The Election Underway

On the stage, the remaining candidates walked into their circles. Avon put his hands on his hips and eyed his opponents. A man Odell’s age named Adonis stood to the left of Avon. The next to the left was the candidate Ailsa, and next to her was Cam. To Avon’s right, the candidates were Celyn, who he had a soft spot for and Alair. A final podium on the right was left open for Cecilia’s Aio family, but they had opted to skip the election cycle to marry people into the reigning Fio family.

As the final person found their place on the stage, the round arena lifted above the ground and hovered low. It slowly turned counterclockwise. The election was underway, and the crowd cheered until some monitors on the outskirts of the arena—just under the floating section displayed a note that they should calm down. From above everyone, a throne connected to two wire ropes, like a swing, lowered with King Fio sitting awkwardly on. He fiddled with the metal crown above his bony one before clearing his throat.

“Thank you all who have attended; this year’s election for king shall begin!”

Once again, the crowd was fired up and roared. Avon made a pleasant smile and waved out. He could hardly contain his excitement now that the day had finally arrived. At last, he would reign.

In the past, Hobusian kingship was decided by simple strength alone. After 30 years, the reigning king would have weakened to a point where he couldn’t defend himself, so the custom arose that he would sit atop a steep hill, and the first to knock him off and take the crown was to be the next king. Of course, the other candidates and the reigning king were free to resist.

Advancements brought by Needaimus only served to amplify the process. At first, the metal creatures were allowed in the election, but the battles proved far too intense and elevated a series of bad kings known in modern times as The Tyrants, so fighting returned to the candidates using simple brawn, the way Crenussal intended as far as Avon was concerned.

He clenched his hands into fists and stiffened. Adonis was likely to be his biggest threat; he was the bulkiest of candidates and the one most likely to give Avon a hard time in a fight, and as expected, the opponent quickly turned to the elder prince, and his fist dented the floor. Avon barely moved back in time. His eyes darted up for a quick glance. On a billboard above, Adonis’ name had a bar grow slightly as those in the audience voted for him.

The crowd was another aspect of the elections that candidates had to be weary of. Every fifteen minutes, there was a break from the combat, and each would return to their circle where debate could flair up, but often candidates would cash in votes for boosts in the election. Weapons, support, and all other manner of effects were available, but the elder prince didn’t intend to let this election get drawn out like past ones. He smiled and flipped his long hair.

In a singsong voice, he addressed the glaring opponent. “My dear Adonis! I am honored you consider me such a worthwhile foe that you direct attacks on me first! Unfortunately, you need to watch your back!”

Behind his foe, Alair and Alisa came in for a strike. Adonis grunted and spun around to face his new opponents head-on. They clashed in an impressive display of Hobusian martial arts—using heavy and weighty blows to try and cripple their opponents. Avon smiled and flipped his hair again. He had made an alliance beforehand and was happy to see his charisma prevented a betrayal.

Such agreements were not only allowed but also encouraged in the election. A king had to be a master of negotiations and all other manners of things to rule a country successfully. They also had to be masters of picking sides, which is why Avon was not surprised when Cam—who he had also made a deal with prior—came to attack him instead. The boy swung at Avon’s head, and the prince lazily stopped it with his long arm. He shook his head and saw wavering in Cam’s eyes, so Avon leaned his mouth close to the other candidate’s ear.

“You don’t seem to have any place in my court then. Best to go play your silly games or whatever you do with those little dolls,” he whispered to Cam before the opponent was thrust off the floating platform. He flew across the arena until he smashed into the side wall and was imbedded into it. Avon flipped his hair again, and the crowd cheered. The prince was especially happy to hear more ladies than men cheering.

Some of the supervisors on the side of the stage pulled Cam out of the wall. The Hobusian candidate held a hand up to refuse a towel as he looked down to the ground. Avon crossed his arms and waited. He was well aware of his opponent. Cam was a gifted tactician, undefeated in any games, from czaric to a miniature game that the elder Hobusian prince found odd. Even as Cam looked on the verge of tears, Avon was still confident he would have made a good back line general. “A shame, really,” Avon said with a shake of his head. Cam looked up and tried to force a glare through his timid personality. When nothing came, the candidate raised his long arms and muttered: “I concede my candidacy.” The crowd booed.

