confused, then remembers where he is and looks up to see her bow to him.

"Youuu..." he growls as he gets up and shakes himself off.

He composes himself and walks over to her, taking a stance. "The winner of round one: Rika Terral!"

Do you have to announce it? Vargas asks himself through gritted teeth. They square off across from each other and touch each other's left claw together, then start walking in a slow circle in a trancelike state. So intense and focused are they that they don't take their eyes off their opponent, concentrating up until the final moment, when they lash out at each other from their lock. They can only trade blows and kicks for a while, she blocking his punches, he dodging her kicks, she parrying his weapons. The deadlock lasts for some time, until he catches on to a pattern she follows with her footwork.

Shuffling his feet this way and then that, he manages to get in close -- very close -- and locks one of her claws up in one hand while tying both their legs up, then tries to cut at her torso with his free hand. She blocks it just barely and struggles to break out of their lock, then gasps and falls over as he pulls her feet out from under her with one of his own while shoving her with his arms. She falls flat over and looks up to see him jumping in the air again, aiming at her with his knee and drawing one claw back. She rolls away again and stands back up on her feet, but he comes down on his soles and starts swinging, cutting at her torso and gashing her across her shoulders and abs.

She falls back at first, but soon finds herself being pressed against the spiked chains at the edge of the ring, but just as soon as she knows what's happening, he grabs her hands in a lock and she feels her back being cut and pressed into the barbs lining the chains. She screams long and hard while being leaned into it and has to listen to the crowd go nuts over the event, cheering madly at the carnage, then clenches her jaw and pushes against him, using all her strength to muscle herself off the chains and back on her feet, where she kicks him in the ribs and finally breaks the hold. He backs away a step, then ducks to the side after she spinkicks him in the chest.

Gaining momentum, she rushes at him and manages to get another slash in to his torso, cutting up his left pec. He counters quickly however, and uppercuts her across the right side of her head, opening a gash running from the bottom of her chin up to behind her ear. She groans and is tempted to grab at the wound for a moment, but bears through it and deflects the next few rounds of his fighting. At length they end up kicking each other in the stomach and pushing away, both falling to one knee on opposite sides of the ring. They pant and growl, flashing their weapons; then he holds his up and looks at it, then at her. "Whaddaya say we do this bare-knuckle?"

"No weapons?" she pants.

"No weapons." He watches her the whole time, his face holding an expression of sincerity.

"...Okay," she says, then stands and removes her claws. "Hand-to-hand, the ancient rules."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

"Just like Duncan taught us."

"..." His demeanor seems to darken at the mention of his father's name, and although she cringes somewhat and feels like apologizing, it's hardly the time for it.

Instead she strips off her weapons and throws them away, outside the ring, while he does the same and just stands there, arms relaxed. Hushed murmurs fall over the crowd at this, as people wonder what they're up to in the pit. She loosens up, too, and assumes a stance, waiting for him to move... which he doesn't. Well, not at first, anyway. He pauses for a second to let the moment sink in, then switches into a pose suddenly and rushes her, immediately locking her in a flurry of fist and wrist parries and blocks. He reaches out with his fist and has it slapped away; another try with his other fist has it blocked outright, but his other fist reaches back around and tries for a bodyblow.

She blocks that, too, and reaches up to kick him in his chest. He scouts it out, however, and reaches down with one hand, grabbing her ankle and yanking up. Her momentum and his strength combine to make her fly into a back flip, but she also hops up as he counters and counterattacks as well, kicking her foot into his chin on her way into the backflip. Surprised and dazed, he stumbles back and regains his footing while she takes the initiative, running at him with her fists bared. The first thing he does is let her come at him, and then grab her hand and duck down, using her weight and speed to throw her over onto her back. He keeps a firm grip on her arm as she falls, then when she's down he twists her arm back and applies pressure to her elbow and wrist, and presses his knee into her shoulder, locking her in an armlock.

She struggles against him for a moment, trying to break free while biting down on her teeth through the pain. Getting nowhere in a hurry, she finally relaxes and thinks for a second... then reaches up with her free hand and rakes him across his eyes. He staggers backward and holds his eyes, groaning and releasing the hold. She rolls out from under him and gets back on her feet, ready to throw anything she has at him, but finds herself being charged by him again. He rushes at her blindly, however, since his eyes are still aching from her rake, and she gets an idea.

He closes the gap between in but a second, but she thinks faster and ducks low under his arms, then rams her shoulder into his gut and grabs him around his waist, lifting him into the air and running forward a few steps before slamming him back down into the dirt again with all her might, knocking the air clean out of him. He coughs and lies on the ground under her, stunned. The crowd goes wild for that one, giving her another standing ovation. So out of it is he that she's able to mount him and start pummeling away at his face and chest for a good few seconds before he snaps out of it and reverses, winding up on top of her, pummeling away at her face. She covers her face at first and tries to block him, to no avail, then reaches up while he punches with her legs and wraps them around his head. He stops his attack once she has him in this odd hold and tries to break free, but she pulls back and throws him off of her and back into the dirt, giving her time to get back on her feet.

They both get up at once and rush at each other without a moment's hesitation, but his offense has taken something out of her and she misses spotting the cues that he's going to strike at her with a kick first. She gets ready to block a punch, but instead she sees him spin around and throw a very fast, very strong high heel kick at her, which catches her dead in her chin and throat and knocks her flat on her back. She lies on the ground blinking and coughing, very much dazed and confused, while he comes back around and stands there, watching her struggle to her feet.

