THE DELIVERER'S DESTINY

Chapter 2, Part 3 - Stephanie

Zusia, Desmond, 10416 P.C.

Stephanie had to close her eyes against the bright lights in the arena as she entered. Although the sky above her, exposed by the ceiling-less arena, was dark, the arena itself was as bright as day, the fluorescent lighting fighting yet again to give her a headache as she approached the centre of the arena. The place was circular, with stands rising up and around it on every side. The walls were high, impossible to climb, and the floor was just simple sand. There were eight doors along the walls, all barred shut. Turning around, she saw that the door she had entered through had just closed. She was trapped.

There was no one in sight; the stands were utterly empty, but she knew she was being watched. It was then that she noticed the array of weapons hung along the wall beside the door she had just entered. Her eyes locked on the bow. She had probably been expected to arm herself before heading for the centre.

"Welcome to your Test, Trainee Seven-Oh-Three-Five," came the feminine, automated voice again, echoing now through the stadium and freezing Stephanie as she stepped back toward the weapons. "Eliminate the opposition and your Test will be completed. Good luck.

"Your Test begins... now."

Eliminate opposition, she mused to herself as she scampered across the sand to the wall of weapons. What opposition?

I hope I don't lose points for completely missing the weapons. That'd be fantastic.

Fiddle! The recurve bow, her preferred weapon, was on a hook high above her short reach. Guess this is the time and place to show off. Taking the last yards in two bounding leaps, Stephanie sprinted up the wall, carefully dodging other weapons and snatching the bow off of the hook before throwing herself back and flipping over to land in the sand on her feet. The quiver of arrows was on a stand nearby, and she yanked it off and slung it over her shoulder.

"Don't ignore the other weapons," Yasmin had told her.

Yeah, yeah. She grabbed a bastard sword and buckled the sheath on her left hip so she could easily draw it should she need it.

On the opposite side of the arena, one of the doors creaked open. Several figures stepped out, and she tensed as she realized they were people wearing helmets and carrying swords and shields. Her opposition.

Five men. Five criminals she was supposed to execute.

She had had worse things on her conscience.

Striding forward, she loaded her bow, watching her opposition carefully. The first two men came at her quickly, wasting no time in a duel attack. She raised her bow and shot, the arrow whizzing between the two men. It found its unfortunate target: one of the other men who had stayed behind and foolishly lowered his shield. The arrow pierced him through the heart, and Stephanie had solace in knowing he was dead before his body hit the ground.

The two other men were approaching fast, shields out in front. Stephanie snapped the bow into the clasp on the quiver and drew her sword. Yasmin had been right — she'd need it. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. A calm filled her; adrenaline coursed through her veins, but she felt fluid, serene, as if about to engage in a graceful dance. She sprinted forward, meeting the first man halfway. He swung at her in a clumsy one-handed strike, and she deflected it, knocking him off balance and causing him to throw out his arms. She buried her sword in his chest as the other man reached them. She dodged his first strike, parried the second, and knocked his sword from his hand in his third attempt. He threw the shield up to block her thrust, stumbling back to get away from her. She let him, turning her attention to a new attacker, a scarily large man with a club. He swung it at her. She dodged it, ducking under his arm and slashing it with her sword. He let out a scream, dropping the club and hitting his knees, and she skirted around him and slashed the back of his neck.

Three down. Two to go.

She turned to face her last two opponents. The man with the shield had retrieved his weapon and was approaching her slowly, hiding behind his shield. The last man remained near the door, content to stay back and watch, it seemed. Stephanie kept a careful eye on him while she engaged the shield man in battle. She just wanted this all to be over as fast as possible.

It was easy enough to disarm the man again, but his shield proved to be an issue — she was doing nothing but dulling her sword on it. Pushing him back with the force of her attacks, she finally managed to trip him, and while he did his best to block her attacks, she managed a fatal blow to his neck.

Crimson blood pooled across the white sand. Stephanie looked away.

Her last opponent was slowly approaching her, steps careful and measured. They had no shield, carrying only a sword much like Stephanie's. The helmet hid the person's face. Admittedly, it was easier that way. Stephanie wouldn't have to worry about faces haunting her in her sleep.

As the person drew near, however, they spoke, startling her. "It's a pity, isn't it?" It was a feminine voice. A bit familiar, in fact. Stephanie wasn't sure where she had heard the voice before. "Lives wasted. All because they wouldn't listen."

Stephanie traded her sword for her bow, loading it.

Her opponent was unfazed. "Tell me, child. Do you like being a murderer?"

Her hands tightened around her weapon as she lifted it. An icy feeling was slithering through her veins, and her fingers on the string trembled. "No, but I will do what I have to."

"Good," the woman replied, stopping just yards away. Her voice seemed to be right in Stephanie's ear. "Then let your aim be true."

A breath passed Stephanie's lips; no thought crossed her mind. She loosed the arrow. It found the heart of her opponent.

Her vision flickered. The man she had just shot stumbled forward and fell to the ground. Stephanie stared, lowering her bow as her mind scrambled to make sense of what had just happened. She could have sworn that the man at her feet had been a woman wearing a helmet. The man wore no helmet. She saw his face — young, bearded, with wide, hollow, dead eyes.

Ice still swirled in her veins. She shivered.

The speaker returned, loud and blaring as recorded applause echoed through the arena: "Congratulations, Trainee Seven-Oh-Three-Five. You have successfully completed your Test."

Next update: Wednesday, December 18th, 2019