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  • Subject: [Short Story] Believe (COMPLETE)
Subject: [Short Story] Believe (COMPLETE)

Foreward

I've been writing this story for a long time. Tried uploading this thing multiple times, only to be intercepted by rereads which delivered nothing but dissatisfaction and also disturbances by others and technological problems. In the end, I'm pretty glad that those incidents happened. I'm happy with what I got, although I can still probably spend another month heaping more stuff onto this.

So please sit down and enjoy yourselves. Grab some popcorn and ice-cream. Please leave feedback and tell me what you guys think.

Thanks.


Believe.

The word echoed in my mind, ingeminating as it ricocheted along the hindered spaces of my aching head, blithely mingling with other conflicting cogitations that sought to overarch. The final muddled coalescence in the end, completely opposing my wishes, threatened to climax into one hell of a serious, wracking migraine.

I needed money. For the mostly unskilled, the perhaps most effortless way to gain currency, was to gamble or rob; the latter a slight overboard for some. I watched them; a hodgepodge of differing species, humans, kig-yar, the rest, all clamoring on the sides of the fighting ring, throwing down credits in a lascivious whim. The place was feculent, the inhabitants no different, riveted to the spectacle above that was being performed for a duo of reasons; a test of strength and skill between rivaling races, and ultimately, their viewing pleasure. The harsh reciprocal instincts for combat were ingrained within every being, and no one hesitated to satisfy their urges. Not in a place like this, anyway.

Unbeknownst to most of the drunken mob, there was a third, hidden deal that determined lives intertwined in the mix.

Money.

Not pitiful amounts swapped here, but quantities extending to thousands. Money held in its thrall the lives of billions. Everyone depended on it; everyone wanted more of it. It created hierarchy; the incompetent creatures here were a prime example of the lower tiers of society. On some colonies, the homeless line the streets while the rich swagger past wearing an arrogant moue. It causes crime, it causes chaos, yet in that despicable mess, it still had the ability of buttressing a life.

And in places like these, fortunes were won and lost.

So I sat here, in a sweaty, humid room whose primitive cooling device, rudimentary even on this world - an air-conditioner -, had broken down, surrounded by pirated trophies and the sour, musky perfume that wealthy kig-yar favoured so very much, conversing pointless banter that mostly, was redundant.

The kig-yar grinned at me. Her large, bulbous eyes were unsettling.

"How about upping the price?" She flashed her teeth.

I shook my head. "It should do."

She shrugged. The luminous purple glow, discharged vigorously from an overhanging bulb, was not entirely phosphorescent; a pall tainted the radiant nimbus, casting her in a tenuous conflict between light and shadow. She was thin for a kig-yar, the chiffon robes flitting across her body, wiredrawn, flimsy, although underneath she was swaddled in decorative garments. Her name, Farh-Yat, was metronymic, originating from a number of previous kig-yar matriarchs.

They were all similar, in appellation and in appearance, but that wasn't important. What was important was that like her predecessors, she was damnably rich.

Dangerous, too.

Her beak more elongated than most, her skin smoother than the more scurfy exteriors that most of her kind possess, she was hailed as a great beauty among her peers. While I couldn't say she attracted me in any way whatsoever, and hopefully not any other human, - although such cases have been heard of - she was definitely distinguished compared to the rest of her avian race.

Beneath us, in the dank, dark common room that housed a bar and hosted illegal boxing matches, the crowd cheered. Humans, my own kind; they and kig-yar dominated the area. They made fools of themselves, shouting and cajoling, gasconading and picking fights. Smeared infrequently throughout and convened in isolated circles, sangheili. Unggoy served the patrons, careless and spilling more liquid than they dispensed. They breathed freely from twin cylindrical tanks clipped to their abaft, their precious methane untarnished from the choking gag of exotic leaves, wafting from the mouths of dazed patrons. I certainly didn't have that luxury.

Farh tucked a pipe into her jaws; it was a curiosity, how it managed to fit its stem into a gaping maw bristling with fangs. But she was better than most; they were relatively in order, but most astoundingly, comparatively clean white.

After a moment, she exhaled headily. The smell was strong. "How many fighters have you brought?" she asked. The inquiry hung in the air; it was not laced with contempt, and I startlingly felt that it was an authentic question.

"Four," I pulled out a cigarette, striking it alight against the wooden armrest. I might despise the clogging stench of varying smokes, but nonetheless the calming sensation of an average cigarette was enjoyable.

"Humans?"

"And sangheili,"

Farh barked a laugh. People complain that a kig-yar's expression is hard to differentiate. I find that remark absolute rubbish. "You bring a small number for a substantial amount of money. My fighters are good, too." She had little concern over offending me. She wasn't the one who scrounged for credits. The dowager of her family, ruling six entire districts of the current seven, credits gush into her banks and coffers everyday through smuggling and trading in the black market, where she tugs the strings of nearly every significant trader.

To aptly moniker a planet all of which have the potential to sustain millions and provide endless opportunities in a single word is a brash and brazen move, but to haughtily title one in a negative manner is the action of a presumptuous, impertinent youth. But Gilgamesh, a hub for felons and outlaws, deserved no praising paragraph. It was a tremendous waste. Oh, it appeared promising at first, but with closer inspection revealing the dense magnitudes of volcanic activity and swaths of infertile soil, the co-existing empires had already diverted their attention to other worlds. Gilgamesh's exclusion from terraforming had me perplexed, too.

