The Spar

      The stadium doors opened and spread out before her was a great arena, equipped with the latest instruments of torture.
      Eryn's courage wavered.
      No, you can't be afraid.  Your family's life is on the line.  Don't show any fear.
      She could imagine her competitor was thinking the exact same thoughts.  Creed entered the arena from the opposite side.  He was dressed in the same attire as her.  An ornate leather vest overtop a Lutharian tunic and leather sealed pants.  The tunic was almost unpierceable. Almost.
       The two fighter's eyes met. His so bright, hers so dark.  Day and night were meeting in a fight to the death.
       He has to kill you.  So you have to kill him. Eryn wanted to throw up.
       She chose her weapon from the table of torture. An Eikak sword. It was lightweight and graceful.  But, more importantly, it was deadly.  At least in the right hands.
       Creed took his time, but finally he picked up a weapon as well.  A Rashen sword.
       They'd both selected swords.  It would be a fair fight.
       The stadium erupted with applause and shouts.  It filled the arena with a sickening resound.
        The Sparkeeper's marshal spoke from a tall tower.  "As always, our two competitors will fight to the death.  If they win, they and their families will be granted access to Lyfe & Paradis. Let the spar begin!"
       Eryn and Creed's eyes met again as they walked towards eachother. No words filled the heavy space between them.  They shook each other's hands, but Creed held on and brought her hand up to his mouth.  Eryn cringed when he placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles.
       The boo's from the crowd filled Eryn's head.  Was Creed trying to trick her? Weaken the wall she'd put up?
       He frowned.  "You need to kill me, Ryn," he whispered for only her.
       She wanted to scream at him.  Through bared teeth, she managed to say, "Don't you dare let me."
      It was then they both pulled away and the fight began.  Eryn held her sword crosswise in front of her torso.  She'd been training to kill in more ways than one for two years.  Creed had as well.
      They'd both become top fighters, but had never expected to be pitted against each other.  But here they were.
      There had been no other choice.
      A hiss of steel sounded as their blades clapped together.  The strikes continued, and both competitors deflected and opposed in equal degrees.  Neither were gaining ground.  And neither were losing.
      It would be the long, dramatic fight the Sparkeepers wanted.
      Just get it over with. Just — just. . .Pushing away all feelings, Eryn spun her blade around Creed's sword.  It flew through the air, out of his hands.
      There was no fear in his gaze when their eyes met yet again.  She still wanted to scream at him.
      So she did as she tossed her own sword aside.  "Fight me!"
      Their bodies collided in hand-to-hand combat.  The knuckles Creed had kissed only a half hour ago collided with his face. In a crude way, it was like she was returning it. 
      Oh how she wanted to really return it.
      But she couldn't.
      He grabbed hold of her shoulders and flipped her body over his back.  She hit the  ground, losing all air in her lungs.  When she moaned, she wanted to die.  Already she was suffering.
      Creed stood above her, offering her his hand. He was just waiting there.  But he needed to kill her.  She needed to kill him.
      Eryn slapped his hand away and threw her body forward so she could stand.  She grabbed his head, pulling it down as she raised her knee in a brutal blow.  The attack caught him off guard.
      Taking advantage of his surprise, she continued her savage fight.  Grabbing hold of his arm, she twisted it around behind him, then pulled.
      It popped out of socket.
      Now she stood in front of him and lifted her fists.  She hit him.  And she kept hitting him.  His head, his chest, his back.  Blood was flowing from his face as tears were flowing from hers.
      At last, at the far wall of the arena, Creed collapsed.
      The chanting shouts were great, drowning out all other sounds.  "Finish! Finish! Finish!"
      But finish what? It was short for finish him off.  Finish him.  Finish Creed.  In other words, kill him.  But she couldn't do that. She wouldn't.
      Eryn looked down at her bloodied fists.
      All she could do was stand there, broken and frozen in shame. Her heart throbbed with sickening confusion. Why had they even agreed to do this? They'd known all along that it would only bring them pain. It had been the only way to save their families — but just the winner's family.
      Summoning the courage, Eryn knelt down and crawled to Creed's wounded side. He did not look up. His body racked with tearful anguish. She slipped her weak arm over his shoulder and bent her head next to his. Words fell along with the tears. Words like regret this, and hate them. But mostly I'm sorry.
      Eryn shuddered. "I'm sorry," she whispered back. "I'm so sorry."
      They wept greatly that hour. Images of her once beloved innocence danced before her tear-filled eyes. Memories of them racing eachother in a field of daisies. He would catch her and they'd stumble, falling into a heap of giggles. Now, she reached out and clutched his bloodstained hand, praying he remembered those days half as well as she did.
      His cries dwindled, and finally his tears ceased. His bruised face looked up into her eyes, his free hand travelling up her side. He wrapped his shaky arms around her shoulders and brought her in closer, squeezing her into a sweaty hug. "I'm sorry," he breathed once again as he stroked her tangled hair. Tears still existed in his voice.
      Eryn nodded. "Me too," she sniffed.
      The Sparkeepers were quick to stop the touching scene that was unfolding.  Such empathy was frowned upon.  Eryn should have finished the boy Creed off long ago — she'd been stalling.
       Medical staff came into the arena and tended to the two contestants.  They hauled them both away in different directions on stretchers.  Eryn was barely able to tell Creed goodbye.  He whispered his own, but he smiled weakly, as though he believed they'd say hello again someday soon.