THE FIGHTER

Something small and fast danced on my right, just on the edge of my peripheral vision. My eyes flicked to track the target and my shoulders twitched, turning. It was a reflex, almost irresistible, and I knew at once that it was a mistake.

Something slower and heavier hit me square on the left side of the head.

A blinding light flashed. I staggered sideways, my legs suddenly betraying me. Then came the pain, a paralysing splash of golds and reds. I dropped to one knee, instinctively raising my arms to protect my head.

The blow came across my back, something flexible wrapped myself across my kidney’s and spine with unbearable force. My body arched backwards, leaving me sprawling on the floor.

I tried to gather my senses. I sucked in a deep breath but pain squeezed my lungs. I squealed, then stopped short as the torment increased, and was forced into a series of silent, shallow pants. Some of my ribs were broken.

From high above, in the dark auditorium, someone giggled.

I gritted my teeth, twisted my legs and with a roar of defiance that was aimed at the pain in my torso as much as at my opponent or the crowd, I threw myself back onto my feet and into a fighting stance.

The ring was empty.

From the almost empty stands came slow, ironic, applause.

Did something flicker out there, on the edge of the gloom?

I crouched and shuffled forward as though accepting the bait, but it was a feint.

The softest of hisses heralded the movement behind me. I span, seeing nothing but bringing out my hand flat as a blade and level with my shoulder. The thing shimmered away and I slashed at thin air but I used my momentum to drop to the floor and bring my legs out and sweep towards where the air appeared to thicken and something seemed to move. Whatever I was fighting was barely visible. But barely was enough. There was a moment of electric contact, a subsonic howl that sent cramps through my guts, and the thing staggered backwards.

I scrambled up, throwing myself forward, determined not to let my opponent slip away into the darkness. I wrapped my arms around something that wasn’t quite there but wasn’t quite insubstantial either. My arms were full and I already knew I could hurt it.

Squeeze.

The thing howled again. My eyesight blurred and every nerve in my body vibrated in waves of misery, my ribs grated and I moaned but tightened my grip, locking my hands around what I was thinking of as the thing’s back.

Whipping tentacles lashed at my shoulders and legs. Something small and stinging cracked into the side of my head, withdrew and smashed into my nose.

I brought a knee up, seeking something solid to strike.

The thing keened.

Squeeze.

It flexed and strained and lashed at me more frantically. My jaw broke under a heavy impact, teeth scattering across the floor like dice. Another strike and a gash flashed open across my forehead, blinding me behind a curtain of blood.

Don’t let go.

A tentacle hammered my lower back. I gasped at the kaleidoscope of agonies, and then my legs, numb and useless, gave way. I fell.

Drag it down.

We wrestled on the floor. I could feel it weakening. It tried to howl again, but the power was fading.

Squeeze.

We stayed clamped together as its strength began to fade. Time passed, whether it was a few moments or an hour I was no longer able to judge but, finally the thing in my arms grew limp.

In the darkness someone booed.

Hold on.

There was no mercy in this arena and too much to be lost to trickery. I held on and kept squeezing. The booing grew louder.

With the softest of clicks something inside my opponent gave and I felt it sag. In death it seemed to become more substantial. I was holding something faintly like an octopus but capable of standing upright. It had two sets of tentacles, one large and club-ended, the other smaller and clearly intended for finer manipulation. It was deeply furred with fine glass-like filaments that became milky-white as life faded from its body.

The referee appeared, at last, and behind him the hooded trainers. I relaxed my grip and kissed my foe before they dragged our bodies apart. My arm was raised, my victory hailed by discontented grumbles.

I’d won.

My prize?

To be repaired and to come back and fight again, and keep fighting, until, I, the last of men, was defeated, dragged away and discarded.