Emile held his arms up and cautiously approached the tattooed boy. He wasn't sure how impactful a new tattoo would be for his opponent. Did it have the same reach, do the same thing, or were the tattoos and their abilities based on the person they came from?
Emile took another step and entered the range of the boy's tattoos. The boy held his hand open and the black band on his arm manifested itself into his grip.
He swung the black whip around then snapped it at Emile. The whip hit the stone floor and left an imprint before Emile's feet, demonstrating the whip's power.
But Emile had to persevere, so he took another step forward. Like lightning, the whip flew through the air at Emile. Emile put his arms out and attempted to grab the whip, but his body could not keep up with his eyes.
The whip cracked against Emile's arm, immediately breaking skin as a chunk of his flesh seemingly vanished. Blood pooled beneath Emile and pain surged up his arm, but he had to continue.
The whip flashed across the arena again and Emile's hand followed its trajectory. But the whip moved too fast, it struck Emile's hand and shattered the bones in three of his fingers.
'Surely I'll catch it eventually…I hope.'
Emile took another step forward. His breath grew ragged. Exhaustion slowly settled in his body as his essence continued to deplete. Emile's broken fingers wouldn't be able to heal before the match ended, he had one more opportunity to stop the whip.
Emile held his previously struck arm out, the missing canyon of flesh had already sealed, but it was still weak and raw. His other arm, the one with the broken fingers, laid lifeless at his side.
Emile's attention narrowed on the whip. He cut out the rambunctious hollering of the crowd and time waned to a crawl. The whip suddenly appeared before Emile and his hand split the air and grabbed hold of it.
Emile spun his arm and wrapped the whip around his clenched fist, preventing it from slipping out of his hold. As he squeezed down on the whip it tore and returned to a shapeless mass of ink.
Emile immediately broke out into a sprint. He entered the range of the boy's other tattoo and it soared through the air towards him. Emile ripped his nails into the black arm forcing it to retreat to its host.
Emile ran directly into the boy, tackling him to the ground. Emile straddled on top of him and repeatedly slammed his fist into the boy's face.
His nose broke, then his cheek bone, eventually his face caved in and the bubbling of his blood was the only indicator he was still breathing.
Emile finally grabbed the boy's head and spun it until a loud crack echoed off the stone walls around them. As his adrenaline died down, Emile finally noticed the flood of cheers crashing above him.
People were jumping and shouting, some were throwing coins and articles of clothing. Emile caught one of the coins from the crowd and returned to the tunnel where his guard was waiting for him.
Sitting against the wall, Emile inspected the coin. It was a bronze coin, larger than a quarter, and its face had a woman's decapitated head on it; her mouth was covered by a strip of cloth.
On the back side of the coin a depiction of the sun existed, it wasn't particularly outstanding, it was a circle with varying sizes of lines protruding outwards.
Emile pocketed the coin and leaned deeper into the wall. He was exhausted, in fact, he felt dead. Nobody ever told him the extreme high of adrenaline paired with a crushing low afterwards.
Emile closed his eyes and did his best to rest, but Khon interrupted his peace and quiet again.
"I'm impressed!" The giant of a man boasted as he turned the corner of the hallway, "And you even did it without the help of my daughter! Your luck truly is bountiful."
Emile's attention had been piqued, "You knew about Luna?"
Khon burst into a hearty laugh, "Did you really think I wouldn't know what my daughter has been up to, sneaking out in the middle of the night, assisting you in your match, I've always known."
"Then why didn't you stop it?" Emile asked.
"Why should I interfere with an act of luck?" Khon asked in return, "Your luck introduced you to my daughter and persuaded her into helping you, there are no rules here."
Chief Khon stepped closer to the bars containing Emile, "Although I am curious, you see, I've been watching your matches and I must say—regeneration is quite the extraordinary gift."
Emile glared at Khon. Of course he knew his gift was bound to be exposed, at least part of it, but like he's been told before: self healing is still healing.
