The Blood on Her Hands

The Champion

I strode forward, keeping my eyes locked on the paladin. Murmurs of doubt and confusion were whispered through the cavern, though most knew who I was.

Soon enough, I walked into his view, the flickering purple quintessence lighting up my features. I watched as the paladin tensed; his stance going rigid and his eyes a hard grey. I didn't care, though. I knew this would be an easy fight, almost over before it began.

The announcer (I think his name was Tyron? Tunor?) watched me, his gaze suddenly interested. He obviously recognized me from my previous fights.

"Welcome, Commander. Up for another fight, I hope?" I chuckled, the irony of this amusing me.

"Of course. Who would I be if I'm not?"

"We were waiting patiently, little lioness. I mean, what would this fight be, if not one Champion versus the other?"

I smiled. "What would it be, indeed."

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Shiro watched as the Galra came into view. It, or she, was a lighter purple, with a mop of short, orchid-colored hair on top. She was rather tiny, with a small, petite figure. What surprised him most, though, was her title.

Commander.

What was a person of that rank doing here? Commanders' would serve directly under Zarkon, usually taking orders from him and him alone. Sendak was on the front lines, and Haggar was next to Zarkon as an advisor.

The Galra strode forward, coming to a stop near the cage. She grinned down at him, her yellow eyes boring into him. He unconsciously tensed, shifting his stance ever so slightly as if he would be attacked. He continued to watch her every move, not realizing the announcer was speaking.

"... I mean, what would this fight be, if not one Champion against another?"

Catching the last of his words, Shiro stiffened even more. That girl, the small Galra grinning at him, was the Champion. How had she lasted that long?! While he could see that she could be lithe and agile, it still took more than that to fight and last against the stronger prisoners.

The announcer waved his hands, catching the attention of the crowd. "I do hope you recognize your Champion, as she will be the next in the ring!" The aliens respond louder than ever, cheers echoing through the arena. Shiro stood taller, glaring out at the spectators, disbelief and fury marring his features. It was just like before, crowds of cheering aliens yelling for more blood, wanting him to fight.

"Just start the fight already, Tyron." The Champion faced the announcer, crossing her arms. The Galra muttered something under her breath, causing Tyron to glare at her. Soon enough, though, his face lifted into a smirk as he caught Shiro's eye.

"You're not the only one who wants to fight, apparently." The gate rose, allowing the Champion to walk in. Shiro tried to rush her, but a force held him back. A quick look behind him proved that his hand was stuck to the wall, but with no visible tethers. He was in the middle of pulling at his hand when a cold voice whispered into his ear.

"Wow. The Black Paladin. I must say, you're more buff than I imagined. I expected you to be scrawny, like your teammates. Or fat, I suppose. You know, like the yellow one." Shiro's head shot up, coming face-to-face with the Champion. She was different close up. He could see sinewy muscles under her pale fur, and her pupil-less eyes held a cold, calculating sparkle. But- she was just as short as he had thought. Smaller, even.

Recalling her words, he clenched his fist and glared at her. "No one insults Hu-" Suddenly, a beeping sound was heard throughout the arena. The Champion's attention was diverted, and Shiro glanced over to see Tyron smiling even wider. "It seems there's been a change of plans."