Raptor and Rapture Ch. 02: Demon Princess

A sling?! The mercenary thought with surprise as he scurried to his feet and began to run towards the nearest barricade. It was the world's oldest and most primitive weapon, but the skill and accuracy of its current wielder made it more fearful to the seasoned mercenary than any bow. Stones that were slung couldn't always be seen, and unlike arrows, they didn't always travel along a set trajectory. The stones themselves could be made to shatter deliberately, and they could skip and bounce off the ground like no arrow ever could.

The point was proven as Tarquin reached the barricade. Another stone whirred past his head and broke into a thousand pieces against the side of the wooden structure, and Tarquin grunted as he covered his eyes and ducked beneath the temporary shelter.

"Damn!" He muttered under his breath as his mind raced. He'd be flanked for sure if he remained where he was, but he wasn't sure his luck would hold out against such a skilled slinger if he went back out into the open.

"Run!" Nearly half the audience was shouting at him as he crouched behind the barrier. It seemed that he'd won at least a few of them over, but of course, he knew it wasn't because they particularly liked him.

Tarquin looked at the next barrier, which was about fifteen paces away. He could see the pile of rubble and dead velociraptors on the opposite side, and he wondered if he'd be able to make it. Between the slinger and the two others, he decided that he'd have to try, and he gathered his wits with a deep breath before he sprinted forward.

Almost immediately, he slid on his heel towards the ground, and another stone whirred past his head.

I'm not going to make it, Tarquin thought intensely as he turned up out of the slide and flung himself into a sprint once more. It would be suicide to run straight for the slinger, but if he couldn't get the ranged fighter out of the match, he'd have no chance of surviving.

So the mercenary did just that. In a move that looked completely stupid and suicidal to the crowd, he turned on his feet and ran directly toward the slinger.

The exotic mercenary was obviously not expecting the unlikely turn of events as he span the sling over his head and loosed. The shot was wide, as Tarquin knew it would be, then he wondered how he could possibly know.

His wrists! The mercenary realized as continued to sprint forward. While it was true that the stones moved so fast that scarcely anyone could see them in flight, nothing could be done about the position of the slinger's wrists and forearms when he loosed. Tarquin realized that he should have run toward the slinger all along, and putting himself in a position where he couldn't see the opponent would only make him target practice.

As he suspected, the slinger fired at him once more, and Tarquin veered to right and leaned out of the way. The stone displaced the air beside him with a low swoosh, but missed him entirely as he closed the distance.

The slinger seemed to realize that Tarquin had found a strategy however, and he took an extra moment to load his sling before he swung it over his head.

"Shit!" Tarquin shouted as he dove to the side and tumbled several times. As he'd thought, two stones skipped across the ground, dragging a trail of dust along with them as they passed by him closely. He was so close to the slinger now that he knew the man wouldn't be able to get off more than another single shot, so he did the only thing he could think to do and charged forward with a growl.

The slinger raised his arm and spun the sling over his head before bringing it down and loosing it. Tarquin shouted as he twisted his body and jumped, and he felt the hard, unforgiving stone pound into his shoulder. The force of the projectile nearly made his arm numb as the chainmail he wore beneath the leather kept it from penetrating, and as he landed, he followed through with his sword and sliced deeply into the slinger's midsection.

Blood flowed from the deep wound as the slinger shouted, "We feel no pain, raptor rider!"

Before Tarquin knew what was happening, he was blocking a flurry of attacks from some weapon that the fighter had pulled out from around his waist. It was a length of rope that had rocks tied into it at every inch, and it made an impressive whip as it lashed around Tarquin's sword and lacerated his face here and there with shallow, painful cuts.

The mercenary growled, "That shit is annoying as hell!" He shouted as he held up his sword and smacked the whip with the side of the blade. Deftly, he twisted the sword and pulled back on it, causing the weapon to wrap around the blade.

