Malshuom panted as he regained his stance across from his opponent, Fedor. At first glance, the younger man looked fairly strong but nothing like him. As they fought, he realized that he was fighting with techniques rather than strength. Everytime Malshuom came charging, Fedor would use his momentum to send him sailing behind him. His fighting style was also a lot more confusing.
That wasn't to say he wasn't winning. Fedor's right arm looked dislocated or worse, and his nose dripped of blood. A few hits made Malshuom's cheek begin bleeding, but he was mostly tired. The crowd around them shook the arena with their cheers, but he was focused only on his opponent. This time, it was Fedor that came running towards him. Malshuom waited for any obvious attack movements.
Just as he reached a meter of him, Malshuom swung, but Fedor expected as much. He slid under the sizable fist and between his seperated legs. Before he could lash out, Malshuom reversed his arm motion and brought his elbow crashing into Fedor'a head. An ear-splitting crack reached his ears, and the clever opponent collapsed - blood trickling from his head.
"Malshuom etaki! (Malshuom wins!)" the announcer shouted.
The crowd waved flags and banners depicting the insignia painted onto his torso. At the highest seat, the emperor chuckled and drank some of his Nigit wine.
"Orrel vaut, gra? (Good kill, no?)" one of his general's chuckled.
"Bah. Jro gunadi hersh untika ut hro ugafin, ento nith voco tinik zadafel (I would have killed the boy sooner, even with his little tricks)" the emperor snorted.
Malshuom limped off the battle stage, where the Elder was once again waiting. "You should never underestimate your opponent," he chuckled. "I saw you show arrogance in the very beginning."
"He was half my size," Malshuom replied hoarsely. "His technique is what delayed his death."
"Which is something you should remember, come your next fight," the old man advised. "Strength will only take you so far. Your mind, will take you as far as you want."
Malshuom nodded, shouldering the door open and heading for the shower. After disrobing, and getting in the shower, he felt a pair of delicate hands slide around to hug his sore core. He turned back and hugged his wife, who smiled proudly.
"We're almost done with these tournaments, my love," he chuckled. "And we'll soon have all of Loki'ir united."
She frowned slightly, and tilted her head.
"I never understood it either, Fineshta," he said. "But the Elder knows more than I thought. He's shown and told me about the times before the tribes were formed, before the Gingrich Empire was established."
She raised a brow, smiling questioningly.
"I didn't believe him, but it feels like he may have been there," he said softly. "Or Minira must truly want us to reunite our planet."
She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. "Don't worry. In another cycle, we'll have lush forests to walk through, and fresh water to drink," he smiled. "And our child will have a home to grow up in."
She looked at her belly, which was no different than before. He chuckled and kissed her lips lovingly.
"One day, we will have our own child," he assured her. "You can name it, and I can raise it and feed it."
She giggled gently, looking at him amusedly.
"Maybe not as much as I'd like, but enough to be with you and it," he chuckled. "I promise, we'll settle in our own home, with survival as something easy."
She nodded, then sighed as the warm water washed over them. Malshuom hoped that the Elder's fantasies of healers were true, because he yearned to hear his wife's voice one day. He could only imagine what it would sound like.
Kashimot ot Humashkin, Miko Etnuo
Tournament of Humashkin, Day 2
The emperor stood from his seat and approached the microphone. "Amiko, jrim untak ut etnuod miko ot ut kashimot. Ut ninjantol gewel etano rakk nek grav dingash ot jrem ikanogat. Jrum hrek et gott inda fem… ashel duuk (Today, we reach the second day of the tournament. The surviving warriors will face off with weapons of their choosing. Any who do not own any… good luck)"
Malshuom took a deep breath, holding his twin blades in each hand. Tightening his grasp, he leisurely walked out of the hall and into the arena. The sun filled his vision before the roaring crowd did. He ignored their cheers and chants, keeping the reason he was there in mind.
Across from him, the door slid to the side, and a large figure made its way out. The man was about the same size as Malshuom, maybe an inch or two taller. His weapon was slung over his back, a large studded hammer about as tall as him. The clashing blue and green face-paint splitting his face told of his clan. Malshuom recognized him as the one who split a challenger's head open. Gulping subtley, he lowered a sword to his waist and the other above his head, pointing them both to his opponent. The warrior, Dekat if he remembered, dropped the hammer to the ground.