He moves in a semi-circle while she gets up and starts spinning around, trying to find him again; and when she does, he goes straight into hitting her with hard hooks and uppercuts. Unable to make any sense of what's happening anymore, she can only stagger backwards under his assault and take the hook, then the uppercut, then the body blows and jabs, then the kicks and punches... though she does try to fight back with her own offense, it's all easily sidestepped and parried and countered with more punches and kicks. Finally he presses her close to the chains again and begins slamming her with hooks and backhand chops, bloodying her lip and nose in short order.

She falls back against the chains finally, but can't feel the pain shooting through her as she's near to being knocked out. He watches her reel, bouncing off the chains for a second with her hands up in a weakly held stance, then reaches back and spins around hard and fast, knocking her to the ground with a mighty spinning roundhouse kick to the jaw.

The crowd bursts again, cheering him on while the announcer sits forward in his seat, waiting for the judgment call from the referee. Meanwhile Vargas steps back and relaxes, nodding at her, while she lies in the dirt and breathes dust, not moving an inch although she's still technically somewhat awake. Getting his call from the referee, the announcer sits forward and bellows, "The winner of round two: Vargas!"

The thousand-plus crowd explodes into cheering again, giving him an ovation now. He ignores their cheering mostly, and watches as curing magic washes over her, healing most of her wounds in an instant. She blinks and lifts her head -- painfully -- to look around her at the dirt, then rises onto her knees and turns to face Vargas, glaring at him. She doesn't bother dusting herself off as she stands, instead just assuming an offensive stance and waiting again for him to move.

She doesn't have to wait long, because he goes right back on the offensive and throws a few punches and kicks at her that she easily sidesteps and dodges. He spits in the dirt and pulls back for a moment to throw a high kick at her, which she ducks under and then grabs him around his waist quickly and lifts him in the air. She holds him high for a second and twists him to the side, then spins and throws him back down on the ground, suplexing him. Phased for only a second, he quickly counters by grabbing her head and using his feet to roll her over on the ground beside him, then rolls back over on top of her and starts punching at her face again.

Blood begins to flow from her mouth again regardless of her attempts at blocking, and for her next move she reaches up and jabs her thumb in his eye. He jumps and steps off of her, grasping his eye and muttering random syllables. She grins satisfactorily and sits up, watching him shake his head off and then try to attack her again. Even while seated she manages to hold him off with parries and blocks, easily countering with a throat jab that sends him backing away again. Her back pops while she gets up, an oddly good feeling compared to the rest of the match, and she stands ready again with her hands in a grappling position.

He spins once and shakes his head off again, then charges at her with his fists flying. She sidesteps and parries each one, countering once in a while with a few of her own that he also dodges or parries, then reaches up and tries to kick him in his chest again with her left leg. He grabs her leg at his side and holds her there, watching her hop and swinging at her with his free hand. She blocks the punch, then hops up with her one free leg and spins around to kick him in the back of his head, using his arm for leverage.

The blow lands hard and he finds himself knocked senseless once more, letting go of her leg and stumbling forward. She pushes up from the ground and gets back on her feet, intent on taking advantage by laying into him with more punches and jabbing kicks. He regains just enough sense to parry most of the blows, but still finds himself hit by a few of them. An especially fast and hard backhand lands across his eye and he spins about and falls to one knee. As he sits staring into the dirt he sees a drop of blood fall from his brow and into the dirt, from a fresh cut she just opened over his eye.

The next thing he sees is her foot coming in from the side and slapping him in the face, making him get back on his feet, though unbalanced. She doesn't let up her assault and continues swinging at him, but he soon gets angrier and finds a second wind, parrying her blows with more force and finally opening a hole he can use, punching away at her face and torso with all his ferocity. He quickly gains the upper hand and stuns her with an especially powerful uppercut, then spins and lands a hard and fast roundhouse to her face, which reopens the wound he'd given her behind her ear. That last one seems to knock her out of her dizziness and she fires back, punching and chopping at him when she has a chance.

They trade blow for blow unchallenged, punch for kick, jab for chop, bodyblow and right hook. He then balls his fists together and reaches back, while she uses that opening to sidekick him in his chest. Unphased, he draws back more and then swings his fists at her face, hitting her hard across the forehead. She falls over to the side and rolls once, standing back up. Her hair comes undone from the force and falls all around her, and when she looks up again and tosses her hair, he can see blood pouring from a wide gash above her eyebrow. She raises her fists again and steps forward, trying to hit him with more punches and hooks. He dodges each of them, then tries to kick her in her chest.

She grabs his leg just as he'd done to her, so he hops up and tries to kick her in the back of the head, too. Seeing it coming, she ducks under it and smiles, but he lands on his foot and then hops up and spins again, facing up and then driving the sole of his foot into her sternum. She reels from the blow and releases his leg, then trips and falls over on her back, coughing and gagging on dirt. He draws his knees up to his chest and plants his hands behind his head, kicking up from lying on his back to his feet in one motion, and then rushes over to her as she stands up again.

He gets ready to draw back for a downward punch when she suddenly rises up on her two hands and drives her feet into his chest. He falls on his back, rolling backwards and then standing back up on his feet, and can only watch as she runs over and leaps, driving a flying kick right into his head. Her kick sends him rolling over sideways and flying into the air, but he miraculously lands on his knee and foot, upright. She recovers faster than him still, and lands a double-fisted punch of her own while he's on the ground.

