Infinity

Chapter Thirteen

The sun shows brightly through the top of the weapon tent. It's exactly twelve O'clock and I stand in the middle, holding two shorts swords, one in either hand. They aren't sharp enough to cut anything, and the tips are topped with wood so that I don't stab Andrew through the chest and actually kill him. I'd be held accountable for his death, and I would be killed as well. Murder is something that is not tolerated here.

Andrew and I meet outside in the arena after we are armored. Tough, yet flexible pieces of leather cover my body up to my neck, and it's the same for him. He carries a single long sword that glitters in the sunlight. He's standing about 4 yards away, and even from that distance I can see him grin at me. 

"I'm not going to go easy on you, Infinity," he calls, getting into a fighting stance. I can feel how sure he is he's going to win. I know for a fact that there is no way of that happening.

"Good," I say, getting into my own fighting stance. The crowd around us roars. "That way you'll be completely put to shame when I beat you." He lets out a bark-like laugh.

There is a wooden bored on the side of the arena that had both our names on it. There are going to be 5 fights. You win by striking your opponent in a deadly way, as long as it doesn't really kill them. Pain is nothing. Life comes with pain. But you can not kill them.

The crowd starts counting down from ten, and when they reach zero, we begin.

Neither one of use move at first. We're both analyzing each other. Looking for weak spots, chinks in the way they are standing.

I know I have none. I am conscience of every part of my body. I'm sure Andrew is the same way, because I see no chinks on him. Rushing forward would be a mistake, though. So, I won't strike first. Instead, I pretend to shift, sticking my left leg out a bit more than it should be. Far enough out to where Andrew can wrap his leg around mine and make me fall.

He falls for it, and rushes forward, toward my left side. Before he gets close enough to reach my leg, though, I take a step back, getting back my perfect stance, and turn, swinging both my blades toward him. One is headed toward the base of his spine, where it would sever his spinal cord if the blade was sharp enough to cut. The second is aimed at the middle of his neck, where it would sever his spinal cord again.

He ducks just in time and turns, swinging toward my upper thigh. I take a step back and swing at him with my left sword, aiming toward his neck; a move that would cut his head off.

He parries my swing, and forces the sword to go back behind me to the back of my knee. I dodge again and when he swings again I catch his sword with both of mine.

"That would hurt like hell," I pant. "I can't believe you'd do that to me." I let mock hurt drip into my voice, but my eyes are a bright green mixed with white.

"There are no friends in this arena," he says, repeating what the fighting instructor would always say when we would fight each other in the arena.

"Okay, then," I say. I let a wicked grin spread across my face and for a second there is a flash of yellow in Andrew's eyes. It's gone in a second.

We go back into fighting stance. "Scared?" I ask, still grinning. I know he's not.

"Terrified," he says with a grin.

Then I move, lighting fast; I through one blade to the side and grab one of his shoulders. Before he knows what's happening, I I turn him and bring my knee up between his legs.

He falls to the ground in pain, and I take my sword and hit him in the left side of the chest with the wooden tip. As I do, the crowd cheers. Andrew lays on the ground, rolling from side to side, cursing my name. I've won.

***

The next four fights all end the same; Andrew on the ground, and myself victorious. He doesn't have any physical injuries, but I can tell I've injured his pride. Both literally and figuratively.