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Description

Scarecrow stepped into the arena.

The ground beneath him was hard, packed from countless numbers of Kukuri feet treading over it in years past, and scored with countless scars of recent battles. The pillars were stark white in contract to the earthen, blood splotched ground of the coliseum. He absently wondered how frequently crews had to clean those pristine columns of blood.

The luminescent Kukuri brushed dust from his fur, turning his attention up, past the columns and their greenery to the stands. He’d seen many fighting rings before, both legal and illegal, but this was the largest crowd he’d ever seen gathered for such a gruesome sporting event. If he had the emotional capability, he might have been disgusted but, as it was, he had no room to judge; he’d been up in the stands all day to observe his target. Very rarely did his targets avail themselves to him so readily. Usually, targets were more aware that there was a price on their head and they took greater pains to protect themselves.

Speaking of his target, the other Kukuri was just stepping through the door on the other side of the arena.

Troodon was a massive opponent and, as Scarecrow had seen earlier in the day, no laughing matter. The rook was covered in scars from past battles and they told the story of a Kukuri that had lived through hard times and harder battles. The armor on the rook’s arm clanked softly, just audible over the laughter and cheering for the audience.

If Scarecrow had any capacity for emotion, he might have felt guilty that their fun was going to be ruined soon.

Troodon stepped up until both he and Scarecrow were an equal distance from the doors that had admitted them into the battlefield. Scarecrow cocked his head dumbly, observing his opponent, his target, from the closer vantage point the arena floor afforded him. Over the years, the assassin had learned how to read emotions pretty well and the career fighter looked downright miserable. It was a restrained misery, of course; the kind born from having to take an unwanted path in life and being forced to come to terms with lifelong captivity of a kind that was more than just physical.

Perhaps Scarecrow could have pitied him, if he were anyone else, but then again… Scarecrow cast a glance at the roaring crowds and decided that they were likely no better than he and didn’t feel bad anymore.

Troodon was sizing him up, Scarecrow could tell. The career fighter was too good at this to be doing anything else with that silent gaze. Troodon had survived too long in the arena of Life – Scarecrow huffed humorlessly to himself at the irony – to not be good at what he did.

From the walled off area to his left, Scarecrow spied one of the referees step out to begin the match. Standing just around the gate to the separated area were several of the largest Kukuri Scarecrow had ever seen; several of the feathered variety that had recently been popping up all over. The Game Breakers. They were ready should anything untoward happen in the ‘game’. Scarecrow would have to be wary not to draw their attention before the right time.

He turned his attention back to Troodon. He could not afford to give this Kukuri the opportunity to land an attack while his back was turned. Scarecrow wasn’t worried, per se – he was far above this Kukuri’s level, no matter what the official matchmakers may have thought of his false application – but the arena fighter was nearly stupid enough to have missed just how smart and strong his opponent was. Troodon was observant, and strong, and he knew something was up with his current match, if his narrowed eyes were any indication. If Troodon could land one or two good hits, Scarecrow was done for. It would be up to Scarecrow to play his speed instead, play the game right until he got his opportunity.

“Alright, combatants!” The grinning, rotund man said, raising his hand in the air. The noise of the arena doubled to a cacophony before dying in silent anticipation for the words that would begin the match.

Dust settled around the arena, the wind dying as if it too awaited with baited breath. Troodon breathed a silent sigh, lowering himself into his fighting stance; head held low in a motion of false submission, shoulders high and tight and ready to deal with anyone that took his lie for truth. Scarecrow relaxed his muscles, appearing for all the world to see as nothing more than another dumb, overconfident rook. Everything was still.

“Fight!”

The round man’s hand dropped and he backed off quickly to the safety of the Prairie guards that watched the match from the side.

Trained from birth to obey the signal, Troodon surged forward with a grim look on his face. He took no pleasure in this, but this was his job. The sooner he took down this glowing amber Kukuri, the sooner he could get the hell out of this ring he hated so much. The cheers and laughter of the crowd echoed in his ears, but didn’t distract him. He’d be a poor fighter if something so little could draw his attention away from the only thing that mattered in this moment.

His spiky crown horns jabbed up at his opponent’s neck, but Scarecrow was too fast, nimbly stepping back from the attack to avoid. Following through with his momentum, Troodon swiped out with his armored, clawed hand at Scarecrow’s bare chest. Scarecrow didn’t allow him that hit either, stepping back again. Finally, Troodon whipped around in the third step of his combo and thwacked Scarecrow hard across the side with his thick tail.

