High Society: The tales from Victory

The Swellow [Part II] (Ch.5)

In the darkness there is a singularity. The result of life repeating itself. A thrill, as some might name it, or the essence of purpose. Every moment is life's grand masquerade, so why not indulge in its theatrics. Some believe truth is what they need or some purpose to live each day. While that is true, he knew what his was, providing.

His fingers touch down on the asphalt, the smell of rubber lingering faintly in the air. The scent wafted through the air, he pursed his ears listening intently to the other racers by his side. His chest heaved up and down, sweat gliding down his face, without a step taken.

His other hand fixed his faded and dull mask over his eyes, watching the road before him. He listened to the other racers, faintly hearing their hums and hissing.

He looked down to his tattered and worn costume. It was a blunt blue and clashing red. The look was terrible, but the use was efficient. He stared at his worn and torn shoes, his socks exposed.

Suddenly, a fireball lights up the arena with a roar of cheering. With that, there was no time to think, no time to reflect further. The race was underway.

...

The course was simple; yet, complex. A staircase was before them that stretched across the racetrack, including the upward slope. The platform was set up with a large pool of water, with occasional platforms. Following that was a climbing wall with an inflated slide. It turns into a runway for a few moments with hurdles and other such obstacles. From there a large partition splits into crossing bridges. Followed by ropes, chains, and leather straps. Lastly another wall was before the finish line. At its peak was a button with a buzzer, signifying the champion.

With a kick off, The Swellow took his start. All other 19 competitors sprint towards the stairs. The Swellow sprinted at the 45° slope, watching the cluster of 'characters' run at the stairs. Many tripping over each other, but over half of the racers blitz up.

Ponder's fingers released from the fence, as he watched The Swellow gain distance. His breath stifled and Ponder looked down the course, then the audience, then he ran alongside with all his might.

The Swellow leapt to the top of the stairs and lunges forward to the edge if the pool. He kicked off and then crashes against the floating platform. His momentum drifting it forward. His razor gaze scanning the area.

A handful others leaped to the platforms, a few dived into the water. Another few resorted to violence, knocking a few racers into the water.

Ponder let out a whimper as a few people went down, and then employees from the races dive in to fish anybody, they think needs help, out.

Looking back, The Swellow saw Mistress Seviper leaping at him. He kicked off the platform and to the other platform behind him, eyeing the racers behind him, with their fangs exposed. The Swellow laughed and he leapt backward to another platform, his predator stalking ever closer.

The Swellow turned and leapt forward and crashed against the solid ground, rolling to replace the motion. Once on his feet, he sprinted forward, hearing the shouts and cheers as Mistress Seviper leapt forward and crashed against him.

He screeched he plummeted to the earth, his eyesight full of other runners sprinting past him. The woman's weight pressed him down as she used him to kick off. He lunged forward, desperately clawing for an opportunity to catch her, missing her foot barely.

He shouted loudly, overpowering the crowd's cheers and he sprinted forward. Even Ponder found himself cheering, even when he was out of breath. His lungs bursted with seething pain. He leapt to higher and higher bleachers keeping his eye on the race, desire to see the end, even when he stumbled over himself and his legs began searing.