That knocks him over and opens a new cut over his forehead, from which even more blood pours free. His hair also finally falls out of his tie then and flails in the air along with his head, lying splayed out around him as his face hits the dust. He breathes in the sand for a second, angry and frustrated, before he feels himself being lifted onto his knees by his shoulders from behind. He growls and plants a knee under him, then spins around and gives her a hard backhand to her face, bloodying her lip again. She staggers back a step, allowing him to get onto his feet and charge her, but she thinks quicker and grabs his shoulders while falling onto her back and rolling. Her feet plant themselves in his stomach and she whips him over onto his back; then, still holding her grip on his shoulders, she rolls backwards on top of him. Mounting him yet another time, she gets ready to pummel away at his face, but then finds her own move being used against her as he pushes away and rolls her over onto her back and then backrolls over on top of her.

From there he drives his forearm into her throat and tries to choke her out, and he watches her gag and cough and try to push his arm away. What he doesn't see is her knee shift between his legs, and then lift straight up... right into his crotch. Suddenly he lets go and rolls to the side, groaning and gripping the spot just below his belly button, while she coughs and sits up, trying to get her breath back.

Both of them get back on their feet slowly, feeling this close to fatigue and that much closer to passing out. Finally they get up again and make weak attempts at posing, then come at each other with teeth bared and fists flashing. He does something unexpected however, and ducks under her fist while spinning around behind her, jabbing her in her ribs on his way over. She gasps and clutches at the spot, then spins about and parries his punch, countering with a kick.

He grabs that but then throws her leg away, spinning her in a circle and then driving his forearm across her throat and chin. She falls flat on her back from it and lies in the sand for a second, blinking and coughing, then plants her hands behind her head and raises her knees to her chest, kicking up on her feet and spinning around. He also climbs back to his feet and stalks towards her, and when they meet again they trade another series of savage blows, matching double-fists and bodyblows punch for punch. They quickly made a bloody mess of each other, spreading blood around from their many open wounds as their exchange lasts for a good thirty seconds. Each hit is strong and powerful, but soon takes its toll on both of them, as she demonstrates when she finally falls to one knee.

He tries to take advantage quickly, but she blocks his punch and pushes him back, to which he raises his fists again and assumes a grappling pose. She starts growling and sets her feet under her, then charges at him full speed, trying to tackle him to the ground. He doesn't hesitate in ducking low and stepping to the side, then stretching his foot out and circling around her. His right leg sticks out to his side and throws a trail of dirt in the air, while he uses his other foot as a pivot and watches her run right on by and have to stop to turn around. Still very close to him, she doubles back and tries to punch at his head, but he uses his stance as a low defensive posture and blocks it, then watches as she throws another punch... and sees her let her guard down on her left side. Moving quickly, he grabs her wrist in his right hand and in one rapid movement brings his left leg around in a high sidekick that knocks her back. She stumbles and holds her hand up to her bleeding nose, and can only watch as he lands a heavy backhand strike on her chin, knocking her down.

He stands tall and watches her lie in the sand for a moment, breathing dirt and groaning, then walks over and grabs her by her shoulders to lift her on her knees. She doesn't seem to fight at first, instead groaning louder and grunting, but she tries to struggle against his arms feebly as he grips her head in one hand and her chin in his other. The crowd rises to their feet and begins cheering, calling for a finish. "Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!"

His teeth grit together and he tenses up to snap her neck, but he pauses as the day's events flash through his mind again, soon followed by rapid flashbacks and scenes from his childhood and early adulthood. Playing tug-of-war with his dad, roughhousing with his classmates, learning under his father... and that fateful day on Mount Kolt...

Suddenly none of it matters anymore. The killing, the bloodshed, the fighting... it's all hollow. He looks down at Rika's head in his hands and feels empty, despite his victory. One last time he tenses up and grips slightly tighter, then grabs her by her shoulders and throws her on her face, disgusted at himself. She coughs and gags, holding her throat with her hands, and turns to face him as she gets back to her knees. She watches him leave the pit in a hurry, not acknowledging any of the fans' cheers and praise, an expression of puzzlement on her face.

"Var-gas! Var-gas! Var-gas!"

***

He storms through his waiting area backstage, stopping only at a large barrel of water to fill a bucket and dump it over his head to wash himself off. Dirt and blood mix with the water and fall from his body onto the floor. Again he fills it and again he washes himself, then he starts to leave, but one of the men holds him back. "Sir, your wounds--"

"They can wait!" he snaps, throwing his arm off.

"But sir, I really can't--"

"I don't want it, you hear me?!" Vargas steps near him threateningly, letting his anger out on the poor kid. "I don't want it!"

"I really can't let you leave without healing you, sir!" he replies, standing up to him.

Vargas stares at him intensely for a long moment, then sighs in defeat and steps back. "All right, all right."

The kid steps aside and uses some controls to summon healing magic on Vargas, which seals his wounds and bruises, leaving only a few faint scars across his back and chest.

"Thank you," Vargas tells him with a sarcastic tone and a slight nod of his head, then exits through the door in the back.

He walks straight through the many winding hallways beyond, heading for his room and bypassing the celebration ceremonies that he supposed they would try to drag him to. People catch on to his sour mood instantly and know to stay out of his way; most of them being employees who've known him for many months and know the drill. He goes around one last corner and locks his eyes on his room, and gets halfway there when he hears Rika's voice. "Vargas! Vargas!"

