Fighting for Life

Fighting for Life

                Omar grunted in pain as he got to his feet. He placed one hand on his ribs to check them out - a sharp jolt of pain told him that one or more were broken.

                Using his staff he hobbled over to his opponent. Omar had smashed their head with a solid strike - it looked like they were dead. Phew, thought Omar. That made two victories so far - not bad.

                "We hayve a winner!" announced the strange voice of the being that ran the minor arena Omar had just fought in. "But it seems he's hurt himself in his little fall! Should we be generous and let him die? Or cruel and let him live?"

                "Uugh," muttered Omar. The swing that shattered his opponents skull had also left him off balance, causing him to fall to the ground heavily and awkwardly. And it seemed that the best wound care in the arena was death.

                A cold fear gripped him, despite knowing that as far as he knew he'd instantly awake in the arena's small revival room. The pain, though, and that moment when he died... He hadn't experienced, even though he was 'dead' in a sense. All he remembered was starting surgery - not whatever mid-surgery goof killed him.

                "Very well!" announced the voice. "We hayve reached a conclusion! The victor... Shall die!"

                Omar looked around, wondering where his death would come from. A crossbow bolt, maybe? There didn't seem to be guns or powerful magic around...

                "Would the victor please place his head in the receptacle at the edge of the arena? We will send out some assistance if you hayve difficulty," said the voice.

                Omar turned around, looking. There were several circle openings around the edge of the arena, all a bit large than a human head. There were a few low enough for him to stick his head in.

                Although he was pretty sure where this was going, he hauled himself towards the nearest 'receptacle' anyway. "He is rather impressive, hobbling like this!" cawed the voice.

                It only took a minute to reach the edge of the arena and stick his head in the hole. "To the victor, DEATH!" yelled the voice, sounding overly pleased and amused with itself.

                One faint sound of a blade moving later, Omar was dead; his headless body falling backwards onto the tiled floor of the battlefield.

                Instantly he awoke in a small, empty room. It was tiled with smooth, deep blue stone. The walls were made of a similar, but slightly lighter blue stone. An open archway led to a corridor much like any other in the arena.

                Almost immediately the strangest demon Omar had seen hopped into the room. The demon's face was fairly normal, apart from a mouth that stretched right across it. Beneath that, however, four tentacles extended outwards, each ending in a hand. From the middle extended a single leg that the creature had just hopped in on.

                "You're the winner, yes? Of the match? Omar?" the creature asked, piling questions one upon the other.

                "Yeah," said Omar.

                "Good, good, good," replied the creature. "I am Footman. It's a joke. Jokes are good. You took a while to get here. Quite unfortunate. About half an hour."
                "Oh," said Omar. "That can happen?"

                "Yes, yes, yes. Your next match is ready for you. You are needed to start it. So let's go go go!" rambled the creature.

                "Do you have to talk like that?" asked Omar as the creature span around.

                "Like what? What do you mean? I'm not sure!" said the creature as it began to hop. Omar followed. Despite its strange build the creature seemed capable of going a lot faster than it was.

                "In lots of three," said Omar. "All the time."

                "Yes," said the creature. "But it's boring. I like fun, fun, fun!"

                Omar sighed, causing the creature to giggle. "That's the funnest part! When you sigh! When they sigh!" it said. Omar noticed that even the giggles came in groups of three.

                In an attempt to not give the creature opportunities to annoy him, Omar remained silent as they walked through the arena. Thankfully the creature was quite intent on leading him - Omar's late revival had it in a rush.

                They arrived at a small chamber Omar recognised from his previous fights; a little waiting room that was locked and later opened out to the arena. What looked like a doorway from this side seemed to just be part of the arena wall when you were inside - it added a dramatic flair to the entry of the fighters (at least, in the two arenas Omar had been in).

                It was eerie to see Footman's tentacles locking him in. "Good luck! Fortune! Fare well!" he cheered, before hopping away.

                Omar's quarterstaff had been brought to the room for him, thankfully. He was fairly certain it was the same one at least. It seemed strong enough and was capped with metal properly rather than loosely. Also, it looked exactly the same, which was a good sign.