I needed to get off this hunk of rock.

To spend your life on a backwater world was despised by most; to me, it was unbearable. I was native to Gilgamesh. I had only tantalizing catches of the outside. For all its flaws, it had appealed to me rapidly, with its refined community and modern upkeep in technology. My home was shunned and overlooked, receiving only unsanctioned, antediluvian goods that were erroneous in the first place.

I wanted out. When the infectious excogitation planted its slithering roots within my brain's recesses, it burrowed deep, lodged. The fantasy of heading to another planet, any planet, - and oh God wish me luck if it were an Inner Colony - plagued me, and with me as its ambassador, I recruited my small, aspirant band. With my four eager followers, two of my own species and sangheili twins, we embarked on our fateful odyssey to escape this hellhole. After peregrinating here to Ninlil, a polymorphous, self-proclaimed capital, whose denizens were no more than congregations of mobsters and malefactors and malnourished citizens, we inaugurated our journey with tentative steps.

"They are good," I replied curtly. Farh could field a small army, but her hand-picked elite held an infamous reputation for brutality. Most only lingered briefly; the position was challengeable. The corollary was that if you lost the job, your life was queued up next, if it wasn't already snuffed out in the process. The sangheili pair, Kuthra and Karee, was the beacon that I adhered to; the former, specifically. They knew combat; embraced it. Their prideful race still valued themselves as the pinnacle of warrior prowess. Their uncle taught them, they say.

"He was good."

"Good enough?"

"Good enough."

"What about your father? Did he teach you?"


I had received no answer to my query. I was not acquainted with sangheili tradition, but I had heard how they were sired by their maternal uncles. The humans, Baird, Keanu, were both autodidacts, born and annealed in the slums. I trusted them. More or less.

It would be asinine for me to wring out a rational reason for the humans to fight; to chance their lives in the ring. They would not win. I had kiboshed the concept; reflecting it from every angle, every side. But they were pertinacious, obdurate. I had acceded to their insistence, and regretted it promptly.

I peered through the begrimed window. Two unggoy tussled in the ring, forgoing their cultured pretenses, degraded into barbarism. They bayed and bawled; sordid savages. In the ceilings' corner, perched on a beam, yanme'e heckled, cradling small, twinkling azure bulbs that really served no proper motive than illumination, cheerfully ambling beside speakers blasting flip music. Their passion for light bordered on derangement; the lot were all unmutuals.

I shifted in my seat. It was incommodious; I was unused to the alien softness of the worn leather. My hands were clammy, and my clothes stuck to my skin. The heat was asphyxiating.



[Edited on 10.15.2011 4:18 AM PDT]

  • 10.05.2011 5:51 PM PDT

Farh spread her arms across her lounge. We smoked in silence for a time, until eventually Farh sat up and knocked the dottle from her pipe, and called for a drink as she stamped in more leaf. A kig-yar, with a graceful plumage that Farh ogled appreciatively came forth with a decanter and glazed cups. He poured us generous portions, and then handed them out. I crushed my cigarette, dusting away the sooty remains. I sipped it, swishing the whisky with my tongue, exhaling the alcohol burn through my nostrils. On the table between us, the kig-yar then placed a plate of expensive sangheilien sugared fruits bound in leaves, before withdrawing.

"You have come to my city," I turned at the sound of Farh's voice. It felt layered; smug, ersatz affection blanketed above the sharpened tone below; a honed knife wrapped in silk. She already explained the metropolis as her own. Not emphasized, merely stated. As if it was a fact. She wasn't far from the truth. "Personally came to me, to challenge me to a bet, for a sizable sum. For someone of your standards, you are the first to do this." She stared at me the whole time.

I winced. I could take it as a compliment, but I knew it wasn't meant that way. I had already been assigned a place, and that was beneath her feet. While I might have been dramatizing her meaning, criminals don't exactly try to encourage you in a business transaction. I was a slight pessimistic at times and usually only under stress, which would be easy to understand in my plight. You can't be always sanguine in these times, can you?

But was I that pathetic? No. It was her; selfish and egotistical. But I couldn't say that. I needed her, and she knows. Curse and insult me, and I would have to endure.

"Why do you need the money?"

Strange; I never suspected a kig-yar matriarch to be interested in the matters of us ordinary people. "We want to get off this planet. Head to another." Unnecessary chitchat, I theorised. I downed another gulp, the liquid burning my throat.

"Oh? That's a first..." She could ooze sarcasm better than me. "Not many people have come to me for that." She plucked at her robes. "Do you know the success rates?"

"...no." I frowned. The migraine was creeping to my temples.

Farh bared her teeth. "Then you are poorly informed. What was it, fifty thousand, you are betting for?" She said that unreachable number insouciantly. It might've been Gilgamesh currency, but it still held some value. Just not as much as the credits that ranges closer to the home colonies; Sangheilos and Earth. "You can't purchase a vessel with that. Can you pilot a ship?"

"No."

"I oversee the ship yards. A hundred year old freighter; I can let you scavenge that."

"We're not buying one -" Why does she care? She doesn't need to know the details. We weren't purchasing an entire spacecraft. Private - and illegal - ferrying trips were what we had in mind. "What can I do? Our futures count on it. With no public routes traveling here, privateers, thugs, they are the planet's only visitors." I was frustratingly angry at her incessant flaunting. I didn't know how to reply, and her poking at my problems was vexing. Kuthra would love to see the whipping I'm taking right now.

