[Round One] For Honour and Glory (Zorolo, SS and Wolfen.)

[Mr.Man]

A colossal stadium loomed on the horizon, rising up from the ground as though the earth’s bulging stomach. It was an ancient structure, just how old, neither Mesfido nor Jaina could guess. The pearly white walls gleamed beneath the scorching sun, a refreshing sight after hours travelling through the baking desert sands. The pair quickened their pace, eager to reach their goal. They did not speak, Jaina was parched and Mesfido did not want her wasting what little moisture remained by talking. He had planned to come alone originally but she had insisted on accompanying him. To him, the heat was nothing; his body’s temperature was no different than normal.

The mighty angel’s mind wandered as they walked, his body falling into a steadying rhythm, the gentle crunching of sand beneath his feet was his beat. He found himself floating back to the past, just three days prior.

The Dome was alive with activity; word had spread of a tournament – a tournament of champions. Everyone – men, women, children and peoples of all types – had doubled their training. They said incredible glory awaited the tournament’s victor. Glory had never appealed much to Mesfido, however, he knew this tournament would serve him well, win or lose. What he truly needed was experience. He needed more battles, like his duel against Zorlo. That one battle had taught him so much. Mesfido knew that, in this tournament, he would find opponents that rivalled Zorlo’s strength and determination. It was that thought that drove him on and convinced him to enter.

For two days straight he trained, he did not sleep, nor eat, nor rest. Every minute was dedicated to preparation for the coming challenges. Mostly, he trained alone. That was how he had always worked best. He had been alone for so many years that he was accustomed to fighting his own shadow. It was his ultimate adversary. Every strike he dealt, it would deal. Every parry he made, it would make. Every step he took, it would take. His shadow would never tire. When the sun went down it fought on, growing in size and strength as the shadows fed it. It was the best training partner he could hope for.

At times Jaina appeared to watch Mesfido train. She had little time though. Mesfido had asked her to tend to his students for a few days. They kept her busy, they were an interesting bunch. From time to time she would join the angel in his shadow fighting. Hers, like his, was her perfect equal. They always trained in silence; a deep seriousness had filled Mesfido’s eyes. Jaina had not seen it there since their time spent with Kenjin. She knew what it was, what it meant – Focus.

Finally, on the second moonlit night, Mesfido surfaced from his trance. Jaina as she saw the hard look fade from his face. She ran over to him, hugging his massive frame. He wasn’t even sweating. He rarely did.

“How’s my angel?”

His body did not shake, nor was he short of breath but there was something beneath his facade, much more profound than simple, mortal giveaways that showed his true fatigue. “Exhausted. I need some rest.”

It was in his eyes, in his soul. His body may not have been tired but his mind and spirit were. For the first in her life Jaina saw Mesfido as a mere mortal. He had always seemed was invincible, so unshakeable. Above all else, it terrified her.

“Mesfido, I’m coming with you,” Her face turned serious, equal to how Mesfido’s had been during training. “Not to fight, but to support.”

The fallen angel sheathed his giant blade and cupped Jaina’s cheek in his palm. She let her face lie against the callused skin. It was softer than one would expect. A cloud could have felt gentler.

“Alright, I was intending to leave in the morning. Let’s get some rest before then. We’ll both need our strength. The journey to the tournament grounds will be tough.”

Jaina’s beautiful smile lit up the night sky, sparkling brighter than any star. Mesfido hadn’t even tried to stop her coming with him. It seemed he had finally realized that she could fend for herself. Much had changed in their relationship since Jaina had returned from England but even she had never even so much as hoped that he’d forget his overprotective ways.

Mesfido picked her up in his arms, as was his custom, and flew her silently to her bedroom door. They parted at the mahogany, arranging to meet early the next day. Mesfido turned, ready to make haste to his balcony. Three words bid him farewell.

“I love you.”

A croaking voice wrenched Mesfido back to the present. It was Jaina’s voice, she sounded dry and hoarse, ready to snap like a cracker. “Looks like we made it,” She gave a playful wink. Bits of sand hung to her eyelashes.

