John stood in the arena he’d just fought in. Stars had replaced the sun in the sky, and a full moon gave ample light to see. John stepped forward, and felt the slosh of liquid. Looking down, he saw blood.
His blood.
It coated the courtyard up to his ankles, and John had just enough time to reel in horror before he glimpsed a red glow from his hands. His gauntlets began to feel warm as the red glow from his armor increased in intensity.
Oh no, John thought, trying in vain to remove them as they grew hotter and hotter. Sweat beaded at his forehead as he pulled on the edges of the armor with all his strength, unable to escape the burning of his gauntlets. After a few moments, he began to scream.
There was no escape, so John screamed. He screamed again and again, falling to his hands and knees as the blood boiled around his gauntlets, doing nothing to relieve the burning. The agony was unbearable, and John’s voice ran hoarse as his armor began to morph, growing up his arms and toward his torso, extending his pain to his chest.
John tried to scream, but nothing came, not even breath. It hitched in his throat and he was denied his release. The pain burned his mind, maddened him with agony. He felt tears form at his eyes as he tried to scream again, and blood poured from his mouth instead of sound, falling into the pool he was in, mingling with his blood in the courtyard.
------------------------
John’s eyes popped open, jerking his hand up to grab whatever was nearest to him. His hand landed on the railing of his cot and he gasped, pulling air into his lungs desperately. He breathed again, reveling in the simple sensation of cool air entering his lungs. His hand left the railing and grabbed at his upper arms, making sure that his armor was where it was supposed to be, and that he was not actually being burned alive. Everything seemed to be in its proper place, and John fell back into the cot, turning his head to see a very surprised nurse. She was small and lithe, with brown hair that fell in a short, tangled mess around her face. He noticed Artemis next to her.
John turned to him, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, staring at him. Artemis was an excellent fighter. Though John had been frustrated during their match, he had learned quite a bit about how he wasn’t as durable as he thought he was. His gaze moved from Artemis to his own gauntlets, then back to him. The dream was disturbing, but he’d learned to live with them, and didn’t put much stock into what happened when he was asleep anyways. He spoke.
“Again,”
Artemis’ eyes widened a little, and the nurse stepped behind him. He put a hand out, palm down. “You're out of your mind. No. After a battle, take time to review. Learn from what transpired. Allow the lessons to sink in. Don't fight for the sake of fighting.”
“How do you think I learned how to fight? By fighting.”
“Yes, and we just did the fighting. Perhaps you can take some of those lessons learned and use them against a new opponent, but you need to let those lessons sink in. And you should know that we aren’t on the same level. I withheld myself quite a bit so I could fight you. Once I don’t have to do that when we fight, there will be new things for both of us to learn. For now, I need to head back to my forge.”
John’s teeth clenched a little at how easy it had apparently been for Artemis to defeat him. He stood, grabbing his bloodstained tunic. “I’ll head to mine then, need some new clothes too.”
Artemis looked up at John. “Come to Knife’s Edge, find me at the Norlond Forge. We’ll see if we can’t get you a decent tailor, maybe some armor, too.”
“No armor,” John said, locking eyes with Artemis as he held up a gauntlet. “These gloves, they’re growing. I don’t know how, but they’re growing up my arms, and I think pretty soon I won’t need armor. If they don’t kill me, that is.”
“Well it doesn’t need to be real armor, you can get a variety of different cloth types that have a similar effect.”
John looked down. “Maybe. There’s a tournament, the Salvar Brawler’s Invitational, in a few weeks.”
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