Fought for Life

Fought for Life

                Of his twelve qualifying fights, Omar won eight. As well as Carmen, he lost against another archer (embarrassingly); a woman with dual daggers who had tossed one aside, grabbed Omar's staff, and stabbed Omar while he tried to wrench it free; and a sword fighter who seemed to have some idea of what he was doing, unlike most.

                It took about nine hours for the fights to complete - some took longer than others. Amongst Omar's victories was one in which his opponent had tried to talk to him. He suspected they were trying for some kind of guilt trip strike, but Omar had killed them pretty quickly. Battles like that, though, might've taken a while if both fighters kept talking. Or if they'd gotten to know each other a little - Carmen killing Omar quick might have been an exception.

                With the fights completed, the new fighters were shuffled back to the cell they'd initially been brought to. A lot of glares were exchanged; they'd been killing each other all day and a few took the necessity poorly.

                Carmen especially was a target. Omar waved to her when she arrived and she wandered over. "Um, sorry about shooting you," she said, well aware of the dirty looks.

                "It's alright," said Omar. "I'm alive. Back alive."

                Carmen looked a little guilty. "It's not bad, is it? Dying?" she asked.

                "You didn't die?" asked Omar, curiously.

                "Not yet..." said Carmen. "My bow is, it's a lot better than the weapons everyone else had. And it's like riding a bike. I never really forgot how to shoot, even though I became too frail to do it."

                "It hurts, but it's usually over quickly," said Omar. "And it seems almost like a dream right after - the pain of the wounds barely sinks in before it's gone completely."

                "I really am sorry," said Carmen. "But I had to..."

                "I came into this expecting to die, and I've died five times now. It's okay," said Omar. "But you didn't die once? Have you won every round?"

                "Yes," said Carmen. "Mostly I was in the open arena, so I just... Took easy shots. No-one has any armour or shields, so my arrows just tore through everyone." Carmen sounded sorry about what she had done.

                "That's still pretty well done," said Omar. "I won eight of my fights."

                "Wow, that's great!" said Carmen. "I guess. This is all pretty strange and scary."

                "I'm probably better than average," said Omar. "I should make it through the, um, qualifying."

                Carmen smiled. "Thanks for being friendly," she said. "I'm not used to having no-one to talk to. Being without Jewel was really hard for me."

                "You'll be able to hang with her again soon. Um, probably," said Omar. "I guess it depends on how the arena divisions work."

                "I hope so," replied Carmen.

                A rattle came from the cell door. Omar turned his head - Maxguy was standing there, unlocking the cell. "Keep calm, you bloodied rats," he said. It took him a little while to open the door - he mucked up with the small key a couple of times. Omar wondered whether he was drunk or something.

                Still, it didn't take Maxguy very long to open the door. He strode in confidently, holding himself proudly straight. "You lot," he said, "Did well. Especially you-" he said, pointing at Carmen. "Well done!"

                Carmen wasn't pleased to be singled out. "Is he drunk?" she muttered.

                "Now! I've got a bunch of things to say. Alright," said Maxguy, poking through a pouch that had been tied around his waist. He pulled out a piece of paper. "Rankings first. It goes you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you then you last. Badly done, you."

                Omar wondered how Maxguy identified everyone - he certainly hadn't asked for names at any point. Carmen was first, Omar was third, and Orlando was amusingly second last. He didn't seem too happy about it.

                "Most of you are pretty similar, though; a lot of you won six to four matches. A couple of clear favourites and a lot of middling ones - it's good. Betting was higher than usual, hah. Real nice stuff," said Maxguy.

                "You guys shouldn't be tired - maybe the win-streaker - 'cause you kept dying, so. Right. It's late evening now; the 'sun' is on again. There's a long while until the next set of fights. We're heading over to a practice room; you can all try out some other weapons, fight each other, whatever. Try not to kill each other too much.

                "You'll get a rest period back in this cell before your next fights. And - you've all racked up a few points for your victories. Lithelady, probably, will take you over to the soul surgeons. We don't let qualifiers pick weapons, so that's where you'll spend your points. If you want to. Humans sometimes don't want to.