The emperor aimed the pistol to the sky, then fired. Malshuom yelled as he charged forward, crossing his blades in front. Dekat ran forward, dragging his weapon across the stone. When he was in reach, Dekat swung his hammer around, only to get parried sloppily. Malshuom staggered to the side, his wrist feeling sprained from the one hit.
He hopped backwards before the hammer could crush him, then lunged forward, slicing his swords in and X-motion. Dekat used the handle to block one, but the second cut a light wound in his right shoulder. Even with the cut, Dekat readjusted his grip and started swinging again. Malshuom let the bulky weapon slide off his green weapons.
Their sheer mass was enough to make him stumble around. He fell when Dekat brought it straight down, prying one free of his grip. He kicked it to the side and advanced faster than before, now that he had the upper hand. Malshuom rolled to the side, avoiding the block of metals again.
Spinning on his hand, he got back onto his feet and readied for another bout. Detak swung again, but Malshuom decided to dodge instead of parry. He jumped and weaved his way around the hammer, slashing every few times he had an opening. For the most part, he wasn't getting a single inch in. Though it was a large weapon, Detak controlled it as skillfully as a staff-wielder. His one sword was clearly outmatched by the master.
On a particularly weak swing, Detak rammed his left fist into Malshuom's stomach. He was knocked onto his knees, and he barely registered the hammer coming down on him. He raised his sword, but the blade was only pushed with the weapon into his chest. The man screamed in agony as he felt his ribs break, and the sides of the blade cut into his pectorals. He steeled himself, kicked out one of his legs, then rocketed his feet into his face. Detak was sent rolling backwards, giving Malshuom a chance to get back up.
He breathed raggedly and spat up blood, clutching his chest panickedly. Detak wiped the blood from his mouth, and grunted as he leaned on his left leg. Malshuom caught the anguish in his features. He had a chance.
Though he was only getting half-breaths, Malshuom rushed forward yelling. Detak got into his stance, flinching again. Malshuom beamed his blade right for his heart, but Detak deflected it. Just as Malshuom predicted. He slid under him and kicked Detak's knee as hard as he could. Detak screamed in pain as his knee bent inwards.
Malshuom ran around his side, quickly grabbing his blade and sinking it into Detak's throat. He took his hammer and used it to drive the sword clean through his jugular. Detak fell to the ground convulsing, but he managed one last look to Malshuom. He nodded proudly, then kept still as his pupils dilated. Still clutching his chest, the victorious warrior looked to the emperor. Even from there, he could see the smirk on his face.
"Jrum ingashi! (Our winner!)" he announced. "Malshuom!"
The awestruck crowd leaped to their feet and cheered his name. Their cheers still meant nothing to him, the only thing concerning him now being that he get back to the Elder. The wise-man helped him limp back to their quarters. Malshuom was laid on the bed as the Elder placed his hand over the wound.
"Elder!" Malshuom strained.
"Calm yourself," he hushed. "Panicking from a wound in battle will get you killed."
"Elder, please!" Malshuom grunted. The Elder placed his hand over Malshuom's dented torso.
He grunted softly as his hand glowed. His marked hand began to glow brightly as a purple hue surrounded Malshuom. The pain ebbed quickly for Malshuom. It felt as if a cool breeze licked at the bone and meat, soothing the aches and stings of pain. He sighed in relief, not feeling the moving muscle.
When the pain fully vanished, he sat up slowly, but the Elder gently moved him back down. "The healing process will leave you sore, Malshuom," he explained. "I've only learned it. I'm not a master healer."
"I hope there… are other healers," Malshuom chuckled. "This Doshu'um… I mean."
The Elder chuckled softly. "Don't worry about that," he said. Malshuom nodded, grunting as he adjusted his resting position.
The Elder left the room, then made his way out of the building. He passed dozens of people heading home from the arena, each complimenting his warrior. He thanked each and went on his way. Not too far from their residence was a bar, empty since it was closing time.
The Elder stepped inside, glancing to the workers cleaning the tables. In the back, another elderly man sorted through papers on his desk. He looked up, then smiled.
"A bit early, are you not?" he chuckled.
"It's good to see you again, Gengot," the Elder said. "Where are the-"
"Hinaktol, present." The two turned to the door, where another old man stood.