He slows his step gradually to a walk, but doesn't stop. "What?"

"Not going to the party?" she asks while taking step alongside him.

"Not my scene," he mutters.

"Funny, I figured you were the gloating type," she barbs.

He pauses for a second, seeming to darken in expression. "...Not today."

He speeds up and hurries to his door, leaving her behind as she stops and watches him go. She bites her lip and asks herself if she should ask him her burning question, then basically tells herself "whatever" and rushes after him. "Wait!"

He slows down again to a walk, and then halts completely, throwing his head back and sighing heavily. "What?"

"Wait!" She runs over to him and stops when she gets in front of him, while he turns around to face her at the same time. She pants twice to catch her breath, then asks, "Why didn't you kill me?"

He steps with his foot and makes to turn away from her. "I didn't have to."

She grabs him by his arm before he turns away and pulls him back. "I've seen you in there before! Something was different today... you could've finished me for good, but you didn't. Why?"

His mouth twists into a frown and he fumbles in his mind for what to do, what to say. Should he dodge her question? Should he make up a story? Finally he gives in and just lets his fears melt away. "Because I can't live with myself, okay?! I can't do this anymore."

She lets go of his arm slowly, gently, and looks in his eyes while a moment of silence passes between them. "What changed?"

He looks back in her eyes for a second, then glances away at a wall. "I hate myself. I hate everything I am, and everything I've done. I -- killed my own father, Rika! And what do I keep doing? Killing!"

She watches tears form in his eyes, keeping her peace while he basically bares his soul in front of her. "I'm a disgrace to everything my father taught me. I'm a failure at my life, Rika. I can't do this anymore!"

He turns around and starts to go to his room again, but she steps after him and calls out, "Wait!"

He stops walking, but doesn't turn around, instead throwing his head back again and staring at the ceiling while grasping his left shoulder with his right arm. He fights back his tears and stifles them while she goes on.

"It doesn't have to end here." She walks towards him, talking softer. "You can start over, be a new man."

Another long pause. "It's too late for that," he finally whispers.

"No, it isn't!" She walks in front of him again and looks up into his face. "I've seen it start already, Vargas. I'm seeing you change already."

He keeps staring at the ceiling, but eventually lowers his head and hangs it, keeping his eyes away from hers. She watches him avoid her gaze and takes his chin in her hand, lifting his eyes back to hers and telling him, "I don't think you've ever been the giving up type. Don't start now."

He gazes into her eyes for some time, thinking deeply. Finally he breaks the silence and asks her softly, "Why are ya doing this?"

His voice is genuinely begging and confused, and full of emotion. Caught completely off guard, she moves her mouth up and down as if to say something, but nothing comes out at first. Lost without an answer, she can only whisper, "I... I don't know..."

They gaze at each other for a long moment, until he suddenly moves past her and gets to his door. "No. No, I can't do it anymore..."

She hurries up to him and grabs his shoulder before he can open the door, then spins him around and throws him against it with force. "Can't do what?!"

He seems surprised only at first, but it soon passes as his eyes fall on the scar running from her chin to behind her right ear. He reaches up with his left hand and tries to brush his fingers against it gently, but she pulls her face away and looks at his hand, then traces it to her face and rubs her hand along the scar, looking up at him and waiting for his answer. He lowers his hand and looks into her eyes softly, whispering, "I can't kill anymore."

They stand there for a while, neither one moving, until he finally lowers his head again and turns to go into his room. She doesn't stop this time and lets him leave her standing in the hallway, her hand still fingering the scar mindlessly. A minute seems to pass before she thinks out loud in a whisper, "Maybe I can't, too..."


This post has been edited by Zephir on 11th June 2004 01:34

--------------------

~Status Report~

* Completed... Dragon's Head
* Completed... Soldiers of the Empire: Disciples (release pending)
* In Progress/Undecided... Of Love and Betrayal
* Planning/Assembly... Where it all Began

Blood and Honor

***

Chapter 8

***

"Oof! Augh!"

The man reels from a two-hit bodyblow combination thrown by Vargas, then falls on his back from a three-hit jab-jab-hook combination to his chin. Rika comes into the sparring room and looks around at everyone, letting her eyes fall on the man on the ground as he rubs his chin and gets back on his feet. "He's lettin' ya have it, huh?"

The guy faces her, still rubbing his chin and stumbling a bit, while she walks towards them and addresses Vargas. "You got a moment?"

Vargas rubs his hand in his palm and flicks his wrist twice. "No, but I could use some practice."

He adds a little extra hiss on "practice" for some barbing fun, and circles partway across the mat to let her on. She stares at him for a second, and then chuckles and walks onto the mat. "All right... I'll try not to be too rough."

He tilts his head at that, then charges at her with a light jab. She dodges it easily and counters with a kicking jab to his head, which he dodges also. "So what brings you down here?" he asks between punches.

"Well, you know I--" she starts, then jabs at him and pulls back to finish. "--Found something -- last week while I was out."

"Eh?" he asks, then swings wide.

She ducks under it and makes a legsweep attempt, but he hops over it and waits for her next move. She comes back up on her feet hopping on her toes, but instead of continuing her attack she bounces around from side to side, looking for a good opening. "I met some merchants up north who've been out to Narshe lately..."

