This was it. Malshuom had defeated each and every warrior that had advanced and met him. The moment he had been waiting for. The past two weeks spent fighting and resting had led up to his and the Elder's true goal.
The Emperor.
"Malshuom." The warrior turned to the Elder. "The battle begins in an hour. I want to speak with you."
"I will be fine on my own, Elder," Malshuom smiled.
The Elder sat down on the carpeted floor, crossing his legs slowly. "Not if you don't understand," he said. "Malshuom… do you know why it is that the Emperor has never been defeated?"
The warrior sat down as well, in respect to the Elder. "He is a very skilled warrior, as I've heard. And his strength in close combat outmatches most warriors," Malshuom sighed.
The Elder nodded, glad to know he had taught the future Doshu'um well. "Those traits weren't taught, Malshuom," the Elder said. "They were passed on to him. He is one of the few Signa who has tapped into the power of their origins."
Malshuom's voice caught in his throat. He had fought through four different warriors, each having nearly killed him. And now… he was going up against the only Signa on the planet? As a regular Loki'irian?
"Elder! WHY HAVEN'T YOU TOLD ME?!" Malshuom bellowed. "He'll tear me apart!"
The Elder slapped the frantic man, resting his cane on his legs. "No, he won't," he chuckled. "It is time I told you what else this tournament was meant for."
Malshuom gasped as the Elder's sacred mark began glowing. He jumped back when the wrinkles over his body faded from the bulge of pure muscle. The Elder's face straightened out and he stood up to a daunting height, easily overshadowing Malshuom. And he was tall! The warrior stood back as the Elder, now younger and intimidating with his muscled body, stepped forward.
"I am a Signa," Figanti said. "And my name, is Figanti Alamonshuor. I am a memeber of the League of Thirteen, a group that helped carry out the Makti's law and rule over the thirteen continents. I represent the land of Junji, as the warrior of speed."
Malshuom looked over the new body of his former Elder, marveling at the mark etched onto his chest. "You've been alive… for millions of years?" Malshuom questioned.
Figanti nodded. "The thirteenth member, Konaskol, had a rite rarest of them all. Eternal life," Figanti explained. "With it, the only way to kill him would be a blade through his head or chest. Or something much gorier. When Loki'ir was attacked long ago, he passed on his rite as a weaker version. I simply have the ability to age myself as I see fit. Whether it be as and Elder, a warrior…" His body shrunk down until he was barely half Malshuom's height. "…or a child."
Malshuom watched as the Twelfth member regained his muscle mass and matured face. "What… what am I needed for then?" Malshuom questioned.
"The children, men, and women I have collected… they are all Signa. And you are as well," Figanti said, smiling at Malshuom's shock. "The other eleven warriors are here as well, guiding the other clans to unite under one banner. Each of the men you've faced are other Signa who have not realised their power. You defeated each of them, proving your strength to each of us. This tournament was meant to find the next Doshu'um once Reku'un became Makti. And as of now… you are his replacement."
Malshuom sat down slowly, going over everything he had just been told. "But I have not realised any power, Figanti," he said in a low tone. "How am I to defeat a true Signa as an unrealised warrior?"
Figanti chuckled and sat back down on the floor. "He is no true Signa," Figanti remarked. "He is a manipulative drek trarg (Translation terminated for the safety of the reader) and an evil man. Your ancestors would have fed him to their Nera'ak or shot him to the Arthanian homeworld."
The warrior nodded with a soft laugh, looking over to his twin swords near the door. "That still doesn't explain how I'm supposed to defeat a Signa," Malshuom sighed.
Figanti stood up and walked over to him, pulling up his left sleeve and showing him his 'scar.' "Do you see this?" Figanti asked. "This is the mark of the Nunik family. They were the only other family that honored the way of the sword aside from the Alamonshuor. Reku'un's father, Gonak, and your great ancestor, Rikint, were close friends. They joked that if he were to fall, Rikint's family would assume control. But it soon became a promise that they entrusted me to keep, should the plan for Reku'un fail. Your ancestors look to you now, Malshuom, and ask that you honor their sacrifice and fight to the very death of you. Malshuom Nunik… will you fight for Loki'ir? For the survival of the warriors we once were? For the survival of the Signa?"
