Twilight's Shadow

Chapter 1

Prologue

Crickets chirped in the humid night as hurried footsteps pounded across a moist dirt path. Deep in the woods north of the Whyte Village, a man was running. No, sprinting. His name was Jerrad and he was sprinting in terror, his greatest fear pursuing him with silent steps.

He tripped and fell, dirt streaking his hands, chest and clothing as he sprawled across the path. With a muffled cry he leaped up and darted behind a maple, the red leaves nearly glowing from the full moon above. He tried to slow his breathing, tried to slow his heartbeat, tried to become the tree.

Jerrad’s breathing was ragged however, panting harshly in the moonlight. He knew the other could hear him. Jerrad could almost picture him silently stalking through the trees, smelling the air, inhuman senses slowly but surely pinpointing his location.

The nearly silent rustle of cloth over cloth caught Jerrad’s attention. He tried to slowly peer out from behind the tree to see his pursuer as quietly as he could.

No one...nothing.

Panic-stricken, Jerrad hastily threw himself behind the tree again.

“Oh Divine Retryx…Oh…help me…” he mumbled in fear, hoping and praying death would not visit soon.

A light tap on his shoulder caused him to jump O…maybe 8 feet into the air. Stifling a scream he slowly turned to see what had tapped him.

He wished he hadn’t.

Total blackness was his first impression. His second was…

“Death is this short?” he asked incredulously, stifling not a scream this time, but a laugh. To think, a little boy in a costume had frightened him this badly.

“Yeh, death is.” a husky voice said from somewhere within the deep black robes and cloths.

“Huh?” Jerrad said, even more incredulously. Two knives had blossomed out of his body, one at his throat, one at his heart. As he gurgled out the last of his life thorugh his throat and heart, his pursuer sighed. As he pulled the knives from his bounty’s dead body, he casually wiped them on Jerrad’s clothing.

“Damn, I hate being short,” a slightly less husky voice said. The stalker stepped into the moonlight, long black robes swirling around in the slight breeze. The wooden handles of steel knives in two crossed bandoleers caught the feeble moonlight, along with a enchanted shortbow and a yew quaterstaff in carriers on his back. Two long swords, one at each hip, swayed as he walked. Black leather gloves covered his hands, and a black hood shielded his face from any passer-by’s random glances.

His cloak swirled out, revealing more black clothing underneath the long cloak, and black cloth wrapped around his wrists and shins, preventing any skin’s exposure at all.

The only thing not covered were a pair of large, dark green eyes. They caused fear more than any other aspect of the hunter, the moonlight catching and reflecting in them, giving the profound appearance that they glowed a bright, vivid green. Seldom seen except by his prey, nothing said death louder than glimpsing those glowing green eyes.

A piece of cloth covered his mouth and nose, and also covered a metal facemask, preventing any air-borne toxin or poison from affecting him.

With a whirl of his hands the hunter drew back his hood, revealing starkly contrasting pure white hair. Another pause and he drew back his facemask, spiky white locks blowing slowly in the slight midnight breeze.

“Ah…that’s better...” he said, although, without the facemask and hood covering his face, it was very clear he was actually a she. "Stupid mask...impossible to breathe in..." she muttered as she let the mask fall around her neck.

“Well, sorry buddy, but I need money, and you’re just unlucky to have gotten me for a hunter,” she said, idly talking to the rapidly cooling body.

Drawing one of her swords with a practiced motion she smoothly decapitated the body, and left it there for some unlucky traveler to find. Placing the head in a bag, she stood up, drawing her hood and mask on as she stood.

A swirl of the breeze, a swirl of a black cloak, and Twilight’s Shadow, feared bounty hunter and honorary Knight of the Realm disappeared into the night.

This is her story.



I’m going to start where every story starts: the beginning. The time of the prologue doesn’t happen for a while, so just be patient, and enjoy.

Chapter 1 – Part 1

Waking from a light sleep, Casca rolled over in her blankets while placing her pillow on top of her head to muffle the sounds of her clan-mates talking.

