Almash laughed out wildly, the monstrous man wiped the blood on his face, both that shooting from Bult’s wound and the one from his own nosebleed. The stain of the two bleedings made a twisted mask of red covering his face that only made the man appear much more monstrous and inhuman. Almash’s eyes were slowly beginning to white out as well with the man’s irises and his pupils beginning the rise upwards as if trying to stare into his own brain. Pure fighting instinct was beginning to take the man over. With a petrifying battlecry that man leapt at his opponent.
Almash’s attacks were blindingly fast, faster than even the human limit. No normal martial artist was capable of attacking so fast. The brute’s brain no longer thought about his attacks removing the invisible yet usually present lag between the sensory inputs and complicated patterns and fighting combinations. This was a completely primitive and instinct driven rushdown and Bult knew it but he also functioned entirely in the survival mode. His eyes were equally flipped over and he was biting his own lips and palate drawing blood that flowed from his mouth. This fight was becoming much more primal, these two men no longer looked like martial artists, they were animals trying to gouge the eyes of their enemy out, peel their skins and flesh off with their bare hands or at the very least pound their opponent’s face into the ground.
Sadly it was impossible to avoid all of Almash’s attacks without his arms, Bult could only barely control which blows he’d take and which would bombard his body, break his ribs, open old wounds and make his barely seeing eye swell up, knock out his teeth. He never intended to be a looker anyway… Still, the old veteran was proud to be able to return at least a couple of good blows however where Almash only had his wild animalistic roar in his lungs and was only stopped by Bult’s blows, Bult also carried the weight of a thousand other battles, hundreds of previously broken and sloppily healed bones. Slowly the man was beginning to realize that he would not be leaving the arena alive…
With a wild and blindingly fast upwards thrust Almash tossed Bult’s body up in the air, the primal man leaped up into the air and swung his leg around kicking the dark skinned martial artist at the top of his head driving the man into the ground so violently that layers of dust were raised up and covered the entire arena, cracks opened up and tiles broke etching into Bult’s skin and opening new scars on top of his old ones. For a moment the Sheikh leapt out of his chair in excitement thinking that the entire ring was destroyed by Almash’s inhuman animalistic strength. No one knew where this monstrous man came from but he could outwrestle a giant ape and run faster than a desert cat. He also was strong enough to choke both of these animals out, this was known because the man had done it in multiple occasions during the more exotic arena events in the past.
“Just fucking burn!” the bare-chested berserker screamed out wildly making a handseal and swiping his hand to the side, a wave of heated air formed a small fireball that dissolved into a simple crescent projectile of roaring flames. It was a very primitive and imperfect manipulation of chakra but it was ninjutsu at its most basic stages nonetheless.
“I’m being slaughterfest’ed…” Bult realized when he put two on two together and realized why the Sheikh didn’t as much as roll his eyes after seeing this demonic man use chakra abilities under two separate instances. Heat took Bult’s senses over returning the man who was afraid for his life back, wild sweat burst from the veteran’s body as a wild grunt was all he could do before the flames blasted the ground exploding in a small firestorm “ the technique was supposed to be a small restrained fireball “ a C rank ninjutsu technique or even weaker but Almash was no ninja and couldn’t accurately control his chakra that way so the flame was just wildly shooting from his hands in masses that needed to be slapped around and directed at their target.
The dust cloud and the smoke cleared out. Almash was a little winded as using chakra was no small feat to a man who wasn’t even enrolled or sat a single class in the Ninja Academy. He was entirely tutored by Damij. Trained and bred to take out not necessarily the strongest but definitely one of the most iconic veterans of the arena. The smoke cleared revealing Bult’s huffing and kneeling frame, one body part at a time.
“Huh… You used the heat from the technique to cauterize your bleeding wounds, rolled out of the way just halfway” Almash smiled sadistically before his body lunged at his opponent again kicking Bult into the man’s jaw and sending him sliding backwards and over the edge of the arena. Once again the survivor inside Bult rose up and gripped up to the edge of the arena just to hold him from falling down, just to survive as long as he could, it didn’t matter what he’d be surviving for.
