Blessed Combat

3 - Pop! Goes the weasel!

The Centre of Wind Crest wasn’t located at the dead center of the whole town. Instead, it was stationed at the top left corner in that area, just a few blocks away from school. The Centre was of a spitting image of a castle in the medieval age. Even the architecture was impressive that no words could describe its beauty.

The building was so tall; the peak of the towers seemed to touch the sky. There were three magnificent doors with golden paint tracing an ornament-like design on them;  one in the middle that was for competitors taking part, and two at the sides that allowed players who came by to watch the competitors struggle for victory.

Needless to say, Arma stood alone before the grand middle door, having second thoughts on the game at hand. Sure, he had already accepted the challenge but that doesn’t mean he can’t skip it right? The host, Zero, had always disregarded those who didn’t come as they have to commence whatever game they had in mind. There was also the fact that his guest might come earlier than he expected. Making a girl wait outside was not what he was raised as. He will just turn back before it’s too late to face the consequences.

Unfortunately, try as he might, he couldn’t find the strength to initiate his retreat plan as both of his feet was rooted on the concrete ground, refusing to flee. Fuming in rage, mostly at himself, Arma sighed in an irritated tone and pressed both hands on the gigantic door. He could simply just stand before the door and wait till it was too late to enter.

However, somewhere in the far corners of his mind; a small voice was urging him to go on. The tiny voice was convincing him that he would regret it if he didn’t take the chance. He might as well face it now, over never at all. Without another thought, he gently pushed the door inwards and let the glaring white light overwhelm his eyes.

Blinking against the light as he made his way through, he could hear the bustling sounds of excited players and the audience above him.  The stadium was just like last night, only the cracked and ruined platform was renewed, as if nothing had happened the night before. Roughly thirty or so players were inside a transparent dome-shaped force field, separated from the audience that was seated in a circle; around the force field and above ground.

Nonetheless, soon the excited voices hushed to silence and several pairs of eyes stared at the tall lad. No matter how many times he had faced these eyes full of hostility; he could never get accustomed to it. Soon Arma was panicking once more inside, regretting the rash decision he had made. This was a bad idea, a very bad idea. He should have stayed back at home where everybody wished him to be. Not back here, creating havoc once again.

Despite how Arma was battling a world war three inside of him, his body’s defence mechanism kicked in and Arma found himself glaring back to those very pairs of eyes; unconcern glinting in his grey eyes. He looked cold and unfriendly, which was enough to set some of the audience and the competitors to hang back. It would be just sufficient enough to slay down the pressure emitting from the people around him.

“No way!” a sudden, much kinder voice cried out in disbelief. A bit surprised, Arma turned and glanced at the person who was walking towards him. It took him only a second to recognise who that person was.

“You came! You actually freaking came! Hell must have frozen over!” Zatch cried out, persistent to display his astounded expression to everyone else around them.  Zatch had his ink black hair styled to the right and spiked which left the impression of porcupine needles. He wore a striped shirt of blue and green, casual jeans and red converse. He didn’t wear his usual dark rimmed glasses, but, Arma noticed the faint transparent contacts in those black orbs.

Even though his show of amazement didn’t make the pressure any lower, Arma’s glare softened a bit where a hint of sadness was revealed.

“I did say I would think about it.” Arma responded gently, sensing the people around him shift uncomfortably, keeping their distance from him as they tried to ignore his presence, which was almost impossible since he stood out like a sore thumb. When he didn’t add anything further, he felt a light pat at the back of his shoulder.