Mina of the Stars

Chapter 1: Hunter. Murderer. Prey.

Sweat accumulates in the porous material of Mina's burgundy fitted suit. She stands as tall as her five-five allows, her stance balanced, upright, strong.

My first layer of armour.

Mina's practiced pose draws in confidence.  She is on display at one end of the Evisceredge arena. It is within the remains of a greenhouse dome that matches pictures of stadiums back on Earth. The floor is dusted with stains of old fights, and the chalk-red rocks of Typhon's planet. Many of the transparent hexagonal walls are shattered and empty, revealing a sky of churning red-black ash mixed with the twilight pink of the forever hidden sun.

Voltaire waves his arms and the human crowd collected at the gate quiets. In the stands, the god-bloods turn, humanoid faces filled with eyes of different colours and the additional wings and tails that mark them as more, as stronger. They grin, sharp-toothed smiles, laugh, place their last few bets.

Mina takes out an engraved ball from one of her thigh pockets. She runs it slowly between her fingers. The lettering spins into view showing three names: Mina—Josh—Dee lining its circumference. She rolls it around on her palm and it chimes gently before she carefully puts it away.

Voltaire waits dramatically for the crowd to silence. There is a little scuffle at the gate where the humans press poor and dirty faces at the chain links. Voltaire signals to one of the Jadet guards, who turns towards the human melee. The Jadet takes one step. The humans quiet, big starving eyes in sunken faces. The Jadet waits, then returns to his post with a shrug.

Voltaire lifts his hands and the robe he wears shimmers, clicks and chimes. It is an obscene show of richness and god-connection adorned with deep rubies and purple diamonds from the ruling gods of Typhon, Hephaestus, and his son Kakos. Connection is the best armour anyone can have here, on this planet, where free will is valued above all else.

"Godlings, godchildren, half-bleeds and human dustlings. Welcome to this cycle's third and final match." Voltaire smiles bright. His teeth are a shock of white against the dark skin that protects him from the rays of Typhon's sun.

Mina's skin matches some of the sickly pale skin of humans at the gate. Many of them are like her, distant ship descendants. But in a certain light, Mina's skin gives a faint undertone of blue, hinting at some lost god-blood within.

Voltaire gestures towards Mina. "Here is our champion half-bleed, Minaterror! She reigns supreme with over four hundred and ninety-seven kills--"

Mina's hides her face as she bends down to adjust her boots. Boots that have walked in a lot of blood, that is not my own.

"--I keep waiting for the day when someone will best her. Because no one rules forever..."

The crowd caws and claps, stamps their feet. The humans scream from behind the gate.

How they relish in endings. How excited they would be to see me fail. 

Mina gets busy with her other boot, then checks her shin guard, and chest guard and shoulder straps.

The catcalls grow, and Mina begins the slow motion of unsheathing her weapons. Her bare hands land on the cool metal hilts. She pulls them from her back with ease and stretches them out on either side, furthering her own limbs. Her tools are a seamless addition to her balanced motion. She becomes a knife-edged butterfly.

The crowd sighs. For all the jeering from earlier, they can't help but be entranced with the fluid way Mina moves with her weapons. Even Voltaire quiets, watching Mina.

Mina has entered a pace and space that is all her own. Her blades wing shadows along the ground as she wakes her hunter's claws. Her face is intent on the gate across from her, through which her opponents will pass. She finishes stretching her winged-blades, and comes to a resting stance, crouched low, blades gleaming red smiles reflecting Typhon's sky.