Catch

Frey and Doevm were led into a dark room at the bottom level of the arena. The sources of light were the tiny rays that shown through the rows of thick iron bars separating them from the arena. The little room only had a few benches to sit, some planks held against the wall by chains. A few of their fellow commoners sat, while the majority stood up. They could all smell the gruel they had for breakfast on each other's breaths.

The referee, Alexander Finlish went on stage, introduced himself, and repeated the information that the clerk had already told them. It was at this point that the commoner's practiced, confident postures cracked. Their straight, unmoving backs quivered. Sturdy feet tapped at the sandy floor. Until now, everyone had been quiet. Now, some were whispering. The nervous chuckling disguised the fear hidden beneath their fake, forced smiles. Some were quiet and still, their gazes on the floor in anticipation. Others, like Frey, were excited.

"I'm in the fourth round," Frey said to Doevm. "And I think you're near the end." He was, despite his wide grin, trying to hide it. He pulled his smile back to a neutral expression so much that he appeared to be twitching.

He stretched his limbs out, his cold muscles warming up, ready for battle. He practiced a few moves with an imaginary spear and shield, although he couldn't move around that much. Other commoners were trying to practice as well, but the room was too small for them all. People bumped each other. The clerk had to get between people before more than just curse words were thrown.

"Frey," Doevm said from his little bench in the corner. "Try not to waste all your energy warming up. We need to prepare ourselves and imagine what we are going to do out there." He took several deep breaths, ignoring the battle going on outside the cell. The second round had started long ago.

"I know," Frey got out of his stance and took a deep breath like Doevm. "But if we go out there cold, we won't move as well. Why aren't you warming up?"

"My match is later," Doevm said. His eyes were closed. The only thing that moved was his mouth and the occasional lift and fall of his chest. "So I will warm up later."

The barred door opened as the second match of the day finished. The fighters were moved off the stage to a separate room. For the third round, two competitors walked out. Both of them eyed each other, having a battle with their stares before the battle of the fists. The door closed. Frey couldn't help but peak out through the bars. Alexander initiated the battle. The loud rhythm of steel clangs and flesh slapping against stone began anew. "At least watch the match with me," Frey said. "I thought you liked fighting."

"I like good fights," Doevm sighed and turned his head away, as if closing an imaginary door between them. Frey took one last look at him before turning his attention back to the battle.

'He's not as excited as usual,' Frey thought back to the trip. 'He hasn't been excited at all during this trip.' The third match concluded when one of the opponent's arms was severed. They were wheeled away by two people, one in a white robe, and the other in rags. Frey cursed, wishing he was a few inches taller so he could see better. The doors opened again and two more competitors walked out, repeating the same battle of glares as the previous two. When Alexander initiated the third battle, Frey's heart nearly skipped a beat. 'I'm next,' he thought. The duel started and he found himself moving his head with each strike.

He had already gone over his full warm-up routine. Any more would be overkill. He paced around the room, his speed increasing with each bang. He glanced at Doevm, who was still asleep. He cursed and kept walking, trying to take his mind off of the situation. He played with his long hair, curling it around his fingers. When he got bored of that, he clicked his fingernails. After, he just walked, nearly at a jog.

"You forgot your armor," Doevm whispered. Frey slapped himself. He took his shield off his back and formed it to its discus shape with the two holes at the top and bottom. His spear left his spatial ring along with his armguards, shin guards, and helmet. He tied each piece down, double, and triple checked their adjustments until they didn't shake when he moved. The helmet, he kept tucked under his arm for now. Doevm helped him get his breastplate on. His Kopis was heavy by his hip, but he was used to it by now.

After everything was in order, the doors opened. "For our fourth battle," Alexander said, "We have Frey against Chad!" A commoner who had stood at the back stood up, his head nearly scraping against the ceiling. Frey's jaw dropped.

'What are they feeding you? You're as big as Ashtehar!' he thought as he stood next to Chad. The hulking behemoth smiled as he looked down at Frey. His heartbeat reached an all-time high as he walked out. His opponent walked out with him, trying to start the glare fight. Frey just shook his head.

