BS - round 2 -

  In the barren, rocky mountains of the planet chosen to serve as the vast arena for the infamous Blood-Sport tournament, Tark gradually made his way up to the peak he singled out from the rest. Below him and all around him lay red-brown dirt, rocks and pebbles of all sizes, and splotches of soft white snow. He didn’t notice, however, the distant footprints in the white patches that had crushed into the snow and exposed the cold rocky ground beneath.

  With every step his body shivered. The gash and other cuts from the previous face-off with the female rebel had healed over the way any untreated injury would heal. His teeth chattered and he rubbed his arms in attempt to fight off the cold.

  Between shivering he fought to hiss obscenities against the climate and the planet, against the tournament, against the Empire. Even obscenities against Reemaja, though she had very little to do with his current situation.

  Looking up, Tark spotted the object he had spotted from the foot of the mountains: a radio tower. It seemed like a good lookout spot to have the upper-hand against his next opponent. It was a tiny, flat-roofed building with a large window and door in front. Behind the building stood two massive towers, both littered with satellites and such. A sign on the roof of the building read 384 XM KTOK.

  It was obvious from the building’s scathed walls that it had just survived an organic sweep. Within the steel web of one of the towers crouched another, darker-clad Irken, Spaz. He watched his opponent make his way closer and closer to the building. Upon his back sat a pak with a severely fractured middle panel, and blue threads of electric light shot from it. His narrowed black eyes possessed no shine, and the blood on his face from his own previous battle had dried and was already peeling off. Patiently, he waited.

  As the approaching, unaware, red-eyed Irken neared, Spaz leapt from the radio tower using the only two functional pak legs he had and landed almost silently upon the roof of the building. His figure was concealed from behind the sign until he sensed the moment to pounce.

“DIE!!” was all that Tark heard as he was suddenly tackled before he could even look up. In an instant he found himself on the hard ground and wrestling his attacker. Spaz snarled and took hold of Tark’s jaw in his claws, forcing his head down on the ground as he dug the claws of his free hand deep into the skin. Tark bit back a cry of pain and reached up a hand to push his attacker away. In the struggle he only managed to create an arm’s length distance between them.

  Spaz’s nails carved deep into the right side of Tark’s face. He cried out when he felt the newly grown skin tear apart, reopening the large gash under his eye. Quickly as his heart pounded blood seeped from the wound, dripping slowly down his face and smearing over Spaz’s gloved fingers.

  Thinking fast, Tark reached over to the sheathed dagger on his side. In one quick swipe the blade was freed, and then plunged into Spaz’s side, just below his ribs. The black-eyed Irken hissed sharply, letting up his offense for a slight second. Sensing the moment, Tark kicked his attacker hard in the gut and pushed him off, pulling the dagger out.

  Getting to his feet and backing away, Tark stood his ground just in front of the building. “So,” he tried to keep his voice from quivering too much from the adrenaline already rushing through his system, “I take it you’re my next opponent. Nice work making the first move. . .” he glanced at Spaz’s clothing, “But if I’m not mistaken, traditionally black moves second.”

  The black-clad Irken gripped his new wound and shakily got to his feet. Panting, he growled. “You’re dead!” he shouted and ran at Tark.

  Tark’s eyes widened and held his dagger at the ready. In the corner of his eye he spotted the large window on the building. As Spaz closed in Tark dropped his dagger and braced to snatch his oncoming opponent by the collar.

  Spaz dug his fingers into Tark’s head just as he found himself spinning in a half-circle and then hurled toward the window. His body shattered the already weakened glass and he landed hard on the floor. Slightly dazed for a moment, Spaz got to his feet and looked around. His legs quivered slightly as blood oozed from his stab wound as well as from new spots where small shards of glass had bit into his flesh.

  The room was small and rectangular. On one side was the door and now shattered window. On the opposite wall was a large, soundproof window that looked into a small studio with a microphone hanging from the ceiling. It looked to be a place for live performance studio. Returning his gaze to the room he was in he also noticed other things. Wrapping around half the perimeter was a complex console covered in buttons and screens and multiple music players. Near the broken window sat a red “On Air” light and at either end of the console sat separate organizers for all the music.

  Outside, Tark readied the lasers in his pak and blasted the door open in a burst of smoke, burned debris, and short flashes of green light. Spaz backed away, his eyes narrowing again.