Scarecrow was knocked full from his feet, flailing ungainly and landing hard on his side; Troodon estimated that his opponent was not very defensive. If he could just land a few attacks like the one he just executed, this battle would be over. Scarecrow scrambled to his feet, looking panicked as Troodon came at him again. The crowd was hush once more at just how powerful the silken arena fighter showed himself to be.

Troodon’s horns struck Scarecrow’s chest just shy of his shoulder and the rook put all his weight into the attack. Scarecrow was flung backwards into the wall of the arena with a cry of pain, landing with a thump in a cloud of dust, a large gash torn open in his flesh from the other rook’s ferocious and powerful attack. Troodon followed the other to the way, less packed earth where battles usually didn’t take place shifting uncomfortably under his feet. Scarecrow’s rough landing had kicked up a small cloud of dust. Most dust rose as the career fighter threw himself upon his challenger, briefly obscuring the two from the onlookers.

Suddenly, a hand shot palm first into the bottom of Troodon’s jaw, forcing his mouth closed around nothing with a sharp snap. His armored arm suddenly had its clawed fingers locked with another hand, limiting his movement and his ability to defend himself. A cold chill ran down his spine, realizing at just that moment that he had been lured purposefully into a vulnerable position.

“Nothing personal,” came Scarecrow’s voice from the dust, marred by neither pain nor exhaustion.

A pair of sharp, experienced teeth fixed themselves just so in Troodon’s throat. The arena regular gurgled once, painfully, catching one last sight of Scarecrow’s emotionless eyes. Maybe there was some pity there, but Troodon was just… too tired…

…

The dust settled and Scarecrow stood victorious over his opponent. The Game Breakers surged forward, pulling the suddenly panicking Scarecrow away from the fallen body of Troodon. Medics poured from the safe area to attend to the arena rook. Unfortunately, they would find themselves too late to assist poor Troodon. Somehow, Scarecrow had managed to put his teeth in all the right spots to bleed the rook out faster than anyone could realize what was happening.

Scarecrow looked up at the crowd as he was pulled away, still struggling as if trying to see about the half-albino’s condition. He met Benn’s eye; the German man sat above to watch the progress of the battle. The man nodded once and his companion in the ring nodded back.

One more assassination job was done; it was time to move on.

Description

Scarecrow stepped into the arena.

The ground beneath him was hard, packed from countless numbers of Kukuri feet treading over it in years past, and scored with countless scars of recent battles. The pillars were stark white in contract to the earthen, blood splotched ground of the coliseum. He absently wondered how frequently crews had to clean those pristine columns of blood.

The luminescent Kukuri brushed dust from his fur, turning his attention up, past the columns and their greenery to the stands. He’d seen many fighting rings before, both legal and illegal, but this was the largest crowd he’d ever seen gathered for such a gruesome sporting event. If he had the emotional capability, he might have been disgusted but, as it was, he had no room to judge; he’d been up in the stands all day to observe his target. Very rarely did his targets avail themselves to him so readily. Usually, targets were more aware that there was a price on their head and they took greater pains to protect themselves.

Speaking of his target, the other Kukuri was just stepping through the door on the other side of the arena.

Troodon was a massive opponent and, as Scarecrow had seen earlier in the day, no laughing matter. The rook was covered in scars from past battles and they told the story of a Kukuri that had lived through hard times and harder battles. The armor on the rook’s arm clanked softly, just audible over the laughter and cheering for the audience.

If Scarecrow had any capacity for emotion, he might have felt guilty that their fun was going to be ruined soon.

Troodon stepped up until both he and Scarecrow were an equal distance from the doors that had admitted them into the battlefield. Scarecrow cocked his head dumbly, observing his opponent, his target, from the closer vantage point the arena floor afforded him. Over the years, the assassin had learned how to read emotions pretty well and the career fighter looked downright miserable. It was a restrained misery, of course; the kind born from having to take an unwanted path in life and being forced to come to terms with lifelong captivity of a kind that was more than just physical.

Perhaps Scarecrow could have pitied him, if he were anyone else, but then again… Scarecrow cast a glance at the roaring crowds and decided that they were likely no better than he and didn’t feel bad anymore.

Troodon was sizing him up, Scarecrow could tell. The career fighter was too good at this to be doing anything else with that silent gaze. Troodon had survived too long in the arena of Life – Scarecrow huffed humorlessly to himself at the irony – to not be good at what he did.

