Father Vs. Son

There was a pause in the fighting as the unconscious candidates were taken off the stage and placed on some towels in the outer area. A knock-out was not considered a loss—only surrender or death counted as such—and if they woke before the end, they could jump back into the fray.

“Don’t worry, I won’t forget our promise; I just had to get you out of the way,” Avon whispered to Alair and Alisa as they were pulled away. He spun his head so his hair flipped and looked at an unimpressed king. It was time he and his father had a heart-to-heart.

They watched as the last candidate was pulled off the stage, and the referees waved that it would be okay. As soon as they did, King Fio squirmed uncomfortably on the hanging throne. With a sigh, he slid off and let a heavy boom act as the starting bell for the fight—silencing the crowd in the process.

“You’ve come a long way, son; I’m very proud to see you standing here today. Nonetheless, per our tradition, I can’t give up this crown without a fight.” King Fio moved his hands up in a ready stance. “Come prove you are worthy of being Hobusian King!”

Avon smiled and stood in place. He crossed his arms and shook his head.

“Were you worthy of being King?” He muttered too quietly for his father to hear. King Fio tilted his head a moment but soon came to a conclusion.

“Waiting for the buzzer to spend points on a weapon, huh?” King Fio said with a laugh. “A classic, though I was expecting—” The king was cut off as his son came in close with a fist pulled back to strike. He knew his father wouldn’t have time to think; the next move would be a gut reaction. The prince fell back as King Fio moved his Needaimus bonded arm through the air. The space where Avon stood moments prior seemed to deform, but only those familiar—like the royal family—would be attentive enough to notice. Wave, as the Fio family liked to call the Needaimus, granted the simple ability to push anything. It seemed harmless enough when explained, but Avon knew better. He felt himself get pulled back close to his father as a vacuum of air closed in the spot that had just been ‘pushed.’

King Fio swung at Avon’s head, aiming for his bony crown. The elder prince scoffed and took the blow. It was weak, as Avon expected. His father couldn’t bring out full force against his son, even though he acted like it. He was always soft. They stood motionless momentarily, with the elder prince sneering and his father’s Needaimus bonded fist resting on his forehead. King Fio shook his head, and Avon was suddenly thrust back by the Needaimus ability. He slid across the floor, stopping just at the arena's edge.

Avon smiled and sat up effortlessly. He twisted his neck like he was trying to crack it, though no sound came from it, and pushed himself back to his feet.

“Well done, son,” but you’ll have to try better than that to beat your old man!” King Fio beamed.

“My old man has gotten pretty weak,” Avon replied as he charged to his surprised father. Two blows went into the king’s stomach as the elder prince continued, “We’ve been so cozy with other nations for so long, you’ve forgotten your Hobusian pride!” Avon’s voice was carried out to the crowd as his father failed to defend himself. “After so many bitter wars with the Aqueenians, you act like buddies with their king! After being used by the Netzians, you still let them in our borders!” He jabbed a fist into his father’s chin. “Our history is a proud one! We were mighty warriors, and warfare was as easy to win as a czaric game! The great Nonpareil Martelli would be ashamed of what we have become!”

King Fio was knocked back and stumbled to the edge of the arena. He slid his feet on the ground to regain a more stable stance at the last possible minute.

King Fio’s voice contained a slight tremble in its response, “Son, Hobusians have been many things over many years. We were not always warriors; we do not need to stay warriors.” His Needaimus fused fingers danced between an open hand and a fist, and his right foot twisted back and forth. Avon smirked; he knew his father would be surprised when he laid into him.

“Pah, I knew you wouldn’t understand, but no matter. You are no longer the king.”

Instinctively, King Fio reached for his head, only to realize the metal crown he wore was not there. He looked in shock as Avon spun the metal band on his finger. “You best behave yourself in my kingdom, Father. Otherwise, I will have to exile you to one of those countries you claim to love just as much—or maybe even more than—our own.” Avon put the crown on his head, and the crowd cheered. King Fio didn’t move, but he still looked like he shrunk. His eyes looked at the floor. The old man was having trouble processing; Avon had always played the eccentric prince, so it must have been a shock.

Wave popped off the ex- king’s arm and scurried across the stage to Avon. The prince gladly accepted.

I’ve seen a lot of nasty transitions in my day, but woe for the son who hurt his father as you did. The Needaimus said in Avon’s mind soon after bonding. Avon rolled his eyes.

“Needaimus ought to know their place. Your role as the royal weapon can be taken away.”

Your threat is as meaningless to me as my words were to you. No matter, I won’t stir the pot too much; it’s not my place. You ought to say something kind to your father, however.

Avon shook his head and flipped his long hair. He strolled across the arena and held out a hand to his father. Former King Fio accepted as per tradition but leaned in close to whisper.

“We should talk after this, son; it seems we have much to discuss.”

“I’m sorry, I have kingly affairs to take care of and will be much too busy to see you.” Avon loosened his grip and walked out of the arena while waving to his adorning fans. “There’s a lot of damage I must undo from the previous king.” He didn’t bother turning back to see what expression was on his father’s face.