25. LION
25
LION
Lion was alone in the launch room behind the Gates of Life of the Switchblade Arena. And he was trembling.
There was no one to give him instructions, to talk strategy, to calm him down, or to whisper his Kill Word as the gates opened.
There was no weapons rack to choose from.
There was not even a piece of armour on him.
The announcer’s voice projected through the arena, getting the crowd hyped up. He was saying something about the Lion of Zarall and the Bear of Vogros, but Lion couldn’t listen to anything but his own heartbeat.
He was dead.
No weapon, no armour… He had no chance.
Kastian had made sure the Lion of Zarall would die with no respect. He was naked, except for the few pieces of accessories to make him look like a kitten instead of a lion. He was wearing a belt with a yellow tail attached to its back. His hair fell down his shoulders in two neat braids, and his beard made a third one. Triangular wooden ears were protruding from a hairband on his head. All his body was coated in a shimmering, golden paint. Lastly, he was wearing his lion mask, but a black nose and whiskers were drawn on it.
The only part of his accessories that had a remote resemblance to any sort of weapon were the gloves. He was given dark brown leather gloves with metal fingertips. Cat-like claws, short and pointy, extended from every fingertip. Although they looked sharp enough, they couldn’t possibly leave a scratch on Marzul’s thick brown fur.
He could not survive a clawing contest with a bear.
He had been repeating Breeder Astaldo’s lectures about Apex Contests and animal fights in his head all night. Specifically, what the breeder had said about bears.
“ They run faster ,” his rough voice bellowed inside Lion’s mind. “ They climb faster and swim faster… ”
One more thing… There was one more thing a bear could do better than humans. What was it? What was it?
He knew the information would come to him, but when it did, it would be too late.
The audience was built up, cheering and stomping their feet impatiently. Lion took the mask off, careful not to cut his face with the claws.
He didn’t care about the other accessories; not even the ridiculous tail. In fact, having his hair braided like this was less distracting than getting it in his eyes all the time. But the mask’s slits were too narrow and if he was going to die, he at least wanted to see where his death came from.
It wasn’t like they could punish him after the fight for taking his mask off, anyway.
“And now, let the fight begin!” was the only part of the announcer’s speech he had been waiting — and dreading — to hear.
The Gates of Life slid apart slowly. The sunlight reflected from the golden sands and cut through the darkness inside the launch room. Lion blinked, forcing his eyes to adapt to the light as quickly as possible. The slim slice of light between the gates grew wider.
Then, he saw something in the middle of the arena; an advantage that might maybe, potentially save him.
He squeezed past the gates even before they were fully open, and he broke into a mad run.
The sound of the crowd hit him like a wall. The golden sands, heated by the sun all day, burnt his bare feet, and the stupid piece of tail floated awkwardly behind him as he ran. He couldn’t imagine how ridiculous he must look to the audience; gleaming golden under the sun, his braids fluttering in the wind, and his privates flopping against his thighs with each step.
Without breaking his run, he took his right hand to his mouth and pulled the glove off. Muffled by the crowd’s laughter, he could hear Marzul’s confused growls, and knew that the bear had been released into the arena as well. He didn’t stop to look.
He kept his eyes on the steel pole erected in the middle of the arena and ran like he had never run before.
The pole was thicker than a tree trunk, and gleamed a menacing grey. Odd-looking, neat shapes and symbols were carved along one side from bottom to top. He didn’t care how or from where they found a steel pole like this and brought it into Switchblade. All he knew was that the pole was his salvation, because there was a flat platform at the top.
Marzul let out a sharp, angry growl and Lion knew the bear had spotted him. The crowd’s excited screams told him Astaldo was right about the bears’ speed. He was still ten seconds from reaching the pole, and Marzul was going to get to him in five.
Lion dropped the glove behind him, then pulled the left one off.
“ Drop something, ” Breeder Astaldo had said. “ Bears are curious animals. They will pause to sniff it, which will buy you the few precious seconds that might save your Owners from losing their property. ”
It worked.
Sort of.
Marzul paused briefly to sniff the glove, but he resumed running almost instantly. This earned Lion only a handful of seconds.
Lion dropped the second glove, hoping but not really expecting to trick the bear again. Marzul didn’t disappoint him.
Lion threw himself at the pole, wrapping his legs around it, the impact almost crushing his balls. With his feet locked at the ankles, he pulled himself up swiftly.
The steel pole was heated under the sun and burnt his bare flesh. However, being naked worked in his favour; it prevented him from sliding down and helped him climb faster.
