A Close Hand

I hate them.

Pain rips through my shoulders.

Darkness.

I can't see.

My arms are tired and my chest aches.

Shut up.

I hear the sounds around me.

They are muffled, but there is no mistaking what I hear.

Glasses clink. People murmur.

A sweet smell, like fruit, fills my nose. Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

"Listen, listen," a man announces, his voice is a bit high and sharp.

The talking fades.

"I know many of you are dying to know why I would interrupt such an elegant meal,” he says. His voice is theatrical.

"Clown," I mutter.

Whatever I am in booms as it jolts to the side.

My ears ring.

My shoulders throb.

"Quiet," someone orders. They are somewhere beside me.

"I know most, if not all of you, have heard the rumors," the man continues. No one makes a sound. "As usually, I am one who makes those rumors, I will tell you this time I did not. I am here to put you at ease."

People begin talking.

"But wait, wait..." the people quiet down. "A rumor is only a rumor if it is false. Is it not?”

I begin to move.

I'm being rolled somewhere by the way I move. My knees are sore. I’ve been on them too long.

A sharp turn almost sends me falling, if not for being held down.

The chains and whatever I am in holds me in place.

Heat warms my skin.

People are talking now. Louder. Clearer.

The smell of meat.

Food.

My stomach roars like a rabid animal in a cage.

"Is that him?" Someone whispers.

I clench my fists.

For a moment, hunger leaves me.

I push, the chains hold on to me.

A sharp jab to my side sends me twisting.

"Feisty, is he not?" The announcer says. He sounds happier.

The people laugh.

My side stings.

"I tried to ask Primal Neorai to host an auction for such a prize, " I perk up, the crowd laughs, "but some prizes are not worth the risk."

The contraption around my body gets heavier.

"At least that's what he said."

A dull tap rings around me.

There is a clean scent.

Strong. It has a light floral smell.

I thrash around.

Pushing my body towards the man.

Chains tighten around my wrists.

They burn.

"Whoa!" the man says. He is not as close.

"That was a close one!"

More laughing.

"Primal Neorai, did say we could show such a prize as long as," he stretches out his words like those annoying theater actors, "we do not look at it, in its face."

Laughing.

I hate that laugh.

A slow rumble vibrates through the chains. Sounds of a latch snap around my head.

"Stand.”

I don’t know this voice. It is rough. Deep.

I try to push. My legs are sore. My body is stiff.

"Stand, " he barks. A shocking pain strikes my ribs.

I groan and try to push myself up.

Tingling replaces the numbness in my legs. Fiery pricks follow after.

I take a step. The chains tighten.

"Not so fast," the man with the rough voice says.

My hands are still shoved into whatever contraption holds me down. My elbows hurt.

"After dessert, another treat from Primal Neorai, who unfortunately could not be here," the announcer says. A few people groan.

I slouch. Pressure eases off of my back. It soon finds its way towards my legs.

“However,” the announcer interrupts, “like I said, we were sent a gift.”

Zip.

A high-pitched zipping sound circles around me. Then a low-buzzing hum. Boot steps circle around me. I lunge.

Instinct.

The chains tighten.

My body stays in place.

People are quiet.

Click.

Something slides away from my face. A line of white brightness blinds me. It overtakes me.

Even with my eyes shut, the light burns through.

Then it fades. Manageable now.

I have to squint to adjust to the light.

A clear panel, translucent, covers my face. My hands sit by the side of my head. Held in place. One on each side.

Black panels fill the rest of the space around me.

It's a small box.

This is what I'm in?

I know what this is.

In front of me-another man.

Chained down, kneeling.

The chains extend to a couple of openings on the marble floor.

A rectangular box with a clear front panel and black side panels covers him. His arms stick out from the side of the box.

Like me.

A mound of brown facial hair moves on the man’s face, wiry and mangled. I hear nothing.

He wears a ragged gray uniform. It is plain in color. With a black mark of a crescent moon struck through.

