It had been 10 years since the boy known as Pako was imprisoned, sentence to fight for people's entertainment. Now the man known as Omoi had become a skilled warrior, blooded dozens of times in the area. At 16, Omoi was now tall and well built, an athletic figure carved over a decade of relentless training and battle.
It helped that he was being trained by a skilled master. Master Daihei had taught him everything he knew, training him from a scared boy to a skilled warrior.
"Oh, what a thunderous blow" The announcer bellowed, as Omoi took the arm clean off his opponent.
It was a day like any other for Omoi, bodies scattered around as the last few men fought for their lives. In this case, he was the last survivor of team against two opponents.
"Bastard!" The other man screamed, charging him like a wild boar.
'Idiot.' Omoi thought drily.
He easily sidestepped his oppenent, and as he got behind him, Omoi punched he man hard in the back, sending him careening into his opponent, still stumped by the loss of a limb.
Colliding together, both men were sent crashing to the ground. Lining up his shot, Omoi raised a sword taller than himself high into the air. "Special 17: Release."
He brought the sword down, the blade crashed upon both men tearing through the armour like paper and cleaving the men in half.
Pulling the sword from their mangled bodies, Omoi took the moment to wipe the sweat from his brow as he was announced the victor.
He walked calmly down towards his cell, a journey he had made dozens if not hundred of times by now, accompanied by guards. Taking on last look at the guard, he stepped peacefully into his cell and greeted his master.
However, things weren't all ok. Whilst Omoi had only grown stronger, Daihei had only grown weaker, his advanced age finally beginning to catch up with him.
"Ah, dear Omoi, I take it you had an easy time."
"Yes master, it quite simple for me." Omoi grinned.
"Yes, the men they send in here are so inexperienced compared to the ones out there."
It had been so long since either man had been free that the faces of the families they knew were but distant blurs. For Omoi especially, Daihei was essentially like his grandfather, having known the old man for longer than his own family. As such he made sure to be there for the old man in his advanced age.
Even in spite of it all, both clinged to the hope of freedom. And after so long, their faith was about to be rewarded.
In celebration of yet another festival, a special tournament was announced. The 32 most popular fighters would be chosen to participate. Whilst that wasn't interesting to the fighters on it's own, it was what the winner got in they won that excited the men so. The winner woukd be granted a prize of their choosing, and more importantly, they would gain their freedom.
This sent the men into a frenzy. All of them hoping to be selected.
'This is our chance! After so long, we finally have a chance to be free!' Omoi cheered to himself.
Daihei, on the other hand, was a silent as a stone.
The weeks passed, everyone waited with bated breath as to who would be chosen.
The guards came round the cells, announcing who had been selected. The reached their block of the cell last.
"Butcher, you are 29th."
To the next cell.
"Gryffins, you are 30th."
The guard landed on their cell.
"Daihei, you are 31st."
The guard began to walk off, as Omoi's heart sank. Before the guard slowly stepped back to Omoi's cell.
"And Omoi, you are 32nd."
The relief washed over Omoi like a tidal wave. His chance at freedom had come. But then a new feeling of dread came over Omoi, realizing that to win his freedom, he would have to fight his mentor.
Daihei said nothing.
The days leading up to the festival were interesting to say the least. He could hear the grunts of Butcher and Gryffins as they trained for the festival, preparing for their own chance at freedom.
Most dishearting for Omoi was his mentor. Since the announcement, Daihei had refused to speak to him. For most of the day, he simply sat in him corner. It was so strange and saddening that a man he had built up such a close relationship with suddenly act so cold.
He would also be dealing with other heavy hitters, Butcher was a strong man built like a boar who used a monstrous axe to cleave through foes. Gryffins was a more agile opponent, using knives to cut up his opponent until they were rendered powerless.
Still, it would not stop Omoi, as he trained relentlessly, preparing for his shot at freedom. Everyday, he upped his work, working to build his strength even further.
