Weight of the Crown { A Leonardo fanfic}

The Echoes Left Behind

As noon approaches, the population of Lycadia gathers to the large gladiator-like battle arena. Leo, his brothers, and their companions follow the crowd to the stands, taking seats and gazing into the empty arena. "Are you sure, this is fair?" Mikey asks, sitting beside the professor. 

Honeycutt sighs. "Fair or not, it is their tradition." He explains. Lycadians, from my knowledge, are very strict about tradition." Leo hasn't said a thing. He just sits there, staring blankly at the dirt arena enclosed by tall stone walls. 

In the east corner, the wall is higher and holds a stone throne with attendants and silver and blue banners. The royal corner, Leo concludes. Axelia appears from inside and takes a seat on the throne, her face glowing with a sort of triumph. 

The young turtle's brow furrowed in confusion. Her eyes were dark. Corrupted and frightening. And why did she sit in that throne? Wasn't she just Grayson's advisor? A bald man with a long brown leather robe stands beside Axelia. He raises his arms. 

"Citizens of Lycadia!" He announces. The crowd falls silent. "Today we gather here to witness the traditional duel between an alpha and a beta challenger! As custom demands, this will be a battle to the death! May the goddess, Rieka be with both competitors and guide them. The last standing will be crowned Alpha!"

As he speaks, two people emerge from the gates into the arena. One is a tall figure, dressed in flashy blue and silver armour, a flowing blue cape at their shoulders. Sandy blond hair and a scarred cheek. His proud chest stuck out. A smug grin is on his face as he studies his opponent.

Drace raises his arms and throwing his head back in confidence, hyping up the crowd. The other figure is a bit shorter. Slimmer yet still athletic. They wore simple leather armour and arm guards. A young girl with chestnut brown hair that flowed to the side, resting below her shoulders. A long scar runs across the bridge of her nose and in her hands she holds the silver helmet passed down through her mother's bloodline. Leo inches a bit closer to the edge of his seat. 

"Do you think she'll win?" Leo questions, his eyes unable to peel away from the female contender. Professor Honeycutt looks into the arena below. "Grayson is a tough girl. She is the ruler of the Lycadians after all. Drace is most likely not the first to challenge her."

Despite his optimism, the cyborg is highly doubtful. "That didn't answer his question, Fugitoid." Raphael points out from beside Casey. Leo frowns. "She is younger and probably not as experienced as the captain," Honeycutt says. "But I do believe she has a shot at winning."

His words, though reassuring, didn't convince Leo. Of course, he hoped the young queen would win, but doubt still settled around him like a best friend's embrace. 

The tension of the two carried even to the thousands of seats in the audience. "May Rieka choose the rightful Alpha!" The announcer says. Deep in thought, Grayson misses the horn blow that signals the match to begin. 

A loud battle cry alerted her of Drace's charge. Slipping her helmet over her head, Grayson lifts her sword to block the challenger's own sword. Sparks fly as the weapons clash. The earth guests anxiously sit forward. 

"Is this really necessary Professor?" April asks. "Yeah," Casey adds. "Why don't they just settle it over a game of hockey or something?" The Fugitoid shakes his head. "Sadly not." You see, when A Lycaon ruler is challenged, it is similar to the to when wolves on earth challenge the alpha of the pack. The Alpha can either back down, or accept the challenge. The only way to settle the challenge is to hold a duel. The winner earns rights as the next king or queen of the kingdom." 

The turtles and humans hang their heads. The thoughts of Grayson either killing or being killed was just too much for them to take in. 

The grunts of the two fighters pump up the crowd. Drace smirks as his blade locks with the young queen's. The young man hadn't bothered to don a helmet of his own. He told himself and his soldiers that this tournament would be a breeze.