Quickly, while he's looking out for a punch, she ducks and rushes at him, grabbing him around his waist and taking him down to the mat. Some of the small crowd gathering about them hops up and exclaims in unison, "Ohhh!"

He lies on his back for a moment while she gets off him and back on her feet, staring at her, then nods before getting back to his feet. "Good, good... so, uh, what about your merchant friends?"

She starts hopping on her toes again, raising her fists back up. "They told me they'd met this guy--URGH!"

He does pretty much the same to her as she'd done to him, except he grabs her waist and whips himself around behind her, where he gets her into a headlock and forces her to one knee. She gags on his arm, feeling all that muscle closing off her windpipe. "Ack... augh... I can't... breathe..."

"I think that's the point," he says with a grin.

She coughs a couple times, then stands on her two feet and grabs his head in her hands. She then kicks her leg out in front of her and sits down from that position, ramming his forehead into the top of her scalp and breaking the hold.

"OW! Ow, that hurt!" he exclaims, rubbing his forehead vigorously.

"It's supposed to, dimwit!" she says with a wide smile.

He finally stands up again and holds his fists up, across from her in the same grappling stance. "Okay, so what about this guy they met?"

"They said he lives in this house north of Narshe, all by himself..." She tilts her head stiffly to work out a kink, then returns to looking at him. "I think it's Duncan."

Vargas pauses, lowering his hands. "...Huh?"

"Yeah..." She lowers her hands, too, instead of taking advantage.

"But... are you sure?" Skeptically, he shifts his pose and looks at her with his eyebrows furled.

"Loud mouth, hyper, threatened to beat 'em senseless when they first saw him, sure sounds like our Duncan."

Unsure what he should be saying, Vargas steps back and utters small syllables of sound, breathing heavier. She walks closer to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, catching his eye. "I think he might be alive, Vargas."

"B--b--but... but... b--but... but..."

"B--b--b--b, maybe you should go and see for yourself?"

He tries to step away, but can't go anywhere under her gaze. "I... but... he... we... I..."

"Hey, you could use some time off anyway. Consider it a vacation!" She catches his eye again and nods at him hopefully, but he shakes his head and draws back.

"What if he... I mean, I tried..."

She watches him stammer for some time, then sighs and raises her hands in defeat. "Okay. It's your choice. I'm just a messenger."

He looks up at her with confused, frightened eyes and watches her start turning away. "I'm gonna go now... it's just about dinner time."

He waves a hand at her, sloppily, muttering, "Yeah, yeah, dinner... bye..."

The whole scene leaves a couple guys and gals scratching their heads, but they soon forget about it and go back to training, while Vargas paces about for a moment and then leaves.

***

He heads straight for his quarters and plunks down on his bed, unable to get it off his mind. Should he go? Should he stay? What if he rejects him? What if he doesn't remember him? Or worse yet... what if he forgives him?! Sitting soon turns to pacing, and pacing soon turns to nervous nail biting. In the end, he takes one last glance over at his claws and stares at them for some time, then looks himself in a mirror.

...I'm going.

Without taking so much as a second glance back, he exits the Colosseum and starts making his way northeast, passing by Rika in the grand lobby, who watches him leave with a smirk.

***

Across plains and meadows he trudges, slaying many a monster and foe before marching across more plains... and yet more plains... until he finally arrives at Figaro Castle. Hiding his identity in robes made from animal hides so he won't be discovered, he passes under the sea and arrives in South Figaro. Standing in that town brings back many old memories for him, but he doesn't have the time or patience for nostalgia. He charters a trip to Narshe as soon as he can, and arrives the next day.

It certainly takes some doing, but owing to his many days spent mountain climbing with his dad he crosses the range and finds Duncan's house within the week. The feelings running through him as he stands before the small orchard surrounding the lone cabin are indescribable; everything from fear to depression passes through him in a short moment, but he quickly swallows the lump in his throat and works up the courage to enter...

He passes through the thin line of trees and emerges to see the cabin, a little run-down but still in good overall condition. He's still gawking at the sight when the door flings open and a man steps out, a very stout one in his mid-fifties. His face scowls beneath the great white beard he wears, and he squints through the sunlight, straining to make out the figure he sees. "Who is it...? Is it... Vargas? Vargas?"

He steps closer and examines him closer, watching Vargas swallow again and take another step forward. "...Vargas! Vargas, my boy! Ha ha ha!"

Duncan starts to jog towards him, but stops a few steps short and squints one eye at Vargas. "Say... you aren't here ta finish the job... are ya?"

Taken aback, Vargas can only stammer. "Uh... uh... um..."

"...Hah! Hahaha!" Duncan throws his arms out and grabs Vargas up in a big bear hug, with Vargas finding him to be remarkably strong for an old man.

Vargas pats him on the back reluctantly, so confused his poor mind can't figure out what to do or say. "Uhh..."

Duncan lets go of him slowly, still laughing. "Ha ha ha haah, what? Cat got yer tongue?"

"I, uhh... I, uhh..."

Duncan laughs once more, heartily, then stands to his side and puts his hand on his back, leading him to the door. "Come inside and have some tea! This is cause for celebration!"

***

The two of them sit at the living room table (the only table in the house, actually) and drink their cups of tea, one very happy-looking Duncan sipping from his glass and gazing at one very confused-looking Vargas. Finally he can't take the silence any more and just asks him bluntly, "What? Can't say anything to me, son?"

Vargas spins his cup around in his hands uneasily. "You mean... you aren't mad at me?"

