Read Online Markram Battles: Omens of Doom (Part II) by M.C. Muhlenkamp - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: M.C. Muhlenkamp
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beads of sweat roll down my neck.
I can’t help my teeth from clattering together at the heating sensation. The pain sears through every layer of tissue at my wrist, reaching an almost unbearable climax and then it starts to recede, numbing away with the healing touch from the physician. My breath catches as soon as any sensation of pain leaves my mind. I open my eyes then, freezing in place at the sight of the black armor enclosing my body. The physician is gone and the assessor is simply watching the wall as it flexes back into its original place. I turn my arm around, but my wrist hides beneath the dark suit. The physical assessor must have wrapped each section of my armor around me while the physician was healing the gash on my wrist. I press my fingers against the new addition to my suit. A white symbol drawn on my left arm. It looks like a letter ‘E’ lying down on its back with a dot on top.
“Thirteen.” Seven’s voice brings me back, turning my eyes in his direction.
His hand is wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword and though his eyes remain glossed over, I can almost feel his will breaking. I turn around and head back to the eating lounge, where the rest of the team has already assembled, all dressed in black, all ready for battle. The tables have been propped back up against the walls, leaving the room looking like a glossy and pristinely white shoebox. I take my position in the perfectly straight formation and wait.
Seven makes his way to us, pensive and at a very slow pace. He stops to face us, but doesn’t look up. “Our battle today will be regulated by dictum. You all know the rules that govern most battles and even though battles by dictum are also subject to standard rules, more or less, they have rules of their own.” His eyes find their way to me and for a split second I think I see regret in them, but before I can be completely certain, he looks away, hardening his façade into the commanding leader he is.
“Standard rules remain in full force.” I ignore his unemotional tone as he lists the rules we have become so accustomed to fight by. “You shall not engage in combat with either unit leader in the arena. You shall not engage in combat with any member of your unit. You shall obey every direct order I give you without hesitation or questioning. You shall not engage the crowd until you prove yourself victorious at the end of the battle. In addition, rules by dictum are as follows. Entrance to the arena will not be subject to formation protocol. This means we are going in blind, entering the arena at random, without knowledge of what will be waiting for us on the other side. Every one of you will battle against the member of the opposing unit with your same identification number, as shown by the symbols on your left arms. You are allowed to engage in combat with other rivals only after defeating your matched opponent and only after the designated fighter matched to that rival has fallen. You are not allowed to work together in any extension. All confrontations will take place one-on-one.”
My forehead crinkles in frustration. “They can’t be serious.” Seven’s eyes snap to me, hard and unmoved. “They can’t be. We have always trained and fought as a team, how are we going to survive if we fight separately?”
He exhales, frustrated, either because of my interruption or something else, I can’t tell. “The rules are as they are. Any disregard thereof will result in your immediate disposal.” I open my mouth to respond, only to see him knit his eyebrows together, warning me. Something in his expression looks different, pleading with me to comply. I want to yell at him, demand for the leader who cares about us, not the one who punishes us and actually seems to enjoy the process. I can’t bring myself to do more than just stare at him.
He makes his way past us and we rotate our bodies to follow him. Several officials watch us march
I can’t help my teeth from clattering together at the heating sensation. The pain sears through every layer of tissue at my wrist, reaching an almost unbearable climax and then it starts to recede, numbing away with the healing touch from the physician. My breath catches as soon as any sensation of pain leaves my mind. I open my eyes then, freezing in place at the sight of the black armor enclosing my body. The physician is gone and the assessor is simply watching the wall as it flexes back into its original place. I turn my arm around, but my wrist hides beneath the dark suit. The physical assessor must have wrapped each section of my armor around me while the physician was healing the gash on my wrist. I press my fingers against the new addition to my suit. A white symbol drawn on my left arm. It looks like a letter ‘E’ lying down on its back with a dot on top.
“Thirteen.” Seven’s voice brings me back, turning my eyes in his direction.
His hand is wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword and though his eyes remain glossed over, I can almost feel his will breaking. I turn around and head back to the eating lounge, where the rest of the team has already assembled, all dressed in black, all ready for battle. The tables have been propped back up against the walls, leaving the room looking like a glossy and pristinely white shoebox. I take my position in the perfectly straight formation and wait.
Seven makes his way to us, pensive and at a very slow pace. He stops to face us, but doesn’t look up. “Our battle today will be regulated by dictum. You all know the rules that govern most battles and even though battles by dictum are also subject to standard rules, more or less, they have rules of their own.” His eyes find their way to me and for a split second I think I see regret in them, but before I can be completely certain, he looks away, hardening his façade into the commanding leader he is.
“Standard rules remain in full force.” I ignore his unemotional tone as he lists the rules we have become so accustomed to fight by. “You shall not engage in combat with either unit leader in the arena. You shall not engage in combat with any member of your unit. You shall obey every direct order I give you without hesitation or questioning. You shall not engage the crowd until you prove yourself victorious at the end of the battle. In addition, rules by dictum are as follows. Entrance to the arena will not be subject to formation protocol. This means we are going in blind, entering the arena at random, without knowledge of what will be waiting for us on the other side. Every one of you will battle against the member of the opposing unit with your same identification number, as shown by the symbols on your left arms. You are allowed to engage in combat with other rivals only after defeating your matched opponent and only after the designated fighter matched to that rival has fallen. You are not allowed to work together in any extension. All confrontations will take place one-on-one.”
My forehead crinkles in frustration. “They can’t be serious.” Seven’s eyes snap to me, hard and unmoved. “They can’t be. We have always trained and fought as a team, how are we going to survive if we fight separately?”
He exhales, frustrated, either because of my interruption or something else, I can’t tell. “The rules are as they are. Any disregard thereof will result in your immediate disposal.” I open my mouth to respond, only to see him knit his eyebrows together, warning me. Something in his expression looks different, pleading with me to comply. I want to yell at him, demand for the leader who cares about us, not the one who punishes us and actually seems to enjoy the process. I can’t bring myself to do more than just stare at him.
He makes his way past us and we rotate our bodies to follow him. Several officials watch us march
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