The second (and last) part of chapter three.
In the previous chapter, Ren/Kutho began their fight against Delk/Strear. Kutho did well initially, but Strear turned the tables and is now winning. Ren found the pain (transferred from the battling macor to the commanding human) too much to bear.
As always, follow Munera here: page.php?id=737
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Kutho thrashed as the enormous Icim ground him into the floor. His arm was broken and a few of his ribs cracked. He couldn’t breathe through Strear’s bulk. He pushed with his knees and good arm, but Strear wouldn’t budge. It was like he was trapped inside a hot, heavy prison.
The pain didn’t affect him as much as frustration. He knew he should be able to knock the big Icim off him with little effort. If anything, he should at least be able to summon enough energy for another breaker. But the pain hazed the edges of his senses and he couldn’t concentrate enough to call forth his spirit energy.
This is pathetic! He’s just a havelzyn, for sky’s sake! You’ve plowed through entire tribes of havelzyn before! You’re a proper makhorre, a watara! It should be as simple as just one breaker, dammit!
But Strear was much stronger than a normal havelzyn. Or maybe…Kutho was weaker than a normal watara.
Weaker than Sazuk.
His insides coiled and he fought with renewed desperation, even sinking his teeth into Strear’s hide-like skin. The havelzyn pressed his palm over Kutho’s forehead, with enough force to push Kutho’s head into the floor. He wasn't weak.
But perhaps the weakness wasn’t his.
He knew he shouldn’t be hurting this much. At the very most, his arms and chest should be burning. Not…this. A pain unlike any he’d ever experienced. The pain and desperation tinting the edges of his consciousness weren’t his, were they?
No, they weren’t. It was the girl, he realized with a chill. The little human curled up in a ball and sobbing her brains out. Was this part of the contract? That he felt her weakness—or rather, her weakness controlled him?
Maybe that was why Strear was so strong. Because his master stood tall and proud and didn’t betray any pain. His strength lent strength to Strear, who in the wild would be just another halfwit havelzyn. Kutho bucked harder. This was pathetic, pathetic and stupid, this Munera game…to tie an Icim so strongly to a human! It wasn’t natural.
Strear responded by pressing on Kutho’s shoulder. Kutho’s shoulder blade shattered. He bit his tongue, fighting down the taste of metal—and another surge of desperation from the girl.
“Had enough?” Strear said calmly. “I could break every bone in your body, Icim.”
“I’ve just gotten started,” Kutho spat, although he knew realistically that he could not defeat Strear. Unless…unless…
But he couldn’t summon the proper energy; the key must now rest with the girl. All because of that stupid contract. The girl lacked the strength and conviction to do it herself. It was hopeless.
Strear’s expression became almost sad. “Give up, Icim. Munera is not a brawl between makhorre. There are rules…things that you would not understand. You have already lost because of them.”
“You think so?” Kutho hissed. “I haven’t lost, I swear I haven’t…you stupid girl, stupid human!” He directed his shouts towards the girl now. “Get up, weakling! Dammit, don’t be so pathetic!”
The girl was sobbing, incoherent.
Strear stood up, his movements graceful despite his size. Kutho seized the opportunity to leap to his feet, but before he could, Strear’s hand shot out and wrapped around his neck. Kutho scrabbled at Strear’s wrist with his good hand.
“Say you surrender,” Strear said. “Then I won’t have to break every bone in your body.”
‘You wish!” Kutho shouted. “Damn you, girl! Damn you! You’re a shaman, aren’t you? You’re not a regular female, you’re a shaman! Do you understand?"
“Surrender,” Strear said again. Kutho breathed in deeply but couldn’t fill his lungs.
“Do you want to win or not, girl?”
Strear tightened his grip and Kutho’s breath vanished in a gurgling hiss. He clawed at Strear’s hand, even trying to use his broken arm—daggers drove into his shattered shoulder—and thrashed like a speared fish. He knew his struggles were using up more oxygen, but dammit, he wasn’t going to go down without fighting to the very end.
Do you want to win? Do you want to win? He thought desperately, repeating it as a mantra even as black spots danced in his vision. Maybe if he thought with enough force, the girl would understand. Maybe he could use this contract to his advantage too. If made his wishes clear…
He felt something touching the tips of his consciousness. Something that wasn’t him, from the same place as the pain. It was tiny, more a tendril than a fully-formed thought, but he understood it. If he hadn’t been choking, he would have laughed in delight.
Yes, the girl said.
That was all he needed.
Ren had long stomped screaming. She lay on the ground in a fetal position, shivering and whimpering as pain consumed her. She’d only moved when she had heard Kutho’s thoughts, echoing in her mind but distinctly in his voice. Do you want to win or not?
Of course she did. She just didn’t think it was possible.
“Oh dear, should I call an end to the match?” the announcer was saying. “I mean, if Strear squeezes any harder he’ll break Kutho’s neck! What d’ya say, boys? Want pretty boy to give up, or want his neck broken?”
A flurry of shouts from Delk’s posse. Ren didn’t want to listen. She drew her knees into her stomach and wrapped her arms around them, rocking back and forth. Somewhere in the distance, Rau was shouting, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Nor did she care. Tiny daggers worked beneath her skin, cutting her open like a holiday chicken.
“What’s that? Yea or nay, gotta say one or the other—hey, what’s goin’ on?”
Even through her squeezed-shut eyelids, Ren detected a warm glow. Tentatively, she cracked them open—little needles of pain accompanied that simple motion—and forced herself to see what was happening.