The slinger pulled back on his rope whip in an attempt to regain it, and Tarquin reached up to his head and yanked off his helmet before throwing it into his opponent's face. The move was so random and unexpected that it hit the fighter squarely in his jaw, and Tarquin lowered the blade to the vulnerable man and thrust it forward.

The long sword ran completely through the dark skinned man's stomach as he stared at Tarquin and gasped.

"Funny thing about pain: you can still die without it," Tarquin huffed as he stared back.

The slinger looked at him intently before he closed his eyes and went limp. Tarquin regained his sword with a grunt, and sighed heavily as he looked up at the crowd for a moment.

There were so many people, and most of them were cheering for him. A few of them were scowling, no doubt those who had lost money on his previous fight, but he smiled slightly and gave a general wave before he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

He turned deftly and raised his sword as something blurred toward him. Before he knew what was happening, he was blocking blows left and right, and the fierce claw fighter was right in front of him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen anyone move so fast, and it was everything he could do to defend himself as the assailant pummeled him with blindingly fast swipes.

Their face was painted, and he still couldn't tell who or what the thing beneath the furs was, but it hardly mattered as he brought his guard close and stepped back. His usual tactics for dealing with such an opponent usually involved waiting for them to tire themselves out, but as he continued to block, he realized that he would run out of stamina long before the claw user would. The realization didn't do him much good; he could scarcely counterattack, and his weapon was so long and slow in comparison that he knew that any attack he made, whether it connected or not, would probably be his last.

Tarquin had never considered himself an incredible combatant. He'd survived dozens of single combat fights and hundreds of skirmishes, and every time he'd considered himself only lucky. If anything could be given credit for his success, it was his ability to improvise quickly and use the tools he had at hand, and he'd seen much greater (in his opinion) more skilled fighters meet their deaths in the past.

As he blocked, he risked a quick glance around to make sure the halberd user wasn't going to come up behind him and run him through. After he'd confirmed that his only current opponent was the claw user, he sidestepped dramatically and executed his plan. He thrust his sword forward quickly toward the wild fighter. The fighter, seeing the obvious opening, lunged immediately after stepping back to avoid the sword's point, and that was when Tarquin dropped the sword all together and jumped back as far as he could. He misjudged his position, and he nearly landed directly on the corpse of the man he'd killed just moments before. He recovered within half a second however, and his hands fell upon the thing he needed to win: the rope whip. He grabbed it up, sharp rocks and all, and sprang at the claw user with an equal amount of wildness in his eyes.

The heavily furred fighter was still moving toward him, and had no time to redirect as they clashed with the mercenary.

Tarquin lashed the rope whip through his hands as he found two places where he could grab onto it without it cutting his hand. The wicked edges of the steel claw were less than an inch from his throat as he stopped them forcibly with the rope, and another moment later he forced his opponent back and flung the weapon to one side, causing it to wrap around the keen blades in a way that would tangle them.

For a single second, the claw user tried to undo their temporary bindings: It was all he needed. He crooked his arm and drove his elbow into the fighter's painted face.

He could feel the cartilage smashing under his bone, and he followed through with the hit solidly and mercilessly. He had no intention of making the same mistake he'd made with the demon woman; the fighter was not going to face him again after such a blow.

With a small, strangled cry, the claw user went down and stayed down. Once more, the crowd cheered boisterously, and Tarquin glanced around immediately for his last opponent.

Surprisingly, he saw the man standing right in the middle of the arena. It seemed odd that the halberd user wasn't advancing on him, or trying to take advantage of his windedness, but Tarquin took up his sword regardless.

He headed toward the man as he wiped a bit of blood from his face. So far, he hadn't suffered any terrible wounds, but all that could change within a second.

"Just standing there, huh?" Tarquin hollered a bit at the man as he approached the middle of the arena.

"Yes, why not?" The lanky man answered him with a slight smile, "I knew you would come to me sooner or later, especially if you want this fight to end sometime in the near future."