The morning was already a scorcher, well in the 90’s and only 8 o’clock. No birds sang, no leaves blew in the hot wind, no bugs sang their raspy songs to the world. The reason no life surrounded them at all was partially due to the intense heat, and also partially due to the fact they lived in a barren wasteland of nearly no water, very little shade, and no clouds…ever.

She suddenly bolted up, dark green eyes widening with excitement. She had just remembered what today was.

“Yes! Finally!” she exclaimed, throwing off her covers from a small patch of smoothed rock that nearly shone in the early morining sun. The lack of covers revealed a body tanned to a dark brown all over, covered with the oddest black stripes, and not covered with anything else at the moment.

The most important day in her life had finally arrived.

The day she was to become one of the Accepted.

A bit of background may be in order.

Chapter 1 – Part…0?

The year is 1029, RY (Royal years). The God's War had ended nearly 500 years ago, and peace continued across the land, due in part to the continued vigilance of the bounty hunters. These warriors were always men, and were regarded as heroes by most, and not regarded at all by the few others. (usually relatives of a former bounty)

As IMMENSE amounts of money could be made from bounty hunting, many tried. Because of the many people trying their hand at this most dangerous of trades, veteran bounty hunters had a bit of a running joke. “First bounty riches, second bounty stitches.” This saying came about by the common practice of a headstrong young farmer intent on making a living and being famous taking a small, paltry local bounty, and then, usually succeeding, letting confidence getting the better of him and rushing off for a larger, more tempting bounty, usually resulting in serious injury (if they’re VERY lucky) or death. (much more common.)

Skilled hunters are usually EXTREMELY arrogant, and rightfully so. They are the best of the best, usually fabulously wealthy depending upon the amount of time they have been hunting.

New bounty hunters are looked upon with emotions ranging from slight disdain, to downright disgust, making it VERY discouraging for new hunters to make a living.

A bit of background on random things, such as our character and the region in which she lives. Casca is NOT human. In fact, she does not know what she is. Her general appearance is feline, with long, jagged black stripes running horizontally over most of her body and face. She has no ears as we do, but instead has large, furry, striped ears on the top of her head in a feline manner. She does have a long, furry tail around 3 feet in length. It is prehensile, and occasionally will use it for holding small things if her hands are full. (She also doesn’t know if she has a last name.)

She lives in an EXTREMELY remote area of the Mah'an Desert called the Mah'an Wastes. One of the most inhospitable areas in the world, it has next to no water, absolutely scorchingly hot temperatures year-round, and next to no indigenous plant life whatsoever. Aside from rocks, there is no shade.

Nights are bitter cold year round, as the intense heat of the day is rapidly lost to the night sky due to a lack of any cloud cover at all.

Casca lives in a group of warriors called a clan, but not the typical clan as we think of them. These clans are more like small societies made of extremely skilled warriors that raise and teach orphans and other children the ways of the warrior, who then grow up and teach the next generation. VERY few clansmen actual leave, and if they do, they are never allowed back in. Clans have no permanent cities, and are typically nomadic. Clans move from spot to spot because they are usually ostracized from society in general, and because large lizards that frequent the desert called the Ju'greys find clansmembers a tasty snack at times.

Clans were governed by a group of elders, wise clansmembers who'd been around long enough to know how to handle things.

Most clanmembers were born into the clans, but runaways often join during the periodical trips to the cities of the normal folk, whom them disdainfully call 'The Greens' due to the abundance of water and plant life.

To the average townsman, clansmen (and women) are viewed as violent savages, due to their performance of rituals that may seem cruel and barbaric, and from partial fear of the unknown. Rituals are often warped to include most of society’s taboos, such as cannibalism.

One taboo that does not exist within the structure of the clans is the nudity taboo. Most children do not wear clothing, and many adults do not wear clothing on their torso, but instead wear a small toga-like loincloth similar to those worn by the ancient Egyptians. This taboo does not exist due to the fact that ANY clothing holds in excess body heat, and clothing hinders fighting.