Khon's arm exploded through the bars and grabbed Emiles shirt. He pulled back and Emile's limp body collided with the bars.
Khon bent over and whispered into Emile's ear, "It seems your arrogance persists you—" Khon's warm breath wet Emile's cheek, "that's something I can fix."
Khon pushed Emile back into the cell and grabbed him again, slamming him into the bars over and over. Like a rag doll, Emile bounced around the cell while Khon beat him.
"You are nothing!" Khon roared while grabbing Emile's head and burying it in the puddle of blood that pooled at the bottom of the cell.
Khon let go of Emile, his body limp on the ground, half of his face submerged in his own blood. Khon left, but Emile stayed on the ground.
He used his last ounce of conscious will to read his soul: zero soul essence, that seems to be the trend in this place.
For a long time, Emile did nothing but watch his breath create ripples in the puddle of blood. He wished he could sleep, but his head pounded in tandem with his heart and the sound of his own, hoarse voice kept him from blissful silence.
Emile thought back to his match.
'It's weird'
'Why is that boy's death bothering me so much?'
'Is this what he felt? Helpless, small, like nothing.'
Emile twitched his fingers.
'Enough to break my fingers, the little ****'
"Hey! You're crying!" Luna's chirp interrupted Emile.
Emile struggled to push himself off the floor. He leaned against the wall like always and wiped his face.
"No, I'm not." He replied.
"You are, it's okay. You're allowed to cry."
"Yeah it's okay, but I'm still not." Emile argued.
"Why are you crying?" Luna asked.
Emile gave Luna the same glare he gave her father, but chills suddenly attacked his nervous system. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"That boy with the tattoos… how old was he?" Emile asked.
Luna looked towards the ceiling in thought, "I think thirteen. Is he why you're crying?"
Emile didn't answer immediately.
'Thirteen' he repeated to himself.
'I was building model battlegrounds in seventh grade'
Before he could stop it, another stream of tears fell from Emile's eyes. He bit his lip and looked down, he felt embarrassed. He didn't want Luna to see him breakdown, to see him weak.
Meanwhile, Luna dropped to the floor and sat across from Emile. She leaned onto her arm and quietly watched Emile, she didn't make a sound.
Emile continued to cry for a few minutes, but he finally pulled himself together. Still refusing to look at Luna, he broke the now awkward silence:
"I'm a monster…" Emile whispered, trying his best not to choke up again, "a kid doesn't deserve to die and I—and I tore him apart!" Emile lost the battle in his head and started crying again.
Luna shifted her body weight as she searched for something to say. It wasn't everyday a teenage girl had to console a balling man.
"Um—okay, don't laugh at me—I'm trying my best—I told you yesterday that everyone who comes here comes for a reason right? That boy is no exception."
Emile finally looked up and made eye contact with Luna, "But I'm an exception! And if I'm an exception then anyone else can be an exception! What could a thirteen year old boy even do to end up here!" Emile lost it.
"I don't know!" Luna yelled back, "Something bad probably! He was going to kill you! That's all the reason you need!"
"What about choice?!" Emile screamed, "Didn't you just lecture me on the importance of choice in any situation! I chose to kill a thirteen year old!"
"I got a little confused!" Luna stood up and yelled louder.
"Confused?!" Emile screamed and tried to stand like Luna, but his legs buckled under his weight and he crashed back into the puddle of blood.
"Yeah!" Luna paused as she shot her eyes all around the room, "I—okay, listen—I maybe—it's possible—there is a slight chance—"
"Can you spit it out!" Emile demanded.
"I just wanted to talk to you and just made stuff up as I went!" Luna turned around and faced away from Emile.
Emile had his mouth open, he was ready and waiting to keep fighting; screaming and yelling felt good, but he didn't say anything. Instead he sat in the blood, if Luna turned around she'd see his open mouth and wide eyed gaze.
"What?" Emile finally spit out.