Severed (eBook)

Chapter 2

Arena

As Einar looked into the night sky for his Eternal, he wondered why the suit always seemed to chafe against him. Sure, these assemblies were part of the Observance of the Unbroken, but in the countless centuries, nothing ever changed. No one on their planet could even recall a time of equanimity. There’d be no hope of course change, and the woebegone would always be the wretched lower caste they were born into.

As no one could even dare challenge the superiority; these events were in no way celebratory, or in any way festive. Just exactly how many would have to die this time? How big a spectacle would be bathed in the latest centennial bloodletting? It was all designed to just remind exactly who enjoyed the Primacy. But the pull to this place was instinctive. The suits just persisted, and the legs followed.

Still… Perhaps the clans had developed new creeds or adopted fresh dogma. There was only one way to find out, and he couldn’t fight it anyway, so onward he trudged. There was always hope…

On occasion, he’d stare into the night sky and watch as the moons grabbed at one another, just as the combatants did in the amphitheater. The seemingly innumerable, diminutive frozen rocks would threaten and glance one another, as they always had. Something in the uselessness of that brinksmanship reminded him of his own station.

But still he dared into the Darkening. The Eternal had to have intended more, and yet it was heresy to even think in such a manner. Many had and would continue to suffer if ever these thoughts were unearthed. Yet these ideas weren’t his alone, and the further from this place he was, the more popular they were.

As he came in range and buried the yearning down, he saw the colossus of light up ahead, and momentarily railed against the pull. The others passed curiously, because there’d never be a reason to waver. It also caused a great deal of pain to anyone wearing one – far more than the heft of it, and its “normal” abrasive nature.

The hooks dug into his desensitized flesh, and the deadened nerve endings still gave way to an inconvenient and growling discomfort. As always, he’d twist his body to find a bit of relief, but the notion of comfort inside was a silly one. They were specifically designed to protect while proving unwieldy, and to wear your forefathers was an honor. But they’d never had to carry him…

Still, there were almost no chinks in any of them (but still a few), so the only way to lose inside one was from a bludgeoning death knell. Or to be so outmatched, the armor didn’t even matter. Careening off the insides could eventually take its toll, and the soft flesh would be little more than a network of practically bloodied contusions.

Though vision was nearly prohibited, he was still able to see clearly through the shell at what had just crossed his path. It was there but then it wasn’t. Still, he’d seen something just in front of his armor.

Maybe a bit reluctant to join the “celebration”, but he’d never neglect his duty. Then again, he had to see what this was. It was an unusual sight, just a whiff of shadow but in the form of something bipedal. Odd in its gait – strangely two-footed, and not like anything he’d ever seen. Over and over he looked around his area to find it, but it was gone. The onboard data replay captured something and replayed it over and over. A ghostly translucent form that only added more questions to his fatigue.

He’d just have to deal with it later, because delaying any longer would be suicide. The pain of his resistance to the involuntary sojourn was becoming physically unbearable (but was still rebelliously enjoyable). If his suit came apart in route, he’d have a lot of explaining to do, and an unexpected curiosity wasn’t worth the hassle. An unresolved oddity wasn’t worth dying over, and he’d needed the time to figure out how to explain what he’d recorded. Time to refocus.

The heavy deliberate steps rejoined the exodus, and the others stopped staring in their disbelief. His suit was larger than those nearby, but still not grandiose. If they stared any longer, it may have been considered a challenge, and no one wanted to perish – at least not before arriving. To die as part of the Observance may have been honorable, but to fall before getting inside was unthinkable. Where would the ancestors rest? They wouldn’t enjoy becoming Einherjar out here.

In range, his digits no longer mattered. No one’s did. The pull of the leviathan of dreaded light created an artificial pull toward the nexus. A reddened sky – the color scandalously falsified in its texture and hue, from the essence of those in attendance. Fictitious daylight…bloodied by unwilling spectators. The sea within; abyssal through the meat grinding assembly line of participants flowing indifferently forward.

Though they all tried to divert their eyes from the approaching ghoulish haze, it was clear that many would be dying today. Always, the sight of light conjured so much negative emotion. Or, perhaps what happened within just made light “feel” evil.

All of the tiny dots in the sky didn’t seem to mind being illuminated, and they didn’t invoke the same sense of dread. So why here?

Soon, it wouldn’t matter, and eyelets would be obscured further with combat effluence. So, as the celestial objects became hidden in the contaminated light column, he was comforted by them. Maybe, just maybe there were inhabitants around those stars who enjoyed light far more than his people. For now he’d have to think of them fondly, and don the role of melee warrior. Everyone he carried with him, both inside the suit and back at home, needed him to do well.

While he passed beneath the arches, Einar knew he should be proud. He knew what an honor it was to be representing this way. But why this way? As the lovingly clad walls of the entrance made their wartime embellishments known, his apprehension gave in to the adrenaline. Very soon, the heft of a bladed implement would cast its renown on his future. If not for a lack of anticipation, he would be excited.

The dots gave way to memories of them, and became negatives fused on his eye’s remembrance. Not in the sense of photokeratitis, but in the burning of the desire to know what they represented. As the façades depicting great heroes opened to the next panel, and the next, his adroitness would soon be ornamented with respect. Now, the heavens would have to wait until he dismembered his first opponent. If he had to be here, he would fight his heart out, so he let his readiness take hold.

Though his senses now boiled with expectancy, he took one last glance toward the sky, just as the large blade barely glanced in front of his face. Slowly, it slid down the metal of his breastplate with an unlubricated skidding rasp.

It lodged itself into the ground in front of him so he nearly lost his footing on the massive slab of razored metal. It left a foot deep divot in the turf, and his opponent tried to fulcrum it out with an armored sole. At least Einar would grant him the glory of dying with those boots on; sword still in hand.

Picking up the closest thing to him, he countered with the removal of the first limb in range. He then pounced on the attacker’s large frame, burying his elbow into the man’s throat. His free hand then beat the other’s armor into the ground – making the combatant’s form nearly the same as sea level. He then buried the large axe so deeply, only the handle could still be seen. The sparring had begun, and the sea deepened.

Odd of a junior man to take such a cheap shot at a veteran, but such was the mania of this generation. As the man’s fluids drained into the soil, so did his entire lineage. Einar only hoped they’d be reclaimed, but commencing a sparring round with someone unarmed might just have bound him to a hellish fate.

But this was not his main concern. Einar’s primary focus was staying on his feet while cutting the legs out from under anyone who drew near him. Being older gave him an edge – he hadn’t reached that milestone by losing. The dents and tarnished scorching came from all those who’d failed before. More importantly, with that maturity came size. So, he was well positioned to endure this fighting style.

After a good measure of time, he paused to breathe. The fetid air was still rife with screams of iron. Then he gazed out from the arteries fueling adrenaline behind his eyes, while his frame lifted the weight of his now graven arms. Amid the wreckage, there were just a few others remaining. The expected few still stood, with just a few more scars, with their challengers collapsing into pools. Those who fought valiantly were being taken up to be praised. A few who didn’t, were lost to this place in disgraceful perpetuity.

Gilcrist stood. He always did. No one could remember a time when that behemoth didn’t grace the center arena. Einar himself had seen it the last three times, but some of the newer clansmen hadn’t expected such a spectacle.

Warring was the path, and the destination was always the same. Whoever “won the fight, won the right”, and enjoyed free access to the Eternal. So,...