Kyoujou Numarei - II

The arena was constructed in the northern annexe of the palace. It was a long, and somewhat wide hallway with a domed ceiling. In fact, the arena was rather decorated for a place of fighting—fitted with paintings and suits of armour along the perimeter.

That said, elevated platforms did their best to dissuade that notion, lining both lines of the great hall, and crowded with observers all across.

Anera Lockfort—attendant to the Lord Regent, stepped forth from the centre platform. “And now, for the first battle in our grand tournament! From the southern entrance we have a red-haired girl with a penchant for boxing! One who’d brutally dispatched all her opponents thus far with fist and knuckle, leaving but a blur in the process! Strong! Beautiful! Stylish! The Asura Fist herself! Kyoujyou Numarei!”

She entered from the southern entrance. The sun hit her through a stained window, giving her an almost angelic look. She was going for something simple. A black top and black shorts.

“And now for her opponent! Her eyes a beady brown. Her hair a short pink! She wields a red demon-arm, stained with the blood of her enemies! She dispatches them by any means necessary, using all manner of objects, tricks, and violence! The Demonhand herself—Jenn Cockehead!

Her opponent appeared from the other end. She was dressed in her best—her only, repeatedly washed outfit of a collared shirt and stretchy, white jeans.

Jenn Cockehead—Demonhand: Master of Thug no Jutsu/Random Bullshit Go

“Alright,” she said, loud enough for herself to hear. “It’s showtime.”

Their steps rang against the marble. They drew closer. Somewhere in the centre. But over a dozen metres apart. Jenn was keeping out of arm’s reach. Better yet, out of an in-step, into uppercut reach. Smart.

“You scared?” asked Numarei.

“‘Course. Not really a proper fight if I’m not sweating like a whore in a church.”

“You’re not sweating though.”

“Exactly. You’ve gotta make me.”

Numarei stood in place, but offered a hand forward. “Wanna shake on that?”

Jenn gave a joking smile. “How do I know you’re not gonna punch me?”

“You can’t.”

Jenn came forth, and took her hand. “Let’s make this fun.”

“I’ll try. Though, promise me something.”

“Go ahead.”

“Don’t get pissy if I win and beat up the King.”

Jenn shook her head, and gave a look of supreme reassurance. “Do what you gotta do.”

“Even if I don’t plan to kill him, because I’m not messed up like you are?”

When she heard that, it seemed like something approaching self-reflection crossed Jenn’s features. “Kill him. Beat him. Fuck him. It’s up to you. I’m not one to muddle up another person’s aesthetics, you know?" She paused. "Numa. I like you just the way you are, so don't try to become someone else for me."

Numarei smiled a very rare smile. A sign of pure, uncharacteristic warmth. Enough to make Jenn smile in turn.

“Alright. How far apart?”

“Thirty feet?”

“How much is that in civilised measurements?”

Jenn looked at her shoe. “Twenty meters?”

“Yeah. That’s rough. How about twenty-five feet?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Thirty.”

“Thirty-one.”

“Thirty point imaginary five.”

“Ok,” agreed Numarei.

They compromised on thirty-point imaginary five feet away from each other, which was really eighteen (since Numarei had no idea what the hell was up with imperial units, so hey).

“Let’s start,” Numarei said, with a degree of seriousness thus unseen.

“Yeah.”

The floor exploded into a burst of sound. A half-dozen footsteps creased the marble at once, and Numarei came in low, minimising her surface area.

Jenn grinned and, without further ado, pulled down an armour stand. The suit of steel came crashing down. It formed an obstacle between them, and a back step from Numarei. Yet before it touched the ground, Jenn wrangled the spear from its grip and held it in front of her.

“I took you too lightly, porn-bait!” Her arm flared red, and she felt her weapon’s spearhead. “But not this time. I won’t beat you with boxing. I’ll beat you my way! The Cockehead way!”

Something changed in the air. There was a subtle shift in each fighter’s awareness. As if they had ceased to be ‘Jenn’ or ‘Numarei’, becoming instead the embodiment of the battle.

Numarei took two steps. Jenn thrust twice, aiming for the centre of her body. Placing pressure on her leading right foot, Numarei angled her body straight and avoided the blow. With a straight right hook, she hit the spear below its head and broke its rear end.

Jenn’s eyes grew into awareness. She caught sight of her broken spear and withdrew.

That was all Numarei needed. Faster than a blur. Faster than she had ever been, she went forth and raised her foot over the fallen armour.

And no sooner had she done that, a shock came from her side. An alien presence. Cold pressure and dreadful warmth. Throbbing in rhythm with her very own heartbeat, like a parasite suckled on blood.

What. She must’ve thought. When?!

Warm, sticky blood ran down Numarei’s abdomen. The spearhead was lodged in her side.

—Second Reversion: Marked Object Return

Numarei realised. She’d marked it when she took the spear! Her eyes grew tense. Did she expect me to break the spear like that? Damn, Jenn’s kinda smart?!

“Take your time, Numa-chan. Bleed out a little. Once you’re feeling a little air-headed, you’ll make yourself all the easier, eh?”

“Oh yeah?!” She yelled. Let’s see if you

Feeling heat in her face, Numa advanced again, going straight for the finishing blow. That was when Jenn started to run. A frenzied, full-on sprint. She kept going down the hall and pulled down another armour stand as she did.

This time, Numarei did not stop.

A whip of sound came from her fist, and she struck the falling armour stand. The steel broke on collision—separated into broken parts of pauldron, cuirass, and more. Bits of grey shrapnel sprayed forth.

