Semi-finals: Christina Bredith Vs. Orphans

[Christina Bredith]

The shock and horror that flooded Christina’s mind at that moment were incomprehensible. They should not have been; she knew what her Rumbling Rose would do to her opponents, even ones as frail as this girl. And further, she knew that the monks would heal even the most serious of wounds after the battle. There should have been no cause for alarm; she was doing only what had to be done to achieve her goal.

And yet her stomach churned. She felt like a monster. She thought the crowd was roaring, but was it the crowd, or was it some deep dark part of her, bellowing a carnal triumph like a lion after a kill?

Then Christina’s thoughts progressed in a pattern that bewildered her. First, she noted that her opponent’s sword was still on the platform. Her right arm had come away entirely along with it. Together that meant that she was no longer a threat. Only that allowed Christina to throw down Rosebite and barrel across the island, diving head-first into the churning salt water. It sickened her even as she did so.

The bellowing of the crowd was muted by the water, replaced with a dull aquatic grumbling and the intense screams of agony shooting up her left arm as salt clawed at her wound. The water was bitterly cold, but she could not let that stop her. The least she could do now was protect this girl from the horror of drowning.

When she opened her eyes, they stung bitterly, but she ignored that too. What she could not ignore was the thick darkness all around her; there was no sunlight to penetrate the water to begin with, so its depths were murky and invisible. She thought she saw a flash of white and darted after it, but it was only a feather that had shaken loose from the girl’s wings. Christina spun. Nothing behind her. Again she turned. No sign of the girl anywhere, and she was beginning to lose sight of which way was up and which down. Kicking hard against the protestations of her lungs, she broke the surface of the water and crawled onto the island once more.

“Stop the battle!” she demanded, her voice hoarse from stress, salt and cold. She did not know where the monks were, but only they could strip away this enchantment and free the girl from her watery prison. It did not happen, though. Had they not heard her, or had they chosen ignorance?

“It’s over!” she repeated, more loudly this time, pointing at the fallen sword and gesturing wildly in the direction of the girl’s arm, now floating haggardly in the water off to her right. “Undo the spell and begin the healing! Do your job!”

Another moment passed and she thought they might ignore her again. But then the world shimmered briefly, and rippled like the mirage of a heat haze on a summer day. Islands and water both were replaced with the hard, dry, sandy floor of the Invitational Arena. Her opponent reappeared behind her, bleeding heavily onto the ground. Christina moved quickly to her side, pulling off the hood and cape of her black cloak and pressing it tightly against the wound. If those damnable monks would hurry, there would still be time!

“Rest now, foolish girl,” she said soothingly and mournfully, smoothing away the bone-white strands of hair from the girl’s face. “The monks are on their way and everything will be all right.”

But the crowd’s chattering returned to its normal excited buzz; their interest had moved on to the finals. That disgusted her, and she wished she could blame it on the Empire too, but that was just the lusts of mankind. Perhaps she was not alone; perhaps, somewhere deeply hidden away, everyone had a demon inside.