“Now, now,” Avon shouted loud enough for attention to turn to him. He felt like he glowed as so many eyes aimed at him, and he couldn’t help but smile, “Let’s not condemn our friend here; the election is a difficult process, and not all Hobusians are cut out for it!”

As Cam was escorted out of the arena, the bar by Avon’s name rose. He turned with glee to his next opponent. The only one, besides Adonis, whom he did not make a deal with before the match was Celyn.

She was a true beauty. Long hair like Avon’s, light grey skin that looked more smooth than rough, and piercing eyes that showed she had some danger underneath her cute exterior. The elder prince avoided a strike to his head by leaning back and quickly shifted to Celyn’s side. He put his mouth close to her ear and gently squeezed one of her hands.

“We should play somewhere else,” he whispered to her. To his words, the girl’s face grew tense, and he had to duck in order to avoid her forearm. Popping back up, Avon grabbed Celyn’s hands and spun her like they were trying to dance.

“You would make a fool of a king!” she muttered as she broke from his spin.

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Avon stepped close and took a punch to the stomach without wincing. Celyn couldn’t hide the shock on her face as the unfazed Avon grabbed her arm and pulled her close. “I wouldn’t mind making a deal with a lovely one such as yourself,” he whispered. Celyn pulled her hand free—Avon let her escape, but he wasn’t sure if she knew that—and held her hands close to her chest in defense.

“What’s your deal?” she asked cautiously. Avon smiled. That was another reason to like the girl; she wasn’t one to overlook an opportunity.

“The role of Queen. There are many who could play it, but I think you could truly become it!”

Celyn’s brow furrowed, and her stance loosened. Avon kept his grin plastered on his face. He knew his plan worked. She didn’t reply with words but accepted with a nod before conceding as Cam had done before.

“You better not be lying,” was the last thing she said as she was escorted out of the arena.

“As if I could lie to such a beauty,” Avon said as he flipped his hair, though no one was within earshot.

He turned to look at the timer and nodded. Exactly as planned. The buzzer for a break rang just as Celyn walked out.

Avon jumped out of the arena and strode to a referee on the side, where he accepted a velvet towel with golden trimming. He wiped the sweat from his face and shook his head so his long golden hair swayed. The prince was certain he heard some ladies in the crowd swoon at the sight.

“How would you like to spend your points?” the referee asked.

“Same as the usual, bring the throne down.” It was the typical strategy. Without Needaimus enhancement, no one could reach where the throne hovered. The first break would always be used to lower it so the candidates could waste less energy on each other and focus on taking down the king. As the prince expected, the throne with an unhappy-looking King Fio lowered just out of arms reach. A good jump and clamping to one of his dangling legs would pull the king off the throne. In response, the king's Needaimus clambered from his shoulder to bond to his arm—due to “old age,” the king was allowed to bring the royal Needaimus, Ninth Wave, into the arena to protect himself.

Avon smiled, his father was getting serious, but it wouldn’t be enough.

The match resumed in earnest, and Avon sauntered to Adonis. The prince’s opponent tried to strike him down, but Alair and Alisa tackled Adonis from each side and brought him to his knees. Angry eyes turned up to look at Avon, but he did not mind what message a weak opponent might try to send. Avon grabbed Adonis by the crown and shoved his knee into his opponent’s chin. The foe’s face made a thud as it bounced off the floor, and Avon wiped his hands on his pants. Before Alair or Alisa could respond, Avon drove a fist into each of their stomachs. Alisa gasped and was out instantly; Alair held on a minute longer—enough to grab Avon by the collar—before he passed out.

The elder prince smiled and grinned at his father. The fight was finally down to the two that truly mattered. Avon was excited to finally get things over with.