I've only seen them given to war criminals.

Terrorists.

Mass murders.

"Wagers will begin for such a delectable dessert, beginning at fifty shares,” the man announces as he walks around the enclosure.

As he gets closer, I see him better.

Behind the translucent blue barrier, he eyes me down.

Anger boils inside of me.

I thrash around.

"Whoa,” the announcer says, “who will be the first to put down some shares for this man?”

“Give it to me!” A man barks out.

"More like a beast,” the announcer murmurs.

I don’t know if anyone heard him.

I don’t care.

”I like to place twenty shares above his,” a woman says. Her voice is cordial. Soft.

I don’t look, but I’m sure she looks like everyone else.

Elegant makeup. High-end clothing. Only the best of what money can buy.

“Twenty won’t do much, you might as well use coins!” A man with a burley voice mocks. Others laugh.

The chains around my body cut at my waist and my elbows.

I try to stand.

The chains stretch only so far, tightening around me. They shake.

I'm not strong enough.

I exhale and slump.

A silver cube rises from the center of the barrier.

A long black blade with silver circular markings is held to the side of the platform.

Curved with a brown leather handle.

A Grahadian spade.

“What’s that?” Someone asks in the crowd.

“I’m not sure,” a man responds.

I don’t bother to look at them.

I know how this is supposed to go.

The man in front of looks around. His eyes fly in the different directions. The chains run tight as he moves around.

It’s no use.

His facial hair is a bit longer than mine. The bags under his eyes emphasize his lack of rest.

I wonder what I look like.

I’ve seen lots of men.

Many with those eyes.

Insecure.

I don’t like them.

“I’ll place eighty on Ezian,” a man says around me, I turn to look only for the restrains to stop me.

”You think he’s got it?” A woman asks.

“Sixty on little bit to surprise us.”

”Sixty is steep,” a woman says, her tone is judgmental, “ninety on a Primal, I haven’t seen one of those.”

The platform stops. It spins, hovering on a small ball.

“As you know in any match, death is the only out,” the announcer says. He walks towards us.

He wears a long shirt that touches the back of his knees. White with gold thin lines outline his clothes.

His pants are of the same design. Elegant.

My eyes are locked on him.

My shoulders and chest rise and fall .

”Did you miss me?” The man asks. He looks at me. Golden teeth scattered throughout his mouth.

He blows a kiss.

I throw myself towards him like a rabid dog.

The restraints groan.

“One-hundred shares on Primal!” Another man shouts.

People cheer.

The man announcing walks away. He laughs.

The cube in the middle stops.

It splits in the middle. Slow.

As it widens, two daggers float up.

Like the spade, a dark circular patterned blade.

Ghrahadian, again.

How did they get that?

“I kind of think the little one will surprise us,” a woman says. It sounds remorseless.

All of this does.

“We will have three four-minute rounds of high aggression, blood spilling action,” the man roars, announcing the coming carnage, “two blades, two people. And as they say.”

The crowd chants together.

“Occidere aut occidi.”

Clink.

Soft. Delicate.

The chains fall. They bounce on the marble floor. The box keeping me trapped falls. Piece by piece until I am free.

But so is my opponent.

“Hurry on, boy!” A man orders me.

I don’t turn to look.

I know how these go.

Despite everything, I need to live.

At least for now.

my opponent rushes towards the cube. He trips over his legs, trying to gain control. His body is stiff.

He limps towards the middle. His arms drag on his side.

I roll my head around my shoulders.

Pain.

It envelopes every inch of my body.

I lift my arms. Soreness seems to be all that I am.

My knees groan. Each step feels like ice picks shoved in my joints.

I step towards the center trying not to topple over. The man hobbles. His leg is limp.

“You really gave him a worm?” A woman asks.

“How am I supposed to bet on this?” A man pouts.

“Wait a minute,” the announcer exclaims. Some people are booing him now.