But not fast enough.
When the crowd gasped in unison, Lion braced himself for the strike.
He was a few meters off the ground, but not high enough to escape from Marzul’s reach, when the bear stood up on his hindlegs. The swipe of his claw landed on Lion’s back and he felt four sharp claws slicing his skin from shoulder blades to waist.
His scream was lost in the delighted cheer of the spectators. His grip weakened, and he slid down half a meter. He didn’t know if he was lucky, or if it was because they had kept the bear too hungry for too long, but Marzul stumbled. Unable to stop his charge, he hit headfirst on the pole, releasing his grip.
Blood gushed from Lion’s back. The pain blinded him, threatened to steal his consciousness. He pulled himself together and used his only chance to get away from Marzul’s next strike.
Wrapping his legs around the pole again, he climbed.
Marzul stood up on four legs and shook his head in a comical way. The crowd laughed and Lion felt a vicious jolt of satisfaction at the humiliation of the bear of Vogros. Then, the bear fixed his attention back at Lion and stood up on his hindlegs for another strike. This time, Lion was out of his reach and the only thing Marzul could get his claws on was the tail, which ripped off easily.
He came so close to fainting and only stayed awake by pure willpower. Blood soaked the pole, making it slippery between his legs. The skin on his chest, arms and inner thighs burnt from the heat and friction. He allowed himself to groan and cry out as loud as he needed to, while forcing himself to keep climbing. His movements were methodical: support himself with his legs, reach with his hands, ignore the pain on his back, pull himself up, curse at the burn, repeat.
When he reached the top, he was growling and panting almost as loud as Marzul.
The platform at the top of the pole was barely wide enough to stand on two feet. Lion pulled himself up on it. As soon as he stood, the arena started swirling around him. He crouched low, his hands grasping the sides of the platform hard enough to drain his knuckles white. The height and the blood loss were making him dizzy.
Marzul rose on his hindlegs. He hugged the pole with claws the size of a man’s face and lifted himself in an attempt to climb.
Lion held his breath.
They are good climbers, Astaldo had lectured the young purebreds. But this was a steel pole with a smooth, blood-soaked, slippery surface. An animal that size shouldn’t have been able to climb it…
Marzul lifted himself off the ground, his hindlegs clawing the pole frantically, before he slid down helplessly. Next, the bear crouched down and jumped. This time, he reached higher, but no matter how much he hugged and clawed the steel, he slid down on his bottom again. His third try was half-hearted.
Lion’s shoulders sagged as he exhaled slowly. The arena masters placed this pole here because they were certain that Marzul couldn't climb on it. They wanted this fight to last longer than five seconds.
Marzul stood up one more time, but instead of another climbing attempt, he leaned against the pole with his front claws and threw his weight at it.
Lion mouthed one of Joharin’s favourite curses as he threw himself flat on his stomach, wrapping his arms and legs around the platform. The spectators let out an amused laughter at the sight of him clinging to the pole like a scared cat, his bare ass to the crowd. They could go to Darkhome. Lion couldn’t care any less about his image.
Marzul continued shaking the pole by using the force of his considerable weight. The pole swung violently, causing Lion to exhale sharply as the air rushed out of his lungs. He bit his tongue and tasted blood. For a terrifying moment, he imagined Marzul ripping the steel off the ground. The golden sands gaped around the root of the pole. Minutes dragged like hours while the spectators jumped up and down with excitement. Their screams pierced Lion’s ears. He didn’t remember ever hearing them this frantic. They were thirsty for his death.
Marzul eventually surrendered and dropped down onto all fours with a disgruntled sound. Lion climbed back up on the pole and crouched, holding onto the sides tightly. Although he was far from being relaxed, he allowed himself to take a moment to assess his situation. When he scanned the arena, he spotted the weapons scattered across the outer edge of the battlefield, opposite to where Lion had entered. Okay, so he was not completely unarmed. He was just at an impossible distance away from the nearest weapon.
Also stranded at the top of a pole and bleeding heavily.
The only feeling he had on his back was wetness. Fear and adrenaline had numbed the pain momentarily. Blood seeped down his back, dripping on Marzul’s face and driving him even more enraged. Lion was on the brink of unconsciousness. He had to stab his nails at his legs to keep himself from fainting.
Weapons. He needed to get to those weapons…
Marzul circled the pole, giving it an occasional swipe or a shake. Despite the noise, Lion could hear the sound of Marzul’s claws as they grinded against the steel. Although the bear hadn’t given up, his attempts to get to his prey were subsiding, and this reflected on the spectators immediately. They tolerated this idleness for only about five minutes before yelling their disappointment and frustration.