There was no response. Farh drained half her cup. She fiddled with a furred cushion. The items in the room varied wildly; a scattering of dried shells portraying goblets, to headdresses sporting kaleidoscopic aigrettes; the direct results of plundering from random merchants. "Your prospects of winning are not high," she said. The bleeding obvious, wasn't it? "Promised to me in return is a month of service, by all of you. And you will be stupid to think that you'll be able to continue on afterwards."

I hadn't really envisaged this. Rather, the use of poor language if English was spoken, - fluently or not -, at all, in fact and a generally limited intelligence. I scowled inwardly. She was a goddamn kig-yar. They specialised in affairs of currency and trading; recognising all different reactions. It wasn't hard for her to piece together my troubles. Not that you would need to be a psychologist. It was execrably overt.

"And assuming you are stupid, most don't survive the trial," Farh continued. "Audacious of you, to risk everything," She nibbled on one of the delicacies, then swallowed it whole and washed it down with more whisky. Proffered me a piece; I accepted out of polite etiquette. I unrolled the tip, and it divulged forth a pinkish crumble. It was mawkish.

My thoughts swirled. There was a look in her eyes. Pity? Perhaps she understood my condition. Had she experienced this when she was in her youth? Likely, if not worse; I only struggled with the basic necessities, like food, shelter, a living, and strove to attain higher standards, she had most probably fought for survival since birth. Kig-yar leadership revolved around outsmarting the other, and too often than not, assassination.

I had been hesitant to enter. Yet I knew it was the inevitable; I would readily risk my - our - lives than squander here on Gilgamesh. It was a painful dilemma, and intolerable, persistent convincing on the sangheili's behalf made me acquiesce.

"Believe," Kuthra once murmured to me, "Believe in this endeavor of ours," He clenched his fist and stared at me hard, and I bore witness to the maelstrom of emotional bedlam that toiled inside him. "Believe, and it will happen." And so I did. I held firmly to that belief, and we fumbled our way onwards. But now, at the very apex of our journey, it portended to disintegrate. The word throbbed in my head.

Farh finished another fruit. "And you must realise that your humans will not make the cut. We would not want to add sentimental loss to this, would we? Unless, of course," she fluttered her hand, "you do not care for them."

It made me ponder. Did I? Truly? How would their deaths mean to me? Our relationships verged into a brotherhood, but it felt synthetic. One would surmise I would have closer ties to the humans, but the opposite proves true. Whilst racism was amok in the Inner Colonies, out here in the fringes, where everyone relies on the other, most have formed extraterrestrial bonds. I was more companions with the sangheili. But if the humans were to die, would it burden me, and the scars remain unhealed, or would it evanesce into obscurity over time? There was no forced collaboration between any of us. Yet I feel responsible for them. I was the established leader, and I cared for all of them, whether I felt it or not.

"I do." It was short and abrupt, but then I added, "Why does it matter to you?" I was worried she might deem it rude for me to question her, but she seemed overly and suspiciously, curious.

"As I said before, they will not make it."

"They know the risks."

"Do they really?"

"They volunteered. I cannot extract them even I wanted to." Why did it feel like she was trying to persuade me to leave the bet?

She was examining me again, damnation. Why is she doing it? Am I that bloody much of an oddity? I swiveled away, greeted by the distinctive pose of an open-mouthed helioskrill, its skeletal mien gaunt and hollow, giving off a beleaguered feel, hanging from the ceiling. I pivoted back to Farh, trying to equivocate.

And then she dumbfounded me.

"Your humans can fight together. It would please the crowd. The sangheili, they will still stay separate." She drank again, and I looked at her with intensifying incredulousness, before I was confronted with a plethora of incertitude and skepticism. Then I registered that unbelievable as it was Farh was trying to aid me. Was this liquor drugged? I felt sober. I launched into another cigarette. I didn't scruple my luck, and besides a nod of thanks, I kept quiet.

"Tell them," Farh tapped her cup. "Speak to them from here." She tossed me a pad. I reoriented myself, moving to a quieter corner in the room, and then thumbed it online. I prodded my ears, sore from the constant assault of flip music. The pad vibrated as the connection was secured, flickering static manifesting into a poor overview of a small, cramped room with propped wooden racks, hung with stiffened towels and rusted tools. On benches, my faithful four sat, smoking.

I clicked my chatter, and inserted it into the pad. "Kuthra,"

One of the sangheili perked up. He was a fine male, in his zenith, his form sinewy yet corded with thick muscles. His skin was ebony, coriaceous, stretched, cloth enfolding his forearms. Most discerning was his tattoo, a myriad of spirals and convolutions in white ink, that only after a moment of bewildered analysis were you able to perceive a serpentine animal native to his home spread across his neck and dappling downwards onto his lower ribs. Besides a small robe cloaking his thighs, - sangheili fashion was somewhat exposed - his chest was bare.



[Edited on 10.18.2011 11:24 PM PDT]

  • 10.05.2011 5:55 PM PDT
Subject: [Story] Believe

Kuthra wiped a speck of dust off the screen; it had been installed into the wall for who knows how long, untouched.

"What is it?"

"Tell Baird and Keanu there in together. You and Karee are still by yourself."