I look. They throw their food at him.

I leave my opponent.

I walk towards where the announcer stands.

Towering over the man, I have maybe a foot or more on him.

I look at my opponent.

He almost has enough control over his body. He’s a few steps from the cube.

“See,” the people stop throwing things, some scoot their chairs back, “why so hostile?”

He brushes off his clothes and turns.

His eyes widen.

Hitting a round dinner table, he stumbles back tripping over himself. Food and drinks splatter on the floor.

He crawls backwards.

A slow grinding sound comes from behind me.

My opponent grabs the spade from the cube.

The knuckles on his hands are white. He groans. His face burns red.

The spade comes off the cube, only to crash on the ground.

Just as I thought.

I turn to the announcer.

He’s picked himself up now.

A guard in a black plated armor suit stands next to him now.

The guard and I are almost the same height.

“Primal…Neorai?” The announcer asks. He daps his white coat, blotting a brown spot on his sleeve.

He tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed. He has a puzzled look. Confused.

He glances towards the crowd. They are still. Silent. Focused on me.

“I thought—I thought you were dead…” the announcer says.

The room is silent.

My voice is hoarse. Tightness pulls on my throat.

The words squeeze out. “Get me out.”

“Wait,” the announcer raises his hands, “this is the Primal Neorai.” The announcer looks around. He walks towards a different table. The guard follows.

“He is the Primal Neorai,” he says casually to one of the men sitting there.

Clank.

My opponent dropped his sword. Again.

I look as he reaches for the dagger and pulls.

It slides out of the table.

My opponent is on his feet now.

It’s hard to tell how old he is.

Messy and wiry black hair.

Wrinkles begin to carve the man’s face.

His eyes are a soft blue color.

“Primal Neorai…” his eyes grow wide. He drops the blade and looks at me.

“Even the worm knows that’s Primal Neorai,” the announcer says. My opponent gets down on one knee. Bowing.

I glare at the announcer.

He smiles.

“A treat from the true Primal Neorai for us to see,” the announcer says, his voice picking up as he pulls out a chair and stands on the table. He throws his arms out wide, “one of the former Primal’s here, for a match!” He gestures to the crowd to stand and cheer.

The crowd roars in approval.

They didn’t know.

The announcer looks back. A smile carves his face.

“Primal Neorai, sir,” my opponent says, he looks up at me, sadness eats at his eyes, “I’m Baden, sir. Baden Yanir. My father served your father during the—“

”—look,” the announcer interrupts, pointing at my opponent, “the worm kneeling and begging the Primal for his life.”

Laughter.

I face the announcer who is still standing on the table.

“Leos,” I warn.

The announcer, Leos, smiles and shakes his head in disapproval.

“No,” he smirks, “you are the one who’d better stop, or should I say, you’d better start.”

I hear a quiet pop.

Baden groans.

He reaches for a thigh and pulls a small silver capsule with a needle sticking out.

“Primal Neorai,” he begins to quiver and shake violently on the floor, “I’m—I’m—“

He yells.

Thrusting himself along the floor. Convulsing. He stops, lying motionless.

“What’d you do?” I roar, walking towards Leos.

I stop before the barrier, like a lion in a cage.

A smile, wild and sly shines across his face.

Something metallic slides along the marble floor.

As I turn, the glint of the spade shines in the yellow reflection of the chandelier lights above. I dodge to the side and air kisses my nose.

The crowd roars.

“You’d better do something! I tried to warn you!” Leos mocks.

The man, Baden, looks rabid.

He swings the spade at my neck. I duck and roll away.

I think it cut my arm.

I run to the cube and grab the other spade.

Cold.

Comfortable.

Baden runs towards me, his legs and arms flailing with each stride. He looks as if he will fall over.

“Baden!” I try to get his attention.

His eyes, bloodshot, look towards me.

He looks at me like prey.