The day finally arrived, and all the participants were collected from their cells and accompanoed by the guards, where they were gathered together at the entrance to the arena.
The head guard stood before them. "Men, today you have a shot at freedom. You are at the bottom rungs of life, so this tournament could be the rebirth of your lives, or it could be your end. Are you all willing to travel into the fire for the oppertunity you have been given?"
No one backed down.
"Very well then, to battle it is. You will be grouped up into 1 against one matchups. The winner will advance to the next round, the loser will be dead. By the end only one will remain, but he will be free.
The first matchup is Daimei against Hu."
That poor bastard.
Hu seemed to know it as much as Omoi, shivering in fear as he turned to the old man. He definitely knows the old man's power. Daihei was calm and silent.
The guard spoke again, "They're ready, go on."
Daihei walked out quickly, Hu reluctantly.
Omoi could hear the announcer, "Lords and Ladies, I am humbled to present to you all a very special tournament. In celebration of Ragnos, our glorious God of War, and our King, 32 brave souls will fight for their freedom, but only one will leave.
In this first match, we have The Snake of the Salt, Hu and the God Of the Blade, Daihei! Who will win? Who knows! All I know is heads will roll!"
'We all know what going to happen.' Omoi thought drily.
"Let the battle commence!"
Daihei, with sword in hand, approached his opponent casually as if to make some pleasant small talk.
Hu immediately dropped to the floor, begging and pleading "Oh Great Master, I am so sorry! Please spare me. I only wish to see my wife again, see is so sick."
All of it was lies. Through the crocodile tears, he carefully grabbed a handful of sand and chucked it at Daihei.
"Fool!" He yelled, grabbing a dagger from under his clothing and thrusted upwards, intending to slice open his opponents throat.
A moment later, his head rolled onto the sand, removed from the rest of his body.
'The only fool is you.' Was the though of master and pupli alike.
"And the first head has rolled, Daihei advances to the next round!"
Daihei calmly walked back into the gathering area and took his spot, remaining silent, even as Omoi congratulated him.
Most of the rest of the matches sailed by for Omoi, Cleaver cleaved through his opponent, Gryffins, cut up and skewered his opponent with his daggers. Omoi did not care for who won, focusing his efforts in preparing for his own fight.
The final match came and it was him against a fighter by the name of Erhean. Omoi had heard of him occassionally, and of his fights. The man used Morningstars to smash through his opponents, something to be careful of.
Both men stepped out into the arena, ready to take their first step to freedom. Erhean wore a smug grin as he walked over to a board of weapons, retrieving his signature morningstar. Omoi himself walked toward the board, seeing the massive sword at the top. His time in training had given him a disposition towards larger swords due to the regular swords being so large for him when he began.
Carefully taking the massive blade from the board, he prepared to fight. Both had chest plates, but were otherwise lightly defended.
"For the final match of Round one, we have a clash of powerhouses, as the Bruiser Erhean battles The Dragon's Claw, Omoi! This will be a spectacle for the ages!"
Erhean was confident in victory, by contrast Omoi was grimly determined before the task ahead.
"Let the battle begin!"
Taking a breath, Omoi whispered the name of a technique he had long since mastered, "Special 17."
The battle began as Erhean charged, Morning star spinning through the air. Ball of spikes slammed down hard, but Omoi was able take it on his sword. The energy rushed into him as he held strong. The blows were hard, but Omoi was ready for them all. Each blow crashed in to him like a raging storm, but like a mighty wall, he took all of them, absorbing their energy.
A shot slipped past, Omoi was able to move enough to deflect some of the impact, but it still connected, cracking his ribs. Omoi counter, thrusting forward, careful to contain the energy within him. Erhean stepped left to avoid the blow, but Omoi persued, the sword connected, biting deep into Erhean's arm.
Erhean stepped back, trying regain his bearings, whilst Omoi held strong, "Special 17: Revitalise." Omoi whispered, as a portion of the stoeed energy diverted to his ribs and the muscle around, working quickly to repair the damage.
