9. Sarod
9
SAROD
I stand in the dimness of the player's tunnel, the roar of the crowd above muffled but still electrifying. My teammates jostle around me, their energy palpable. The familiar scent of sweat fills my nostrils, mingling with the dusty smell of the zyrphix pitch under the sweltering sun.
"Gonna crush those Destroyers today, Captain!" Groknak bellows, slapping my back hard enough to stagger a lesser orc. His enthusiasm is infectious, but I can't fully embrace it.
I grunt in acknowledgment, but my mind's elsewhere. Josie's defiant glare flashes in my memory, her small frame trembling with anger as she scrubbed the floors this morning. Those expressive eyes of hers, filled with fury and something else I can't quite place, haunt me even now.
To further assert my control over her, I made her come along for today's match. I rationalized it in my mind, saying how I couldn't have her robbing my things while I was gone. It's a flimsy excuse, and I know it. But admitting the truth? That's not something I'm ready for.
I may have wanted her to come and see me in action. The thought of her watching me dominate the field sends a thrill through my body that I can't explain. It's more than just showing off my skills; it's a primal need to prove myself to her, to make her see me as more than just the brute she thinks I am.
I shake my head, trying to focus on the game ahead. But even as I grip my zyrphix stick tighter, I can't help but wonder where she'll be sitting, if she'll be watching. Damn it all, why can't I get her out of my head?
"Sarod! Sarod, can you hear me?" Thokk waves his meaty hand in front of my face, his green skin glistening with pre-game sweat. "You with us?"
"'Course I am," I growl, shaking off the distraction. I can feel the adrenaline starting to pump through my veins, my muscles tensing in anticipation. "Let's focus on the game. We've got asses to kick."
But even as I say it, I know it's a lie. I can't stop thinking about her up there in the stands, watching me. Will she be impressed? Disgusted? Does she even give a damn? The thought of Josie's eyes on me makes my skin tingle in a way I've never felt before. It's infuriating and intoxicating all at once.
Zorg, our youngest player, bounces on his toes beside me, his tusks gleaming in the afternoon sun. "First time my family's watching me play. Gotta make 'em proud!" His enthusiasm is infectious, but it only serves to remind me of my own conflicted emotions.
I clench my fists, trying to channel all these confusing feelings into the raw aggression I'll need for the match.
"You will," I assure him, forcing myself to be present. "Just remember, stay low and use your speed."
The ground rumbles beneath our feet, signaling the start of the match. My pulse quickens, but not just from the impending game. I picture Josie in the crowd, her eyes following my every move.
"Alright, boys!" I roar, pushing thoughts of her aside. My voice carries over the din of the pre-game chaos. "Let's show these Destroyers what real zyrphix looks like!" I slam my fist into my palm for emphasis, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.
As one, we surge forward into the arena, our bodies taut with anticipation. The crowd's cheers hit us like a wall of sound, a deafening cacophony that sets my blood on fire. I scan the sea of faces, searching for one in particular. Those warm brown eyes, that stubborn chin... Dammit, I need to focus. I shake my head, trying to clear it. This isn't the time for distractions, no matter how tempting. The game awaits, and I've got a reputation to uphold.
The magical ball erupts from the ground, and chaos erupts. Bodies collide, magic crackles uselessly against the ball's surface. I dive into the fray, my mind finally zeroing in on the game. The familiar rush of adrenaline courses through my veins as I thrust my way through the tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked skin.
But even as I grapple for control, shoving aside a particularly burly opponent with a satisfying grunt, a part of me wonders: Is she watching? And why the fuck do I care so much?
The game rages on, a blur of bodies and sweat. I'm in my element, muscles straining as I wrestle for control of the ball. But something keeps pulling at my attention, drawing my gaze to the stands.
There she is. Josie. Her face is flushed, eyes wide with excitement, brown hair whipping around her as she jumps up and down. She's on her feet, screaming and cheering along with the rest of the crowd, her voice somehow cutting through the deafening roar. For a moment, I forget that I'm in the middle of a fucking game, my mind completely consumed by her presence.