Malshuom looked over the mark, examining much more thoroughly than before. Figanti had told him it was a scar he received upon birth when he was four cycles old. And now it meant the bloodline of a clan of warriors. A clan he was a part of and a clan he was entrusted in keeping alive. His fist clenched slowly, and he stood up in front of Figanti.
"I will fight, until my body lays cold and hollow from my wounds," Malshuom said determinedly. Figanti smiled and began to revert back to his Elder form.
"Then rest now, Malshuom Nunik. Tomorrow decides the outcome of your future," Figanti said weakly, grinning as he used his cane to leave.
The Signa looked down to his mark again, a sense of pride and honor filling his mind. Now… now he understood. He wasn't doing this for some long lost race. He was doing this for the brothers and sisters of his kind, for his mother and father, for his ancestors, for a family seperated. Malshuom looked over the twin blades, tracing his vision over the ancient inscribings.
Knock-Knock!
He looked up and smiled as Fineshta walked closer to him. She gave him a loving kiss and sat down beside him with tears in her eyes. "I'm fine… I'm fine, my love," Malshuom sighed, holding her close. "I'm here, I'm here."
She wiped a few stray drops rolling down her cheek.
"It's going to be alright," Malshuom smiled. "I'm not going to leave you, Fineshta. I promise."
Fineshta gave him a solemn gaze, interlacing his fingers between her own.
Malshuom sighed and rose her gaze up to him. "The Elder has faith in me. Don't you?" he chuckled. She glared briefly at him before giving him a small kiss. "He's strong… but Humashkin lacks in his drive."
Fineshta giggled and gave him a questioning look.
"He strives to keep his rule," Malshuom said. "Whereas the Elder and I wish to unite the people."
Fineshta raised a brow, her smile remaining. Malshuom shook his head with a soft laugh and guided his beloved to the bed. She worked her tongue skillfully over his, and he returned it with just as much passion. Fineshta sat up and reached behind herself to reach the straps of her clothes and let them fall off. Malshuom pulled the covers over them and laid back with his wife pressed against him.
Kashimot ot Humashkin, Miko Iduno
(Tournament of Humashkin, Day 3)
"Amiko jrem grosh ut ikan retack ot ut kashimot (Today we reach the final battle of the tournament)" Humashkin announced, standing in front of his usual seat at the highest point of the stadium. "Ut drel gewel, Malshuom, arap unvakit drek brak duuk duunz ot dek retacket. Brak unlo… den irakto dek nungerto zekowel ged. JRA! (The lucky warrior, Malshuom, has survived each and every one of his battles. And now… he faces his strongest opponent yet. ME!)"
Humashkin leaped from the platform and landed in the center of the arena, forming a small crater from his landing. He tossed his royal garnments to the side, leaving him in leather shorts and showing off his very defined body. The emperor reached to his sides and grabbed the small axes hanging, holding one above his head and the other by his waist.
"YUNKA, MALSHUOM! (COME, MALSHUOM!)" Humashkin bellowed, scraping his weapons together.
The warrior jogged out of the fighter entrance with his green blades in each hand. Humashkin smiled condescendingly at the man as they paced in a circle, the crowd cheering raucously for either of them.
"Jro'tok yuko i noog vez, Malshuom. Vibantolo, jra naka'at sewekii duft. Nek unlo… jrot kraqir jro'ef nipen ut gades zinkaz remol jra'tok benteack (You've come a long way, Malshuom. Truthfully, I hadn't expected much. But now… I'm afraid you'll join the other fifty men I've defeated)" Humashkin chuckled. Malshuom twirled his blades and crossed them in front of him.
"Dot qer'at ker jra scotyo Minira on Eden, Humashkin. Jra nokoj jro drank (It won't be me joining Minira in Eden, Humashkin. I promise you this" Malshuom grinned. The emperor snarled with annoyance and lunged forward.