The battle resumed, Erhean charging forwards against, the morningstar whistling through the air, before crashing back down onto Omoi. Each blow built the energy within Omoi.
'Just a little more.'
Erhean swung wide, the morningstar smashing into Omoi's jaw. His head swam from the impact of the blow, and for a second he went dark. But he held.
He was barely standing, one foot on the door of death.
"Oh, that was a nasty blow, it looks like the end for Omoi.
'The end? No, this is only the beginning.'
Omoi would not be defeated by a blow like this. Not when he had something to fight for.
Erhean raised the morningstar high, ready to smash Omoi's head to paste. The morningstar flew through the air. Omoi stood.
'Now!' At the last moment, Omoi dodged the blow, the morningstar slamming into the sand.
'Gotcha."
Omoi swung down, cleaving off Erhean's head.
"I don't believe it! In a shocking turn around, Omoi had taken the head off of Erhean shoulder. He advances to the next round."
The round was fortunate for Omoi. He had built up a large reserve of energy, and he only had to use some of it. That would be handy for the battles to come.
Using some of the energy to heal his injuries, Omoi moved back with the rest as the body of Erhean was removed.
The head guard moved forward. "Well done, you lot. 16 of you have emerged victorious. 1 down, 4 more to go. I expect none of you to let up now! The next round will the last for the day, and tommorrow will be a special surprise."
Turning back to the list, the head guard announced, "The next match will be Daihei against Clow!"
Soon enough, the two stepped through into the audience once again.
"Lord and Ladies, we have seen some great matches today, 16 men have emerged victorious, and 16 men have emerged into the afterlife. But now, it is time for the second round, who will amongst these list of winners will gain their next victory, and who will join the men they slew? Were about to find out.
To begin Round 2, we have the God of the Blade, Daihei, testing his sharpness against the Untouchable Wind, Clow!"
Master Daihei carefully tested the strength and feel of the sword in his hand, making sure the battle would be as efficient as possible. Clow had selected a pair of double edged knives, clearly intending to cut up his opponent.
"Are you ready?"
The Crowd Roared.
"Begin!"
Master Daihei made the first move this time, jabbing forward with his sword, Clow just barely dodging each time.
"Woah, you're fast old man!"
Omoi couldn't hear the response, but it clearly provoked a response from his opponent, as Clow struck back with his own jabs, paired with a few slashes. Planting his feet, Daihei deflected the blows with ease, the impact simply rolling off his sword.
Daihei retaliated, swinging high. His oppenent ducked low, before leaping back, barely avoiding the blade stabbing down through his skull. Clow rolled across the ground, taking a moment to rise to his feet, letting out a deep breath.
"Damn, old man, you nearly caught me with that one. Looks like I'm gonna have to try for this one."
Then his body did something Omoi could never have expected, it began to vibrate. The vibrations grew faster and faster, as one split into two. The two looked as if they were flickering in and out of existence, more an image than a man.
"I was hoping to save this for later, but if I have to use it against you, then so be it."
The battle continued, both trying to cut up Master Daihei, but the master continued to deflect the blows. Then another split, and then another, and the blows kept increasing as the master was working harder and harder to avoid the blows. Soon, the duplicates were forming a ring around the old master, a blur of motion.
It looked like thousands of blades were shooting towards master Daihei. Most were deflected, but a scant few got through the defenses, nicking the cheek or the shoulder or the thigh.
As this was happening, Omoi could see that through the mirage that after every attack, he tapped his finger on his sword in a rhythm, reading the pattern of the attacks. Then it clicked, he could see one of the clones was more solid than the rest, the real Clow.
Having finally found the rhythm, the master began to strike back. Thrusting forward, he caught Clow on the ear, causing him to stumble of the briefest of moments.
The blows continued, and they continued to be parried, but with each attack, Master Daihei dealt a more serious blow each time.
