Eagle Eyes & Other Short Stories

Welcome To The Showdown

Txomin entered the ring of swords and paused to look around at the spectators. A feeling of helplessness washed over him as he realized what was about to happen. This was the end. It was his end.

He wanted to turn and run. Like he had done the last time. But there had been nowhere to run to. And after catching him, they beat him within an inch of his life for the second time.

That had been almost two months ago. He had healed enough to be brought back into the ring of death.

The once valiant warrior had survived many battles. But after his valley and been attacked and overcome by the Vrazers.

He had fought bravely by the side of his fellow comrades, but it had been futile. One by one, Txomin watched them fall around him.

Not a single Vrazar had been killed in the battle. In fact, Txomin had later tried to wrack his brain to remember if he had seen any of them sustain a single wound. But he couldn't remember seeing them be hurt in the battle.

Txomin looked around at the masked faces watching him in total silence. The only sound was that of the wind picking up and whipping his hair around his ears and the rustle of leaves around his knees.

The last time they had brought him here, he had been one of the last gladiators to enter the ring. The grass and flowers had been crushed under the struggle and fight for the survival of those who had fought and died before him.

As soon as they had released his chains and placed a sword in his hands, Txomin had sprinted for the woods. But they were faster. Faster than any mortal being had a right to be.

He tried to remember seeing them run. How had they surrounded him so quickly? He didn't even remember them moving. They had encircled the ring of swords, and then they were encircling him.

The only thing that kept him from running again was the memory of the cruel beating he had endured after. Having died in the ring would have been a more pleasant experience than what they had put him through.

The Vrazsars were silent, cruel, and meticulous throughout his beating. He didn't remember how long he had suffered under their punishment. It felt like forever.

Txomin felt like they had an uncanny ability to sense just how much he could take before passing out. They kept him conscious throughout most of it. But the relief of finally losing consciousness was the sweetest thing that had ever happened to him.

The Vrazsar in charge of the battles stepped forward and raised his arms toward the sky as if waiting for the others to cheer. But they remained silent. They raised their hands in unison with the being at Txomin's side.

They stood there with their arms raised to the sky for a good thirty seconds. Txomin thought about making a run for the woods again. But he knew he wouldn't make it. They would simply catch him again, and punish him like the last time.

Had that been why they had brought him out first this time?

He ignored the dreadful Vrazsars holding their hands to the sky as if in worship to some unseen being to whom they sacrificed these poor gladiators.

Instead, he focused on the beauty of his surroundings. The petals on the flowers before him that would soon be crushed under the feet of bloody warriors struggling to survive.

It seemed almost surreal to see the flowers having regrown and bloomed again so beautifully after the death and carnage they had witnessed only a few short weeks ago.

Yet, here they were. In full bloom again, as if nothing had ever happened to them or their kind.

Txomin wondered if humans could be like that. Would they ever overcome the Vrazars and flourish again? It hadn't been that long ago that they even knew of the Vrazsars existence.