"What happened? Stipulations?" Subdued anger flashed on his face, anxiousness creasing his cheeks.

"Nothing; the matriarch, she's being generous. I don't know why, but we'll take it."

"The money?"

"All good,"

Kuthra rubbed his mandibles. "Are you sure -"

"Yes, don't worry about it, I've got it," I peeped at Farh, who continued to dine on her fruit.

"Who is up first?"

"I am. Karee's next, and then the humans together, if you say so."

I grimaced. "We have it. Just a guy each for both of you; Baird's always said he was too good by himself, so it'll be nothing for the two."

Kuthra's face became the utmost acme of dubiety.

I shut the program, sitting down and handing the pad back to Farh.

The matriarch regarded the ring impassively. An unconscious man was dragged off, the winner, a tall kig-yar with protruding quills congratulated and then relegated in preparation for an 'official' match. He protested angrily in his own language at his repudiation, an incongruity of screeches and jarred notes, painfully complimented by the blaring music. He slipped on the spilled drink and broken crockery as he ululated for the referee, before being thwacked on the head by a bouncer and hauled outside.

The interloper dealt with, another kig-yar surfaced, a towering monstrosity congested with muscle, backed with the drunken whooping of the crowd. There were so many in the audience; all plunged into inebriated depths, waiting for the fighting to begin. The heat, the smoke, the claustrophobic confinement of the club made me sick.

"Eraj!" The unggoy referee introduced the kig-yar amidst glorifications of his past duels. His name was peculiar. A shiny sheen of perspiration clung to the kig-yar's arms. He flexed his setaceous spines, his eyes darting betwixt the kig-yar females loitering among the tables.

This place would - should - be illegal. But Gilgamesh, where there is no law and only a corrupt, subterfuge 'government', basic, universal rules do not apply, and this is a supposedly indulging pastime.

There was a lull in the noise. Kuthra shouldered his way through the mob, pushing away probing hands. Eraj leaned upon a post, assessing. Careerist in combat he may be, most fighting sangheili encroached on his seat of power. If dismantled, Farh would not offer him protection. Not to the defeated.

The referee waggled his hands. "Let's fight!" His voice was amplified tenfold, elevated above the pulsating booms of thumping music. He spoke precipitately, "One of our very own, Eraj!" His lungs drew in contaminated air for another explosive round. "Taking on a daring sangheili, Kuthra!" Blinded by glee, the masses let out roaring cheers as Kuthra entered the ring. They clashed their glasses; those seated pounding the wooden tables in enthusiasm and intoxicated fervor. An old woman in a corner called for people to place their bets.

Kuthra entered the ring. His adversary arched his back, his spines high in intimidation. The unggoy barred Eraj with a portly arm, and gestured Kuthra forward. The kig-yar growled, his execrations expletive and vulgar, culminating to a mouthful of phlegm, the viscous substance splattering over the sangheili's bicep.

Before the unggoy uttered another syllable, in a forthwith, shocking move, Kuthra lashed outwards, shoving the referee to the side and his arm swinging, his energy all aggregated into the single blow. Droplets of sweat flew from the limb; clotted veins ran in rivulets across the skin, standing out in relief.

His fist collided with the kig-yar's head, snapping the jaw and through it, an erupting amalgam of saliva, blood and teeth. Eraj catapulted onto the ropes, scarcely conscious. A sequential hook to the chin sent him sprawling onto the canvas mat. I felt the surging and the roiling inside the Kuthra's mind; pure incandescent fury, that any person, any creature, dare impede his progress and insult his honour, would face his calamitous wrath. He flagellated aside Eraj's arms, poising himself over the twitching body, ravaging the kig-yar's callous visage and warping it into a malformed wreck. Kuthra was inexorably ruthless.

After a flurry of punches, a caving kick to the sternum and a sharp knuckle speared into the throat, the choked gurgles, the mangled, primal shrieks of horror and intuitional, spasmodic paroxysms came to a halt.

The crowd was silent.

Farh was silent.

I too, was silent, preparatory to a tidal wave of consternated elation. I was slightly perturbed; an achievement, yes, but Kuthra had begun without endorsement. I panicked at the repercussions. Farh could do anything; compromise on our agreement of a single competitor each. She had already abated some of her own fighters, and this impetuous - or not - act could detour her magnanimousness and irk it into hostility.

Kuthra rolled the kig-yar over the edge of the ring. Whether he was dead or not, it was still a mystery. People backed away hastily from the motionless body, still stunned into wordless stupor.

The sangheili left, vanishing into a doorway. A murmur rippled through, which evolved into a heated recount of the action that transpired a moment before, all striving for attention. Credit chips were thrown onto the tables, as dozens extra joined in the bet.

I fidgeted. There was no raucous accusation sniped from Farh, and then as I faced her, I found her in a fleeting, amused smirk. I comprehended no sane explanation as to why she farcically found this a jocular matter, save the disconcerting idea of her supporting us. The migraine pulsated in its infancy.

"Not bad at all," She adjusted her diaphanous robes across her legs, interlacing her fingers. Eraj stirred, groping at his chest. Two unggoy lugged him to the entrance, his quills a leash. They would finish him off, and dump his corpse on the streets. Dice clattered on wooden boards as people jovially resumed their games, waiting for another enthralling match.

I suppressed a worried smile.

Believe.

---

It's a bit of read here, so I'll just pause it now and let you guys catch some breath! Please leave a comment!