Then, he finally caught his opponent slashing deep across the man's chest, tearing the light leather armour Clow wore. One more move and that was it. The master thrust forward to end the fight, but then stopped for a moment. Omoi's initial confusion was replaced by horror as he saw blood leak from his master's mouth.
Clow used this oppertunity, stabbing forward and piercing Daihei's chest, just barely avoiding the master's heart.
Clow smiled, seemingly assured of his victory. Then the smile faded, a look of pain replacing it, as Daihei's blade pierced into his flesh, just below the armpit, before being thrusted into his chest cavity.
Blood quickly soaked the right half of the leather, as he collapsed to the ground, wretching for a few seconds, before going still.
"Oh, what a way to go! With an emphatic win, the God of the Blade advances to the next Round!"
Carefully pulling the blade from Clow's now lifeless corpse, master Daihei cleaned the blood from the blade, placed it back where he had collected it and walked back behind the curtain.
Omoi could hear muttering amongst the other fighters.
"The old man's good."
"How did he do that?"
"I could barely even see Clow, and he did that? Hope I don't have to fight him."
But one voice in particular caught his attention. A boarish voice amongst the crowd, courtesey of one butcher. "Old man's good for sure, but he ain't that good. If the old man is coughing up blood from that puny little knife then he ain't that durable."
"Easy for you to say, meat mountain." Omoi steamed, "and it wasn't the blow that did it."
Not everyone saw it, but he did. He saw how the blood came out before his opponent struck. Whatever the damage was, it was internal, not external.
He tried approaching his master throughout most of the rest of the second round matches, but he was ignored each time. His frustration was building. Why was his master suddenly ignoring him?
When it came time for the match before his, Omoi decided to try to ignore his master for the time being, and focus on his potential opponents. It was Gryffins against a swordsman named Rathock.
Rathock fought like a standard swordsman, nothing that special about him, though he made up for popularity with his boisterous personality. The crowd ate it up, but Omoi did not care for it.
On the other hand, Gryffins was anything but orthodox. He knew Gryffins nominally and knew he used knives, but here, he got to see just what he was capable of. He wielded two knives, one double edged, the other more like a spike on a handle than a blade. His feet were barefoot, and he used that to his advantage, attacking with his knives from various angles. He struck at vital areas, like the elbows and the back of the knees.
Soon, his opponent was exhausted and near-defenseless. In a last attempt at victory, Rathock charged in. Gryffins simply parried the blow and stuck him in the throat with the spike.
Blood sputtered from the wound as Rathock fell, lifeless. Gryffins walked away with an almost bored expression.
'So he is who I'll be fighting, if I can make it through the day, that is.'
The head guard moved to the front once again.
"Well men, here is our final match of the day. Omoi will be fighting Freymond. As it is the last match, do make sure to put on a show."
Both men walked out for the last time today, and for one, it would be the last time.
As Omoi picked up his sword from the board, he watched his opponent carefully select his weapon, before picking up the spear, carefully twirling it, testing it.
A spear was a very dangerous option, offering more range than almost any other. Even Omoi's greatsword couldn't compete. He would have to be very careful.
As they stepped into the centre, the announcement came out over the crowd. "All right, everyone! It is our final match of the day, and it is a special one! It is a clash of warriors, as the Dragon's Claw and the Silver Knight go head to head? Will it be a fairytale ending? Or will the dragon claim another victim?
Begin!"
Freymond wasted no time, thrusting forward in a flurry of blows with his spear. "You lost this the moment you chose your weapon, swordsman."
Omoi strained to block all the blow, only just keeping up with the speed of his opponents attack. He would need to close the gap if he had any chance of winning.
He waited for the right moment. It finally came as Freymond thrusted forward with one hand, trying to increase the range and power of the blow, but it risked vulnerability. And Omoi intended to seize upon that weakness. He sidestepped the blow, before slashing deep. The blade cut into the wood, several chips of wood flying off.