The two swiped and deflected weapons, causing the crowd to scream even louder. Malshuom was struggling to keep up with the swift strikes from the heavy blades. He grunted as Humashkin cut a small wound into his arm. The emperor grinned and bellowed as he charged once again. Malshuom raised his blades to lock weapons, the hooked ends threatening to dig into his eyes. He was forced to a knee as Humashkin's power began funneling from within him, eventually pushing Malshuom's swords closer to him. He strained his arms as he forced the man just a bit higher, then slipped to his side and kicked Humashkin's legs out.
The emperor flipped onto a hand then cartwheeled back, snorting in anger. Malshuom stumbled back as a small burst of air smashed into him, right before Humashkin's foot drove right into his stomach. He was launched backwards and tumble until he slapped his back against the wall. Groaning weakly, Malshuom spat a glob of blood and saliva to the side and took hold of the one sword he still had. The other was somewhere in the field, but his focus was on the charging emperor. He barely rolled out of the way before Humashkin slashed a chunk of the stone wall off.
Malshuom slashed as fast as he could, but the emperor was much faster. His attack was deflected, the second axe wrenching it from his grip, and the man spun around to kick him in the face. He found himself tumbling again, only to stop and yell as he registered the deep cut in his side. Humashkin was walking over to him again, slowly and meticulously with a twisted grin. Malshuom scrambled to his feet shakily and grabbed his sword, holding it towards the emperor. Humashkin merely laughed. An axe was beamed to his head, which he ducked under, but it proved to be a mistake. The emperor uppercut his jaw then dug the entire curve of the axe in his chest. He screamed in agony as his flesh was cut open and his rib cage partially collapsed. Malshuom kicked the emperor's knee, which was knocked back instead of breaking.
The warrior hurriedly rolled out from under Humashkin and stood up. He clutched the wound that spewed blood and made breathing extremely harder. Seeing his fun coming to an end, Humashkin dropped his axes and walked towards his oppenent, who stumbled backwards in a mixture of fear and thought. Humashkin chuckled and balled his fists as he got closer, and Malshuom gasped when he felt the wall.
Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. Backed in a corner with a Signa blocking his path.
"Breathe, Malshuom. You'll always be defeated if you don't compose yourself. Reach out with your energy and feel the life around you."
Malshuom closed his eyes and took a deep, painful breath. Holding it for a few seconds, he exhaled slowly, repeating the process as a confused Humashkin approached. The height of the emperor's energy was daunting, but not as much as the other twelve he was feeling. Figanti could step in at any moment, but this was his time to fight. His time to prove that he could become Doshu'um and unite Loki'ir. Prove that he was worthy of bearing the Nunik family's mark.
A strange sensation passed over him, just as Humashkin rocketed his fist into Malshuom. The force of the blow traveled through him and formed a large crack in the stone behind him. Humashkin then pulled his other fist back and smashed it into his face, breaking his nose. He continued the devastating hits as the crowd jeered and cheered all at once. The Signa didn't let up, even as Malshuom fell to the ground. He pulled his right arm back, aiming right for Malshuom's skull. His fist rocketed forward… but it stopped on a palm.
Humashkin gasped as Malshuom rose his head, looking at the hand that had caught the fist, then began crushing his fist. The emperor yelled in pain as his knuckles began to crack from the power of the squeezing hand. Malshuom slammed his fist into his stomach, lifting the emperor slightly off tue ground. He used his newfound strength to grab the emperor by the neck and throw him across the arena. Humashkin slammed into the stone wall on the opposite side of the arena, crashing into it and getting stuck between the stone. He groaned in pain as his bloodied opponent began his own leisure walk over.
This is what being a Signa feels like. Such… power. All in one man. And in hundreds of us.
He and the crowd gasped as his body began morphing. The tan skin started to turn an abnormal grey, and small studded spikes jutted out from his arms. His legs also changed colors, but his toes joined to form three claws and a fourth claw just above his ankle. Malshuom's body thickened and grew in height, and a small cavity carved itself into his chest. His teeth sharpened just a bit more, and his transformation was complete. Humashkin gasped as he looked upon the fully realized Signa.