                Moments later the doorway into the arena began sliding upwards, a deep ominous rumble accompanying it. It was a bit melodramatic for such a small door, but par the course for the showmanship of Plonod's arena. Omar walked through the doorway with his staff at the ready.

                The arena he walked out into was filled with sand. The previous two had been tiled and flat, but the sand in this one formed several dunes that offered cover. Omar reckoned that the arena would give some advantages and disadvantages - the sand would make it harder to move around, but the bigger dunes would give a bit of cover against a ranged weapon. Perhaps they'd even allow Omar to get the drop on his opponent.

                Speaking of his opponent, she finally emerged from an opening directly opposite Omar. He recognised her instantly - it was Carmen, he bow in hand. Shit, thought Omar.

                As soon as Carmen was inside the arena the stone doors slammed shut and the announcer yelled, "Fight!"

                Standing still would be suicide. Omar immediately started bolting for the nearest dune, pulling to a stop when he caught Carmen loosing an arrow in the corner of his eye. The arrow flashed past him; it nearly hit him despite his stop.

                Shit she's good, thought Omar. He suspected Carmen only missed because Omar had slowed down faster than expected.

                He was moving before he finished that thought, still going right for the dune. A second arrow skidded through the dune's top just as he ducked behind it, sending a spray of sand into the air. It made a gentle tap as it hit the arena wall behind, a clatter as it fell.

                How the hell do I do this, thought Omar. There weren't enough dunes to get close easily, and Carmen was a really good shot. His best bet was to force her to come closer, but even then she'd get off a shot or two before he made it. And that was if she didn't just wait him out...

                Suddenly an arrow thunked into the ground right beside Omar, causing him to involuntarily blurt out "Fuck!" He rolled away from it, then skidded a little down the dune. How had Carmen done that? He looked up, and saw another arrow arcing down - although close, it wasn't quite as close as the last. She was taking blind shots at Omar, probably guided by all the sand he was knocking up into the air.

                The second arrow landed harmlessly nearby. I've got to check where she is, thought Omar, If I was her I'd be-

                A third arrow interrupted his thoughts; it was closer than the last. Omar snuck back up the dune, and took a look around. Carmen wasn't in front of him, not on the left, but on the right-

                "Shit!" said Omar, rolling down the dune and dodging the arrow Carmen had just shot right at him. She'd circled around as Omar had expected, preventing him from using the dune as cover.

                He got to his feet and starting running towards her as she drew back another arrow. He dodged to the right... And an arrow tore into his ribcage, making him stumble and fall with a pained gasp.

                "Aaargh," he groaned. He saw Carmen advancing carefully, another arrow drawn.

                "Sorry!" she said, before loosing it right into Omar's skull.

                Once again, Omar woke up instantly in the revival room, lying on the cool blue tiles. He sat up. It was really weird to be in pain, die, and wake up completely fine. He didn't even have a headache.

                "Hayve you woken up yet?" came a voice from just inside the room. Omar hadn't seen whoever it was come in - actually, he couldn't see her at all. He looked around confused.

                "Yes," he said, tentatively.

                "Good!" came the voice. A completely ordinary looking woman entered the room.

                "You hayve a little time before your next match," said the woman. Omar noticed that she was wearing bracers, which was a little strange. And her teeth were really sharp. "But I will take you straight to your fight. Your weapon is there."

                "Are you one of the announcers?" asked Omar. They 'hayve' was fairly unique.

                "No, that's my spawn-sister," said the woman. "She sounds like me though. We have very unique voices."

                That was a bit of an understatement. Both she and her sister had strangely raspy voices, on top of the occasional odd way of pronouncing words.

                "We can throw out voices easily, which I think confused you, hehe," said the woman. "Now come." She beckoned with one hand.

                Omar nodded, and followed. "I have a question," he said as they went.

                "You hayve a question?" the woman asked.

                "Yes," replied Omar. He resisted the urge to add 'I hayve a question'. Instead, he asked, "Why do you and most of the other - natives look human?"

                "We are close to your reality. It is how Plonod can call you here. It is suspected that all sentient souls were from your world, or most, but they came here after drifting for a long time and spawned bodies long after losing themselves. A few faint memories make us like you. Another theory is that we see your world, and our souls spent even longer drifting or just appeared. There are many others. But we don't know for sure," said the woman.