He swings the spade with one arm. I block. The clash of the metal sends the audience into a frenzy.

“I told you he would surprise us!” A woman screams.

“Ninety on the worm!” A man yells.

His veins protrude through his skin, throbbing.

Spit bubbles in the corner of his mouth. Foaming.

He pulls back. He attacks again, swinging the spade at my legs.

I step back. Blood splatters on the floor. Hot. Then cold. My shin stings.

The crowd cheers.

“Baden!” He pulls back for another attack. I propel my body towards him.

He swings the spade. I shoot my elbow in his face. His arms crash into my shoulder.

His spade drops.

He falls backwards onto the floor.

“What did you do, Leos?” I yell.

Baden hops back on his feet. Blood runs from his nose. It drips on the floor.

Baden’s eyes track me. They follow me with each step.

Soulless.

He makes no effort to wipe the blood.

”Leos! Why are you doing this t—“ I turn to look at Leos.

Whoosh.

My shoulder stings.

A leather handle sticks out.

Baden runs towards me, blood and snot oozing from his nose.

In a few strides, he’s already on me.

Baden swipes his blade. I dodge.

He spins around, swinging the spade for another attack.

I lift my spade and block. Barely.

My breaths are deep.

Slow.

Baden’s are light.

Quick.

He groans, pushing his body into the blade.

He’s forcing me down.

His eyes flicker all over my face.

“Baden,” I whisper.

It’s no use.

A dull pain comes from my ribs.

Baden’s knee comes back down. He goes again.

Only this time, I’m ready.

As he knees, I turn. His knee moves where my stomach was.

I kick.

The crunch of his knee sends him onto the floor.

He clenches his teeth, growling.

His eyes track my every move .

“And this is what they’re wanting to give?” Someone says in the crowd.

”It works by the looks of it,” someone else responds.

Baden pushes himself up. His leg gives out and he falls to the floor.

My shoulder is throbbing now.

I grab the handle and yank.

Warm.

Wet.

My shoulder droops.

Baden pushes on his knee to hold himself up.

Stay down!

He falls and tries again.

More growling.

I walk towards him.

He reaches for the spade.

I send my knee towards his head.

His body bounces off the floor

He doesn’t move.

Foam oozes from his mouth.

“As the ancients before our days,” Leos announces, “occidere aut occidi.”

”Occidere aut occidi!” The crowd chants. It grows.

Baden’s chest barely lifts and crashes back down.

Good, he’s alive.

They continue chanting.

I don’t move.

I refuse.

“If you don’t choose,” Leos taunts, he’s walking along the barrier, “a choice will be made for you.”

I scowl at him.

He prowls around the barrier.

Getting closer with each step.

“Either you kill him,” Leos says, the crowd agrees.

“Yes, kill him!”

”Finish him!”

”Or,” he continues, “I will kill his entire family.”

His wicked smile crosses his face.

His gray eyes study me.

He stops in front of me. His hands clasped behind his back.

“Finish him!” The crowd chants.

Like ravenous wolves, their words circle around the room.

Women and men.

Old and young.

Elite and servants.

Everyone watches.

I catch the eyes of a child.

A boy.

In the back with his family.

My heart aches.

His mother and father, older elites, cheer with the crowd. They are standing up.

Laughing.

Drinking.

The boy just watches.

He studies me.

Then a ripple, almost unnoticeable, moves on the barrier in front of Leos’ face.

His eyes widen.

He takes a step back, tripping on a woman behind him. She curses.

He eyes the door.

It’s too late.

I find the first connector, a small black box on the floor, and send my spade into it.

The spade shatters. Along with the barrier.

Few have enough time to notice what happens. Those that do get up.

They push each other. Stumbling over one another towards the doors on the outside of the room. There are only two exits.

I’ve already measured them.

I sprint towards Baden’s spade and pick it up.

Anger courses through me.

Erasing all pain.

My heart races like a wild horse.

Rage.