From The Other Side

Chapter Twenty-One

In the seconds between the words from the queen, and the army of barbarians charging, I got myself into a fighting stance and aimed myself. They say emotions have power, but oh boy, do this woman's emotions prove it. 

I could see her in all her glory, looking older and angrier by the second, but hey, what can you expect from a dictator who's just lost half of the citizens on their side?

She's radiating fire now. Seriously, there's a reddish aura that surrounds her, and it seems that said aura bends to her will...

And my theory is quickly proven. She picks the molten rage up with her bare-ass hands, holds it, and tosses it into the air with an underhand toss. 

To my surprise, it explodes midair, into a puff of smoke, billowing into a barrier.

Did I mention the barrier is red-hot? 

"RAEGAN! DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU'VE CAUSED?" She yells at the top of her lungs, "I'VE WARNED YOU TO NEVER ANGER ME!"

Rae winces at the sound of their full name.

"NO WONDER YOUR SISTER WAS ALWAYS BETTER!"

Oh shit. She just went there...

Rae's face is as still as marble, but deep down, I can tell they aren't doing the greatest.

This must be how the queen fights her battles. With words.

"My sister is a completely different person, mother. She, in my opinion, is more suited for the throne than myself anyway. Your words do not change me. If you'd like a fight, I suggest you settle it the traditional way. A battle, if you would?" Rae sneers in a calmed tone.

"FINE!" 

Damn, she's loud.

"To the arena, we shall go. Citizens, as this is a private matter, I suggest you lay behind for your own sakes." Rae pauses. "And Sierra, on the chance I do not come out of this alive, you know where my will is."

One of the queen's guards escorts me, Rae, Sierra, Mari, and of course, her royal douchiness, the Queen bitch.     

Whenever this arena had come into place, I'm unsure, because a structure this big should be more visible. It's fucking huge, probably a chariot racing arena.

There's a middle boundary, probably for the beginning of the fight. The stands are huge. Think quidditch match.

There's a judge (or what I can assume is one), at the top, once again, in quidditch like fashion. As far as it looks, there aren't any points, as to be assumed for a deathmatch. At least it feels like one.

Rae hangs their head, entering the somber ceilingless cage they decided to label an arena.

Their mother is standing resolute, chin up, fearless. 

An instructor moves to the middle. He's going over the rules by the looks of it.

"Rule one: A winner is decided at death or complete incapacitation, such as unconsciousness for more than three minutes, as that is considered a damaging blow. Rule two: Quitting isn't allowed. Rule three: The loser must agree to whatever preset terms the winning party has set forward. In this case, Rae and anyone who opposed the queen shall remain exiled on the case of Katherine's win. In the case of Rae winning, Katherine shall step down and allow a takeover."

He finishes, bowing to the two of them. A tear drips from my eye. I close them, no longer wanting to see this.

Why does it always come to this?

"Draw your weapons." He states firmly, both of them complying.

A gunshot sounds.

My eyes shoot open. 

The pacing of angry footsteps to a hard, dirt, floor is the only thing you can hear in the deafening silence.

It's in a circular motion, not unsimilar to boxing rings.

Rae is glowing a deep purple, almost black. Katherine has the typical red glow.

A hit rings out through the air. It's almost sickening to hear it, knowing what's next.

Another clang rings out. Katherine looks confident, whilst Rae just looks focused. The "aura" of Katherina brightens itself threefold, like that of an explosion. I can smell the smoke from it, almost like a fire.

The clanks get faster. If I hadn't seen it with my own damned eyes, I'd said it's a fending match. Rae's aura glows brighter, becoming a royal purple.

There's a miss. Someone's blade missed. I don't want to look down now. But of course, against my better angels, I do. It's Rae. Nothing major by the looks, knowing how fast people heal here. But they've got a small slash in the arm, luckily not their dominant one.

They're clutching it now, and the and wrapped around the wound is glowing with a faint blue gleam. Then the hand comes off, showing nothing but small scarring and a clot overtop. Rae's picks up their sword again, panting.

"Bring it the fuck on, Bitch!"

The sword glows like Rae now, a dark purple, radiating heat.

Then the spars return. Hit after hit, blades colliding with the sickening smell of burning metal and leather.

Katherine is panting as the two go at each other with violent anger. And then I notice it, a pattern.

Two parries, one hit, one parry, two hits, slash. It's repeating over and over again.

Sierra taught me to do this way back when we still used wooden swords! It's supposed to be repetitive and confusing at the same time, allowing you to plan another move. The footprints in the sand seem to take shape now. Rae's planning something like they always do.

And then it happens again. Rae's panting and bleeding simultaneously, with a bad abdominal wound (nothing vital, it seems). At this point, I don't think they have the time or ability to pause to heal it now.

It's the final countdown from what I feel, and I'm scared for Rae's health. Even if they win, they'd still be hospitalized. My thoughts are racing. Then I hear it.

With a sickening squish, the unthinkable happens.

Rae gets a hit in. A good hit. Straight to the stomach. Katherine falls over, blood on her hands.

"You won't win this war, Raegan." Katherine threatens, rapidly losing air and blood.

"I won't. Because there's no need for a war here, mother."

There goes the final blow. Straight to the heart.

Katherine Hunter is dead.