In the past week or two, he had practiced with his equipment until he was satisfied. While he still had a long way to go, especially with the Kopis, he could move like Kilot. While it was a new fighting style, his familiarity with the spear and shield helped him adjust faster than if he picked up everything from scratch.

When he exited the doorway, the light blinded him. He covered his eyes and heard the cheer of the massive crowd above him. The arena already had spots of fresh blood and sweat mixing into the sand. Alexander looked so much bigger when they hit the stage, as did his opponent. He took a deep breath and stood on his mark.

He looked at his helmet, at the darkness under its helm. It stared at him like before, and no matter how many times he had seen it, there was something angry inside of there, something craving this fight. He put it on, the metal sliding against his skin and hair. He opened his eyes and turned to face his opponent.

While his ears stuck out of the helm, the cheers of the crowd seemed to disappear. His heart slowed. Everything was so far away now, yet, at the same time, smaller. When Alexander said to get ready, he didn't shake anymore. He pressed his shield against his breastplate and rested his spear over the top. He crouched down with the spear aimed at his opponent.

'I've been in hundreds of battles. This one is no different, even if there are thousands watching.' The crowd disappeared. The edge of the arena turned into a black abyss. Chad drew his metal club. Dozens of spikes stuck out of it, each one still with the blood of his last battle.

"Begin!" Alexander swiped his hand down.

Chad raced forward, his mace waving overhead. Frey got lower. His arm tensed up like a coil. His grip tightened on both his shield and spear. Not only was the mace in his vision, but so was his opponent. He remained still, waiting like a snake in the grass. A blue mist swallowed them both.

The mace descended. A heavy thud and a dent in his shield sent him sliding back, stopping just before the edge of the arena. The blow shook his flesh. His teeth and bones rattled. The crowd cheered, but he remained focused. A shield is not equipped in order to absorb attacks; it is meant for blocking while preparing an attack. While the rest of his body reclaimed its balance, the spear shot out, ripping a hole into Chad's breastplate and a few inches into the ribcage, just barely missing the heart.

Chad groaned and raised the mace again. Frey was about an inch from the edge. Another hit and he would fall off and lose, no matter if he was stronger or not. Chad grabbed his spear and shield, holding Frey in place.

The mace descended again. Frey let go of his spear. The shield turned to putty, flew right out of Chad's grip, and reformed. Frey sidestepped the mace, drawing his kopis in the same motion.

Blue life essence condensed around his muscles. Frey could see it in his opponent's eyes, fear. Chad shut his eyes and pulled his arms together, his blue life essence hardening his body. The kopis chopped down. Chad was pushed into the arena, which cracked under the force of the blow. He was sent back, stopping when he met his mark. Frey sheathed his kopis, picked up his spear and moved in.

Chad didn't rush in like last time, opting to circle around. "You know," Chad smirked. "You don't have to kill each other to win. You can also shove the opponent off the stage." He crouched down even lower. All four limbs touched the ground. The mist condensed around them.

"I know," Frey changed his grip on his spear and brought it out of the top of the shield. "That was my plan." Every bit of life essence he had was brought out and condensed around his throwing arm. He stepped forward, the arena cracking once again from the force. The spear sailed in a straight line perpendicular to the ground. The wind whistled as the tip ripped through the air.

Chad had dropped his mace and all his weight was forward. He looked up, his eyes asking for pity from heartless reality. The life essence moved, but it was too slow. The sand whipped into the air after it struck, covering the stadium in a cloud.

"Match winner," the referee's voice carried over the stadium. "Frey." The mist dispersed. In his grasp was the spear, less than an inch from Chad's face.

"Damn it!" A voice yelled out from one of the noble booths.

Alexander handed Frey back the spear and congratulated him before pushing him off the stage.

"Frey. Frey. Frey," The crowd chanted his name. Just before walking off the stage, a boy his age in a white robe passed him.

"Oliver?" Frey asked.

Oliver smiled at him and took Chad off stage in a stretcher: "We'll talk later. Go wait in the other room." He pointed to the wooden door on the opposite side of the arena. Frey nodded. He took one step off the arena and his strength left him. He had to lean against the wall for a second.

'I guess I forgot to control my strength a little,' he waited until the adrenaline rush faded a little and moved into the other waiting area for all the arena winners. 'I made some mistakes. I still need more training.'