Duncan sets his cup down and leans forward, answering with a bob of his head, "Do you think you're the only one who's ever tried to off his old man?"

Vargas gazes into his eyes and thinks he can pick up what his father's telling him. "...You mean you--?"

Duncan just closes his eyes, smirks, and nods. "Wow... I never knew you..." Vargas says, sitting back in stunned silence.

"That's 'cause I never told you." Duncan sits back in his seat again and picks up his cup. "Well, it didn't do me no good, either; the old geezer got out of it just as easily as I did."

A grim chuckle comes from him. "Huh, I guess it just runs in the family, eh? Heheh..."

He takes a sip of his tea and stares into it blankly, while Vargas lowers his head. "Dad... I really am sorry... I was just so... I didn't know you'd actually chosen me."

Duncan leans forward in his seat again and places his hand on Vargas' shoulder. "Vargas, you're my son. You'll always be my son. Remember that."

Vargas stares back at him sadly, then curls his lips down and embraces his dad, while Duncan pats him on the back. Vargas starts to get teary-eyed and his lips quiver while he whispers, "I'm sorry..."

"I've forgiven you," Duncan whispers back.

"I'm so sorry..." Vargas repeats, holding him closer. "I'm sorry..."

***

Hours pass of them reminiscing about the last few months and the past, recounting to each other tales of adventures and conquests. Duncan is especially proud of Vargas' championship victory over Rika, and his newfound mastering of the skills he'd taught him. They pass by a large tree while walking through the orchard a few hours after the tea, and after taking one glance at the sun dipping under the horizon, they decide to sit and pass the last hours of daylight in the shade. "Ohhhh. It sure seems like the ground just gets farther and farther away the older I get," Duncan quips upon being seated.

Vargas chuckles and sighs, breathing in the night air. He seems to be perfectly content just sitting there watching the sky, but Duncan still feels like talking. "So, you never told me, what was the prize you won in this tournament?"

Vargas glances over at him and shakes his head. "Ahh, money, prizes, nothing really important..."

"Nothing important?" Duncan laughs. "Since when is money never important?"

Vargas looks over at him and smiles. "Since getting my father back mattered more."

Duncan grins so widely then that it seems he might just make it pull from ear to ear. Vargas smiles back at him for a bit, then looks away at last and returns to gazing at the sunset. His smile soon fades, however, and more questions come into his head. Questions he can't hold back. "You must've been angry at some point."

Duncan remains silent for some time, and silence falls between them, where only the birds and insects make any noise for the longest time until Duncan finally answers him. "I was."

Vargas turns to look at him, every hint of jubilance gone from his face. Duncan goes on somberly, "At first. There were times I felt like disowning you... but then I started remembering what you'd told me that day... something about choosing him and not you. I started thinking about it, and I thought you must've meant Sabin. You thought I'd picked him over you?"

Vargas nods at him, and lowers his head in shame. Duncan looks him over curiously before going on. "I guess it was fair enough. I should've said something sooner, but I wanted it to be a surprise."

He looks down at himself and holds his arms out. "Well, heh, surprise! At any rate, I started to feel that this whole thing was actually my fault... and I couldn't stay angry at you for long, anyway. The fact is, I love you, son. In the end, that always wins."

Vargas works up the courage to look him in the eye again, and he sees the sincerest of faces looking back at him. "...I love you too, Dad. I never really wanted to hurt you."

His lips begin to quiver and he tries to fight back tears that he can't stop. Duncan shakes his head and feels tears tugging at his eyes, too. "I know, son, I know..."

And if you've never seen it before, you'd see two grown men cry right there under that tree. There they sit for hours more, until night falls and they're forced to go inside, and wait for the new day to break.

***

Vargas steps out into the new day's sunlight and breathes in the air, taking a deep breath in and out. "Ahhhhh!"

Duncan steps out behind him soon after, holding a small pack in his hands. "You sure you don't wanna stay a bit longer? I wouldn't mind the company. And we could spar for a bit, eh?"

Duncan smiles at his son while throwing some mock punches with his free hand, and Vargas smiles back while taking the bag into his arms. "No... no, I should get going. I've got my own things to take care of."

"Well... you were always were something of a loner."

"We both are," Vargas says, to which Duncan nods in agreement, with a little smile. They gaze at each for a while, then embrace each other in a hug.

They hold the other for some time, patting each other on the back, until they pull away and step back. Duncan sighs and shakes his head, looking him over. "You kids grow up so fast... y'know, one of these days, you'll be a parent and you'll be thinking the same thing, too."

"Heh, hopefully later rather than sooner," Vargas replies with another chuckle.

"Now don't be so sure 'bout that," Duncan starts. "What about, uh... Rika, eh? I remember she was quite the, uh... find in the day."

Duncan winks and grins at him, to which Vargas retches while starting to walk away. "Uugh, I didn't wanna see that..."

Duncan points his hands to his chest defensively and follows him. "'Ey, I'm a man, too, y'know!"

"Besides..." Vargas adds, changing the subject. "I don't think she really likes me, anyway."

"Why do you say that?" Duncan asks as he joins him at his side.

"'Cause! She just don't seem that way."

Duncan tilts his head at him and frowns, then looks out to the horizon and studies the skyline, as if looking for something. Vargas looks back and sees this, feeling something strange come over him. He looks back over the skyline and the mountains and sighs, telling him confidently, "Sabin's out there."