Most ritual fights are held in the nude, whether between man and man, woman and man, or woman and woman. Every weapon can and possibly will be used, including such staples as sword and shield, mace, ball-and-chain (morningstar), flail, barbed whips, nets, spears, halberds, scimitars, broadswords (two handed swords), ball and chain (without a shaft), rope dart, quarterstaves, kamas, tridents, and virtually every other conceivable weapon. Warriors from the clans are called the Accepted, and are trained in use of nearly every fighting style as well as nearly every weapon. (yes, their whole lives are virtually devoted to the art of combat.)

A few styles commonly used include Kenpo Jitsu, Bando Ryu, Tae Kwon Do, Kung Fu, Iaijitsu (VERY common, art against projectiles) Jujitsu, Judo, Kickboxing, Traditional Boxing, and Drunken Boxing (also VERY common) to name but a few. (Yes…they have the same styles we do…for simplicity’s sake…)

They worship several gods, the first and foremost being the god Kaine, the father of all other gods and goddesses, and his wife, the mother of creation Yerah. Kain is the god of war, strength and power, and Yerah is the goddess of life, fertility, and water. Their equivalent to the devil is named Oreid, and he is the god of the sun and hell. The sun-god, while the life-giver in most societies, is the anti-god in theirs for obvious reasons.

I will reveal things about the story and her AS CASCA LEARNS THEM. I won’t give anything away now, and I won’t during the story until she would be at a point to learn herself.

Our main character happens to be an orphan, and has lived as long as she can remember in this clan, denoted Clan Ehren. Her appearance wouldn’t be odd, except for the fact that ALL of her clansmates are human. She is the ONLY different one, and thusly, is quite often discriminated against.

That’s about it for the background, back to the story.


Chapter 1 – Part 2

Today was the day she would finally be a true warrior.

“This’ll show Aron and the rest of ‘em…” she muttered to herself, while shaking the reddish dust off of her blankets. Slicking down the mussed fur on her striped tail, she carefully folded her blankets and carried them to one of three supply wagons they took with them.

She went off searching for the Head Weapon Master, a giant by the name of Ba’ell.

Usually not hard to find, Ba’ell was a giant of a man, standing head-and-shoulders above the rest of the clansmen and weighing around 275 pounds. His completely shaved head was usually kept to a nice sparkling shine only offset by the myriad pale white scars that crisscrossed ninety percent of his body. His round skull only seemed to make the hard lines and angles of his face that looked as if carved from stone all the harder.

One of the VERY few who wore armor, Ba’ell’s armor was half an inch thick in some places, and weighed around 60 pounds. It covered his chest, one arm, and his knees down, with plates on the thighs as well. A dull rust red color, it was nicked and dented in most places, and was easily recognizable as being battle-worn. A red cape he claimed was dyed with the blood of his enemies was the only cloth piece he wore, excluding the toga-style loincloth. He was equally proficient both with the numerous styles of combat with weapons and just his fists and feet.

For a big hulk of a man, he was lightning fast, and was generally regarded as one of the best warriors alive. At least, in his day he was. Poor Ba’ell was getting old. Now around 50, criss-crossed scars weren’t the only thing marring his stony face. He tried not to let the onset of age and wrinkles bother him though, as he kept fitter than most 20-year olds and kept busy teaching the younger of the clansmembers.

“Ba’ell! Ba’ell!” Casca repeatedly called, trying to get the behemoth’s attention from where it was concentrated…breakfast.

After a few calls, the man looked up, and a large smile broke through the rocky countenance of his face. A smile looked odd on him Casca thought as she ran over and gave him a few punches to an enormous bicep roughly the size of her head.

“When can I start the rites of initiation Ba’ell?” she eagerly asked, more excited than she could ever remember being before.

A deep voice like the rumbling of an earthquake said, “Whoa, slow down Casca. You need to meditate and fast first, remember?”

“Oh yeh…” Casca said sadly. She was starving, even after her ritual feast the night before. Tradition required a huge meal be eaten the night before, then nothing for the entire day. She padded over on her feline tiptoes to a shady spot beneath a large rock outcropping, then sat down and began to meditate.

The ritualistic meditation was supposed to allow her time to 'purify' her mind and let her purge any un-focused thoughts, but she thought it was more of a time to dwell upon and dread the coming rituals.