Tarquin considered the man for a long moment. He'd always hated games, even when he was a child, and he realized one of the reasons why as he looked over the man. He had a very pokeresque smile, which made the mercenary think that the man had something up his sleeve. He didn't trust him to fight forward, and his instincts told him that something was off about the whole situation. Currently, the two were standing about five long paces away from each other, and Tarquin would have to take at least that many steps to get within sword's length. His opponent, however, would easily be able to reach him within three paces, if he chose to close the distance with his weapon.

"Is it true, what they're saying: are you really doing this to fuck the princess?" The halberd wielder asked him evenly as he shifted his foot.

The arena was deep, and Tarquin doubted very much that anyone in the crowd would be able to hear their conversation as he took a step closer, "More or less... what's it to you?"

"Nothing at all, just curious. What kind of man would put his life on the life for a fuck?" The halberd user asked, more to himself that to Tarquin as he chuckled.

"Me, apparently," the mercenary chuckled in return as he remembered his deal with Ne'shita. Everything had happened so quickly, and he wondered once more how he had allowed himself to be dragged in to what could only be seen as a completely insane plan. He still didn't know if he was making a wise decision by following the goddess' half explained plan, but in the end, her offer was far more interesting to him than another boring war, and he was going to find himself in a fight no matter where he went.

The halberd user stood there silently for another moment as the crowd began to boo, "They are impatient, aren't they?"

Tarquin's eyes narrowed. He knew that the man was up to something, he just didn't know what, "Yes... they really are."

His opponent pressed his lips together and sighed, are you going to advance on me or what?"

That was it. Tarquin realized that the man wanted him to advance first, for whatever reason. A tickle of irritation rose up within him, and he tried to keep his cool as he replied, "You could advance on me just as easily."

The man smiled widely, "I could, but I'm not going to. If you want to fight me, you're gonna have to engage me first."

The booing of the crowd was magnified as people started shouting down at the two of them. Tarquin's eyebrow twitched as he took a deep breath, he's trying to goad me, he thought to himself with certainty.

On the one hand, the fight would go nowhere if Tarquin didn't make a move, on the other, the halberd user obviously had some reason he wanted him to advance first. It seemed like a losing situation either way, and the longer he thought about it the more irritated he became.

Tarquin looked over the man's stance suddenly and tried to recall everything he could about fighting with a halberd. The man's stance indicated that he was ready to step forward at any moment, which might have meant a lunging attack or some sort of tricky feign. Tarquin wasn't in the mood to think about it too much, and he was more interesting in getting on with things than solving the absurd puzzle.

He does want me to approach him slowly though, Tarquin told himself as he fell into an offensive form. Given that, if he had to advance, he wasn't about to give his opponent everything he wanted.

As he always did, Tarquin snapped into action before anyone could tell what was happening. He stepped hard off of his right foot as he bounded toward the man. He held his sword ready at the middle of his stance, ready for any sort of attack that the man might throw at him.

In the second that passed after he began to move, he saw the halberd user's foot go down in an odd motion.

"Fuck!" Tarquin shouted as he felt the ground move out from beneath him. He hadn't considered the possibility of a plate trap, and of course he would have no knowledge of such a thing in an arena he'd never fought in before.

The sound of grinding stone met his ears as the spot he stood on sprang downward. With a desperate cry, he let go of the sword and pitched his entire body forward, barely making the edge of the pitfall trap as he struggled to grip the stone edges of the maw. With a rush of pure adrenaline, he hauled himself upward, but was met immediately by the the lanky man, who was already thrusting towards his face.

Tarquin was up to his chest when he saw the barbed point of the weapon coming toward him. He had almost no leverage to act against in the position he was in, but just enough of his body was leaning forward for him to be able to rest his chest against the edge. He leaned his head out of the way and reached up with one hand, barely holding his own weight up as he clamped his fingers and his thumb around the flat of the halberd's blade. With as much power as he could muster without losing his grip, he pulled back on the blade and felt it's edge digging into the chain at his shoulder.