They could suck it. Lion was nowhere near tired. Badimar used to run stamina exercises on balance poles, far more straining than this. He could remain here for at least several hours; unless Marzul finally ripped the pole out, or he fainted from blood loss.
Still, it didn’t mean Lion was willing to stay here for several hours. No, he had to find a way to get to those weapons. If only there was a way to distract the bear. He calculated the time he needed to slide down, run, and grab a weapon. He would need at least half a minute of distraction. How was he going to do that?
A brilliant but not so hopeful idea flashed in his mind: His Kill Word. What if he could Rage himself?
He never tried using one of his Words on himself before – never had a reason to try. He would have a fighting chance against Marzul if he could put himself in Rage. And if he still died, at least it would be painless.
“ Dracis …” he started, but his throat tightened and the rest of the Kill Word didn’t come out.
He coughed, cleared his throat. He could say the Word clearly in his mind. Closing his eyes, he tried to pronounce it out loud again and again, just to get stuck in the same syllable. He even tried breaking the word in two and vocalising it in two parts, but the result was the same. His throat tightened each time, not letting the Word out.
So, he couldn’t Rage himself then. Shit .
Meanwhile, the crowd was continuing their futile attempts to convince him to ‘get down and fight like a man.’ Lion looked at Marzul and his teeth and claws. Fighting like a man? Against a bear? Not until he could get a…
A sudden pain in his left arm shattered all his thoughts.
He lost his grip. The force of the blow pushed him forward and cost him his balance. He swung his right arm and grabbed the top of the platform just as he fell.
Marzul and the spectators roared at the same time as Lion hung from the platform with one hand. His fingers were sliding on the platform, which was wet with his blood. He kicked the air desperately, trying to wrap his legs around the pole. Pain had numbed his left arm. He couldn’t move it.
An arrow! An arrow was sticking out of his upper arm!
Fairness was the last thing he expected from this fight, but this ? They shot an arrow at him! Because he was taking too long to fall?
Marzul backed away from the pole and crouched on his hindlegs.
“Shit!” Lion cursed and pulled his legs up just in time.
They jump! That was the other thing Astaldo had said bears could do better than humans. They can jump higher.
Marzul gained speed and jumped, almost running the length of the pole and swinging one of his claws at where Lion’s legs had been a second ago. The bear fell back on his four with a loud thud, almost shaking the whole arena.
Lion released his legs while Marzul prepared for another jump.
As he struggled to hold on, the crowd did something odd: they started booing. At least half of them were on their feet, shaking their fists and yelling how cheap this fight was. They still wanted to see Lion dead, there was no doubt about that. But not like this.
Good. The crowd’s reaction suggested that there wouldn’t be a second arrow. Not that it mattered, because Lion’s fingers were starting to lose their grip one by one.
With a laboured groan, he lifted his left arm through the pain to grab the edge of the platform. He swung his legs back and forth and wrapped them around the pole just as Marzul jumped again.
The bear missed by a hair.
It took an excruciating amount of time to pull himself back up on the platform, with the pole constantly slipping between his legs and the jolt of pain scouring his arm. Not trusting his balance, he lay on his stomach, locking his legs under the platform.
Blood dripped down the pole, painting the sands below. Marzul roared in fury and resumed shaking the pole violently.
Somehow, Lion managed not to pass out. The arrow had punched through his arm, but it seemed to have missed the bone. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to move it at all. Leaving the arrow there seemed like the easiest option; trying to pull it out would have cost too much blood.
If only he had a bow... Then it would have been worth the risk of pulling the arrow out. One shot at one of Marzul’s eyes. That was all he needed. It may not have killed the bear, but it would certainly give Lion the distraction he needed to get down and…
He raised his head and calculated the distance to the weapons again. A plan had started to shape in his head. It was a terrifying plan and he couldn’t help but chuckle at its chances of success. But it was the only plan he had.
“Merciful Alunwea,” he prayed, not because he believed in the Twelve Riders, only to feel himself closer to Saradra.
With his right hand, he reached for the belt around his waist. He unbuckled it with blind fingers and tied it just above the arrow wound. He used his teeth to tighten the belt, so it cut the blood flow.
That was the easy part. Now came the fun bit.
The arrowhead poked out at the front of his bicep. He wrapped his fingers around it, took a deep breath, and pulled.
He howled.
