#31

The tribal encampment erupted in excitement as the youngest trihead, Cile, boldly issued a challenge to the great goddess. The decision to accept the challenge transformed the camp into a frenzied spectacle, prompting the creation of a battle pit to contain the imminent clash—an event that would later be marked as the first arena in tribal history.

Hen're'it crouched on one side of the pit, her eyes possessing a feline-like golden glow, a smile playing on her lips as she sensed the anticipation in the air. "~The young one would not listen to~," Geo'rgge began, but his words were cut off by the very subject of discussion.

"~Mother's not gonna eat her, is she? She had no intent to hurt me; she was just surprised, that's all I could feel her~," the young one interjected.

Hen're'it chuckled softly as she reassured her child, "~Do not worry, young one. I will not be eating anyone today. This is simply a test of might. Now, hurry back so Mama can have her fun~."

On the opposite side of the pit, Cile bounced in place, her lush hair bouncing with each movement. Her focus narrowed, drowning out the words of her sisters. The essence emanating from Hen're'it invoked an unprecedented fear, a sensation she hadn't felt since her father's transformation.

"-Alright, Cile, remember she isn't like any of us. She-" Otu began, turning her head to look at Hen're'it. "-She's unlike anything we've ever seen or faced-."

Mirta, silent until now, locked eyes on the male beside Hen're'it. A sudden, unfamiliar feeling surged within her—a sensation akin to being engaged in a heated battle, a battle she wasn't eager to conclude.

Cile stepped forward, swift and elusive. Moving close to the ground like a stalking predator, she leapt up, her body twisting as her leg aimed for Hen're'it. A sickening thud followed, but the outcome defied expectations. Hen're'it's right leg intercepted the kick with effortless precision, creating a miniature maelstrom of compressed air.

Using her heel, Hen're'it pulled Cile's leg down, creating an opening for a powerful punch. Yet, Cile, prepared and resilient, deflected the blow by manipulating the angle, allowing her to gracefully retreat.

Spectators watched in awe and disbelief, while the sisters, stoic, recognized the gravity of what unfolded. Mirta voiced her concern, "-This may not end well, sister-."

Otu, too, observed with a watchful eye, realizing the uncertainty that lay ahead. "-Be ready, Mirta. We may have to fight our way out of here-."

"-Since you can understand our tongue, I give you credit, great goddess. No one, save for my sisters, has ever gotten past one hit-," Cile declared, the term 'great goddess' dripping with sarcasm. "-And you're pretty strong; my hand kinda hurts. Well, that means I don't need to hold back-."

As she spoke, Cile's physique underwent a remarkable transformation. Veins surfaced across her toned muscles, and with a single step, the ground shook beneath her. The acceleration towards Hen're'it was nothing short of a blur, as she executed a series of precise blows that defied the laws of time itself.

Turning to her sisters with a smirk, Cile boldly declared, "-Great goddess my ass. Maybe those stories were just that—stories-." The resounding impact of her final blow sent Hen're'it crashing into the outer wall of the battle pit, leaving the once-confident deity stunned and the tribal lore challenged.