"Hruuk… hruuk vek jro? (What… what are you?)" Humashkin stammered, having seen and felt the transformation.
Malshuom looked over his new body through the enormous screen at the top of the stadium. "Jra nu SIGNA! (I am SIGNA!)" he bellowed, charging forward.
Humashkin couldn't register the movements of the Signa, who ran past him and punched him in the back of his head. The emperor was sent forward, Malshuom following close behind. When he slammed into the wall, he kneed the emperor's face further in and tossed him to the center of the arena. The dazed man got to his feet, only to be sent skyward by an uppercut. Malshuom squatted down and used his powerful legs to leap up and pummel Humashkin back towards the ground. After the emperor hit the lifeless dirt, Malshuom used his full weight to body slam him. A plume of dirt kicked up around them… clearing to show Malshuom standing above a broken Humashkin.
Malshuom. Finish him with what little honor he has left.
The Signa shook from his power-crazed mindset and looked over the dying emperor. He grabbed his sword from the ground and had Humashkin kneel. Placing the tip of the sword in his throat, Malshuom pushed it into his skull and kicked him backwards. He sheathed the sword he still had and looked to Figanti, put off by the incredulous look Fineshta was giving his new form. The older Signa nodded and stood up, as did ten other men and a woman in the crowd.
Guards lined the walls of the arena, pointing rifles and spears at the changed Signa. The injuries he'd sustained forced his body to revert back to normal, and he fell to a knee while panting hoarsely. Twelve landings made him look up, coming face to face with Figanti and eleven other muscled Signa. The twelve changed into their second forms, drawing another gasp from the crowd and the guards. Figanti healed Malshuom's injuries quickly, then nodded to the other Signa.
"Jrom limtur dit gerak, brak i vik duunz fretotet. Nek grok jrem unlo. Draf ingantik bigo ot nush dit mereko vo ot unlo (Your emperor is dead, and a new one rises. But hear us now. This moronic idea of rule is ending as of now)" Figanti boomed, scaring the non-Signa.
"Jrem eresh yututek ut vapro ot jrem ligat ot eto nika, brem i terrygo prok yurik viknak intos lak (We have gathered the last of our kind to this city, with a message sent five million years ago)" Quarek added.
"Ut ergo jro'el nakarol dit hengash, weqeaol, brak zukaol (The society you've become is disgusting, dishonorable, and pathetic)" Renkan spat. " Jrem werq duunch gewelet, drek ot jrem! Nuguus brak endertil ot mak ot jrem ligat, de jrum ikal gu vogabosh!(We were once warriors, each of us! Loving and respectful to any of our kind, be them weak or powerful!)"
"Jro roke jujo hokor ot kur hraak corcanot brak zetelo dremket jro lark! Dotet polort nefall moragonozo! (You fight like hokor to get what mundane and useless things you want! It's idiotic beyond comparison!)" Remek shouted.
"Brak tok hrem kut lorg driim venkatoet vapro gruel ip werosh (And yet we are all this universe's last chance at survival)" Lokor stated, firing a small device to the screen above.
The monitor was overridden with strange symbols and numbers the people understood not of. The cameras feed of them switched to a video of Figanti and the League running past corpses of soldiers and Loki'irians. A pack of Alphas dropped in front of the thirteen of them, Konaskol still being alive, and roaring. They let loose battle cries as they engaged the seven mutants. The mutts were taken out after a bit of a struggle and the League pressed onwards. They reached the enormous Lithifer tree that was burning to a crisp around them. From their vantage point, they could see the thousands of ships acting as clouds over the forests that were once lush. Only fire and death waded over them now.
"Dreek lekovat, Arthanianet, kut vegesho… mirkov… brak tiog turyop (These creatures, Arthanians, are relentless… savage… and still alive)" Binagish announced, drawing murmurs and small shouts from the crowd. "Jrum yash göt lenmakano, vreak rersh brak wenagat en lavik hriik jrum ro (They kill for entertainment, spread death and destruction no matter where they go)"
They saw the Signa in their final hours, fighting with weapons buried in their bodies as if they were splinters. The mutts fed even in the battle, ignoring the large trees falling and crushing Loki'irian and Arthanian alike. Figanti knocked a tree over a group of infantry tanks plowing through the regular Loki'irian warriors. A blast far off signalled the Makti's presence, and no sooner did Gonak appear before them.