[Edited on 10.06.2011 2:21 AM PDT]

  • 10.05.2011 6:01 PM PDT

Woah a boxing match in Halo? So far it looks great.

  • 10.05.2011 7:33 PM PDT

Haha, yeah, I tried to make it a bit more different than the usual. I'll post more later! I hope you like it.

  • 10.05.2011 9:22 PM PDT

The tide is turning, brothers! Let us take our kingdom back!

I'm stunned, Sphinx. Truly. Your vocabulary is almost alien, there's so many words that I've never heard before and can only guess are synonyms of simpler words I know and use.

Brilliant. Just brilliant. Please, more! I'll grovel if I have to.

  • 10.05.2011 11:22 PM PDT

Oh wow, thank you so much :3

I'll post more... soon! Thank you so much for your feedback :D

  • 10.06.2011 1:51 AM PDT

I'll be posting more in a second.

Damn, it's quite buggering that some of my hyphens disappear. Plus some lines are still linked. Oh well.

Be prepared, be very prepared! Incoming barrage of next post!

  • 10.06.2011 2:20 AM PDT

---

Karee collapsed.

The crowd swelled for a better view; they hooted as he was intolerantly trampled by the imposing fighter; Rudahre, a colossal, mammoth of a sangheili, and a longtime favourite. He kicked Karee, and then howled so very pompously, so superciliously, as hosanna spewed rapturously from the assemblage.

I was corybantic. I kneaded my hands, slackening to allow myself a trembling breath. Even more eccentric than last, Farh held a contained and guarded demeanour. She was not exultant as envisioned, and instead signaled for more provender, while wordlessly placing the communications tablet on the table.

I drifted back to my corner. The link affixed, I was accosted to a mashed, haired chin, before Baird lowered his head, his face so terribly hideous.

"Kuthra's gone to get him," Baird reported. "Saw the whole thing."

I glimpsed outside, beholding Kuthra shoving through the throng. And then, still fresh from Eraj's defeat, I froze. Kuthra would not swallow his twin's denigration. And as I conceived this, as Kuthra entered the ring, I realised, it would be galvanized. None of them would be satiated with anything short of a kill; and the mob wouldn't be either. Rudahre was chosen with a basis; to grant everyone an epic, prodigious engagement that would be memorised for months to come, to bait and inveigle more customers and therefore, more money.

It was all business.

That is what I conjectured. But the unlikely objection, who was hypothesised to be the biggest agitator, was in fact, the matriarch herself. From what Farh had exhibited so far, it had seemed as if she was trying to help us. If she was, why not just hand us the money and let us be off?

Rudahre caught Kuthra's unrepressed glare. He laughed, goading him, and the crowd implored them. The referee was nowhere to be seen.

He's going to hit him.

Oh Lord.


I was distressed, keyed up, my stomach in knots. Karee was thoroughly ignored, Kuthra bearing straight to Rudahre, their noses nearly brushing.

Don't do it.

Rudahre shoved him. The rabble wailed and exhorted them on. I saw the damned referee at the bar, watching amiably with a drink in hand.

I swear -

Kuthra hit him.

It was a swift uppercut to Rudahre's lower mandibles that caught him in the windpipe and made him lurch away, gagging, clawing at his throat.

Keanu and Baird emerged from the dim doorway, hurdling to the ring, hustled by the gathering. Rudahre was in intense dudgeon, before Kuthra ploughed into him, both of them tumbling onto the mat. A few humans attempted to enter the ring, for reasons only the drunk could understand, yelling joyously, their shirts damp, obliviously diving happily onto the combatants. Kuthra peeled himself from the jumble; anger etched onto his features, and then cudgeled one in the sternum with his forearm, sending the human flying off the ring. A lone kig-yar guffawed groggily.

A woman screamed; a wild uproar ensued, a scene of riotous tumult and chaos. People caterwauled, tables splintering and bottles fragmenting.

Farh snapped an order into a concealed chatter. Seconds later, kig-yar bouncers streamed into the pandemonium. They restrained the two Sangheili, deterring them with batons and fists. I was surprised that there was a rumpus rambunctious adequate to even surpass the restrictions this place held. The music assuaged.

"He gives a good show," Farh enunciated sharply. "But if he causes another uprising like that, it'll be his last." She knocked back her whisky.

I fretted at her enjoinment. Kuthra had stymied her. I could only pray she still felt kindhearted to ease the rest of our way.

Kuthra was escorted back into the room; Karee deposited on the ground by the bouncers. Keanu knelt over him, administering for broken bones.

"God damn it, why the hell did you do that for?"

Kuthra slammed his fist on the wall, dust particles flying. "You know perfectly why, human."

Damn. He was using the human suffix again. I hadn't been termed that for a while. Racist prick.

"Yeah, I do, and you also pissed the boss off. Hell, you have any idea how lucky we were? Just get up there and take Karee back, yet you had to try hand him his ass! Not to mention nearly killing the other guy!"

He jabbed a finger at the screen. "I had him. It was our best shot. If you hadn't babbled like a child and cried for security I would have -"

"It wasn't me," I interrupted, stung by the barb.

Kuthra sighed exasperatedly, incensed. Baird flung a pitcher of water over Karee. "What happens now? Are the humans still together?"

I massaged my temples. "I don't know, I don't know watch your step, I'll check with her about the guys, and then we'll see. I've no idea what amount of crap you're in, but God willing, you can finish what you started."

