* * * [i]I'm dead,[/i] Zharn thought with panic as Xatan'ee continued his merciless onslaught, each graceful yet at the same time heavy blow threatening to knock the blade he held out of his hand. He was fairly certain several of his fingers were already broken. Adrenaline flowed through his system like blood, but did little to help. Attack. Parry. Blow. Evasion. Attack once more. The fight coursed on like a whirlwind, swept along by the feral cheering of the assembled crowd. Whereas Zharn was intimidated by this all and focused all his attention-- Parry again, this one almost allowing Xatan'ee to break through. -- on keeping himself alive, his foe seemed to treat this all like some great dance, revelling in the madness and chaos the duel brought with it. This was no civilised duel in a glade at sunrise. It was a fight between starved animals, each desperate to be the one to come out on the other side. "Your technique is rusty!" Xatan'ee roared over the noise as he struck once more. Quick-step-left-parry. Zharn's thoughts were slurring into one, and he didn't dare reply to the taunt, solely focusing on the fight. His armour seemed purple as the blue and red light of their blades fused into one and shone their deadly light upon them both, until it was unclear which sword was his and which was Xatan'ee's. Finally a break, as Zharn raised his leg and kicked Xatan'ee in the stomach, pushing him away. A little dirty, but this was not a game. It was life and death. For a few seconds then the two traded feints, each one a little reluctant to enter the fray once more. The circled each other, appraising possible weak spots. Zharn could see none. Finally, Xatan'ee brought up his sword once more and lunged forward. Just in time, Zharn brought up his own to block. The fleetmaster was using but one hand, and Zharn found himself using both just to hold back the expert swordsman. "Tired?" Xatan'ee grinned maliciously as he pushed further, leaning over Zharn as his back arched back. Zharn said nothing, deciding to take a gamble. He raised his leg, and lashed out. It connected with Xatan'ee's knee-cap, which buckled slightly. The fleetmaster fell back with shock. Zharn took the opportunity to go on the offensive, slashing out with his sword at every possible angle. Block. Parry. Each blow of his was still met by Xatan'ee's, who had now recovered from the shock of having his knee struck. "You're pathetic," Xatan'ee leered, looking down at his sword as they both stepped away from each other. "This isn't even my sword hand, and you still cannot even come close to besting me." Zharn's eyes widened as the fleetmaster switched his blade from right to left, spinning it in even more precise and intricate arcs. Inconceivable that he could have fought so well even with his weaker arm. And now he was using the strong one. Even so, Zharn did his best to beat the onslaught that came. Parry-step-step-feint-blow-evade. But it wasn't enough. Xatan'ee was too good. He managed to get a few blows in, drawing blood on his thigh at one point. Then the tipping point came. Grabbing Zharn's right arm in a grip that was as crushing as a vice, Xatan'ee yanked it violently to the left. The pain as it popped out of the socket was unimaginable, and Zharn screamed. He managed to tear his arm away from Xatan'ee's grip, but the damage had been done. Attack-evade-parry-parryparryparryparr-- Suddenly, Zharn found his sword knocked out of his grasp by the other Sangheili, sent sailing through the air. It finally embedded itself in the floor of the duelling arena some metres away. Dread smashed its way through all other senses, and he desperately flailed in an attempt to recover his blade. He came short a few mere centimetres, caught by Xatan'ee. The fleetmaster grabbed him by his left leg, and summoning a tremendous amount of strength pulled him back mid-air, smashing him into the ground. Zharn spun just in time to avoid the crashing down of that red sword. Xatan'ee's hand shot out and grabbed his neck, pinning him steadfast to the ground. The clamour of the audience had reached a peak now as they bayed for blood any blood, they cared not so long as someone's life-force spilled out today. As desperately as he struggled, Zharn could not move so much as an inch under Xatan'ee's crushing grasp. He could see his sword stuck into the ground just next to him, but as he reached out with his hand he could not get a hold upon the hilt. The rough claws of his foe then grabbed him by the jaw tightly, compacting his mandibles together with agonising