Slaves Fight When Told (Shakaar)

[Mastermind]

17 Winter, 510 A.V. - Evening Tall Johnny's The crowd was deafening. It was louder than the Pits ever got, by far. Shakaar was underneath them, below the seating of Tall Johnny's arena, waiting for his fight. The crowd was stomping and jumping, which constantly knocked dust down from the "ceiling." Early that day, the Pit Bull had approached Shakaar. "You have a fight. But not here. Our mistress wishes you to fight in Tall Johnny's cage fight tonight. So you will. They're not to the death, but if you lose, you'll petching wish they were." Without another word, the man left Shakaar to his own machinations. Apparently, the fight was very important, because as the sun began too set, the Pit Bull had returned, with Karis at his side. They had supervised as others clapped shackles onto Shakaar, and lead him into a cart. The ride had been slow and bumpy, but fairly short. Shakaar had been pulled out of the cart and shoved down a stairwell at the back of a well kept brick building. They had lead him into the room he now found himself in, and removed his shackles. This time, it was Karis who issued the threat. He had leaned up close to Shakaar, and growled into his ear. "My mistress wants you to win. Make it so, or I'll rip your throat out with my teeth." Then Shakaar had found himself alone. The crowd burst into even louder cheering, their feet pounding incessantly. After a few moments it died down to just a shadow of what it had been, though it was still quite loud. But it was quiet enough for Shakaar to hear a voice speaking over the crowd. "You all know what's next! SLAVE FIGHT!" The crowd cheered for several moments before dying off again. The voice continued, "That's right, folks. Get excited! We have a great match up for you tonight. Hailing from the jungles of Falyndar, standing at six foot two, and weighing in at around two hundred fifty pounds...you know him...you LOVE him...you want his BABIES! Out of the west door, I give you SIKA THE SAVAAAAAAGE!" The crowd burst into cheers! And began to chant "Sika! Sika! Sika!" It was a full minute before the chanting died down enough for the announcer to continue. "And the challenger! Hailing from land of blue men, standign at seven foot six, and weighing in at three hundred pounds! Tonight is his debut here, tonight. Out of the east door, and straight from the Pits, I give you the Cobalt Conqueror!!" The door in front of Shakaaar raised up into the wall, and light spilled in. It was time to fight.

[Shakaar]

Shakaar The appearance of the Bull was never a good thing in the mind of Shakaar, and earlier that day had been no exception. He had told Shakaar that Dastana had ordered him to fight. That fact alone made him uneasy, Dastana had never seemed to have an interest in him before this day. The Bull had made it clear that this was to fight that he was to win. When the sun was failing Shakaar heard the distinct clanking out metal shackles being moved. "This is petching lunacy" muttered Ahajii uneasily. Shakaar did not answer his brother, but stood uneasily waiting for his masters. What met his eyes was even more shocking then what he'd imagined. The Bull had brought Karis with him. Dastana's right hand. Shakaar made up his mind right then that this was no ordinary fight. This feeling was only heightened when Karis pulled his head down and growled into his ear. He threatened to kill Shakaar if he did not win. "Yes Karis. I will not fail my masters" was Shakaar's short reply. Even from his position Shakaar could barely hear himself think over the deafening roar of the crowd. He took a deep breath, drawing in the excitement of the crowd. Preparing himself for this fight. While the ending of this fight might not be in death, he very well might die if he lost. But this was a feeling he had grown to love through years of pit fighting. He would put his very soul into the battle, and would use every ounce of power given him. His concentration was broken as a voice rang out above the crowd. It was introducing his opponent. Obviously a favorite of the crowd. Then he heard himself being introduced. "The Cobalt Conquerer?" Ahajii laughed mockingly! "What kind of name is that?" "Frankly I don't give a damm, they can call me all they petching want as long as I get to kill them later" As his last remark finished, a large door came up in front of him. The light of the ring flooded into the room, leaving him in a shower of golden light. He walked into the ring raising his arms and letting out a roar of defiance.

[Mastermind]

When the crowd saw Shakaar enter, they burst into cheers! They weren't as loud as when they were chanting for his opponent, but it was still deafening. Chants of Conq-uer-er, Conq-uer-er, Conq-uer-er, mingled with the louder and more frequent chanting of Si-ka, and Sa-vage. As Shakaar's eyes adjusted to the increased light within the arena, his opponent, standing at the far end of the dirt recess. Sika the Savage was an extremely well built Myrian, with a look on his face that seemed some sort of mix of disdain, anger, and hatred. Whether it was Shakaar he hated could not be discerned. He wore only tattered cloth shorts, cinched at the waist by a thick rope. Shakaar's opponent stared at him intently for a few moments. And then it was on. The Myrian fighter rushed forward towards Shakaar, springing into the air several feet in front of the Akalak, his foot coming up in a flying side kick aimed for Shakaar's throat. A terrible warcry erupt from his mouth, splitting the air and overpowering the crowd for the briefest of moments.