"There's no other way!" Kuthra swore. He nudged Karee brusquely with his foot. "We both know that Baird and Keanu will be out cold in a second!" he hissed. "Get the boss to let me at him. The rage he's in now, he'll kill them both! We've seen all of the matriarch's fighters; half of them are kig-yar. Get the boys to make it out with one of them."

"You think this is easy? That I can just change the way on how she -"

"Finally not smart enough, aye?"

"Smarter than you, you ass, you've jeopardised the whole damn thing! You can't handle it, can you? It wasn't -"

"Just dose up one of the humans; we still have a needle left in the bags." Kuthra muttered.

I cringed, glancing at Farh, who hadn't noticed. Thank God.

"You dick! Say it a bit louder, won't you? We'll get shot on the spot for cheating! You think it'll be a bit noticeable if one of them keeps going after getting their -"

Farh rapped her knuckles on the table. I disconnected immediately. Outside the music recomposed, fluctuated modulations.

"Rudahre will duel your sangheili. If you win, you will get your money and you will leave. If you lose, all of you will answer to Rudahre, him and only. Your servitude will span for a month. You will do whatever he says." Her expression was frighteningly analogous to the helioskrill.

The declaration was formal and glacial. She seemed annoyed, enervated. Staking matches meant nothing to her, really. A source of leisure and a diversion from the darker profession she undertakes. I was springing too many unwanted hassles and inconveniences. In a way, I envied her; power, money, but from another perspective, I was relieved; the perpetual tension, ceaseless wariness.

"Are the humans still excluded?" I began.

"Yes; there is no room for negotiation, human; he's up."

[Edited on 10.06.2011 2:44 AM PDT]

  • 10.06.2011 2:35 AM PDT

The tide is turning, brothers! Let us take our kingdom back!

Amazing stuff. I mean, seriously. This probably deserves a spot in the pinned topics more than mine does.

  • 10.06.2011 3:35 AM PDT

Wow, thank you so much Blood.

Hm. I'm wondering how much to post...

Cause I thought I wrote a lot. Turns out, this thing can chew up like 5 pages per post. And next post brings out the main climax...*SPOILERZZ*

Maybe I should wait till tomorrow. Just to make you grovel.

[Edited on 10.06.2011 7:12 PM PDT]

  • 10.06.2011 4:46 AM PDT

The tide is turning, brothers! Let us take our kingdom back!


Posted by: S p h 1 n X O 7
Maybe I should wait till tomorrow. Just to make you grovel.
D:

And when you say 5 pages per post, is that as in Microsoft Word pages, or B.net posts (10,000 character limit)?

  • 10.06.2011 10:13 PM PDT

I mean as in one B.net post takes out like five of my pages D:

I'll be posting either the rest or most of it soon! Hey, a question, how would I be able to change my title? Do I have to go call for a Ninja or something?

  • 10.06.2011 11:12 PM PDT

The tide is turning, brothers! Let us take our kingdom back!

Oh, yeah. If you go to Word Count in the Tools section of Word, you can find how many characters your file is. And like I said, one full B.net post is 10,000 characters.

To change your title, simply edit your first post, and where it has the title, change it there.

  • 10.07.2011 1:09 AM PDT

Oh right. Thanks.

Mhm. Damn. 10,000 a post...

Turns out my story isn't that long after all.

It's short as!

Anyway, new post coming up soon!

  • 10.07.2011 2:20 AM PDT
Subject: [Short Story] Believe

---

Believe.

Damnation. That small flutter of hope, wavering falteringly beneath the looming menace of extinguishment, quivered inside my chest.

Why? Why would she do this? For entertainment; seeing others writhe and squirm subordinate to her, incapable and helpless? I was harassed by the idea that the materfamilias of a criminal household would - a kig-yar one at that, I cannot belabor enough - deign to help us. That to help anyone, than to advance their own means. But everyone is different, as the saying went. Certainly, yes, with a major percentage of the kig-yar race pirates and thieves, they created a stereotype, forever branding themselves as untrustworthy backstabbers. Yet there were always ones with benevolent hearts and altruistic manners. The predicament was to find them.

I tried to cocoon the tempestuous apprehension that whirled inside, and failing that, I devoured another piece of fruit as a stopgap, preferring the nauseous grip on my stomach. The migraine was now accommodated comfortably in my head. There was a growth in the milling crowd, the atmosphere multiplying in boisterousness. Disbelievingly, the music had somehow increased in volume, and from behind aging counters the shelves fortifying bottles of cheap beer and extraneous liquor were depleted.

Rudahre was apoplectic, livid as Kuthra approached the ring. His tattoo was aglow in the dusty, yellow light; twists and eddies representing the hooked talons of the artwork, its snaking body wreathed snugly over his neck and shoulders. He grabbed a wooden post as he vaulted himself onto the ring with no dramatised effect.

Flanked by the two, the referee rested his arms nonchalantly on their broad shoulders, as the pair glowered unflinchingly. He promulgated their titles with a throaty barrage with brevity. I noticed the vacant glass in his hand.

"Another round! Another fight! Kuthra! Versus Rudahre!" The avidness in his voice was evident. He whispered something to Kuthra, winking. He clapped them both on their arms, and then left. As he stepped down, he slapped the canvas mat, his cue for the fight to initiate.