For as much of a mistake as Tarquin had made, his opponent had made an even worse one. The man had been so eager to finish Tarquin with one move that he hadn't even considered that he could fall into the trap himself. He'd overreached in order to make what he thought was a killing blow, and he'd lunged on his front foot, leaving himself catastrophically unbalanced. With a single, almost comical cry, the halberd user fell face forward into the pit, and met his end decisively as his entire body was skewered by a series of large, long pikes.

The crowd exploded once more as Tarquin grunted his way out of the trap and rolled onto the dusty arena floor. He groaned slightly as he felt a sharp pain at his shoulder, and he realized that the halberd had cut him on it's way down. He didn't know how intensive the damage was, but he could still use his arm, so he brushed aside the pain and figured that he would address it later.

"The raptor rider wins again!" The arena master exclaimed with an overly dramatic flourish. The crowd's cheering didn't abate in the slightest, but actually grew louder as the announcer continued, "Five against one and still he prevails; will this man stop at nothing to achieve his lofty goal?!"

The crowd laughed and clapped, and Tarquin couldn't help but glance up at the box where his supposed prize stood. He was shocked to find that she was looking right at him, and this time, she didn't avert her gaze when their eyes met.

She wasn't the only one watching him, however. The king glowered at him openly, obviously upset by his unprecedented victory. In retrospect, Tarquin remembered how pleased Gazin had been when his daughter had suggested the arena, but then, the man hadn't seen Tarquin fight, and the fact that he was still standing after two rounds had wiped the majority of Gazin's surety and smugness off of his red face.

"In a short while, some of you may lose a great deal of money, and some may find that they suddenly have a little extra!" The arena master crooned. "Can the rider survive the third and final round of today's match? We'll find out in sixty seconds; get your tickets to the end of the line!"

Tarquin did a quick check of himself and grit his teeth, "Dammit," he sighed as he looked down into the pit.

The dead man was there, of course, looking quite perforated, but what was upsetting to Tarquin was the sword that he'd lost. He was once more weaponless, besides the dagger he had with him, and he took a deep breath and jogged over to the side of the arena he'd been in earlier.

As the excited crowd finished their last round of betting, Tarquin approached the dead demon and flipped her body over. She had nothing he could use that would fit him, but he remembered the chain scythes that he'd dropped during their struggle. He found them immediately and took them up before reacquainting himself with their weight.

He wondered what they could possibly throw at him next. He'd fought against beast and man, and though he'd ironically stayed away from organized arena events in the past, he knew that they alway tried to variate the fights as much as they could.

He braced himself as the crowd settled. He didn't have much time left, and he opted to stay right where he was as the arena master spoke into his amplification device, "I haven't been this excited in a very long time! Prepare yourself... for the great lancers!"

Tarquin winced as he watched the two largest gates roll open. The ground shook beneath his feet as two large creatures entered into the arena. Their skin was dark brown and green and their thick, patchy tufts of fur were thicker than most armor. Their large heads and small, short arms told the mercenary enough about where they'd come from and what they were, but his stomach dropped as he heard both of them roar in unison; a sound that drowned out the screams of the crowd.

Tarquin was to face off against not one, but two giganotosaurus. Their powerful legs were clad in plate armor, as well as most of their long tails, and they each wore a harness, which was strapped around the greater part of their neck and midsections. Atop each of them, an armor plated lancer rode confidently, and their exorbitantly long lances were lowered to the sides of the beast.

"Really?!" Tarquin huffed as he froze for just a moment. Never in his life had anyone gone so far out their way to kill him, and he certainly didn't think he warranted the attention of two great lancers, regardless of which country he was in.

He'd never ridden such a large beast before, but he'd seen the giganotosaurus used as an an anti siege and barricade weapon. Its power and sheer weight alone were devastating, and few outposts set outside any country's border had the means to take a trained one down easily.

Tarquin ran directly toward the closest beast and readied the scythes. He didn't have a plan: he didn't have time to make one, since staying in the same place was a surefire way to get killed immediately. The only thing he could hope to do was to get on top of one of the creatures before both lancer's were within range, but he wouldn't have much time to do it.