Marzul roared and rounded the pole frantically.
Lion cursed, screamed, spat, and cried out, yet kept pulling until the arrow came out. Despite the belt, a surge of blood gushed down his elbow.
He was exhausted. Dark spots appeared in his sight. He was passing out…
The arrow…
He tucked the arrow under his stomach as he lay on the platform.
He couldn’t afford to drop the arrow…
If he did…
Everything would be…
He flinched awake. He must have passed out just for a split second, and somehow, his body had stubbornly held on. He was still lying on his stomach, his arms dangling from one side of the platform, and his legs from the other. The arrow was still safe under his stomach.
He shook his head, trying to regain his strength. He retrieved the arrow and placed it between his teeth. Carefully, he climbed back up on the platform. To get himself used to the pain, he moved his left arm up and down. If there was any chance of his plan to work, he was going to have to use this arm.
Marzul pressed his front paws against the pole and raised his muzzle up at Lion. His wet, black nose twitched as he tried to sniff Lion’s intentions.
Lion took the wooden hairband off his head and held it with his trembling left hand. When he grabbed the arrow with his right and straightened up, the crowd anticipated what he was planning to do. They started cheering madly, inviting him to go ahead and do it. Although they sounded divided — half cheering for the bear and half for Lion now — they all were desperate for some action.
And Lion was ready to finally give them what they wanted.
He pointed the sharp end of the arrow at the bear. Holding the hairband from one of the wooden ears, he dangled it in the air.
Marzul opened his mouth.
Taking a deep breath, Lion dropped the hairband. Then jumped right after it.
Marzul’s teeth clamped around the hairband. It broke with a sharp crack.
Lion landed on Marzul’s shoulders before the bear could open his mouth again. He stabbed the arrow in the animal’s eye.
The bear stumbled down with Lion’s sudden weight and roared. He spat the pieces of the hairband out of his mouth, grabbed Lion with one of his claws and flung him away.
Lion lay in a surge of blackness. Soft, hot sand cradled his body. He could still hear Marzul stumbling and roaring in pain in the distance. Although the spectators made more sound than him, Marzul’s was the only one he heard.
He fought to disperse the darkness. He had to get up. He had to get up now.
He rolled to his side, shaking his head, shaking the dizziness out of his eyes. He was noticing a new pain on his side. Blood was pouring out from a new gash. Sand and blood coated his body.
Marzul was shaking his head, trying to get the arrow out. Lion had lost his sense of direction and had to look around to spot the weapons. For a few fearful seconds, he couldn’t see anything but blood and sand. Then he spotted them and climbed up on his feet.
Blood poured from his newest wound when he stood. He took two steps and stumbled on his knees, fighting madly not to faint again. Putting a hand over the side of his stomach, he broke into something between crawling and running.
The crowd was raving, quite a lot of them cheering for Lion to get up and run. The inflection in their excitement told him that Marzul had just taken the arrow out and was trying to locate him with his one good eye. The bear roared in triumph and Lion didn’t need to look over his shoulder to see him charging on all fours.
The nearest weapon was a crooked short sword: a lor’qas, his favourite weapon, as he had told Saradra one night. This was the weapon he was most experienced and confident with. He ran past it. His eyes were fixed on another weapon.
Lion grabbed the net and the trident seconds before Marzul was on him.
He barely had enough time to fix the net before throwing it at the bear. He rolled out of the way while Marzul fell headfirst, tangled in the net. The weights were not heavy enough to keep the bear down, but they were enough to distract him while Lion claimed the only opportunity he could ever get.
With a strength he had no idea he possessed, he jumped up and stabbed the trident in Marzul’s neck.
He had just enough strength left to avoid the dying animal’s blind strikes. He pulled the trident free and stabbed again, just for good measure. The third strike ended Marzul’s last convulsions and Lion realised he had been screaming, roaring, at the top of his lungs.
He fell on his back, next to the dead bear. His victory was going to be the shortest one in the history of Switchblade Arena. Blood poured out of his wounds, already creating a dark red puddle around him. He felt weak and cold, his breathing getting rapid and shallow.
There was something odd about the crowd. They were cheering for Lion now. And they sounded so angry. Striking words and phrases such as, ‘Zarall’, ‘Leonis is the true king’, ‘Usurper Vogros’ and ‘false king on the throne’ were reaching to Lion’s ears. There was turmoil among the seats as well. As his sight darkened, he recognised the sounds of fighting.
Riot , was his last thought before he passed out. I’ve started a riot .