The King Trials 2: Beyond.

~His Happiness~

"Come now, Vinny," Markiveus exclaims over the riling cheers. "You are going too easy on the poor sop."

The rest of the Herems and I are on the Skydeck, ringed around Vince duelling with another crew member. A colour pool of red, black, cream and brown, blended altogether. Almost the entire collection of Captain Elfort's air crew is encircled around the sparring pair. Vince triumphing over yet another daring volunteer.

Wisps of my hair obstructing my vision, my tresses braided into fish plait, the wind running its airy fingers through it. Most of the Piratas have to clutch on to their peaked caps to keep it on their heads, their other arm outstretched, pumping fists in the air.

Vince's bare chest glistens under a noontide sun. His matching leather bands trussed around both biceps. He eyes down his opponent with insulting arrogance, wearing a smug smirk, his chin raised. His opponent is crouched down in a poor offensive position, knees slightly bent, elbows to his flanks, fingers sprawled.

Vince quirks his brows and beckons him with quick, fluttering fingers. The gesture initiates an instant attack, lunging for an ambitious assault. His opponent unleashes a flurry of wild punches, Vince folds his arms behind his back, effortlessly evading each jab thrown in his direction with a sleek sequence of ducking, and a trade of jerking himself into the opposite line of attack.

His smirk blossoms into an entertained grin.

Bass voices erupt into guffaws, amused by their fellow Pirata flailing about, stumbling into attacks and Vince dodging each time, moving with feline grace, untouchable.

"Stop dancing," Brennon says with his hand cupped around his mouth. "Finish him already!"

A fierce look glints in his eyes, a sharp smile splits his face, and he strikes. He launches a strong blow to his stomach. He doubles over. Vince finishes him off, delivering a full swivel, sweeping kick, and his opponent crashes on to his back. He releases several phlegmy coughs, rocking on his back from side to side, his pained groans drowned by the cheerful booms.

"So, what did our poor friend do wrong?" Vince asks whilst he circles him in a thoughtful pace. The defeated Pirata scrambles up to all fours. "First off, his form was pitiful. You need to hold a strong defence to execute a strong offense. Lock your feet, hold your ground and be unmovable."

Vince stops circling to offer him his hand. The Pirata looks at it hesitantly. Vince nods back at him encouragingly before he clasps his hand on his forearm and Vince heaves him up to full standing.

"Hit me," he says with an expressive hand gesture. Most of them speak Arkian, Piratas are well-travelled and well-versed in dialects because of it.

The Pirata readies himself by jogging on the spot, shaking out his fists before he hurls two punches and a cross jab, all of which Vince deflects with his forearms, watching him methodically with an assessing eye.

"Your left arm is stronger than the right," he says, more to himself than to him. Decided, he says, "When you thrust, shift your weight, pivot your hip to drive power into your blows." He demonstrates his instructions whilst issuing it. "Do not favour a high guard too much, it makes you predictable."

The Pirata nods. Vince claps a hand on his shoulder before he walks off to join the surrounding crowd.

"Who is next?" Vince asks, the call slays every roar of merriment. He revolves around, outstretching his arms expansively. "No-one? Is there no other brave soul among you?"

Though there is no vocal response. Silence itself is a reply.

"Show us real fight," one of the Piratas demands, and the crew harmonises together with a chorus of agreeing rumbles. "Show us how Herems fight." The rumbles escalate to nearly shatter the stratosphere.