  The moment he caught a glimpse of Tark step through the demolished door he growled savagely. “DIE!” he screamed again with more determination and leapt at Tark, taking him down once more.

  He was lifted up and swung toward the console. Spaz slammed Tark’s face down hard onto it, getting his opponent to grunt in pain. Using all his strength he gripped Tark’s neck with one hand, held Tark’s face down with the other hand, and dragged him down the whole length of the console. When he got to one end he turned around and dragged Tark the opposite way. Tark clenched his teeth as he felt the various objects on the console surface rip at his gash. Getting the end again, Spaz let go of Tark this time, sending him flying at the music organizer.

  First a soft crash as his body impacted, then an immediate louder crash as both he and the organizer tumbled to the floor. The weak plastic it was made of cracked and the organizer broke in half right under Tark’s fatigued body.  He lay still, groaning. A short moment of peace passed, though to Tark it felt as if time paused, perhaps to tease him. A strong grip was felt suddenly on one of his antennae and it pulled him up to his feet, then a hand smashed his head to the floor, just barely missing the edge of the console as he went down. Spaz pounced on Tark just as he turned on his back and began to claw mercilessly at his face again.

  Through squinted eyes Tark struggled to find any opening for him to strike. He did, but he was unable to move quick enough to exploit them. Then, as his eyes shifted here and there desperately he noticed colorful wires tangled underneath the console. They meant nothing until Tark caught a glimpse of the ever dancing blue sparks from behind Spaz.

  ”Of course!” Tark thought to himself. “Doesn’t matter if this place gets power anymore, his pak will short out. Yes!”

  Reaching up, Tark grabbed hold of the wires tightly, struggling as his face was torn and clawed at constantly. When he pulled down on the wires more length came, but with some difficulty. Spaz didn’t let up in his attacks, growling viciously like a predator. Having enough, Tark forced his knee into Spaz’s gut. Hard. The impact caused a short burst of blood to shoot from his side wound, and it splattered across Tark’s face.

  Without thinking, Tark threw Spaz down and held him down with one hand while he reached for his dagger with the other, swiping it across the wires and severing every single one that lay in the blade’s path. It was put away, and the same hand took hold of the wires and pulled them down. As Spaz writhed and snarled, Tark slowly pulled more and more wire from under the console until it was long enough to touch Spaz’s pak. Not another thought crossed Tark’s mind when he slammed the ends of the wires at Spaz’s pak.

  He fought to keep his strength directed down on Spaz as the electricity shot through both of them. The lights within the building flickered on slightly, as well as the “On Air” light. Neither of them could scream, nor even blink. Tark’s own pak clicked as the internal instruments couldn’t take much more. A mess of blue light and heat surrounded them both.

  Then suddenly they were separated in an instant. Spaz shot up and slammed against the underside of the console while Tark shot directly back, colliding with the second of the two organizers.

  And everything was dark.

  Spaz shifted slightly, but soon froze as sharp pain shot through his entire body. His pak no longer sparked, and when he opened his eyes they caught the light. His vision was blurry and it only caused him a headache to try and focus. Closing his eyes again, he tried to remember where he was. As if the many cuts and scrapes were not enough company for his stab wound, burns made their homes across his skin. His clothing, soaked with his blood, clung to him like static between two objects.

  He heard a soft scraping hiss, heavy breathing, and then he felt a hand push down on his chest. He struggled to open his eyes again, but saw nothing but blurs. Panic began to run through his veins when he felt the cold sting of a blade against his neck.

  “Wha- Wait. . . What are you doing?” he managed to ask. His voice was weak and hoarse. “Who are you?”

  Tark was almost taken aback that he didn’t remember who he was fighting at all. He sneered. “Your opponent.” His own voice was just as broken. “Now let’s end this.”

  Spaz only had time to widen his eyes in terror before the blade sunk deep into his neck and sliced all but bone. Blood sprayed in all directions, and Tark had to quickly turn his head away to keep it out of his eyes. As Spaz’s heart gave in, the dark liquid went from a violent spray to a slow and quiet flow.

  As he got to his feet, Tark struggled to keep balance and he struggled to breathe. Gradually, he left the scene; an exhibition of shattered glass, dirt, debris, and now a limp and lifeless carcass lying in a dark pool as it lay partly hidden beneath the console.

  Making his way down the mountainside, Tark had little breath to waste on mumbling, and instead muttered more obscenities in his head.