The Brave

Chapter Five: Pt. 1

My opponent's eyes glitter as he nods his head in approval. I join him in the middle of the circle, the jubilant crowd encasing us. The jiggly, round, man that dragged me into the Bar calls everyone to attention.

"Gentlemen! Let me introduce you to our knife throwing battle of the hour! This hour features the undefeated, Cape!"

The crowd shouts in approval at the mention of their champion's name.

"Going against Cape is our challenger! The new kid!"

Hissing and scoffs can be heard all around the room. I just look around the room, smirking.

"Let this round commence! I'll be taking bets!" the pot-bellied man closes.

"Three-fifty on the undefeated Cape!" a man hollers.

"Two-twenty on the new kid!" another jeers.

As soon as the bets are taken, our knife throwing battle initiates.

"I'll begin," Cape declares.

I shrug. "Whatever, man."

Cape strolls up to the target until he's 4 meters away from it. The target has three rings. The outer ring is worth 3 points, the middle ring is worth five points, and the center ring is worth ten points. Our eight inch throwing knives have a balanced feel to them, although I'd prefer to be throwing 12 inch bowie knives. All in all, it seems like a pretty easy throwing competition. I'm confident in my skills, my only obstacle is that Cape has never been defeated. There is only one way to find out how this competition will end:

"Let's see what you can do, Cape," I challenge.

Cape doesn't even look at me when he laughs.

He takes the first knife by the blade, sets himself in a solid right leg back stance, and aims his knife. The knife whistles through the air and thuds as it hits the target. It embeds itself on the 5-point/10-point line. The crowd roars with approval.

Unphased by the din of the crowd, Cape sets himself up for another throw. His focus is impeccable, I give him that. His style is impressive too. When Cape throws, he doesn't use his whole body, he uses only the fluid motion of his right arm. Because of that, his throw isn't sloppy, it's solid. Cape follows through with his knife as he throws, resulting in a 10-point increase on his score. I set my jaw, impressive as he is, this guy irritates me.

Cape's throw record after his round reads like this: five, ten, five, ten, ten, which means he has a total of 40 points. I need 40 points to win.

"Good luck, kid," Cape hoarsely chuckles. I don't know why he's calling me kid, the smart mouth. I narrow my eyes at him as he passes me. Like normal, he just smirks.

I step up to the 4 meter mark and set myself in a strong stance. I close my eyes and try to block out the noise of the rowdy onlookers. My mind immediately goes to the memory of my dad. My father loved knife throwing. Before the dictators took over, when I was 5 years old, my dad would take me out into the backyard. He started by handing me butter knives from the kitchen when mom wasn't looking, and teaching me to throw. It was my favorite thing to do. I progressed quickly, and by the age of 6, the year the dictators took over, I was throwing big bowie knives with accuracy. My dad would say that when I threw knives, he saw the fire of passion inside of me. Knives have always been an extension of me, so I'm full of confidence as I throw my first knife.

THUD! I grin. Perfect 10.

The energized crowd crowd bursts with noise. Whistles and applause are heard around the room. The men who placed a bet on me nod and yell with approval, while Cape's supporters look surprised, clapping with respect. Some, on the other hand, snarl. Hah. I steal a glance at Cape; he just looks cool and calm like normal, almost like he knows something I don't know. A twinge of annoyance runs through me. How proud is this guy?!

I clear my head of this thought and focus on my next throw. The combination of a clear mind, strong stance, and my follow through grants me another flawless 10. The crowd goes nuts. I shake it off like its no big deal, but secretly I'm bursting at the thought of showing Cape up. I take the third knife in my hand, ready to score another 10 points. Suddenly, I'm aware of Cape's gaze boaring into the back of my head, unnerving me. I grit my teeth. I'm NOT letting this guy win. As my arm slingshots and the knife leaves my hand with a hiss, I instantly know something is wrong. I watch as the sleek knife buries itself in the 5 point section of the target. Mentally, I yell in frustration, but on the outside, I appear calm, not wanting Cape to have the satisfaction of an outburst. The reason i didn't get 10 points was because I let Cape get to me. I set my jaw. I can't let that happen.

I flip the fourth knife in my hand and close my eyes. "The knife is an extension of you. As you let go of it, imagine it floating to your target. Clear your head! Follow through! My dad's voice comes to me clearly, like a crystal memory. It's so sharp that I feel like he's standing right next to me. I take his words and put them to practice, clearing my head of Cape, clearing it of the crowd. My arm launches and the knife rolls out with ease. I see it in my mind, smoothly floating to the 10 on the target. SMACK! Bullseye. I smile. Tight.

If I get 5 more points, I'll tie with Cape. But if I get 10 points, which I know I can do, I'll beat the arrogant dude by 5. I laugh out loud. Be prepared to lose Cape.

Abruptly, the Bar Tent explodes with activity. The flaps to the Bar Tent flutter violently as NCP soldiers storm the place. Knife battle onlookers scramble to get out of the soldiers way and exit the tent without being detained. It's a tangled mess of yells, soldiers, and chaos. In the midst of it all, I see the owner of the place, wiping his hands calmly on a white towel as the soldiers stream in. The tranquil owner looks up and pierces me with his gaze.

"Soldiers! The kid is here," he informs loudly over the clamor of the crowd.

Confusion rushes through me. I have no time to process this turn of events because forcefully Cape grabs my wrist. I snap my head towards him about to tell him off but he speaks, making me freeze in place.

"Archer! We have to get out of here!" he...no SHE hisses. I look into those deep blue eyes and I realize...

"Lyric?!" I screech.

"Shh!" she growls, eyes sharp. "We've got to get out of here, NOW!"