The War-God Descendant

“UURRRGHHH!!” Sara gave a throaty groan, the type which meant she didn't have much longer to stay alive. Her face was pale and ghosty and her lips were cracked like Africa’s harmattan. “The heat.” Sara whispered, her eyes now filmed like stale water. “I know,” Adam, her brother replied. The air in the healer’s one-room hovel tasted of dust and death. Not the dry, mineral dust of Gamoth empire. Adam had a mechanical left hand, a thing of polished steel plates and grinding pistons which were fixed to a stump where a left hand had once been. He was an orphan who survived the slums by fighting for coins. He also bore a birthmark from a long forgotten god of war. Here, in Gamoth, water costs more than life itself and was reserved for aristocrats only. Just then, the door opened and a goblin named Friday, walked in. The Healer followed behind him, his expression set. He had no need to examine Sara for he'd already made his diagnosis. “She needs water.” The healer said again, Incase Adam didn't really understand the first time. “The fever eats her from the inside,” the Healer continued, his voice low. “Her blood is thick and slurry and her organs are baking in their own brine.” Adam’s biological hand clenched but the iron one remained still like a captive hammer. “There must be something else.” The Healer’s gaze was merciful. “Adam. Water is the only cure for your sister.” “Clear, clean water. To break the fever’s chain and let my herbs do their work.” Friday the goblin sprang up. “Master speaks truth. The powders grind, the roots boil, but without water, they are just useless concoctions." Adam looked from the Healer’s grave face to Friday’s large, earnest eyes, then to Sara ’s shivering body. “How long does she have?” “Two days” Sara’s hand fluttered like a trapped bird and found Adam’s flesh wrist. “Don’t… do anything… stupid.” Adam covered her hand with his mechanical left hand. “I will save you, sis. I swear.” He stood up and walked out of the Healers grovel towards the city's underground fighting arena; where seasoned street fighters met to fight for coin, fame and water. Inside, the air vibrated with chants of bets and curses as eager fans screamed their loyalty. Broken teeth gamblers staked their coins on whom they felt would win. It was a cut throat. Adam stood in the arena, rolling his shoulders while his manager, Boss Krell, a man whose face looked like a failed clay sculpture, emerged from the smoke. “You’re up, Adam against Pincer. Don’t look pretty, boy. You take a dive in the third and make it count.” Adam stared past him at the stain on the wall where a man had died last week. He saw Sara ’s pale face there instead. Hang on sis. Krell’s laugh was a cough. “Adam, if you win. That will be a dozen coins, enough to buy a nice bowl of water for your sick sister.” A bowl? A glass of water cost ten. The math was a torture device, but it was a start. “Just ring the bell.” Adam said, walking past him. The bell was a cracked pipe struck with a rod. Its BWAANG was the call to unholy communion. Pincer was a monument of muscle and retrofit anger with one eye gleaming with a red lens. Where his hands should be were sharp, wicked, industrial pincers capable of snipping a limb like a dry twig. He didn’t speak, he just opened and closed the pincers with a sound like SNICK-SNACK. They locked in. SNICK! A pincer shot out but Adam ducked, feeling the wind of its passage shear hairs from his head. He turned, driving his iron fist into Pincer’s rib cage and the impact traveled up his arm. Pincer grunted, swung backhanded but Adam blocked with his iron forearm and sparks flew. The crowd oohed. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” The crowd chanted like a psalm. Adam fought not to win, but to earn. He weaved another savage clip, came up at Pincer and landed three rapid blows to the gut like a desperate trinity. Thud-thud-thud! Pincer staggered, his red eye flickered and there was a shriek of tearing metal as black oil robotic blood gushed from his gut. Pincer screamed, a human sound now, and stumbled back, clutching his gut. Then the bell rang. BWAANG. Krell was at the ropes, his face purpled with betrayed greed as he threw a small leather pouch of coins into the dirt and it landed with a soft pathetic plink. Adam picked it up. He had to fight again and again until the gold piled high enough to buy water. The fight was not over. The far gate, the one used for anonymous entrance, creaked open; and another opponent emerged, cloaked in dun-grey, face obscured by a plain steel mask. He carried no obvious weapon, only a magical sword which gleamed in the light. Adam’s smile didn’t fade. The masked opponent laughed in mockery. “I will finish you today, boy.” “Come on, then, I'll happily break your jaw.” BWAAAANG! The bell rang and they locked in. Adam hammered combos of kicks, feints, and uppercuts meant to cripple and overwhelm; but the masked man was as sleek as a snake. He never closed, he instead swung the magic sword which banged with a beam and amber energy would lance out, anytime it missed Adam. “Fight, Godammit!!” The masked man screamed in irritation. Adam stopped dodging and charged directly into the line of fire, then dropped, sliding through the dirt a second before the beam scorched the air above him. He delivered a brutal uppercut which sent the steel mask clattering to the floor to reveal a stunned, aristocratic face. The crowd gasped. It was Prince Eric, the proud heir of Emperor Wellington. Adam planted a foot on the fallen prince’s chest and raised his fist to deliver a killer blow. “Stop him!!” Imperial soldiers lunged forward and grabbed Adam's arm mid-strike. The crowd’s joy curdled into screams. “Guard the prince! Secure the perpetrator!” In the scramble, an overzealous punch caught him in the temple and he dropped to his knees like a subservient servant. A cold steel handcuff was snapped into his wrist and he was whisked away and thrown into prison among other crew of condemned prisoners. Adam looked around, their faces were gaunt and hardened by a lifetime of struggle. He ran a hand over the mysterious birthmark on his skin, a brief reminder that he was a descendant of a wargod . “Oi, you there!” A burly man across the cell gestured toward him with a grunt. “What’s your story, kid?” Adam shrugged. “I’m a street fighter just trying to survive.” “Survive?” The man chuckled. “In this place? Good luck with that.” Before Adam could respond, a clattering of guards filled the hallway and their shouts echoed like a bad dream. “Line up, condemned! Time to face the Emperor!” “Emperor Wellington, huh?” Adam muttered under his breath, worry wrinkling his brow. At the Emperor's court, a voice called out from among the crowd. “Look who it is!” Adam turned to see Prince Eric weave his way through the crowd, his swagger unmistakably proud. “The street rat who thought he could take me out in the arena. How brave.” Adam clenched his jaw, memories of their fight flooding back. “What do you want, prince?” Eric grinned with malice in his eyes. “You think you can survive here? You’ll be sold off for a cup of water.” Before Adam could retort, a figure emerged from the shadow. Soso, his fiancée. “Adam…” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. “What are you doing here?” He was surprised. “I thought…” “I dumped you for him,” Soso interrupted, her expression strikingly indifferent. “I am tired of struggling. This is where I belong now. Power, prestige… far from slums and poverty.” Prince Eric’s laughter erupted like firecrackers, filling the court like obsession. “See? That’s the price of a lost battle, my friend. Your lady chooses wisely.” Adam's heart raced as anger coiled within him. “Soso, you're making a grave mistake” “No, Adam.” Suddenly, the massive doors swung open and a frantic royal servant dashed in breathlessly. “Emperor, the water scavengers are here. They await you.” The water scavengers were masked traders from the North who exchange stolen waters for condemned prisoners. Emperor Wellington heaved from his seat and motioned to his soldiers. “Very good. Bring all the prison ers, we have some good business to do.” The soldiers dragged Adam and other prisoners outside towards the water scavengers where they would be traded for water.