"Fight!"

[Edited on 10.09.2011 11:04 PM PDT]

  • 10.09.2011 12:48 AM PDT
Subject: [Story] Believe

I know it's a short post, but I'll be posting the rest of the story relatively soon! Enjoy, and leave a comment, as usual!

  • 10.09.2011 12:49 AM PDT

The tide is turning, brothers! Let us take our kingdom back!

:D great stuff.

  • 10.09.2011 9:22 PM PDT

Thanks!

I'll be posting the rest later. Pretty lame; I thought this might take up some lengthy posts... Never knew it would finish so quickly!

  • 10.09.2011 11:12 PM PDT

The tide is turning, brothers! Let us take our kingdom back!


Posted by: S p h 1 n X O 7
Thanks!

I'll be posting the rest later. Pretty lame; I thought this might take up some lengthy posts... Never knew it would finish so quickly!
I prefer quality to quantity. And your story has bucketfuls of quality so far. Let's see the rest!

  • 10.10.2011 6:09 AM PDT

Alright. The climax.

Epicness imminent.

  • 10.10.2011 11:05 PM PDT

The subsequent brouhaha burst from the throats of a hundred earnest spectators. Accordingly, the music's volume modulated to match their frenzied beats. I shook from the fear, the bowel-loosening tension. I wanted to do something, but I couldn't do anything.

Rudahre leapt instantaneously, his avoirdupois used to smother and subdue before the match developed fully.

Kuthra toppled over, Rudahre grappling, both of them slipping on the mat. His enormous body oppressed the lean figure below. Rudahre straddled him, landing punches. Kuthra covered his head with his arms, humping his hips, unbalancing Rudahre's steadiness, and briskly rolled away, rising to his feet. Rudahre snarled. They oscillated, their limbs bathed in sudation.

They exchanged a series of small, timed blows; each purposed to for exploitation. Kuthra percolated quick, decisive hits; the years of practice illustrated in his technique. Heavy lumbering swings, efficient but slow, built up the bulk of Rudahre's skill. His strength outmatched most, and Kuthra no exception.

Kuthra pranced backwards. He parried a blow, diverting most of its force away, allowing only the knuckles to graze the side of his neck, and delivered a rupturing sidekick to Rudahre's chest, propelling him backwards, and doubling his anger. "C'mon!" He beat his breasts, once, twice. The guttural voice conflicted in his throat. "Come at me!" He stomped forward.

Kuthra sidestepped, weaving between the Rudahre's arms, and then jammed his elbow into his vulnerable ribs, and weathering a misguided punch that hit his shoulder, hooked his foot behind Rudahre's leg and palmed him in the chest, dropping him onto the canvas mat with a shuddering boom. He crouched over him, attacking his vitals; head, neck, groin.

I was breathless.

And then, like a cruel joke, my hope fractured.

Kuthra reeled away, clamping between his legs, groaning. Rudahre tripped him, hitting his ankle. He heaved himself to his feet, his fists descending with an overdose of fury; his temper was lost, wanting a quick defeat and easy humiliation, not an equal opponent. Kuthra granulated under the blitz.

It was a debacle.

Rudahre retreated, pumping his fist as the condensed crowd catcalled and bayed for more. He bellowed, ecstatic, effulgent with triumph. He spat on Kuthra, and turned his back to him, stimulated by the echoing praises.

Leaving himself unprotected.

And in that single second...

Kuthra tackled him, taking him abaft and smashing into a post. He clobbered his elbow between Rudahre's shoulder blades, and corked him in the thigh, causing the massive body to slump. KKuthra jerked Rudahre into a chokehold, his arms straining against. Kuthra wouldn't last much longer; his vitality was exsiccated, his abdomen palpitating. He vociferated, his voice tinged with desperation.

And then, for the second time that perpetual night, I was treated to flabbergasting astonishment.

Rudahre hurdled over the edge of the ring; Kuthra still cohered to his back. They landed on a rickety table, pulverizing the wood in a cloud of dust and dirt.

I rose to my feet, dumbfounded, horrified. Rudahre was winded, Kuthra teetering beside him. He staggered to Rudahre, smacking across the face, before he flew backwards into the surrounding press of humans and kig-yar, his face screwed in pain and clutching his chest. Rudahre stumbled upright; his mandibles bruised, and then dragooned Kuthra on. "C'mon! Bring it, ya piece of -"

Kuthra hurled himself again, his arms and head the prongs of a living trident, both of them harpooning into the masses. The infuriation radiating from the pair was audible, and their struggling vociferations were chilling. They traded blows; Kuthra drove a knee into Rudahre's stomach, took a clout to the cheek, paid him in return with an elbow onto the face as he wobbled back, and then lashed out with his arm, backhanding him. The adrenaline rush that carried him through the beginning phases cascaded back into his veins like a drug; his exhaustion and pain forgotten.

You would think that when a match reaches this stage it would be stopped and the combatants renounced. No; not in an underground arena like this. Deaths were a common event to be noted, dismissed a second later. Besides, fighters who utilised their environments and demean it to an inhumane level were the ones who were noticed. The clubs owned by Farh had regulations, bendable as they were.

The entirety of his power, his will, accumulated and hammered into a burning lance, his very last resort, Kuthra thrust this at Rudahre. He cuffed him across the face, forearm wedged into Rudahre's pharynx and pressed onto a squat column, his knee consecutively ramming into his abdomen, his unfaltering ardor still holding.