"Jra negot (My brother)" Figanti greeted quickly. "Reku'un dit det ut frask (Reku'un is in the bunker)"
Lokor paused it on Gonak, allowing Ingat to step forward. "Driim… dit ut Makti. Elsh porsh jertok Loki'ir rog runk-enklo minak yotlor elsh gan garask ot blet. Brak un ut niganfo, jrem gansh yurok vrek nechalo Loki'ir goro hutanmi ut lagat bruke. Jrem isha vrek jro… higafo ponoket (This… is the Makti. He ruled over Loki'ir for fifty-seven cycles before he was forced to flee. And in the meantime, we were tasked with keeping Loki'ir alive beneath the hordes snout. We came with you… obvious failures)"
"Jrem lop Malshuom, ut Doshu'um'et hiroskmai, yash ut verceo rog minok evekol: Ot virka ut beresket brak Gingrich ot nojol verr tiakshi (We had Malshuom, the Doshu'um's replacement, kill the emperor for one reason: To unite the tribes and Gingrich to assemble an army)" Gengot explained. "Jrem kut ut vapro gewelet draak korac benegt ut banal. Hetro eb jrem lekof, ut garkast vapro gutyanq jrum banal rog verr braski ech onglo breek, gret nit ut Doshu'um (We are the last warriors that could defeat the horde. Even as we speak, the bastards are massing their horde for an attack not only here, but on the Doshu'um)"
"Dot dit rog drak menoga, drak jrem vivishka ut Signa ot drik bork, hruuk ut onglo hürt ukant jrem resal vinchet. Brak jrem gonto lome ot inck duunz marko (It is for that reason, that we gathered the Signa to this spot, where the only ship from our time rests. And we also come to ask one question)" Hinaktol said.
Portok levitated the video recorder into his palm, then sent memories of all the evils of the Arthanian horde into the crowds minds. He sent images of the Loki'irian warriors, regular and Signa alike, fighting to protect not only themselves but all life that Minira cared for. He sent the sense of honor, pride, loyalty, respect, and ancient emotions of the Signa. After doing that, the thirteen Signa were joined in realization by hundreds more; their energies revealed themselves and sent out erratic waves.
"YINK JRO GABET DROK JREM?! (WILL YOU FIGHT WITH US?!)" The League of Thirteen bellowed.
Weapons of the civilians and of warriors rang out from being pulled out of their holsters and scabbards. "ROG LOKI'IR! (FOR LOKI'IR!)"
"UPANGOT JREM HUDAR JREM GEROTCH ROG UT DRIGONT! DET I LIMIR'ET YOSKO, JREM BIT TENK ROG UT DOSHU'UM! (TOMORROW WE BEGIN OUR SEARCH FOR THE DRIGONT! IN A MOON'S CYCLE, WE SET OFF FOR THE DOSHU'UM!)" Figanti announced.
The crowd cheered madly, shouts of death to the horde ringing through their ears. The League reveled in the familiar call for the Arthanian blood, then turned to Malshuom. They lowered onto a knee and placed a fist beside the lowest knee.
"Doshu'um Malshuom… with the Makti absent, we are here to guide you." They each said.
Figanti stood first and placed his right hand on Malshuom's shoulder. "The road ahead will be long and challenging for our people, especially the fact that we are leaving this world once and for all," he said softly. "And then we will require ourselves to orientate with Earth's inhabitants. We are here for you when you need us."
"But," Renkan smiled. "First we will need to put our plan into effect and start the long journery to Reku'un."
Malshuom nodded to the only female member and smiled. "How long until we depart?"
"A moon's passing would be preferable," Hinaktol chuckled. "And after the journey, about eleven moon passings."
Malshuom nodded, looking out to the crowd still chanting a war song from the League's time. "Let us get started."