                "They're great, though, if you're weak. They fiddle with your souls so you're better, harder, faster, stronger. Or have claws, or a snake tail like her sister, stuff like that. It helps you win. And it means Plonod gets strong fighters, rather than trash."

                Maxguy let out a long, deep burp. "Alright. Follow me," he said. He turned and haphazardly made a 'follow me' gesture with his hand.

                The tired souls inside had little choice but to follow the obviously inebriated Maxguy as he wandered away. The nearby guard followed behind them, ensuring no-one snuck off. Omar wondered whether anyone was foolish enough to try; where would they even try to go?

                "I wonder," said Carmen as they walked, "Is he drunk, or is he on something else? Everything here seems to be made of weird stuff."

                "The spears are made of wood," said Omar. "I don't know what kind, though."

                "Huh," said Carmen. "There must be trees here."

                Omar nodded. In truth, where they were didn't seem very unusual for another dimension. "Yeah, somewhere. I reckon he's just drunk. Alcohol isn't hard to make."

                "That's true. One of my nephews made beer in his house until his wife got him to stop. She didn't appreciate the explosion," said Carmen with a smile.

                "Hah," said Omar, chuckling a little. "So, would you like to train with me? A bit of arrow dodging and a bit of melee?"

                "Maybe," said Carmen. "I do need some practice against moving targets. If there are safe arrows we can. I wouldn't call it training; that requires an instructor."

                "I guess," said Omar. They walked in silence for a while, long enough for the corridor to reach a large room. It reminded Omar of the arenas - pale roof and very well lit, but this room was square and a little smaller. The lights achieved the strange effect of the room 'feeling' outside, even though there was a roof overhead. A few racks of weapons were against one wall; Omar could tell they were wooden even from a distance.

                "Here we are," announced Maxguy. "Run around hitting each other. There are actually trainers and shit, but like the weapons we don't let qualifiers go for them. The soul surgeons, though, they love you guys. Always willing to do something risky, never understanding the risks or not caring enough to ask and ask and ask, haha."

                "What risks?" asked Omar.

                "Huh? Oh. Insanity for the most part. Inevitable long term effects on empathy and shit 'cause you don't see yourself as human. Like, you're not a 'human' and most beings have trouble empathising outside of their species, right? Even within when you're a little different. Combine that with the whole coming back all the time thing, and yeah, you lot get fucking vicious," rambled Maxguy.

                "It's kinda bad. I reckon the surgeons do it deliberately - they do mess around with souls. That's YOU. Self-perception and how you act are pretty tight," continued Maxguy. He wrapped two of his large, armoured fingers around one another. As he looked at them he seemed to realise where he was. "Huh. Probably shouldn't say that shit. Surgeons can get stuck, though. Lot of you: get whacking."

                Maxguy turned around passed the silent cluster of people. "Keep 'em here 'til Lithe shows up," he said to the guard as he passed. "And maybe poke 'em if they huddle around."

                Once Maxguy's oddly light footsteps faded, Omar said, "That's interesting."

                "That's scary!" said Carmen. "They did stuff to Jewel!"

                "She seemed alright," said Omar. "But I guess 'long term' ... I want to meet these 'surgeons' now."

                "Why?" asked Carmen. "I want nothing to do with them. I'll save my points and just be the best!"

                "To ask them questions. They have to know a lot about this place," said Omar. "If I can get away easier than winning the arena I want to know."

                "Oh," said Carmen. "I should be thinking about that as well. But I can't leave Jewel behind."

                "If I find a way out, I'll share. Possibly after I'm ready to get myself out, depends on how complicated it is," said Omar with a cheeky smile.

                A loud clack echoed through the room. Two of the others had taken up wooden swords and were swinging at each other. It looked kind of wild and disorganised. Another person - Omar recognised him as the guy in second place - wandered up and started talking to them. Omar caught the gist of it; the guy knew how to fight with swords a bit and would teach those who wanted to know.

                It didn't sound like a bad offer; several people seemed intrigued and wandered over themselves. "I guess it's practice time," said Omar. "Want to help me with my quarterstaff first?"

                "Hmm. Alright," said Carmen. "Then I get to shoot arrows at you while you run around.

                Omar smiled. "Sounds good to me."