Duncan nods. "Oh, I know he is. I feel it in my bones."

Vargas follows his gaze out over the mountains, then looks back at him and asks, "Dad... if he ever finds you... would you, uh... mind not telling him anything about me?"

Duncan looks over and asks simply, "Why?"

"Well..." Vargas starts while shouldering the pack better. "I wanna settle our thing my own way."

Duncan looks him over for a long moment, nodding slowly. "Okay... I won't tell him anything."

Vargas nods at him with a small smile and looks back ahead, moving further away. Duncan follows him, then stops as they reach the edge of the orchard. "Give my best regards to Rika for me, will ya?"

Vargas turns around and sees Duncan waving at him, and he returns the favor and adds a smile. "I will!"

"Bye, son!"

"Bye, Dad!"

Vargas walks further away into the distance, leaving Duncan to stand by himself with his arms crossed, watching him walk off towards the horizon. He sighs at length and shakes his head. They do grow up too fast...

He turns around and heads back into the house, still shaking his head, while Vargas gets farther away. In a week, he returns to the Colosseum, and though his trip is uneventful, it still takes much out of him and so the first thing he does is take a hot bath and sleep the night away. The formal welcome back party and greetings can wait.

***

"Hello? Helloooo--? Wake up, sleeping beauty!"

Vargas opens his eyes and looks at his door groggily, following her voice. When he answers, he does so in a harsh just-woken-up voice. "What?"

"I saw you come right in here last night. You tryin' to hide or somethin'?"

"I'm tryin' to sleep!" he retorts, then grabs his pillow and presses it to his face.

Dead silence fills the room for a few seconds, but some silent clicking's soon heard coming from his door, followed by hinges swinging open and soft footsteps padding over the floor. He doesn't hear it through his pillow, however, so he's quite surprised when she nudges him on his shoulder. "Hey, wake up--RMMF!"

"GAHH!" He sits up in bed and throws his pillow at her, hitting her square in the face, and scrambles backwards. When he sees who pushed him, however, he stops and stares, then scoffs and tries to relax. "Rika! What in the name of Figaro are you doing--"

She holds his pillow out over her chest, a little shaken up and surprised by his reaction, too. "You don't have the best locks, y'know."

"Remind me to get a better one!" He climbs out of bed and gets on his feet unsteadily, still only half-awake. He turns back to her slowly while walking around his bed, looking at her oddly and asking, "What're you doin' in here?"

"Well, I... came to welcome you back..." she answers, fidgeting with his pillow.

He stops at the foot of his bed and looks at her with another funny look. "You? Welcome me back?"

"Well, times change..." Her fidgeting gets a little more pronounced, as she starts slapping it into her palm; then she holds her arms out, pillow in one hand, and cracks a nervous little smile. "...Welcome back!"

"...Right..." He starts to move towards his dresser, taking one creaky step after another.

She turns to look at him and adds, "They're also holding a homecoming party for you. I wanted to tell you about it."

"Oh, great, more parties."

She tosses his pillow on his bed and follows after him while he grabs clothes from his dresser. "You are the champion."

"Yeah, well..." he replies somewhat unenthusiastically.

"I also wanted to ask you about the guy up north..."

"Duncan? Oh yeah, he sends you his best."

He walks over to his dresser like it's nothing too important, but her eyes seem to light up a bit. "Really? You mean, you met him?"

"Yeah, he's still alive." Vargas stands in front of his dresser and looks in the mirror, studying the scars across his chest passively. Reaching up with his fingers, he touches the one across his left shoulder lightly, given to him by one of the monsters on the way back, and smiles. "The old geezer's still alive."

"Wow... that's good news!" she says with a slight laugh.

He smiles to himself and gets some clothes from his dresser, then looks up at his mirror again, where he sees her standing behind him, as if waiting for something. He's about to ask her what else she wants when he sees something brown across the side of her face... the scar. He turns about and looks at her, letting his eyes fall on her face. She fidgets with her fingers for a second, working up the nerve to ask, "Did he say much about me?"

Not noticing that she doesn't seem to know he's staring, he walks over and reaches with his fingers, touching the scar behind her ear gently. Confused at first, she starts to draw away, but stops herself and follows his hand up to her face, then pulls her face away and rubs the scar after he feels it a bit, looking a bit unnerved. He gazes at her wordlessly and waits for her answer, which she gives him in a near-whisper. "It's permanent. It's nothing, anyway."

She steps back and stands tall, unashamed of the scars given to her by him. "It's not like it's the only one I have, anyway," she tells him with a chuckle.

And she's right. He hadn't paid much attention, but she's got several small nicks across her abs and upper arms, though he probably gave her most of those in the championship bout. Greatest of them all, however, is the one between her shoulder blades, though he hasn't noticed it at all since it's usually covered up by at least a bra strap. He gazes over them for a moment and tries to joke, "Guess I cut you up a little better'n I thought, huh?"

To his relief, she doesn't take any offense and barbs back. "I gave you a fair share of 'em, too."

She reaches up and runs her fingers over a large one running down his pec, to which he recoils a bit under her touch. "What?"

"Your hand's cold," he answers, then moves past her to the door.

"Well, sorry." She follows him out into the hall and towards the bathing pools, staying quiet for a moment... but unable to take the silence, she finally asks him out of the blue, "Anyway... speaking of the tournament, umm..."

She hurries out ahead of him and gets in front, then crosses her arms behind her back and halts, stopping him and bouncing on her toes a couple times. "What was the, uh... prize you won, hm?"