It was easy to lose one’s way of life in a place like this. When life takes a hard oaken stick and drives it right into one’s kneecaps. It ain’t hard to let suicidal thoughts or madness take over, if one isn’t secretly also the other… The only thing that keeps one not only alive but moving is the thought, the promise that no matter how hard things would get one has no right to give up. A man or a woman, it doesn’t really matter as both are made of the same flesh and bones, must promise oneself that even when they’ll lose their way, when they’ll be blinded by their opponent’s punches or falling halfway down to being skewered by spikes they won’t give up on their wish to live. Technically at those moments it wasn’t even much of a “wish”, more like survival because one promised oneself survival during their toughest moments. Bult was acting driven entirely by such a promise. He didn’t want all this pain, all this punishment. All he wanted was to rest, to finally repent for his sins, for all of his kills and just let go but… He promised, all those years ago!
The crowd jumped up off their seats, one childish adolescent even tore her top off in wild enthusiasm as Bult pulled his body up to the edge once more using one of his busted arms, screaming his lungs out from both pride and pain. If he was being forced to kick the bucket he may as well give these fuckers a bloody good show. Countless glasses of beer were slammed at the steps of the arena, men and women screamed in hype and excitement but Bult couldn’t entertain them anymore. He couldn’t stand back up on his feet. He was a soldier wounded in too many battles and his old horse carrying him through them refused to go on. Suddenly the public realized it and fell dead silent. Their hero was about to meet his doom…
The Sheikh was leaning over the edge of his platform, he was excited, but he was also mad. His face was dyed entirely red in fact because he loved this battle, it was a solid brawl but… It wasn’t enough… It was still missing some pizazz, that one final volcano eruption blowing the top of the rocky mountain off. And here this amazing fight was about to end… He had to stop it, he had to do something, he was about to reach that one moment in time, that amazing fight between two masters so many years ago but… It would end before it could reach that peak… No! It had no right to end, not now, not so close!
Almash licked his lips, licking blood off of the couple of wounds where Bult managed to bust the monster’s lips and in couple more places where he bit his own lips in excitement himself tearing entire miniscule chunks of skin and flesh out of his own palate tongue and lips. He loved this fight but he loved the end most of all. Almash closed his fist and cocked it back, he knew what he’d do, he’d channel just a single ounce of chakra punching hard enough to bust through the man’s broken ribs and blow up his heart with pure concussive force “ it’d be his glorious finisher move… Maybe one day it’ll reach the level of fame to match the Bare-Hand Axe Handle?
Almash’s fist howled in the air, Bult no longer was able to see with one eye while the other one barely translated passable quality view of the world around him, it constantly needed to blink to let the pouring blood to pass over the eyelid and go down below. Bult was done for and he knew it, he accepted his death, he accepted his repentance, this wasn’t Almash finishing him off, it was his endless victims unifying into a single indestructible entity comprised of cosmos and vengeance itself that possessed his opponent that day. Maybe it was just his beaten and shaken brains making up stupid bullshit…
A strong crunching sound made Bult’s eyes shoot wide open as no freedom greeted him, instead he continued to kneel in front of his opponent unable to stand back on his feet. Standing in front of him was a young lady, short in stature, waist long raven dark hair flowed freely in the desert breeze just softly stroking and touching Bult’s face, wearing some peculiar uniform-like get-up that was dirtied up by desert sand and the dirt in the cells. Her long and rather muscular for her age leg was wrapped around Almash’s fist stopping it in its tracks, her thighs and her shin were grinding the man’s arm to dust as Almash could neither push the fist forward nor detract it to defend himself until the girl let go of her iron grip and let the wild demon to stumble back on all fours like an ape-man.
“Mana?” Bult’s half-toothed mouth asked spitting blood as he spoke.