After two hours of meditating, she was summoned to a ring made of all of the clansmembers and told to stand in the middle.

She shook badly, her excitement gone. From here on out, it only got harder. Not only that, but she couldn’t fail.

Failure meant death.

Chapter 1-Part 3

“Casca, step forward,” Ba’ell’s booming voice called, standing in the center of the ring. Casca slowly and more than a bit nervously walked forward into the middle of the ring. “I hope I can remember everything…’ she thought to herself, standing directly in front of the goliath. Her lithe, wiry, and small frame was dwarfed by the huge man in front of her.

“I am life. What are you?” Ba’ell called more than asked in his rumbling bass.

“I am death.” Casca replied, the ritual reciting only getting more difficult from here.

“I am cowardice. What are you?” Ba’ell called to her, and just as much to the rest of the clansmembers.

“I am courage.” Casca once more replied, definitely wishing she had a bit more of that right then.

“I am fearful. What are you?” Ba’ell asked.

“I am the one who is feared.” Casca stated, beginning to get a bit more confident.

“I am a fighter. What are you?” Ba’ell continued.

“I am a warrior.”

_____________________

The ritual was extremely long, the entire recitation occupying more than an hour, all from memory. However, after her weeks upon weeks of practice, Casca managed to recite every correct response at the correct time, bringing what normally would be a thunderous applause, but in her case just polite, rather quiet clapping. The loudest clapping by far came from Ba'ell, who was obviously enormously proud, a big smile splitting his hard face from ear to ear.

The next few parts she wasn’t as worried about. She knew from past experience with bullies and just basic life in the clan that she could handle pain.

Pain rituals were part of many initiation into adulthood ceremonies, and the clans were no exception.

Casca was led into the midst of yet another ring of people, mostly comprised of the same ones. Traditionally, the rituals are held in different spots, requiring spectators to move along with them.

She stripped off her leather top, revealing amply sized striped breasts, and laid down upon her stomach on a mat that had been brought for this purpose. A clan member named Havren specifically trained for these occasions stepped forward with a few specialized, rather evil-looking tools.

A short, curved knife, a small, sharp gouge, and a few strangely colored powders were laid down upon another smaller mat next to Havren. Another clan member gave him a small stone bowl filled with water, and he carefully and slowly washed his hands, both cleaning them of any harmful dust or dirt on them and also symbolizing that he had washed his hands of the violence he was going to do, so he would remain blameless.

While Havren was preparing himself, Casca was also preparing herself. She had already taken several deep breaths, and had reached a sort of calming meditative state. She wasn’t in a trance, but she wasn’t panicked either.

Havren picked up the knife in his tough, leathery hands and slowly began cutting into Casca’s back.

A very sharply pulled in deep breath was the only sound Casca made as Havren continued to cut, as moaning, crying, whimpering, or virtually any other sign that the initiate was in pain was dishonorable.

She tried not to dwell on the agonizing pain on her back, but it was rather difficult.

After what seemed like an absolute eternity, Havren withdrew the knife from her back, and slowly washed the blade in the bowl. He then picked up the gouge and began applying a small groove into the pattern he had just cut on her back. This would make a very noticeable scar, instead of a thin, pale line that the knife alone would make.

Casca was having an extremely difficult time keeping quiet during the gouging. The pain was excruciating, far worse than anything she had ever felt before. And he worked so slowly! She couldn’t even think it hurt so badly. Having an extraordinary amount of self-control for her years of meditating and practicing allowed her to remain motionless, taking very deep, slow, calm breaths as blood ran in small rivulets down her back.

A cool splash of water was a relief, but she knew that was just because he couldn’t risk having blood obstruct his gouging.

After another agonizing eternity, it was over. A second later, her entire back seemed on fire. This had caught her by surprise, and she very narrowly avoided crying out. She figured out what he was doing though.

Havren was applying the colored powder to the substantially bleeding wounds in her back. The powder was not only a coagulant, but it was a dye as well, making the scar even more noticeable.

This pain faded quickly however, and was replaced by an almost pleasant cooling sensation caused by her blood drying on her back from the scorching heat of the sun. She knew she wasn’t finished yet however. Another of the patterns, much smaller however, needed to be done on her shoulder and also the back of her hand.

