Blessed Combat

1 - An odd little conversation

He could sense the hungry eyes of the audience fixed on him, like a predator lying in wait from above. Not one of them dared to breathe for that would shatter the silence that hung over them on a precariously breakable thread. Arma stared at the defeated limp body before him numbly, unable to cry out in remorse for what he had just done. He had almost taken the life of an innocent player; almost became a murderer by his own power.

However, his opponent had miraculously survived the somehow instinctively produced offensive attack but his body was battered all over and several bones in different areas were fractured severely in such a way that would make movement near impossible for a long while.

Despite all that, Arma watched in a heavy, silent, trance-like daze as his beaten down opponent shifted his head towards him uncomfortably. He could see it was excruciatingly painful for the opponent to even twitch a muscle as tears streamed down on the wounded fighter’s face.

On the other hand those tears weren’t tears of defeat. They were tears of loath. The fierce blue eyes of the weeping fighter were glaring; ablaze with detest which shot daggers accusingly at Arma, for he was the cause of his pride being torn to millions of pieces as if it were a cheap piece of paper. Those eyes dared the young lad to make his final move which Arma wasn’t too willing to do. Doing that would only tear the little pride his opponent had left.

He hadn’t meant to beat him to the point he couldn’t move. That was a cruel mistake he had made and he had a high suspicion that he won’t forget it soon without some unpleasant dreams.

Before he could dwell on what to do next, a voice finally boomed loudly that echoed around the whole stadium which could only belong to the host, Zero, announcing the end of the battle.

“The victor of today’s duel battle is Armageddon!!! Congratulations!!! Take a bow!!!”

Arma stood there awkwardly; his own body hadn’t fared so well itself. His opponent had struck him skilfully on the head, which now throbbed furiously in pain. The blow caused a deafening ringing sound to overtake his hearing that increased the nauseous feeling he was experiencing. Different parts of his body ached and he felt certain that they were going to transform into bruises first thing in the morning.

His opponent was good; he could give him credit for that. He could have beaten Arma to wake up next week Tuesday with amnesia; but, had Arma’s powers damned his opponents once again? That would make this opponent the umpteenth victim that had fallen to them.

Why? Why did it make him win again? Why wasn’t he happy with his victory? Why did he still feel the guilt bearing down on his chest and shoulders? Why hadn’t the weight eased up yet?

Arma looked up to find the silence the crowd held with such difficulty was now broken and there were low whispers and murmurs between several individuals all at once; merging into a unified wave uttering the language of gibberish at Arma with a hint of disgust.

Some of the unknown faces eyed him with fear haunting them in the back of their mind -despite how safe they should have felt in their bones with the dome-shaped transparent force field between the lone victor and the audience.

More than once he could hear the word ‘monster’ passed from one person to another like a restless current across a large ocean. Eventually, the tension and unease grew stronger with each passing heart beat. Most of them eyed him with poison flowing in their glares and a passionate hatred was exposed on their faces.

Not one single person was there to applaud for his victory. If everyone, including Arma wasn’t happy with his victory; what exactly was his victory?

                                ***

“Congratulations on last night’s victory!!!”Arma groaned loudly against to what he confirmed to be the most annoying voice in the virtual world, his childhood friend, Zatch