But Jenn was mid-air. Arm behind her. Halfway through a drop-kick, burrowing past the shrapnel like an excavator through a tunnel.

A coin whipped past Numarei’s head. It won’t hit. She stepped back. Jen’ll drop to the ground, and that’s when I step in.

—Third Reversion: Body Space Reversal

The red-armed woman gained an unnatural momentum, ramming straight into Numarei’s chest. She fell back, thud, and crashed to the ground some distance away. Her lungs strained and heaved, forcing out a pain-ridden gasp. It hurt to breathe. Hurt to inhale, and much less exist.

Jenn moved in for the blow, drawn in by the prospect of her opponent’s untimely knockdown.

This was bad. Ground-fighting when the other party was standing was bad. That was like trying to run while sitting down. Or break-dance with no legs, hands, or a bald head to spin on.

Numarei went into a seated position. Jenn leaned forward, hand extended for a ground and pound. There was no time to trade blows. Not even with her superior speed. But her arms were raised in defence. And from that position—could do something else.

Something she wasn’t quite used to. Something she’d ill-adapted despite all her time as an underground fighter.

The red-armed woman struck Numarei in the chin. But Numarei had Jenn’s arm in her grip. Her fingers clenched tight, biting into skin, and with a great exertion of effort, she tugged.

Jenn stumbled forth. Numarei’s heel shot straight into her knee-cap. It hit with a pleasant thud and squeezed out a great wince. The red-armed woman lost her balance—swayed like a branch in wind.

With her knee kicked, and her body tugged, Jenn’s body was subject to the greatest force of all. Beyond even love, taxes, and anything else.

—Gravity.

To make things worse, she fell on her face, and before long, Numarei was behind her. She lay on top of Jenn, right arm around her neck, and holding her upper left shoulder in an iron-vice grip.

It was the easiest grapple of all. The simplest one known to all of man.

Hadaka jime in judo. Mata Leão in BJJ.

Or, quite simply—the rear naked choke in English.

Her head pressed against Jenn’s. “Just give out!” said Numarei, in what seemed like a half-plea.

Jenn’s face was turning red. Then, from that, to a gradual shade of blue. She struggled in place, sniffed hard, and attempted to wrangle Numarei off. It was no use. In a matter of five seconds, oxygen would cease to reach her carotid arteries, and sudden unconsciousness would overtake.

And yet her eyes did not grow weary. Fearful? Yes. Perhaps sad? Yes, too. But never in resignation. Never with the black beads of a loser who had submitted!

Jenn’s reached behind her, scratching at Numarei’s side. Her arm burned red, lines scrawling and turning like living scars. It’d found her target. With a desperate jerk, she plucked free the embedded spearhead, and with a desperate flick of the wrist, she threw it.

—Third Reversion: Body Space Reversal

Up and through the air. The two went flying towards the spearhead. Numarei’s back hit the blunt edge of the weapon—the pole-like point before the head. Her choke-hold loosened. Bones cracking, sweat pooling.

That was enough for Jenn. She shift her body off-axis. She, with a pointed thumb, jabbed it into Numarei’s side wound and elicited a harrowing yelp.

“Argh!” The pain was all too much. Her arms slacked. And in an unconscious effort to escape the pain, Numarei pulled back.

Jenn spun on her heel. She planted her two feet, and launched a haymaker.

It struck Numarei in the chin. That it did. Forcing out blood, spit, and phlegm.

But it did not move her. Not this time.

“That isht?” she said, with the fist still on her chin.

—Numarei Style: Simple Uppercut.

Without need for an in-step. Without need for setup, beyond a upward hunch of the right hip. An ideal and most powerful fist travelled upwards, ripping straight into Jenn’s chin at point-blank range.

CRACK.

Her teeth clapped together. Her skull, flinched. An instrumentation of raw violence coursed throughout her body, and played a invisible tune—that of a aching, permeating vibration.

Jenn’s very existence skipped a frame. Becoming slack like a puppet with its strings cut. The impact of the uppercut was enough to send her flying, body carving an upward arc through the air.

However—

“Crap.”

Numarei could not follow on that. Darkness set in at the edge of her vision. The wound that Jenn had carved in her abdomen was taking its toll. The more intense the fight became—the harder her heart beat. And the harder her heart beat, the more blood was circulated—and hence, came out.

Not only that, but the oblique muscles; alongside her abdomen, were the ones she tensed during every punch. Which drove her upper body to wind, drive, and pummel anything in her way.

All this meant she was bleeding… and bad.

“Damn,” said Numarei, in a voice that could elicit sympathy from a politician. “D-damn.”

Unless that punch put Jenn out for good. Unless she had somehow dealt with her in one blow, she’d wake up. And by then it would be too late.

In a last, terribly unwise effort, Numarei picked up the spear-head, and jammed it back into her wound. It was perfectly shaped to the hole it left, and seemed to block the bleeding.

“Okay.” She winced from the pain, sweat pooling like waves before the storm. “Okay.” Her voice grew quieter by the second. “Okay.”

She pressed a hand against the wall and steadied her breath. Bit by bit, she replenished her stamina, subdued the ache of her muscles, and the growing desire to stay put and sleep.

To her pleasant surprise, Jenn was doing the same. A tickle of movement entered her body, starting from neck and fingers. Time passed. Life breathed into her like air through an tube man. Ms. Cockehead rose to two feet, and with a heave, placed her hand against the wall.

“These type of fights…” muttered Numarei. “They're the best, aren't they?”

Smiling, and swaying pressure to her right leg, Numarei regarded Jenn with an warm look, waiting until a response came in turn…