These didn’t take quite as long, but hurt nearly as badly.

Finally, she was done. Breathing quite heavily by now, she was instructed to go meditate for two hours to reflect on the pleasant alertness substantial pain brought.

She stood up, and walked to the shady rock without faltering, though she was menatlly and physically exhausted.

Unfortunately, the day wasn’t over yet.


Chapter 1-Part 4

After another period of ‘relaxing’ meditation, Casca was once again summoned to another ring of clansmembers. As she walked across the hot sand on her bare feet, the relentless sun beat down with a hellish intensity. It was around 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and the sun was at its peak of fiery heat, causing ripples in the dry air and falsely refreshing pools of mirage water on the bone-dry desert floor.

Casca padded over to the middle of the sandy ring, the coagulated blood over her wounds breaking open with movement. The blood was rather cooling, as it dried almost immediately upon hitting the dry desert air.

A teen stood in the middle of the ring, a young man around her same age, a little younger. He would be taking the rites of initiation in a few months. He was dressed in white cloth that left his muscular arms bare to the sun. His sandy blond hair looked oddly pale compared to his sun-darkened skin, but nothing compared to Casca’s snow-white locks.

“Casca!” Ba’ell’s loud voice hushed the quiet murmuring of the ring. “Your next trial is the rite of combat. You will face three challengers. If you defeat the first, you will pass on to the second. If you fail the first match, you will be exiled, to wander in the desert without supplies or water until you either die, or are picked up by travelers. Either way, if you ever return, you will be killed.” Ba’ell stated ominously, slowing towards the end of his ritualistic speech for dramatic effect.

“I am not afraid of death, nor pain, nor the anger of my enemies.” Casca replied, trying not to pay attention to the fiery pain in her back.

“Good. If you pass the second, you will move on to the third, and if you defeat the third, you will be honored amongst our greatest heroes. Very few beat all three, Casca. All that is necessary to pass is defeat of the first match.” Ba’ell cautioned, a bit worried that Casca might overwork herself.

“I know.”

“You may each choose a weapon.” Ba’ell said, gesturing to a rack containing many different assorted knives, maces, morningstars, and other weapons of battle.

“I choose myself as my weapon.” Casca stated. “As do I.” The young man also said.

“Then let the battle begin!” Ba’ell’s thundering voice echoed off of the steep rocks and sandy ground. Casca quickly stripped off the few clothes she had on.

The young man, Ayven, immediately stripped off his white robes, and took the Form of the Crane, his arms in the air and one of his legs held off of the ground, while Casca stood stock still, tail slightly swishing, unsure of which form or style she should choose.

Cold and emotionless, adrenaline flooding each fighter’s bodies, they began to move closer.


Chapter 1-Part 5

Slowly turning in circles, dust from the dry ground making small clouds around their feet, they judged each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Each fighter watched for an opening in the other’s stance. Ayven kept one arm raised, while the other was kept slightly bent near his waist. This made it nearly impossible to find a spot that wasn’t guarded, aside from behind him, which wasn’t possible. Ayven continued circling, watching Casca’s left arm, as he was sure that was where the first strike would come from.

‘First strike is always a feint,’ each of the combatants thought while the fiery mid-afternoon sun beat down on their heads. Casca had her keen feline vision trained on Ayven’s forehead. She had an idea for an opening.

A sweat droplet slowly began to run down Ayven’s forehead, leaving a little shiny trail behind it. It dripped down into his eye, and he twitched, blinking furiously.

Casca used her powerful legs to push off of an embedded rock, flying towards Ayven with an arm outstretched, hoping to catch him at the waist and take him down, pinning him for the submission victory.

Ayven saw a tanned blur flying at him and wisely sidestepped, turning a hit that probably would have caused him to lose into merely a small bruise. He spun, getting himself ready to counter another attack, but a fist caught him right below the solar plexus, knocking the wind completely out of him.

“Uff…” Ayven wheezed as the air was forced out. He opened and closed his mouth several times, looking exactly like a beached fish, gasping in the air. She didn’t take time to watch him wheeze. She promptly jumped in the air, and did a flying roundhouse directly into his temple.