"Watch it, Cap!" Thokk's gruff warning snaps me back to reality just in time. I barely dodge a vicious tackle, feeling the rush of air as my opponent barrels past me.
I shake my head, trying to focus on the chaos around me. But now that I've seen her, I can't stop looking. The way she leans forward, hands clenched into fists, biting her lower lip in anticipation. The raw enthusiasm on her face, her eyes following every movement on the field. It's... intoxicating. Fuck, when did I start caring so much about what some tavern girl thinks?
A strange feeling washes over me, unlike anything I've experienced before. It's not just about the thrill of the game anymore. I want to win this match, not just for my team or my ego, but for her. To show her what I'm truly capable of. To keep that mesmerizing fire burning in her eyes and maybe, just maybe, to see a hint of admiration there too.
"Sarod!" Groknak bellows, his voice cutting through the chaos. He's gesturing wildly at me, his face a mask of frustration and urgency. "Head in the fucking game!"
I grunt, shaking off my momentary distraction. With a surge of adrenaline, I throw myself back into the fray with renewed vigor. My muscles burn as I push harder than ever before, determined to prove my worth.
We're inching closer to victory with each brutal play, leaving a trail of battered opponents in our wake. The crowd's roar is deafening, a mess of cheers and jeers that should drown out everything else. But somehow, impossibly, I swear I can pick out Josie's voice among them all. It drives me forward, urging me to fight harder, to be better. For her.
That's when I hear it. Grokus, that smug bastard from the Destroyers, his voice dripping with contempt. The sound of it makes my blood boil, but I try to keep my focus on the game.
"Look at the great Sarod," he sneers, loud enough for me to hear as we grapple for the ball. His meaty hands are slick with sweat, making it harder to maintain my grip. "Slumming it with humans now? Can't get enough of those weak little things, can you?"
I ignore him, gritting my teeth and focusing on the game. But his words needle at me, burrowing under my skin like thorns. My muscles tense, anger fueling my strength as I push against him.
"Bet you've got a whole harem of 'em," Grokus continues, his breath hot on my neck as we struggle. The stench of his last meal lingers, making me want to gag. "Pathetic. You've gone soft, Sarod."
His taunts echo in my ears, threatening to break my concentration. I feel the eyes of the crowd on us, the roar of their voices a distant buzz compared to Grokus's venomous words. It takes every ounce of willpower not to lash out at him right then and there.
Something snaps inside me, a primal, possessive rage I've never felt before. The mere thought of Grokus finding out about Josie, of him even looking at her with those lecherous eyes of his, makes my blood boil and my vision blur with fury. It's a feeling so intense, so all-consuming, that it threatens to overwhelm me.
I slam into him with all my strength, channeling every ounce of my anger and newfound protectiveness into the impact. The force of it sends him sprawling across the field, his massive body skidding through the dirt. The ball comes loose from his grasp, and I snatch it up without hesitation, my fingers digging into its rough surface. I barrel towards the goal with a ferocity that surprises even me, my feet pounding against the ground, my heart racing with adrenaline and determination.
As I score, slamming the ball through the shifting, magical goal with a roar of triumph, my eyes instinctively search for Josie in the crowd. I spot her almost immediately, her face a beacon in the sea of spectators. She's jumping up and down, her face radiant with joy, her brown hair bouncing with each movement. The sight of her excitement, her pride in me, sends a warm rush through my body.
I like this. I like that, by maintaining my reputation as a cutthroat competitor in the zyrphix arena, I'm able to enjoy her like this. From a distance. And all of this is just to keep her mine.
Because she is mine. She was mine the moment I saw her staring at me in the tavern with that distinctive scowl on her face. She was mine when she stole my chain, sealing her fate.
And now that she's mine, I won't let anyone take her away from me.