He sways in place groggily, fidgeting with his clothes bundle in his one hand. "Whadda ya care, anyway? It's jus' stuff."

"I'd just like to know what I could've won..." she says, looking away. Then she looks back at him and brings her hands back around to her front, rubbing them together expectantly. "So, um... what could I've gotten?"

He gazes at her blankly for a second, then sighs and shifts his weight. "Well, the championship for one, some money--"

Before he can go on, she cuts him off with a sharp, "How much?"

He looks at her with his eyebrows furrowed. "Hold on, woman! Something like... I dunno, a few hundred thousand gold pieces or something..."

She whistles, and he nods. "Yeah. Oh, and, I got this stupid little tiara..."

She looks at him blankly and tilts her head slightly. "Tiara?"

"Yeah..." He rubs the back of his neck with his hand and looks up at the ceiling a bit. "Cicero told me it was for something dumb... something like, if it were a woman who'd won, she could crown herself some kinda queen, or if a guy won, he could give it to his girlfriend and make her his queen, I dunno, something dumb like that."

She looks away, puzzled, and starts rubbing one arm with her other. "...That is dumb..."

But kinda... romantic... in a stupid kinda cheesy way... hm.

He watches her muse, then smirks and leans against the wall with one arm. "Well, you know, I do still have it..."

She looks back up at him, only half paying him attention. "And I could use me a queen at my side..."

Getting it by now, she just stares at him blankly and hangs her jaw open very widely, while he leans off the wall and steps closer, grinning. "So whadda ya say?"

She looks up at him through a few low-hanging bangs of hair for a long moment, then looks down at the floor and shuffles her feet. He watches her intently and keeps smiling at her, while she laughs softly and steps closer to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. Then, in one quick motion, she gives him a high knee to the crotch and lets him bend over to her right shoulder, groaning. She smiles widely and pats his shoulder a couple times while moving past him, whispering in his ear, "I don't think so."

Doubled over and holding his crotch, he can only cough and lean against the wall for support as she saunters off down the hallway with a smile on her face, satisfied. A janitor, who just happened to be there to see the whole thing, comes within Vargas' sight and watches him. Vargas looks up at the kid and stands a little taller, smiling toothily, and pants almost happily, "I think she likes me."

The kid chuckles and shakes his head, taking his mop bucket with him down the hall. Left alone in the hallway, Vargas laughs to himself and recovers slowly before making his way to the bathing pools.

***

Another new day, another new prize, another new challenger. Vargas' feet shuffle through the sand swiftly, tossing dust around in an intricate dance, holding pace with those of the man across from him in the arena. They hold each other punch for punch, matching skill in the martial arts and putting on a tight match for the thousands watching them, a crowd including the likes of Cicero, Siegfried, and Rika. They cheer for each well-placed punch, stand for the best spots, and applaud for the technique involved. Every so often they'll glance at the crowd and catch a familiar face, a friend, or an enemy... and more often than not Vargas finds his gaze landing on Cicero and Rika, high in the private box of the stadium. And each time he does, a slight smile crosses his lips, because every time he does, he can feel victory within his grasp.

Their match continues, with Vargas landing a swift legsweep and following with a powerful Aurabolt, knocking the other man out and throwing him rolling head over heel in the dirt in a tight ball, thereby winning the contest; the thirtieth in two months. With each win his reputation has grown, and word of his prowess spreads to lands farther and farther out, the stories growing taller and taller. As time passes, he only becomes more notorious as the greatest fighter in the world, though the truth is a bit farther from this view. Heroes, however, are often born this way.

And so it is that Vargas' name ascends from obscurity, and into legend.


This post has been edited by Zephir on 21st June 2004 00:07

--------------------

~Status Report~

* Completed... Dragon's Head
* Completed... Soldiers of the Empire: Disciples (release pending)
* In Progress/Undecided... Of Love and Betrayal
* Planning/Assembly... Where it all Began

You know, I wasn't going to read the story, just glance over it. See how if went. But this is some good stuff. I don't think I breathed in the last chapter. I thought it was great from beginning to end, and Vargas is most certainly one of those characters that deserve more then they got. I salute you for it.

--------------------

The Collapse of Heaven and Earth

Thank you! ^-^; *takes a humble bow*

I... really don't know what else to say... without sounding awkward or something...

--------------------

~Status Report~

* Completed... Dragon's Head
* Completed... Soldiers of the Empire: Disciples (release pending)
* In Progress/Undecided... Of Love and Betrayal
* Planning/Assembly... Where it all Began

Okay, done :-)

Excellent story, I liked how you put in more about Duncan in there.

Not too much else that I want to say...hmm. I'll give you an opportunity as always to look it over first, so let me know when it's ready for the site.

--------------------

I had an old signature. Now I've changed it.

I like the conclusion.

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Veni, vidi, dormivi.

Quote (karasuman @ 20th June 2004 16:28)

I like the conclusion.

Me too. I love the story, a fic about an unusual character. Gj

--------------------

I fear my heart and fear my soul
Life goes on, it surely will,
Without me and I wonder:
Will I ever see light again?

Life goes on...

It's ready! ;

--------------------

~Status Report~

* Completed... Dragon's Head
* Completed... Soldiers of the Empire: Disciples (release pending)
* In Progress/Undecided... Of Love and Betrayal
* Planning/Assembly... Where it all Began