There was absolutely no time to respond for the girl as the crowd jumped off their seats and started throwing their turbans and face-veils up in the air. Men were cheering and slamming their glasses overflowing with alcohol they were ready to rampage in their hype “ they saw something that this arena has never seen before, an interference in a one-on-one battle saving non other but a veteran icon of the arena.
“Unacceptable! You’ll be stoned, quartered by blade, executed where you stand!!!” the announcer shrieked out slobbering and drooling all over the platform he stood on looking up at the fazed Sheikh who was completely blown away and yet… His face was… Smiling, the Sheikh then erupted into a wild fit of laughter shuffling the entire affair, flipping all of the tables in a figurative sense.
“Guards, how did she escape the cell? How did she enter the arena? Guards?” the announcer kept trying to get the situation under control but then he noticed that no guards replied. “Don’t tell me…” he uttered.
“How did you?” Bult tried to speak but Mana carefully knelt up to his face and examined his wounds, pressing her soft and fragile finger to the man’s busted and swollen lips.
“I was a stage magician in Konohagakure, escaping cages and bindings is what I did for a living…” she uttered silently, “I had to take a couple of guards out and I had an idea to free all the fighters but I figured it’d devolve the whole place into chaos, many fighters would riot, try to avenge their ruined lives and kill innocent people. I could not allow that so I just rushed to your aid once I found out you were being set-up”
Bult’s only functional eye was tearing up.
Mana stood back up and faced the growling, demonic, red-haired man. “I apologize but I will have to beat you up, I cannot allow this senseless brawl to continue, if fighter’s pride is all you care about “ you’ve won, leave and it’ll be the end of it…” she tried to explain but Almash rushed at her swiping with his overgrown fingernails opening up a nasty scratch, Mana screamed in pain “ she didn’t see his movements! He was using a very feint and very primitive form of chakra augmentation moving faster and hitting and scratching stronger than any normal man. She’d have to predict his movements using Kouta’s basic taijutsu patterns, examine which leg the man uses to kick his body off, which muscles twitch and which arm is cocked back etc… A lot of complicated body language reading would be involved.
Almash rushed at Mana but the girl leaned back, to the side, ducked under his swipes without needing to see the movements. He was beyond the human limit but she was just barely managing it, she was dodging and redirecting his blows combining the training from both Meiko and Kouta, combining the two defensive styles into a single combination of invincible and seemingly impossible move economy.
“What grace… What economy… Not a single move wasted, not a single hesitation… This isn’t the same woman that lost to Gaffu, she could’ve stomped that man’s face without breaking a sweat…” Sheikh started talking to himself, turning and shouting at his concubines in joy and utter and complete glee. It was a moment of his weakness, he was caught surprised by an event that no one could’ve predicted.
Mana flipped to the side slapping Almash’s fingernail scratch straight into the stone tiles making him bust his fingers and scream out in pain as he broke all of them and left some of his flesh and blood on the stones. Mana’s legs assaulted and danced on the man’s face, chest and his legs, she kicked him in the knees, shins and stomped his feet to keep him locked down, she kicked his chest to make him cough out all of the air in his lungs and kicked his face to inflict as much damage as possible. Her opponent was stronger and faster than her, she needed all the advantages she’d get, she needed to explode right into his face and deal all the damage because if he hit her he may have taken her out outright. How tough was he compared to Damij? Could Mana really take on anyone stronger than this man? She was hitting this monster with all that she had and yet…
Mana leaped up into the air and thrust her leg forward, driving it deep into the man’s gut and then forcing Almash’s body right into the arena’s messed up and cracked tiles.
“Spear Kick!” she roared out giving in to the chanting of the public, it was a moment when to her fighting really seemed “cool”, when she was inspiring the public and when the people around her were behind a full one hundred percent, it was a sensation like no other, it was just what Mana lived to achieve throughout her life. If she was to become a hero she’d need to make people cheer for her and be inspired by her without all this violence but for just a small second she surrendered herself to the arena and let the warrior inside her take over. She remembered someone at some point, one of the ninja she worked with or sparred with calling this kick “Spear Kick” because she drove it into the opponent’s gut like a javelin and speared them to the ground stomping on them.
