Under the Cover of Darkness

Chapter 8 - Coronation of the Champion

The four semi-finalists approached the same checkerboard field that had become so familiar to them. No emotion seeped from the stern faces of the warriors as they approached the elevated tape boundaries that now made two squares that were now seven feet by seven feet each. The four were quite the sight. The difference in height and build brought quite the diversity to the battlefield as they sauntered across the green plains towards their respected squares.

That July 7th day was a hot one. The sun blazed upon the four heavily suited fighters who were ready to lay everything down for the victory. They had come so close that the sweet taste of victory, like the sweet juices of the honeysuckle, was almost unbearable, but also addictive. By no means were they going to concede the fight.

When the four men stood in their respected squares, they glared into their opponent opposite them. No words were exchanged as the Cumaros prepared for the semifinal round. Seeing that Quanti was ready to send them to their virtual battlefields, the other Cumaros put up their barriers around their leader, once again concealing him. Then the lime-green light shot up from the taped areas and cut off Thomas Grizzly and Alric's square from Fitch and the snarky Wedlen.

Fitch was still completely unaware what Judas's weapon of choice was even as the two entered the portal that led to their battlefield, but right before Judas entered the gate, Fitch paused. He outstretched his hand to the Wedlen who had his back to the boy. Fitch tried to form the words of "Good luck, let the better warrior win," but somewhere inside, he felt it wasn't the right thing to do. In turn, Fitch dropped his hand and turned away from the Wedlen. To cope with the action, or lack there of, Fitch thought to himself. There's some bad blood between us. I'm better off just ignoring him. It would just make things worse, right?

When Fitch entered the portal, he found himself in some city area. He was standing in the middle of an intersection of two pathways, pathways that were made of some solid rock. It was a material that Fitch had never seen before. Around him, towering structures reflected the light of a rising sun off the windows that painted the outside of the buildings' walls. Fitch looked upon the surroundings with awe. What was once a great city had become a desolate wasteland.

The large pathway in front of him had trash scattered and metal carriages. There was no sign of vegetation as the surroundings around him were a bleak gray color, only colored by the harsh rays of the relentless, rising orange sun. The multitude of signs that hung from various paths that lined the major pathway were written in some foreign language, and the scattered materials across the setting showed signs of some sort of conflict. It was an interesting area, one that Fitch had not seen before.

Before him, Fitch's shadow sat vertical to the street and eager to get the fight starting, more so than Fitch. A sense of worry had flooded over Fitch's normally calm demeanor. He didn't know what it was, but whether it was the nerves of making it to the semifinals or the fear of being seen as a loser in front of all of Ardor, Fitch's undying confidence shown through the doubt. The boy was on a mission to become the best of the best, and it began with this fight against a man Fitch had subconsciously labeled as his enemy.

A fire had then begun to burn in his heart, a fire with a passion and a strength of a thousand men. He was not going to leave the battlefield beaten, especially by the Wedlen, Judas. Fitch clenched his teeth. He had cast aside the nerves and butterflies that had been hammering away at his insides. He was pumped and ready.

The glistening knife nearly hit Fitch square in the forehead if it weren't for the reflection it made as it whizzed by his head. He sidestepped to the left in order to dodge the perfectly thrown blade. Fitch let out a grunt of shock. There was a reason Judas had made it this far in the tournament. He was a professional. Fitch, determined to retaliate, ram to find cover behind one of the metal contraptions on wheels as knives whizzed by his head. He had not caught a glimpse of the Wedlen as he hunkered down panting.