The Fall of Shadows

Chapter 1

The butt of the hammer hitting my temple was enough to knock me out for at least an hour.

I vaguely remember lying there, the warm sand shifting beneath my body as I slowly writhed in agony. My head was spinning. Not good, I thought. Get up, I told myself. My throat swelled up as black started closing in on my vision. Don't cry, whatever you do please do not cry. My body ached–I could feel the blood oozing out of the cuts on my arms like water flowing down a brook stream. Slowly, oh so slowly, I shifted my head to at least get a grasp on what was happening around me.

I wish I didn't.

All around me my blue-flagged teammates lay. Group battles were never pretty, but they added to the spectacle of the show. A final climax if you will. Audiences love group battles, perhaps not as much as one-on-one, but ending the Trife with a group battle was beneficial to the Empire. They always left the spectators wanting more. Ending with a giant show guaranteed that the people of Mehlar would come back the next time. And the next time. And the next time. Every week. For every week I could still work. 

An existential thought to have at this moment.

 I focused my vision again. The hot desert sun casting mirages across the opulent stadium, making it difficult for me to assess my surroundings. There, on the opposite side of the arena, the red team was gathering for a final sweep. Not to kill, but to make sure that everyone on the ground stayed on the ground. Adrenaline began pulsing through my veins, making my head throb and my vision began to swim once more. Carefully, I slid my palms under me and pushed. I could feel the collective inhale of the audience as I rose to my feet, teetering, uneasy. Stay upright. Get the paycheck. The longer you stand, the more money you make for your buyers.

Taking a deep breath I concentrated my vision on the individuals left on the field. Squinting my eyes to see if there were any blues left standing, left fighting. My heart sunk as the realization set in: there were none. My eyes grazed over the nearest body to my right, the blue flag tightly tied to his bicep, Alep. Younger than me by three years, I always felt bad he ended up here, but i guess there are always worse places. His chest failed to rise or fall. Slowly, I approached him. Fighters weren't supposed to kill each other in the Trife. Maim? Yes. Slice? You betcha. But killing was surprisingly frowned upon. Death in the arena would cost the betters and sponsors too much money, too much time, too much empirical value. I staggered to where Alep was laying. As I approached, I saw him take a shuddering breath. Ok, I thought Now get your wits on and make this finale a spectacle to remember.

I spun on my heel. A movement which caused my head to throb and my vision to pucker. I raised my head towards the stands. The crowd had been silent the entire time I'd assessed Alep. Too silent. Slowly, I shifted my head to the remaining red team members. They could've attacked me in the time it had taken for me to get up. To gain my balance. I know why they didn't though. They were in the same boat as me. The longer the fight, the greater the paycheck. The more exciting the fight, the greater the fame. I made eye contact with the head of the red team, someone I don't recognize. But at least ten years my senior, but shorter and more bulky. Behind him stood ten other red team members. Ten to one. Not terrible, not great. It had been worse before.

Put on a show. Shifting my gaze away from their head fighter, I swiveled my head back towards the audience. Then back to the fighter, then back to the audience. A slow smirk began to grow on my face. Then, carefully, I dropped my hand to my waist to grab my weapon. My last dagger, a small, straight-back weapon. Shit, not even my good one. And I only had one, typically a dual weapon fighter, filling both hands with lethal weapons is better than only having one. Fine, I gritted my teeth through my smile. I'll beat you all one handed.

Dagger in hand, adrenaline filling me, and aching muscles forgotten about, I charged ahead. The roar of the crowd deafened me. I was their fighter, their favorite. The fan-favorite for three fights in a row. I had made certain people in that audience richer than I would ever be. I reached their leader sooner than I anticipated. He was ready, spear pointed straight towards me. Fear filled my lungs as he wielded the spear–spinning it so that any block I made would be futile. I slowed my pace. Stopping when I was only about 6 paces in front of him. He glared menacingly at me, I smiled back. The crowd erupted.

"What's your plan Renna?" He crooned.

"I'm still deciding," I cocked my head, smirking.

Then, I lunged.

Albeit–I acted irrationally. Diving for his legs. Effectively taking out the ground from under him, tackling him to the ground. My height gives me the advantage–taller than him by almost 4 inches, I pin him underneath me and place my dagger to his throat, my free hand yanking his spear. To my dismay, he doesn't let go. It's almost comical as we are one-handed tugging on the spear together. But I know I have the upper hand.

"Yield" I whisper.

"Not yet" he whispers back, this time with a smile. And I notice, his eyes aren't looking at me, but something behind me.

The blackness creeps back into my vision as I whip my head around. Only this time, I can't steady it in time.

Because I'm met with a final blow that digs itself into my temple.