Blitzed(149)

I dropped my bag and assumed a fighting stance, my body falling into patterns that it had known for far longer than I could recall. The first man who approached me I kicked in the side of the knee, buckling the joint and sending him stumbling, grunting at the injury. I stepped back and stomped on his chest, crushing his ribs and driving the wind out of his lungs. He slumped to the turf, and I quickly looked for the next person to fight.

As I fought, I decided that honorable maneuvers were not to be worried about. Instead, I picked up any dropped weapon I could, used every dirty tactic that I could devise, and offered no quarter. When I saw the other candidate get kicked in the balls before being knocked out by an attacker wearing what looked like lead enhanced gloves, I knew I was making the right choice. At least the chump had taken out four men himself before he went down.

I'd like to say that I was able to fight like a demon, battering all of my opponents into unconsciousness without taking a scratch. However, I staggered around, and I struggled to keep my hands up to defend my bleeding and scratched face. My left leg felt like a frozen block of clay after taking a staff blow to the large muscles of my thigh. I thought I looked more like a victim in a zombie movie than a valiant warrior.

The last opponent reached behind his back and pulled out a short sword and brandished it at me, a cocky grin on his face. For my part, all I had was the shivered end of a staff in my right hand and a leather belt in my left that I had wrapped around my forearm to provide some type of shield.

He charged, a loud screaming warcry ripping from his throat as I stepped back, knowing even as I did that my circling escape attempt had been anticipated and before I could recover my balance, the sword plunged into my ribs, piercing me like a kebab.

In a last ditch attempt at preserving my life, I intentionally let my right knee collapse, sending me tumbling to the frozen tundra of the field and rolling me over my right shoulder. My weapon, now uselessly pinned beneath my body, was released as I rolled, praying that my opponent's footing was as firm and balanced as he had at first appeared.

I came around just inside the arc of his swing, my left arm rising in a terse uppercut that caught him between his legs, lifting him up into the air while I regained my feet. My right arm grabbed him as he doubled over, tucking him into my body and completing the half twist, snapping my enemy over. He crashed head first into the turf, his neck taking our combined weights for an instant before buckling, and his spinal column shattered like dropped crystal. In less than a second, what had been a hard, tense bundle of muscle and bone became a seemingly limp sack of meat, and I climbed to my feet slowly, staring down at him. His eyes widened, and his mouth worked for a second before he spasmed once, then collapsed to the turf, dead.

I heard slow clapping, and I turned to see Sacha, his scowl again slightly lessened, spreading his arms and crashing his palms together over and over. It took me a minute before I realized he was applauding me. “Well done. Few have even survived to this point, let alone been victorious. Why did you kill your last opponent?”

I felt sweat mingling with blood as it dripped down my body from my wound, and wiped at my eyes, clearing the sweat. “His sword would have run me through, he was trying to kill me.”

“Do you regret killing him?”

I nodded, then shook my head. “I do, but if the Mistress had been here and he was threatening her, I would have no regrets.”

Sacha nodded. Going over to one of our dropped packs, he opened it up and reached inside, taking out a small towel. He tossed it toward me, where I caught it in the air. “Wipe your face and clean as best you can. The Mistress will be here in five minutes to see the results of your test.”

Exhaustion dropped away with each wipe of my sweat, dirt and blood onto the towel, which had started a soft tan but ended a filthy, nondescript blackened mess. I tossed it into the pack, looking around for the Mistress.

In seconds, I could see a car approaching, a black Mercedes sports car that I had seen around the grounds of the house before. I could see two people inside, and could barely contain my excitement as the car stopped and she got out of the passenger side, her driver staying inside. She was wearing the outfit that I thought looked sexiest on her, a simple pair of pants and a sweater that hugged each generous curve. I held my position, my hands behind my back and my feet rock steady on the ground.

She saw the results of the testing, clucking sadly over the crumpled body of my last opponent while medics came from the army building to assess the injuries of the others. Some were already sitting up while others were still sleeping their lumps off. “Sacha, you always create such a mess when you insist on these tests,” she said, giving him a raised eyebrow. “And how expensive will this one be?”

“Your uncle won’t find it excessive, Mistress Svetlana,” Sacha said. “Only one death, maybe two if that idiot who broke his leg can’t find his way back to the house.”

“That idiot was a graduate of the University of Leipzig, and a European champion in taekwondo,” she corrected him.

I bristled when Sacha laughed. “Then maybe his teacher should have taught him to look where the f*ck he was going. It would be a mercy if I were to go back into the woods and shoot him in the head, so he can’t continue to pollute the gene pool.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes before turning her attention to me. “And my new pet? How did he do?”

“Brave one there,” Sacha said. “He’s not bad.”