From the walled off area to his left, Scarecrow spied one of the referees step out to begin the match. Standing just around the gate to the separated area were several of the largest Kukuri Scarecrow had ever seen; several of the feathered variety that had recently been popping up all over. The Game Breakers. They were ready should anything untoward happen in the ‘game’. Scarecrow would have to be wary not to draw their attention before the right time.

He turned his attention back to Troodon. He could not afford to give this Kukuri the opportunity to land an attack while his back was turned. Scarecrow wasn’t worried, per se – he was far above this Kukuri’s level, no matter what the official matchmakers may have thought of his false application – but the arena fighter was nearly stupid enough to have missed just how smart and strong his opponent was. Troodon was observant, and strong, and he knew something was up with his current match, if his narrowed eyes were any indication. If Troodon could land one or two good hits, Scarecrow was done for. It would be up to Scarecrow to play his speed instead, play the game right until he got his opportunity.

“Alright, combatants!” The grinning, rotund man said, raising his hand in the air. The noise of the arena doubled to a cacophony before dying in silent anticipation for the words that would begin the match.

Dust settled around the arena, the wind dying as if it too awaited with baited breath. Troodon breathed a silent sigh, lowering himself into his fighting stance; head held low in a motion of false submission, shoulders high and tight and ready to deal with anyone that took his lie for truth. Scarecrow relaxed his muscles, appearing for all the world to see as nothing more than another dumb, overconfident rook. Everything was still.

“Fight!”

The round man’s hand dropped and he backed off quickly to the safety of the Prairie guards that watched the match from the side.

Trained from birth to obey the signal, Troodon surged forward with a grim look on his face. He took no pleasure in this, but this was his job. The sooner he took down this glowing amber Kukuri, the sooner he could get the hell out of this ring he hated so much. The cheers and laughter of the crowd echoed in his ears, but didn’t distract him. He’d be a poor fighter if something so little could draw his attention away from the only thing that mattered in this moment.

His spiky crown horns jabbed up at his opponent’s neck, but Scarecrow was too fast, nimbly stepping back from the attack to avoid. Following through with his momentum, Troodon swiped out with his armored, clawed hand at Scarecrow’s bare chest. Scarecrow didn’t allow him that hit either, stepping back again. Finally, Troodon whipped around in the third step of his combo and thwacked Scarecrow hard across the side with his thick tail.

Scarecrow was knocked full from his feet, flailing ungainly and landing hard on his side; Troodon estimated that his opponent was not very defensive. If he could just land a few attacks like the one he just executed, this battle would be over. Scarecrow scrambled to his feet, looking panicked as Troodon came at him again. The crowd was hush once more at just how powerful the silken arena fighter showed himself to be.

Troodon’s horns struck Scarecrow’s chest just shy of his shoulder and the rook put all his weight into the attack. Scarecrow was flung backwards into the wall of the arena with a cry of pain, landing with a thump in a cloud of dust, a large gash torn open in his flesh from the other rook’s ferocious and powerful attack. Troodon followed the other to the way, less packed earth where battles usually didn’t take place shifting uncomfortably under his feet. Scarecrow’s rough landing had kicked up a small cloud of dust. Most dust rose as the career fighter threw himself upon his challenger, briefly obscuring the two from the onlookers.

Suddenly, a hand shot palm first into the bottom of Troodon’s jaw, forcing his mouth closed around nothing with a sharp snap. His armored arm suddenly had its clawed fingers locked with another hand, limiting his movement and his ability to defend himself. A cold chill ran down his spine, realizing at just that moment that he had been lured purposefully into a vulnerable position.

“Nothing personal,” came Scarecrow’s voice from the dust, marred by neither pain nor exhaustion.

A pair of sharp, experienced teeth fixed themselves just so in Troodon’s throat. The arena regular gurgled once, painfully, catching one last sight of Scarecrow’s emotionless eyes. Maybe there was some pity there, but Troodon was just… too tired…

…

The dust settled and Scarecrow stood victorious over his opponent. The Game Breakers surged forward, pulling the suddenly panicking Scarecrow away from the fallen body of Troodon. Medics poured from the safe area to attend to the arena rook. Unfortunately, they would find themselves too late to assist poor Troodon. Somehow, Scarecrow had managed to put his teeth in all the right spots to bleed the rook out faster than anyone could realize what was happening.

Scarecrow looked up at the crowd as he was pulled away, still struggling as if trying to see about the half-albino’s condition. He met Benn’s eye; the German man sat above to watch the progress of the battle. The man nodded once and his companion in the ring nodded back.

One more assassination job was done; it was time to move on.