force. Xatan'ee was just a few centimetres from his eyes, his sword raised behind him. "I will see to it you have a proper funeral. No expense shall be spared. You deserve that much at least," Xatan'ee promised, and Zharn could almost hear sadness in his voice. But all he thought of was death. The red blade sparked as it prepared to come down like a guillotine upon Zharn's head, and with a barbaric cry Xatan'ee moved to do just that. He missed. For a few seconds there was nothing but silence in the entire arena as everyone tried to comprehend just how the fleetmaster had missed his target at such close range. Not just a short distance too, but by nearly a metre. Xatan'ee looked into Zharn's eyes, blinking with confusion as if he were stunned. Zharn took advantage of that confusion, breaking the grip the fleetmaster held him in. He pushed Xatan'ee away, knocking him to the ground where he sat still in shock as he looked at the sword hanging limply in his hand, gazing up at Zharn with an open mouth as his mind struggled to grasp what was happening. Too late. Reaching down for his sword quickly whilst he still could, Zharn stepped forward and lunged down at Xatan'ee. A feeble parry, then another, and one more desperate one. The fleetmaster rose to his feet, and charged forward. Zharn side-stepped, catching Xatan'ee as he charged past. Zharn spun his foe around, and yanked him towards his blade. Xatan'ee stumbled towards him, looking with terror at the plasma rushing to meet him. He tried to spin away, but there was no chance. Merely a few seconds ago, Xatan'ee had been poised to end Zharn's life. Now, the former was sinking slowly down the latter's cobalt sword. Zharn caught him gently, setting him down on the ground where he quivered, blinking rapidly. "What--" was all Xatan'ee spluttered out amidst blood and other fluids. Then, with one final gush of fuchsia, all the menace and hatred left his narrow eyes along with the spark of life. The fleetmaster died on the floor, blood still pouring out of his ajar mouth. For a few seconds, the crowd simply rushed in silence, stunned by what had happened. Then, capricious in the way only a blood-lusting mob could be, they began to cheer. Not for Xatan'ee anymore; he was dead. Now they cheered Zharn, who slowly stood away from Xatan'ee's messy corpse and looked around at the masses. They were all stood out of their seats, clapping, stamping their feet and bellowing praise. "Fleetmaster!" he could make out amid the screams. "Fleetmaster Zharn Thierr'ee!" His eyes swept across them all, then at Ahkrin and Orpheus. Both were stood outside the ring, grinning and cheering like all the rest. Zharn's eyes then finally settled upon the body of Xatan'ee, still pinned to the ground by the sapphire sword lodged in his stomach. Sadness and remorse entered his hearts for a moment; both were soon swept away by the memories of what the bastard had done. Recovering from the shock, Zharn thrust his hands in the air triumphantly, a grin now etched across his own weary, beaten face. Zharn had reached his father's dream. He was now fleetmaster. * * * On the other side of the galaxy, in their small temporary quarters within the city of San, Sorran was laughing was exaltation as he watched all that had happened over the 'casts. Zharn was alive. Against all the odds he had triumphed against a superior foe. "That was certainly quite a twist," Hem uttered, laughing. "To miss such a crucial blow... Xatan'ee was far too confident in his own abilities, I think. That arrogance made him blind, and now he lies beneath a blade." "I care not how it happened," Sorran gushed, sinking back into his chair with relief. "I am simply glad my friend is alive." "Not just alive, but fleetmaster too," Hem added. "That may prove useful some day, when the time to reveal what you know arrives." And just as quickly as Sorran's joy had arrived, it faded. "None of what he did matters really, did it?" he reflected sadly. "Zharn is still as ignorant of the truth as Xatan'ee had been. They all are. Would that I could be with him now in his hour of victory, and tell him everything." "I'm sorry," Hem said softly. "I did not mean to depress you." "You did not," Sorran answered. "My friend is alive, and that is all I care about right now. Will you join me for a few drinks before we visit the temple, Hem? Even if I cannot celebrate with Zharn, I would still like to acknowledge his triumphs." Hem laughed heartily, nodding. "Of course, Sorran. I think a few drinks are just what we need right now." * * *