What are you fighting for?

9. The Rules

It was almost funny. How the awkwardness spreads through the air. Of course I knew Adyn was smarter than that but it was worth a shot. Empathetic words and that soft look on his face seemed almost too real. But I know deep down he is doing everything he can to keep it together.
It's a good act.

"Anyways" he clears his throat "Originally, I came up here to show you this" he waves a piece of paper in his hand.
"I found it in the box of the delivery"
"Meaning there is no delivery" I add, he nods reassuringly.

"They say we can't just change the rules or they wont play by the rules as well. After all, we are here to find the strongest person. Survival of the fittest. They want a fight. So I thought, why don't we give them one?" Adyn says so seriously it almost scares me.
He must be kidding. First he talks about living in peace and now he wants a fight.

"Let's give them a fight" his hand moves up to my upper arm. The touch of his fingers tingle on my skin and his warmth seeps into my being.
"At 5 in the desert" a subtle wink and his hand slides off my arm, leaving me completely perplexed as he leaves the room.

Not even two hours to prepare for this fight. A couple days without the danger of attacks and practicing and I've already fallen out of this game.

A shiver runs down my spine, like a bolt of electricity. I stumble into the weapon room, the smell of death in the air. Everything about Adyn says superiority. His tall figure, how he thought of this master plan, how he still has the audacity to act nice, how he plays this game staying as cool as ice.

Meanwhile I'm loosing my mind, crawling on the floor, since I threw the shelf down during my mental breakdown causing everything to land on the floor, looking for a weapon to choose.

I grab a gun and a knife, as always. As soon as I lay hands on the cold black handle of that long sword my confidence returns.
Slashing it delicately at the air with a novice-like apprehension, the reflection of the sun rays dances on the white steel.
I'm good, I am, I feel it right in my bones that I've got more than it takes to make it.

I'm on my way to the desert.
I hate it, always have. The wide dunes, no place to hide. The cruel sun beat down, it's one malevolent eye unblinking, and the sky was it's co-conspirator with not even a wisp of cloud to soften the harsh rays. Each step sunk into the searing sand, the air was thick and hazy, each breath like drowning in larva.

Wind stirs up the wispy sand and the sun's never ending rays beat down on you mercilessly. Salty sweat rolls off your nose and stings your eyes. Your clothing is overwhelmingly hot and sticky. The stiff, dry desert breeze blows sand into your eyes and makes your hair stiff with salt. Your tongue feels as if it's coated in fur and your lips are chapped and dry. You long for crystal, cold water, but can't stop because you face your opponent, death.

But another reason I hate the desert is that I almost died here right in the first week. Kairi, a young boy of 16 years, eager to fight attacked me. As I said it was the first week and I wanted to get familiar with the arena. I was wandering the desert like prey on an open field. A kick in my back and my face is shoved into the dry, burning sand. Everything happened so fast and Kairi was on top of me, pressing me down, a knife in his hand, the white blade glistening in the sun it was almost invisible, too bright to see.

Quickly, I tried to grab his wrists, pushing them away from my face. But he was strong and the knife only a few inches away from my throat. I felt my arms becoming weaker, and his wrists slipping out of my sweaty palms.

The wind blew the sand right in our direction and I was able to push him off me. I tried to jump on him but he turned around and I was under him again. He tried to trap my arms under his knees but during my jump I was able to pull my gun. My hand rose and my finger pulled the trigger. The bullet shot right through his face, tearing it apart.

Spotting Adyns tall dark figure wasn't hard. With his all black clothes, he stands out from the yellow sand.
I get closer and see the sweat trickling down his back, free flowing like condensation on a window pane, it beads on his forehead and drips from his chin.

We stand, opposed to each other, in the dry desert, the wind blowing sand around us. I pull my sword, this is my chance to end what I couldn't end when I had the chance to, when I had the gun to his head. He suggested the fight so nobody would blame me if I win now. No complicated plans needed, just the way I like it.

A small chuckle escapes his mouth, he picks up a wooden stick next to him and throws it. He picks up a second one, which stays in his hands.

"They asked for a fight, not a death" his deep voice carried to me by the wind.

He did it again. I let my sword fall to the ground and pick up the wooden stick. He's determined to do this freedom and peace thing. Bullshit. I can't be the one who fights him with a real sword. Everybody would hate me, nobody would respect me as a leader.

I clench my teeth, hate rushing through my veins straight into my heart. Maybe I can't kill him today but I can beat him in this fight either way.