But something was wrong. The spear should have flown, and yet it refused to budge. That's when he saw Freymond's hand slightly into the wood with his grip. "I told you, you've already lost."
He pulled back the spear, more of the wood ripped off, as the spear point came back and slashed him across the cheek. Any higher and he would have risked an eye.
"I'm sorry I must do this," Freymond stated, "but I will allow nothing to stand in the way of me getting back to my comrade. You will not live past today."
"You have friends, but I have a family to find. You have the will to be free, so do I. You won't allow defeat, neither will I."
"Very well."
The point came forward again, another flurry, but this time, one dug into his wound. He reeled back as the spear swung across, only a centimetre from his eye.
'Need to get inside.'
Each time, he tried to get closer, he would find himself forced back out. The storm kept coming.
'I can't get inside his guard. Not looking good.'
'Enough.'
That voice. It was that voice again. The one he had heard in his head all those years ago. For so long it had been dormant, so why was it waking up now?
'Fight back, stop letting him push you back.' The voice growled.
'How am I supposed to get past that damn spear then, huh?" Omoi retorted to the voice.
'Stop avoid, stop caring about the costs. FIGHT!'
The spear thrust for his throat. Omoi stuck his hand forward, the point piercing through his hand. The hand was damaged, but Omoi did not relent. Pushing back, he bent the wood, before twisting it off altogether.
Freymond thrust forward one last time with the sharp wood. Omoi was only barely able to bring his hand upon his throat, the spear still buried in his hand, stopping a fatal blow.
"I told you, nothing will stop me."
The wood pressed deeper into his hand which began to press the tip of the spear into his neck.
"Didn't..." Omoi choked, "Didn't... need to... stop you... only... only"
Tink.
"Get in range. Release."
Before Freymond could react, the great blade came back down, shredding through armour. By the time the blade came back out, Freymond had nearly been torn in half.
Freymond collapsed to the floor, letting go of his spear. He spend the last few seconds of life on the ground, wretching as blood poured out, the look of shock his death mask as he went still.
Omoi pulled out the spear tip from his hand, using revitalise to repair the damage. As he looked over his fallen foe, he couldn't help but feel guilty. It had to be done, else he himself would have been skewered. But this, it felt wrong.
"Whoa, looks like the Dragon's Claw has shreded poor Freymond. Looks like Omoi advances to the Quarter-finals!"
Dropping his sword, Omoi walked behind the curtain, greeted by the head guard. "Welcome back victor, stand with your kin."
"32 came into this day hoping to win. 8 of you have made it through the day. For most of you, this will be your last day alive, so we've decided to do something special."
Clapping his hands, a large table was carried out, followed by several trays of food. Pork, beef, chicken, vegetables, pies, tarts and more. " For 7 of you, this will be your last meal. For 1, it will be your first meal of freedom, so make it count."
Most immediately dug into the food, especially the likes of butcher, who devoured practically half the meat by himself. Whilst not eating as much, Omoi was more liberal with his eating than he ever got to be. Slices of pork and beef, a chicken leg, some carrots and radish, and most importantly, a slice of pie, filled with meat, veg and gravy."
Glancing at his master, he could see he ate none of it.
Once the feast was over they were led back to their cells for the night, for one last time.
He tried to talk to his master one last time for the day, but Daihei simply walked past him to the corner and began to sleep.
Frustration building, he almost tried to wake up his master, until he saw tears flowing down his face. Frustration turned to confusion as Omoi was left to think on why he was crying. Was it thoughts of his family? The men he killed? His freedom?
'What's up with you, old man?'
He shoved those thoughts to the side. He could not allow them to influence him, not right now.
He pushed up from his hands so that he was doing a handstand. Allowing his heel to gently touch to the stone wall, he then began to press up from that position. Feeling the air flowing over him the flow of all that was around him, he allowed that to act as his lullaby, drifting off to sleep as his body worked throughout the night.