Waging War | The Amber Duology #1

30 | The First Rule

Through the crowds of the Underdome, a hooded figure kept quiet amongst the cheering spectators, choosing to observe the fight going on beneath her. At the center of the arena, Two men faced each other in a game of fist-to-fist combat, one was skinny but built like a stork, while the other was heavy enough to crush his opponent with his weight.

The figure leaned in, watching the battle with much curiosity.

She had been here for a good twenty minutes now after trailing behind a certain porcupine head, curious to see where he would be running off to in the middle of the night. It was an opportunity she couldn't pass up, especially if it meant discovering a secret fight club in the middle of a forest.

The whole place reeked of the scent of piss and alcohol from the discarded bottles hidden underneath the bleachers, sweat from both the spectators and fighters, and blood. The rusty scent of iron that filled the air was enough to get her sick.

The tent was made up of scraps of red fabric that were desperately sewn together in order to cover up a few large holes. It was held together at four sides, the roof was the same circular cut as the ground. Like a giant circus tent that had been discarded for a break.

A horn blew from nowhere and the battle beneath her ceased. Just as she predicted, the skinnier man was defeated, leaving the arena with at least three broken ribs and a fractured shoulder. The victor was taking his sweet time bathing in the crowds' cheers but she didn't bother to join them.

There was only one fight she was waiting for.

"Come on, what's taking you so long?" She muttered under her breath, her legs bouncing in anticipation. After eyeing a certain elemental master, she rushed past the guard and took her place on the first layer of seats, leaving a large space between her and the rest of the crowd.

She wished nothing more but to see his defeat.

At last, after another horn blare, the man who remained in the circle was now replaced by a figure covered in red. He had on what resembled a wrestling mask that covered the majority of his face, black sleeves with the traces of fire lined at the edges, his torso was enclosed by a black belt that kept his ripped pants in place.

She could recognize the spiked up hair anywhere, but the yellow tank top he wore drew too much of her attention.

"Red Shogun! Red Shogun!"

The last thing he needs is an ego boost. She rolled her eyes, watching his confidence grow with every chant and cheer of his name. The Red Shogun? What kind of name is that?

The crowd burst into another set of cheers when another figure left the preparation room under the bleachers. He chose not to change into a more appropriate outfit, keeping his grey robes to shield himself from exposing too much skin.

Morro. She thought with much satisfaction. She had been waiting for this.

"You look ridiculous!" The boy called out towards the Red Shogun.

"Like you look any better!" He answered, already cracking his knuckles and stretching his neck. "Let's get this show on the road."

Before the horn could even sound out the beginning of the fight, the boys launched at each other—earning a series of cheers from the crowd. Their fists flew left and right, aimed at the certain weak points of the body.

The figure was on the edge of her seat, her eyes moving back and forth trying to catch every detail of the fight. The Red Shogun stumbled back, a hand to his face before recovering with a tackle to the boy.

Morro was down in two seconds, his robes bathing in the fresh mud. When a fist flew in his direction he quickly dodged left and made to get the weight off his chest. The Red Shogun didn't stop and didn't hesitate to take him out while he was down.