Rudahre's objective had deprecated to survival. His flagging strength bolstered by the feral will to live, he battered away Kuthra's arms, snatching a glass bottle from a nearby table and brought it down on Kuthra's scalp in a single, deft move. Purpled liquid dribbled over his face.

There was a second where there was no movement, everyone contemplating, Kuthra recovering. And then when time was recouped, it all rushed back into action far too quickly it almost felt painful.

Rudahre bounded forward, mimicking his first move, burying Kuthra. And as he straddled him for the final time, showering him with pummels, Kuthra persevering, there was only one last thing he could do before the lambasting of his life began.

His hand scrabbled on the wet, wooden floor for a section of the broken glass.

It required me a second to realise what had happened when Rudahre's hand shot to his breast, blood leaking out. He gnarled, and then broke Kuthra's wrist, the glass still embedded in his chest.

He laughed; a carnal mixture of hate, umbrage and part relief. His mandibles bloomed outwards like a blossoming flower. Reminded me of one of those plants that sprouted everywhere in the districts when the weather was good.

And that caused his undoing.

Kuthra dropped his left fist down Rudahre's throat for good, the teeth scratching his arm, making the windpipe swollen and suffocation imminent. Rudahre doubled over in a fit of coughing, the hit fatal. His face flushed, visible to me despite his dark skin, the walls of smoke and a squalid window. He floundered, gasping, rolling on the ground. Kuthra sagged, his spontaneous vigor attenuated. He laid there, lolled back, panting, lapping at the alcohol that dripped into his mouth.

I ruminated this for an instant; the very idea of victory assailed again and again by disbelief and agnosticism, before it detonated with a grandiose arrival, expurgating that damned migraine, all subsumed within the hampered spaces of my mind. Kuthra won. He won. Approbation swept from the crowd; a hundred throats chanted commendations, and even the drunk managed to pause their antics for a concise moment to acknowledge his feat. My heart thudded.

I turned to Farh. And as foreseen, there was no vexation marring her features, no castigation, but a neutral disposition and relaxed posture. She cocked her head was she smiling? and unveiled a credit chip from her swaths of clothing. She handed it to me.

"I've seen enough doomed faces of you hopefuls to last me a lifetime. So when you wonder why I was so gracious this evening, you have your answer."

I felt somehow surprised. It was expected; the most logical reason, but it still executed itself as a revelation. I didn't disrespect her by checking the chip's contents. I pocketed it, and expressed my gratitude in what I surmised, it's most simple manner.

"Thank you,"

---

  • 10.10.2011 11:38 PM PDT

I left the chambers in a hurry, caressing the chip lovingly. The corridors were rank, the soundproof doors occluding the moans and hisses of kig-yar mating emanating from the numerous rooms. A single unggoy with an apron hung around his neck snored in a corner, an empty tray in one hand and a tube of mush in the other.

I arrived, the doors clanking apart in a mechanical whine. Kuthra was smoking, Baird applying a splint to his wrist. He spat on the ground. Karee stood, halfway across the room in a second.

"You got it?"

I flipped him the chip, and then took out a few cigarettes and giving one to each, striking mine last. Karee squinted at the chip, paranoid as ever. Kuthra flicked away his fading stub. I went to him, an unfettered grin plastered over my face. He stared at me blankly, before his mandibles opened in a laugh. I slapped him on the arm. "You did it, eh? How you feeling?"

"Like crap," He eyed me, before chuckling again. He brought the cigarette back to his mouth, took a puff. Keanu tied a bandage roughly around his scalp. "Referee actually asked me to put up a longer fight than the one with the kig-yar. 'Give the watchers a good show, aye?'." He quoted, and then swore as Keanu bumped against his arm.

Baird jostled him aside, finishing the splint. He spat. "You knocked that other fella out in half a second; the ref was probably piss-bored."

"How come the humans hadn't needed to fight?"

"You're just too good Kuthra, she didn't even want to see them. Plus a touch of my magic, of course." I retrieved the chip back from Karee. "We'll get out of here now. Get to the boys who run the spaceports tomorrow, I'll bargain with them a bit more, get them to ferry us further."

"Where we gonna stay for the night?" Keanu asked, packing our few belongings.

"We'll take the train. Sleep on the way there."

Keanu zipped the bags. They ground their smokes, Kuthra swearing as his lifted himself. We left through a door in the back, escaping the humid, stifling heat of the nightclub, disappearing into the raining, trafficked streets and flaring neon signboards.

---

Never told Karee and the humans about Farh; what she had done for us. They never really asked. Ignorance is bliss, Baird once said. But Kuthra knows, appositely calling me the 'luckiest human brat in the galaxy'. But we had made it, finally departing Gilgamesh. Where we are now isn't much better, but it was a start. Only a matter of time before we made it to an Inner Colony.

I would just need to believe.

  • 10.10.2011 11:47 PM PDT

That was it.

Bloodguard, and any other readers out there, thanks for spending some time on what I managed to conjure. Please leave a comment, it'll mean a lot to me.

Thanks for reading.

  • 10.10.2011 11:48 PM PDT

The tide is turning, brothers! Let us take our kingdom back!

Excellent, my man. Nothing short of excellent.

I can only hope that you choose to continue with another story.

  • 10.11.2011 3:40 AM PDT