Kutho hung limp in Strear’s grip, but Ren couldn’t make out the look on his face. Couldn’t make out any detail on him, because his entire body was awash in light the same color and warmth as the last rays of the setting sun. He looked like a painted figure from one of the myth books that Mama used to read to her. A mortal rising to join the gods.
Was that what was happening? No way; the gods didn’t protect macor, and anyway Ren’s palm was glowing as well. She stared at it. It glowed in exactly the same place that it had itched when she’d first run into Kutho, in a straight golden line from her wrist to the web between her thumb and forefinger.
“What the hell is this? Wait a sec…wait…oh gods, oh gods!” cried the announcer. Delk and his posse issued various noises of surprise, disbelief, and dismay.
“He can’t be breaching!” Delk shouted, sounding scandalized. “This is his first fight!”
Even those who avoided Munera, like Ren, knew about breaching, the temporary breaking of a contract which granted a macor greater powers. She also knew that most macor did not attain their first breach until months, if not years, after they’d first begun fighting.
Rays of light burst from Kutho and flooded the arena. Ren threw her arm across her face, and with that movement, she realized that her body no longer hurt.
Strear let go of Kutho and stumbled back. Kutho didn’t fall, but remained floating in midair. No, less Kutho than a ball of molten gold. He was like a miniature sun.
The light dissipated, drowning the arena in half-darkness again, and Kutho slowly descended until his feet touched the tattered floor.
Ren pulled herself to her knees to stare at him, awestruck. The macor had become taller, and his hair a mane that flowed to his waist. Tawny fur covered his limbs all the way up to his knees and elbows. When he opened his mouth in a snarl, he revealed canines as long and sharp as a lion’s.
“First breach,” he said, in a voice layered with a growl. “Goldenheart.”
He lifted his left arm. The contract mark around his wrist was missing.
Ren’s heart leapt into her throat. She wondered if she was dreaming; this was too good to be true. No macor breached this early! Her head spun in a sick combination of wonder and joy.
“This is impossible,” breathed Delk. “Impossible, impossible! You’re cheating! You must be cheating!”
“Shut up, human,” Kutho said. He strode towards the silent and still Strear, and opened his palm. Gold light sparked down his fingers and into his claws, lengthening them until each was like a razor-tipped stiletto. Power and lazy satisfaction rolled off him in waves. They filled Ren like she’d swallowed a quart of warm soup, giving her the strength to return to her feet.
“Kutho. End this,” she said quietly.
Kutho threw her a glare over his shoulder. “Shut up,” he said, “human.”
“You’re cheating! You’re cheating! You're cheating!” Delk screamed. He’d sweated so much that gel rolled in streams out of his hair.
“Master, calm down, it will be fine, it will be fine,” cried Strear.
Too late. Kutho appeared in a flash in front of him; before Strear could counterattack, the smaller macor slashed him once, twice, across the chest. Blood arced in the air and Strear made a horrible gurgling sound. He staggered. That wasn’t enough for Kutho—he leapt a few spans back and pointed a razor-tipped finger at Strear. Light coalesced at the tip of his claw, becoming a thin beam that sizzled and crackled in the air around it. The beam of light hit Strear in the jaw and sent the macor flying like he’d been thrown.
When Strear fell, Delk groaned and fell to his knees, clutching his stomach and face. He doubled over and his groans became whimpers. A few of his friends sitting in the front row stood up as if they wanted to help him, but no one dared approach the arena.
Kutho cast a contemptuous glare upon Strear before jerking his shoulder at the silent announcer. “Don’t you have a victor to announce, human?”
“Um—uh—well—um, yeah, okay,” stammered the announcer. “Um—the victor is Kutho!”
Nobody really reacted at that, except for Sadra clapping twice. Kutho didn’t seem bothered by that. He turned around and began walking towards Ren. As he did, a golden glow—softer than before—enveloped his body and when it disappeared, he was back to his old self. No claws, no fangs, no fur. He glanced at his left wrist when the contract mark reappeared.
“Kutho,” Ren said.
“Let’s go,” Kutho said. “Useless human.”
Was it her imagination, or did he sound a little…kinder…than before? His words were cruel as ever, but they were tinged with a hint of affection, like he was teasing her. Ren shook her head. What was she thinking? It didn’t matter…nothing mattered…she was having a hard time thinking clearly.
“Ren! Ren, you did it!” Rau bounded over and almost knocked Ren down when he threw his arms around her. Ren stumbled as her old aches were set afire; she gave him a little push so he would let go.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I just…”
“Oh, you were great, Ren! But you, you were amazing, Kutho!” Rau babbled, to the macor, who watched him with bored contempt. “Can’t believe it! Should’ve recorded it, your first breach in your first battle, amazing!”
“Whatever,” Kutho said. “I wanted to win, the girl wanted to win, so I won. That’s all.”
“Amazing,” was all Lepo had to say.
“You’re all stupid,” Kutho said. For some reason, his lips twitched like he was trying hard not to smile.
“Let’s go now,” Ren sighed, running ahead of the boys and trying not to look behind her, at Delk surrounded by his sympathetic cronies. “I figure we have a long day ahead of us, so let’s get this registration business done with as soon as possible.”
She walked ahead of her brothers, who were pestering a silently amused Kutho. She walked ahead, pretending that she didn’t care, doing her best to crush the tiny flower of pride rising inside her.
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I feel that the prose here is the weakest it's ever been, so yeah, this is an open invitation to tear it apart.
Thanks to everyone who's been following and reviewing so far. You've all been a great help, but I'm sure there's a lot more to criticize here. ~_^