                "How do you guys appear here? And ... how do you have a 'spawn-sister'?" asked Omar.

                "We appear in natural 'revival rooms', but slowly. We 'spawn'. My spawn-sister spawned at the same time, and is similar to me," explained the woman. "When we die, we revive normally, and like we are."

                Omar nodded, then realised the woman couldn't see him as she was in front. "Thank you," he said.

                "Questions you hayve may as well be answered when you hayve them, we hayve time. You are slayve, but not quite slayve. You might become a soldier, or even a knight if you gain your freedom," replied the woman.

                I'm not sure I'd like to ask Footman questions, thought Omar. Thinking of names...

                "What is your name?" asked Omar.

                "I am Imp, and my sister is Rasper," replied the woman. "My name was Imzp, but Imp is close enough and I like it more. My sister's real name is -" Imp said something that sounded like 'Ytte-pz', but Omar was fairly sure she said 'il" at the same time as 'pz', and there also seemed to be some clicking involved. "It's a bit hard to say though. You humans can't say it at all!"

                "How can you say it?" asked Omar.

                "I hayve throat unlike yours. All of us who spawned here do - it is some kind of... 'natural' throat here. It can be given to humans too, by the surgeons. But there isn't a point; we speak 'English' now. It's a much better language than the one we had, and humans can understand it for the most part," replied Imp.

                Omar was about to ask another question, but a familiar type of room appeared before them. "Pop into there," said Imp. "Your match begins soon." She smiled, showing off her sharp teeth.

                "Thanks for the answers," said Omar. Imp nodded, and locked the door. She waved before she left.

                Easily the friendliest native I've met, thought Omar. He picked up his quarterstaff and hefted it. Still fine. A little bit of sand shook loose as he inspected it; definitely the same one. I guess this is my weapon for now.

                Omar sat down on a small stone bench - the only furniture in the room - and waited. Who would he be against next? The one he'd been worrying about (Carmen) was done and lost. He didn't actually know the names of any other fighters. Except the wanker, Orlando. Kind of sad that that prick wasn't super forgettable.

                The door started to rise and Omar headed straight out. The arena was tiled again, but four boulders provided some cover and variation. One was positioned roughly in the centre of each 'quarter' of the arena.

                A brief grin crossed Omar's face when he saw his opponent. Orlando the shithead, crappy sword haphazardly held in hand. Orlando seemed happy to see him as well.

                "The battle begins!" came the announcer's voice. This one was male, and quite deep - Omar hadn't heard it before.

                "An easy fight!" shouted Orlando, striding forwards confidently.

                May as well go straight for him, thought Omar, striding forwards carefully. The way Orlando walked, held his sword, acted... It all screamed 'I have no idea what I'm doing'. But it could still be a trick; and falling for it would be embarrassing.

                As soon as Omar was close enough for Orlando to reach, the sword-wielding asshat feinted. It likely seemed like a clever move to Orlando, but Omar stepped in with his quarterstaff in position to block both the feint and anything else Orlando tried.

                Orlando didn't disappoint - he made a quick slash from the feint, obviously expecting to 'cleverly' catch Omar off-guard. Omar caught the blow on his quarterstaff, then surprised Orlando by using the lower end to sweep him off his feet.

                "Ow!" yelped Orlando, landing on his arse. He flailed his sword wildly, almost managing to stick himself and Omar with his sword. Another smash from Omar's quarterstaff slapped the sword out of Orlando's hand, sending it clattering away on the tiles.

                "Hey man listen-" began Orlando. Omar was kind of happy he had to fight the prick - he felt nowhere near the hesitation he had in the first round, even though his first opponent had spent the entire time silently slashing away.

                Omar cut Orlando off with a solid blow to the head, and followed it with a couple more. Orlando gasped through his broken face a couple of times, then Omar finished him with a final slam to the head.

                "We have our winner!" boomed the announcer. "Very nicely done! Turn, and leave with glory!"

                Behind Omar the exit to the arena rumbled open, over-dramatic as ever. He walked through it with his bloodied staff in hand. Despite Orlando's cocksureness, that had been Omar's easiest fight by far. Orlando really was a moron.