Almash was passed out, his eyes were totally white and he was bleeding from his nose and his mouth. Mana looked over the opponent she had conquered and then back at the Sheikh, the man was chanting for her to finish him off, the public was wild. Why were they so hyped for violence and murder? Why would they cheer for her to take out a tired and injured opponent that she had beaten after busting out of her cell and invading an event?
“No!” Mana declared and stomped viciously on Almash’s arms twisting them in gruesome ways until the muscles made a grotesque grinding noise and a loud snap could be heard. “No more violence…” she told half to the public but also to herself trying to control her raging spirit. She had so much anger pent up inside her, so much fear, desperation and sadness that all exploded into violence against this man… She needed that violence, had she held back one little bit it’d have been her lifeless body impaled on those spikes down below.
“How dare you!?” Sheikh screamed out angrily. The announcer also growled out similar words and the public raised the biggest riot beginning to throw things at Mana, one glass hit her in the head but only with its tip cracking a bleeding wound open but not completely knocking the girl out. Mana’s lips pouted and her nose started sniffling, she was about to burst into tears… These people hated her once more after making her believe that they were behind her. How could she for one moment be mistaken that these people wished anything other than for her to kill or die herself?
“I won, there’s no need for any more violence…” Mana tried to speak but everyone completely sunk her voice in an ocean of angry and hateful remarks thrown at her side. Mana restrained her childish desire to cry but she was shaken to her core, alone in an arena of bloodshed and death, surrounded by people that hated her guts while she loved every single one of them somewhere deep inside and would’ve given up her life to save any of them. Only Sheikh’s angry cough silenced the arena.
“Girl, you have interfered a Fatal Warfare match. That alone is unheard of, interference has never happened but if it had it’d have been punished by Descent Gauntlet. You provided some entertainment and brought more life into this arena than it has seen for a long time but then you disobeyed its rules and disrespected this crowd. There must be a body impaled on these spikes or killed in a Fatal Warfare match and there’ll be a body on those spikes, be it yours or someone else’s” the Sheikh said.
“I wish to run the Ascension Gauntlet!” Mana screamed out silencing the crowd after they once again riled up with hateful remarks and throwing objects at her. One little girl screamed a c-word at her and tossed a plushy toy of some fighter that fell down and got impaled on the spikes below. Seeing such bloodthirsty people made Mana realize just how impossible her lifelong dream may have been. She no longer had conflicting thoughts “ she’d run the gauntlet and either die or achieve her goal without killing anyone, whether this public liked it or not.
The Sheikh laughed out madly, “That’s some misguided arrogance coming from your side, girl! What makes you think you’re respected enough to ascend? No. You shall run a Gauntlet however it shall be a Descent Gauntlet and by the end of it you shall either kill someone and satisfy this crowd of martial art lovers or you shall become a meatbag accessory hanging on those spikes” the Sheikh declared to gleeful cheers of the public. While the public was no longer as unified in their hatred as they were before they still would’ve loved nothing more than to see Mana’s body getting impaled on the spikes giving them what they thought to be a fitting ending to a Fatal Warfare match.
“And if you do complete the Descent Gauntlet I shall grant you a tomorrow’s warm-up match against Damij, a match for your freedom, what say you, young woman?” the Sheikh deceitfully asked Mana, the magician knew she was being played but she had no choice. She needed to change this place, to show them that killing wasn’t the beautiful and artsy part of martial arts, that no blood needed to be shed for people to admire the art of fighting. Also Mana needed freedom badly, she needed to find her friends and continue the quest for the Land of Sound.
“I accept” she uttered barely twitching her lips before repeating it louder much to the wild enjoyment of the crowd.
[Reviews - 0]Chapter or Story
Table of Contents
- Text Size +