[Shakaar]

Shakaar "No wonder he's the petching favorite of the crowd, damm jackrabbit. Move quickly to the side and then strike him as he falls" Ahajii often coached his brother on technique in a fight. It helped Shakaar to keep his mind clear and ready for battle. It was a technique that had brought him this far and would hopefully take them through the night. Without a second thought at Ahajii's suggestion, Shakaar obeyed. His brother was seldom wrong, and this time he could see the logic behind the words. When a man is in the air he on a set trajectory. He cannot change his path in mid air, and is helpless to your blows if you would only get out of his way. While this was rushing through his mind Shakaar first ducked his head, then took a quick step and a half to the right. He turned with his arms high above his head. Directly in front of him was the foot of the Myrian. He was flying through the air with a kick that would've brought hell if it had landed. The breeze from his body was beginning to blow past Shakaars face. He brought both his fists down with every ounce of strength he could muster while still keeping his timing. He was aiming for his opponents chest in an attempt to fracture the sternum. As he struck he brought his weight down upon the forward leg to give more power. This movement also set up a second and far more powerful blow, a knee strike to a falling man. If the first blow hit correctly the knee would finish all that was left of his opponent. But either blow would leave quite the mark.

[Mastermind]

Shakaar's opponent seemed to be aware of the weakness of his first attack when his free leg shot out in a kick quick as well, aimed for Shakaar's chest. The blow landed solidly, but it was made in haste, and the Myrians had been unable to put any momentum or core strength into it. It stung the Akalak, but only barely. What it did successfully do was push the Myrian futher from his opponent. This caused Shakaar's double hammerfist to glance off the Myrian's arms, and land squarely on the thigh of the man's outstretched leg. The Savage grunted in pain, and spun in a slow arc towards the floor. Shakaar's knee attack was perfectly aimed now, heading for Sika's face. But one didn't become a crowd favorite simply by being flashy, they had to be good at fighting, and able to take several heavy blows. Sika's arms were up in a flash to slow the blow as much as he could. As it was, the Akalak's knee still smashed into his nose, and blood sprayed upward. The crowd cheered. If the pain bothered the Myrian, he didn't show it. He used the momentum of the knee and rolled backwards, springing to his feet several yards away from Shakaar. Blood flowed freely from the man's nose, and he sneered and licked it from around his mouth. He approached in a quick, controlled manner, clearly not wanting to repeat his last mistake. Then in a flash, he quick stepped into range and sent a kick flashing toward's Shakaar's lower ribs.

[Shakaar]

Shakaar As he turned Shakaar didn't even see the kick that hit him in the chest. But it was only a light strike, there was no power in it for even Sika could not build a different vector while flying through the air. When it came time for his fist to strike the Myrian had turned so that his chest was out of range. Instead Shakaar buried his fists into the meaty portion of his thigh. He felt them meet flesh and hover a second before rebounding. As he hit the leg the Myrian did several turns and then hit the ground, right on top of him was Shakaar's knee, aimed directly at the mans face. With a roar he came down, he wanted to crush that face into the floor. He didn't want it to be recognizable after this day. But he had underestimated his opponent. As Shakaar came down, Sika's hands came up. Deflecting a good portion of this blow Sika managed to save himself, and leave room for the fight to continue. However nobody can move the entire force of a falling knee. Shakaar's attack crushed his nose, leaving a trail of blood dripping from his kneecap. His enemy was very fast. Even as blood dripped from his face, he rolled across the floor and jumped to his feet. Shakaar nodded to his opponent in a grudging acknowledgment of respect. A lesser fighter would have given up by now, or would have already been crushed by the Akalak's knee. This was beginning to be fun for Shakaar, he rarely fought a strong opponent. Shakaar barely even saw the kick come. His opponent was blindingly fast. He saw a flash of movement and then felt the blow smash into his side. But he was trained to ignore such blows and reacted swiftly. As the foot retracted he attempted to snatch the ankle. As he did so he turned, bringing himself to the outside of the Myrians leg. Then he brought his elbow straight down upon Sika's knee in an attempt to crush his opponents kicking ability. All of this was done quickly and mechanically. Just as he had been taught. Even if the Myrian was skilled enough to avoid his knee being shattered, his upper thigh would be hammered with an elbow from an angry blue giant.

[Mastermind]

The kick that Shakaar let through was no weak kick, and though he was able to fight through the pain, it was obvious that it would leave a mark, and might have bruised a rib, or even cause a small fracture. Still, the Akalak's plan began to work. Sika's leg was caught in the big blue man's meaty grip, and after one strong jerk, the Myrian gave up trying to out muscle the giant. Instead he pushed off the ground with his free leg, and brought it up and around in a sweeping round kick to Shakaar's head. It connected, and hard. Hard enough to make light swarm his eyes. But it didn't drop him, and that was enough. Shakaar's elbow came down hard on the knee, and his opponent screamed in pain. He fell, his knee wrenching even more as his leg twisted. His body hit the ground and he screamed even more. He screamed, "Yield," through tears of pain. The fight was over. Shakaar had won. The crowd was deafening.

[Shakaar]

Shakaar His head was swimming, and his side felt like it had just been hit with an iron bar. Sika was no slouch when it came to power kicking. But even through the pain Shakaar had pushed through and had succeeded in crushing his opponent. A feeling of power ripped through his entire body, bringing his mind back into clarity. His feelings rushed out in one deafeaning roar. His hands coming up to accept the crowds pleasure. This was what he was meant to do. But he soon thought of his opponent. He respected the Myrian with his every fiber, the man had given Shakaar more of a fight then he had experienced in a long time. He turned to Sika, bent to his knees and offered him a hand. "Come brother, stand and show them you can be defeated, but never broken."