He crumpled to the rocky ground, unblinking, unconscious eyes seeing nothing.

She dropped too the ground fairly hard from the pain in her back. The partially scabbed over wounds had torn open again, and blood flowed down her back quite freely.

“I claim victory!” Casca shouted to the crowd, rather surprised that her voice held. They crowd mostly sat still, for the most part silent. The entire fight had lasted less than 20 seconds, not counting the time they spent circling.

“Knockout victory goes to Casca!” Ba’ell yelled, his booming voice echoing through the quiet crowds. A smattering of obligatory applause followed, but only sustained for a bit.

“Round two! You must fight one of the Accepted!”

Casca took a deep breath to steady herself, and to force the pain from her mind. This next fight would be nearly as easy as the first, she was sure of that.

Chapter 1 - Part 6

Unlike the first few rituals, there was no two hours of meditation between fights for the combat rite. The fights were back, to back, to back. As Casca gained her breath and cleansed her mind of anything but readiness for the fight ahead, a rugged woman stepped forward, already having removed her clothing. The woman was quite a few years older than Casca, and if not beautiful, could be described as fiercely handsome. Her graceful gait bespoke years of experience defending herself, and told of hours of practice holding poses to perfect balance. Her calm grey eyes focused on Casca, looking nothing more than empty pools of water. It was very clear she had her emotions under control. She strode calmly, clearly expecting to easily defeat Casca, especially in her weakened, pain-ridden state.

Unfortunately for Casca, the fights in the clans were no-holds-barred. Anything went, short of gouging out someone's eyes. Head shots, shots 'below the belt' and virtually anything else were acceptable, due to the simple fact that an enemy wouldn't care about fighting fair when life or death was on the line.

"Second match will be versus Accepted Naomi!" Ba'ell called. "You may choose your weapons now." he finished. Crossing to a rack of weapons, Naomi clearly felt the victory was hers, as choosing weapons first meant that the opponent could pick a weapon suitable for countering, or at least one that easily defended against the one she picked. Pulling a pair of short, slightly curved single-edged swords from the rack, she brandished them with a air of clear familiarity. She had picked her best weapon, it was obvious to tell.

Casca chose likewise, pulling a matching pair of blades from the metallic rack. She always enjoyed comparing herself to the rack of weapons. Not only did she feel that its soft cloth covering cold, hard steel matched her countenance, but that it mirrored her adaptability. She could handle any weapon with little to no problem...at least she'd always been able too.

"Combatants, are you ready?" A booming bass echoed.

"Aye, I'm ready." Naomi stated simply.

"As am I." Casca replied.

"BEGIN!"

Chapter 1 - Part 7

Eager to gain the element of surprise, Casca suddenly crouched and sprung, well-built wiry legs uncoiling quickly to propel her tanned, lithe body through the air at an incredible speed.

Naomi's eyes widened slightly at the speed of Casca's reaction. She had been counting on something similar to the last fight, which she had been fortuitous enough to see. It was always an enormous advantage to be able to watch an opponent fight another, as strengths and weaknesses became very apparent. However, unlike the first fight in which the combatants circled for five minutes or so, this one was going to be a quick win or a quick loss, Naomi could tell.

Sidestepping quickly, Naomi swung her right arm up in an attempt to skewer Casca. Naomi fervently hoped Casca wouldn't be skilled enough to know how to alter inertia and momentum while in the air; otherwise, the blow might not turn out too well.

It was clear to Casca as she hurtled towards the slightly older woman that she had caught her off guard, seeing her eyes widen slightly.

As Casca saw Naomi's arm swing up she dropped her blades, extended her claws and dug them into the ground, forcing the momentum of her legs to rotate her entire body around. Using her powerful arms to push off the dusty ground for added momentum, Casca propelled her right leg directly into Naomi's gut, not only knocking all the wind from her but knocking her completely off of her feet and into a sprawl on the ground.