"Don't forget, Renkan," an elderly woman chirped.
"Yonok, here," another man said.
Remek, Ingat, Nagashu, Portok, Quarek, Binagish, and Lokor entered next. The twelve elders sat on the floor. Their marks glowed, and their bodies soon lost their wrinkles. Their muscles expanded, and they grew to a bit over eight feet, save for Renkan who was 7 ft. 2 in. They stretched out their regular bodies.
"So you've finally chosen a replacement, Figanti?" Renkan asked.
"He won't replace the Doshu'um. He'll only become Makti once Reku'un is no longer able," Figanti said. "But, have you all received the memories?"
They all nodded. "I remember yesterday when Reku'un was running from his brothers," Nagashu chuckled. "It took three of us to catch him."
Quarek sighed softly. "Each of us have seen bloodshed in the thousands, but for it to happen to a child?" he said.
"It's a terrible thing, but none of the royal family could have foreseen it," Lokor told them. "Even we wouldn't have suggested it."
"That's not why we're here," Yonok reminded them. "Binagish, Hinaktol, do you have the Defili seeds?"
The showed him the small canisters filled with thousands of tiny seeds. "I always hold onto them," Hinaktol nodded.
"Renkan and Gengot, the weapons?" The two showed him cubes with millions of shrunken weapons. "Nagashu, you remember how to fix the Drigont?"
"I made it, Yonok," he deadpanned. "I could make a fleet if you gave me a month."
Yonok nodded, turning to the others. "Quarek, Lokor, Ingat, animals?" The three showed cubes of cryo-frozen animals that were shrunken down. "Remek, Portok, armor?"
"Yes, yes," Portok chuckled, showing the larger cubes. "I've been dying to wear it."
Yonok turned to Figanti. "Do you have it?"
He reached into his robe, pulling out a small cube like the others. "Ackel (Grow)" The cube whirred, then opened to show a small pot filled with dirt and a growing sapling.
"How long ago did you plant it?" Renkan asked.
Figanti ran his fingers over the familiar leaves, remembering the feel of the parent tree. "Only a month ago," he smiled. "I'm sure Reku'un will be happy to see it again."
They kept silent for a moment, each thinking back to different parts of his past. "He's made a mess of the Signa," Remek commented. "I still can't believe they betrayed the Doshu'um."
"He was still young," Hinaktol reminded him. "Jerosh almost has as much power as any of us."
"But they should have allied themselves with the Doshu'um instead of angering him," Quarek said. "We could have had an advantage if they only-"
"If they joined him, none of this would have happened." The League silenced themselves as Figanti stood up. "None of us would be here, Reku'un would have never grown as strong as he is, and he would have never met Limir. Minira has guided us along the path she believes right. We must keep our faith in her," he said.
"I am dying to slaughter some Arthanian drek trargs," Renkan said, cracking her neck. "It's been… too long to think about my last kill."
"This isn't about fighting," Ingat said. "We need to end the horde, once and for all."
"But without the lay of the land, we can't come up with a strategy of defense," Portok reminded them.
Figanti stomped his foot, their signal for immediate silence. "We will worry about that when we get there," Figanti said. "We have the Signa, and we can train them aboard the ship. We need to reach Earth then worry about the Arthanians."
Nagashu stood up. "And what about that idiotic emperor? Will we bring him?" he asked.
"If Malshuom proves he can manipulate his own power, we'll be seeing him in Eden," Figanti answered. "Otherwise, we must act and kill him to procede."
"You seem a bit angry, Figanti," Renkan said.
"These bastard beasts have taken one of us," Figanti snarled. "So yes, I am very, very angry."
"Konaskol gave his life to allow us to carry on," Hinaktol smiled. "Calm down, and remember what we know of vengeance."
Figanti sighed, then sat back down. "Once the Signa begin their Illness Passage, we'll need to make sure they stay stable," he ordered. "Train them as best you can, and prepare them for the horde."
"And I think some need some discipline when we gather them," Remek chuckled.
Figanti nodded, then stretched his left hand to the center. The others did the same, channeling their energies into a single white ball of energy.
"We serve the Makti, and teach the Doshu'um.
We are the strongest of our kind, the warriors of warriors.
We guide our race, to the gardens of Eden.
The horde and all evils shall run when they hear our cry.
We are the League of Thirteen, we will fight or die!"