She was right, before them stood the stadium’s threshold. It rose a hundred feet into the air. The walls were flanked by mounds of sand, speckling the white-washed surface. An ancient door was all that blocked their entrance. Mesfido placed both palms against it and gave one solid push. It burst open. Cheers of excitement ran around the stadium.

Mesfido and Jaina stood in an immensely large hall, as ancient as the door through which they had just entered. Across the hall was another door. Muffled cheers could be heard from beyond it. The room’s sidewalls contained a pair of staircases, identical in every way. The room was empty and silent with the exception of those distant cries of excitement.

The tip-tap of a pair of shoes broke the stillness. Someone was coming down one of the stairways; it sounded like they were in a hurry. A rich voice tumbled down, just a few steps of its master.

“Welcome, challenger! Welcome!” The voice’s owner was a short, stout man. He wore a black suit and tie, clearing dressed for a big event. He had a large beard, much more abundant with hair than the top of his head. His face was hidden behind a pair of comically sized spectacles. Mesfido and Jaina gazed at him silently, with slight caution. “Congratulations on reaching this here stadium! Not many do.”

Mesfido’s eyes flickered from the little, enthusiastic man to Jaina. She looked exhausted after their desert trek. He was worried she may collapse. “Thank you, sir. I hate to be rude but is there any chance you could get a glass of water for my friend? She’s completely parched.”

“Rudeness? I’ve never heard of such a thing. All our entrants are entitled to anything and everything they need,” The man clicked his fingers. A jug of water appeared in one of his hands and a glass in the other. He filled the glass, still chatting away over the flowing water. He seemed to enjoy talking.
“May I ask what your names are? It makes it easier on us announcers if we know the competitors names.”

Jaina had gladly accepted the glass. It was cool to touch. She lifted it to her lips and sipped down its contents, spluttering and coughing a little. She recovered her composure quickly, not to mention her voice.

“I’m Jaina Alsardor. I’m not here to compete though,” She motioned to Mesfido with her free hand, “This is Mesfido. Keep an eye out for him; he’s a tricky little fellow.”

The announcer laughed, it was as rich as his voice. “Most of the contestants are. You never know what to expect from such a strange bunch,” He pushed his glasses up his nose. They had begun to slide down. “Mesfido, aye? The fallen angel, yes?”

“Yes.”

The little man jumped for joy, giggling at little, “Why didn’t you say so before?! We’ve been waiting for you. You’ve timed your arrival perfectly; you’re round is due to start any minute. If you would follow me I’ll bring you to the arena,” He turned his attention to Jaina. He seemed genuinely sympathetic, “I’m sorry but only competitors can enter the arena. You’ll have to watch from the stands.”

Jaina placed the empty glass on the floor. She looked into Mesfido’s eyes. Not for the first time, he found himself lost in their fiery depths. Her gentle fingers stroked his chin. She lifted herself onto her tip-toes and planted a soft kiss on Mesfido’s lips. “Good luck. I’ll be rooting for you, my guardian angel.”

She turned and headed towards the nearest staircase. Mesfido watched her go all the way. The announcer waited patiently at his side. He was obviously used to this kind of behaviour from contestants.

“Whenever you’re ready, sir.”

Mesfido’s eyes hardened. This was why he had come here – to compete. “Lead the way.”

Another giggle erupted from the man’s mouth, “Splendid! It’s just through here.” He walked across the hall, always a few steps ahead of Mesfido. At the far side he stopped, just beside the door Mesfido had seen upon entering.

“In here?”

“Yes, in here.” The announcer held out his hand, waiting for Mesfido to take it. He did, “Best of luck, sir.”

Mesfido turned to face the door, it wasn’t anything unusual. What waited him on the other side, he did not know. There was but to find out. He pushed the door opened. A wave of heat bursts through the doorway. A rush of cheers filled his ears. One voice boomed above the din.

“GIVE A WARM WELCOME TO OUR FIRST COMPETITOR – MESFIIIIIIIIIIIDO, THE FALLEN ANGEL!!!”