Eagle Eyes & Other Short Stories

Welcome To The Showdown

They had simply come out of nowhere and begun to overrun the land with their deadly armies if they could even be called armies. They were more like a small band of grim reapers that crossed the continent, consuming whoever stood in their way.

Maybe someday, a warrior would rise up who could face them and match their strength to defeat them and restore peace to the land once again.

Txomin looked back at the rest of the gladiators behind him. Most of them had no idea what to expect. Still unaware of the fact they would soon face each other to the death.

The Vrazsar soon lowered the hands in the fateful silence. The tall, masked being beside him, undid his chains and handed him a sword.

The muscular, burly man rubbed his chafed wrists, locking eyes with his captor. They had done their worse to him two months ago when they had beaten him almost to death.

He no longer feared them. He hated them. That was the feeling that swept over his body as he took the weapon his captor held out. Rage roiled through his body as he schemed a way to get out of this mess.

Txomin and his fellow humans had been unable to wound or kill these creatures. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember ever actually attacking one of these creatures.

A vague recollection of their battle pushed its way back into his memory. Only this time, it seemed that his fellow warrior had never attacked the Vrazsars at all.

Flashes of memory and visions of the battle seemed to indicate that he had his fellow fighters had slaughtered each other.

Was that how he had survived? Had he been the one to kill his friends and family? Had the Vrazsars merely looked on as they struck each other down on the field, just as they were doing here with the gladiators?

The idea that the Vrazsars weren't so untouchable flashed through his mind. As the large, dark figure before him turned to hand a second sword to his opponent, Txomin shifted subtly and prepared to attack.

He lunged and brought up the point of the sword towards the Vrazsars heart and pressed his body forward into the dark fiend's direction.

As before, the other Vrazsar rushed in around him. Again, without actually moving. They weren't there, and then suddenly they were all around him.

Txomin held his breath, waiting for them to tear him away and beat him almost to death again. Or maybe this time they would actually finish the job which would even be welcome relief instead of suffering through recovery only to be brought back out here in a few more months.

Only he didn't back off or give up on his death grip as he hugged the Vrazsar's body and continued to press in the sword as furiously as his rage and hatred would allow.

The body of the Vrazsar he was holding went limp, and a collective sigh from the others surrounding him began at the same time. Behind the masked expressions, Txomin could almost see the surprise and shock in their eyes.

The Vrazsar went limp and slid to the ground. The others dissipated into the wind and swirled around him.

Txomin pulled his sword back and stared down at his hand in pleasant surprise at this unexpected turn of events. He turned to grin at the other gladiators who still didn't know how close they had come to dying.

He tried to tell them that they were free to go, but words failed him. Txomin couldn't speak. Literally. The men were staring at him in fear and horror.

They backed away from him and either fell backward over their chains or dropped to their knees begging for their lives.

Txomin looked at them in confusion as he tried to understand what was going on. He looked down at himself and realized he was no longer wearing the simply gladiator outfit that the Vrazsars had sent the men out to die in.

A long dark cloak covered his body that was eerily similar to the cloaks the Vrazsars had worn. He realized that even his hand was covered in a black glove that glowed with the same strange blue light the Vrazars had worn previously.

He reached up a hand toward his face. It was no longer soft and fleshy. It was cold and hard to the touch. Smooth and icy just like the same mask the Vrazsar had worn.

Txomin tried to pull it away from his face, but it was stuck in place. He dropped his sword and tried to pry it away with both hands to no avail.

The wind whipped his once-black hair around across his face. Only now it was white as snow in stark contrast to his black outfit, just like those of the Vrazsars before him.

After a minute or two of struggling with the mask and trying to understand what had just happened, Txomin gave up and picked up his sword.

He sliced through the chains of the gladiators and motioned for them to leave. They didn't hesitate and took off at a dead run.

Txomin focused on the back of one man and instantly, he was there at the man's side. The terrified man screamed when he saw him and threw himself to the ground.

He focused back on the ring of swords and instantly was back inside the ring as before just as if he had never left.

The once-human slid the sword into a sheath across his back. He didn't know how he knew it was there, or maybe it hadn't been there before.

Txomin didn't know what he could know or do as a Vrazsar or whatever it was that he had become. But he swore that he would do whatever was in his power to undo the damage they had brought to his land and his people.

Then he would travel to the ends of the earth to uncover the truth and avenge the destruction they had brought and wreak havoc upon those responsible.