Casca, making a rather undignified landing (falling?) from her flight, she rolled twice, and jumped back up onto her feet, having suffered a few scrapes and scratches from her landing on the rocky ground. Seeing Naomi still on the ground clutching her chest and feebly gasping for air, she darted over to her weapons, grasped them and sprinted to where Naomi lay.

Upon reaching Naomi, Casca thrusted straight down, hoping to impale Naomi on her sword not unlike a bug in an insect collection. Naomi rolled, dodging the blade, and swung upwards, hoping for a disemboweling strike to the gut.

Deflecting the Accepted's blade with her own, Casca jumped backwards, narrowly avoiding another strike from below as Naomi, recovered, lept to her feet. A bruise was already beginning to form an ugly purple beneath her bared breasts from Casca's flying kick.

Both warriors paused slightly to regain each's breath from the exertion, toned sweat-slicked chests heaving as each panted for breath. Casca slightly grinned, clearly enjoying herself. Naomi returned it to a lesser extent, but fighting like this was what she lived for. She was just galled that an un-Accepted had landed the first strike.

From a very at ease, relaxed poosition Casca suddenly lunged, twin blades whistling loudly as they cleanly sliced through the air. Both fighters' blades were honed to a razor-sharpness, and deaths among the ritual fights, while uncommon, were not unheard of.

Naomi performed the Form of the Rock, a defensive position, deflecting both blades with her own formed into an X. Casca abruptly brought her left foot up, inch long claws, also razor sharp, cutting through the tanned skin on Naomi's stomach. Eyes widening and gasping sharply from the sudden, sharp pain, Naomi fell backwards onto the ground, bright red blood vividly streaming from four six-inch long gashes across her stomach, stopping just below her breasts.

Casca lept, spun, and brought her swords down directly towards Naomi's neck, but stopping just a hair away from the decapitation.

Panting hard from the exertion of the match, Casca managed to force out, "Submit, or you *pant* die."

Naomi just nodded, in too much pain to talk at the moment.

A sudden booming bass echoed throughout the rocky ring. "Winner by submission is Casca!" Ba'ell cried, holding Casca's name for dramatic effect. A scattered applause quickly dissipated, the crowd clearly hoping that Casca would have lost.

"The next match will be..."

Chapter 1 - Part 8

"Me."

A rapid hush swept through the ring of spectators, followed by laughter on nearly every side. Casca fight Ba'ell? She'd get demolished, and everyone knew it.

Casca's mind spun. 'There's no way I can defeat Ba'ell! He's...HUGE!' she frantically thought to herself, imagining several rather gruesome pictures in her head, all starring Ba'ell and some gory demise for herself. 'Especially in this state...I'm gonna pass out just standing here....' she continued on mentally.

"You have no choice," Ba'ell said, seeing panic evident on Casca's striped face. "The elders chose me to be your final combatant at the meeting yesterday night." he finished.

"But...but..." Casca sputtered, then found her voice. "You'll destroy me! You have so much more experience than me..."

Ba'ell paused for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry Casca, but I won't be able to go easy on you either. Tradition rules that fights must be all-out, and likewise I hope you won't pull your punches on an old guy like me."

Casca snorted, "Yeh, like you'll need to be worried about that. Whatever, let's do this..." she said, resigned to the fact that she was going to be smashed.

Ba'ell silently motioned towards the weapon rack with his enormous hand to let her choose weapons, but she didn't move. "I choose my body as my weapon." she said bravely, hoping he would be nice enough to do the same.

"I will choose the same." he said, and she breathed a mental sigh of relief. That'd certainly make the fight a bit more fair.

Turning to one of the crowd members, Ba'ell asked, "Jase, will you do the honors please, since I'm a combatant." Jase, one of the younger members of the elders, nodded and moved to the center of the ring to announce the fight.

"All right, this will be a no-holds-barred, all-out, no weapons permitted contest!" Jase called in a very deep voice that belied his somewhat youthful appearance. "Winners either knock out the opponent, kill the opponent, or force them to submit. No other grounds for victory will be accepted!" he finished, walking slowly out of the ring of people to the judging stand, a tall rust-red rock that the clans had commandeered for the rituals.

Climbing to the top, he turned to the ring and called loudly, "BEGIN!"