John spent the rest of his days practicing combat under Sor Al’s guidance. They had been given a large training room for this purpose. His two second phase did much to mitigate any damage received and helped him better position himself to use his elemental powers. Whenever he phased he thought of Karamen. Oboe_man23...The man responsible for Karamen’s death. If he ever found out who that was he’d make him pay.

“Stay your hand,” shouted Sor Al. “You are getting angry and flustered. Remember that in combat nothing is more important than a calm heart. Detachment will keep you alive.”

Detachment. A calm heart. John could do that. He slowed his breathing and wiped his mind of all distracting thoughts. They sparred again, using weave after weave against each other. John would break some of Sor Al’s weaves with his glaive, but it was difficult. She was too fast, even when she handicapped herself.

“You should survive,” she said, after they’d finished sparring. “The champions of the great empires are not easy to defeat but you have what it takes to do so.”

“Who are the champions I’ll have to fight?” John felt nervous about facing his opponents. They would be among the best fighters in the galaxy.

“I don’t know. They would have picked new champions for this competition.” Information was power, and John was feeling powerless. Did he have what it took to win this? Would he die miserably in the Arena, while the billions cheered? Sor Al’s confidence in him might have been misplaced.

John’s group was transferred to a landing craft. The craft soon arrived at the Hatishi Arena. It was built on a small moon orbiting the planet Warick, also known as the slave market of the galaxy. The Arena had a broad base and was shaped like a cone. It had hundreds of floors, and could easily seat millions. There were enormous screens floating in the air outside the Arena. Flood lights and holographic projectors hovered within, casting their beams inside. The exterior was white in color, while the stands inside were painted in various shades. John could see the black and red where the Oor audience would sit. There was the blue and white of the Conglomerate, the yellow of Hatish, the blood red of Atar, the purple of Atar’s neighboring empire Arar, and the black of Ira. Atar, Arar and Ira had once been one empire, the greatest empire of mankind. It had split into three, thousands of years ago after many civil wars and some said the secret assistance of Oor.

“We’re going directly to the Arena?” John asked Sor Al as he gazed at the view. He didn’t want to enter that building so quickly. He wasn’t yet mentally prepared for it.

“There will be rooms and refreshments waiting for us there.”

Just as Sor Al had said, as soon as they landed they were escorted to a luxurious suite. The fittings were made of gold and the beds were made of real wood. His bed’s mattress was soft and molded itself for the perfect fit. The cupboards were all made of wood and John could detect the faint scent of resin. It was all very ostentatious. John’s eyes turned green as he searched the root way for his Arena opponents. Just as Sor Al had said, they were a mystery. The Hatishi Empire had hinted that their champion was unusual, and that the people were promised a treat.

News of John being Oor’s champion had leaked. There were protests on the root way. Some people were against children being used as warriors. They were mostly from paradise planets where people could live carefree lives. Others debated with these protesters, saying Wild Child was no ordinary child. He had chosen to enter the war on his own and that there were consequences for all actions, no matter the age. The debates raged on the root way. John didn’t know how to feel about them. He wondered what it would have been like if he had lived a normal childhood in this life. It would be a lot more comfortable, that was for sure, but he would never have been able to gain this amount of power and prestige so quickly. These things were important to him, and for his ultimate goal.

John and Sor Al were summoned by the Empress for a banquet. As usual the Empress was flanked by her giant bodyguards. This time they wore their helms, all traces of humanity gone from their appearance. He could sense how deadly they were. There was no trace of them having aura reserves but there was some other kind of power within them. Could they be martial artists? He activated his perceiver circuit to take a better look at them. There was a power flowing within their nerves and blood vessels, unlike anything he had seen before. It was slowly changing them from the inside into something different.

“Come,” said the Empress, “eat. It will not be long before you are too exhausted to enjoy a good meal.” She sat at the head of the table and reserved the two seats by her side for Sor Al and John.

Just at that moment a man burst into the banquet hall. The man looked very familiar to John.

“Ovin the Destroyer,” the Empress said calmly. “Do you wish to dine with us?”

“Do not play games with me, Ana,” said Ovin. “I want what’s mine.” He seemed to be in a rush. His words were brusque. He was still cautious of his surroundings despite his hurry, his eyes roving from one end of the dining hall to the other, searching for threats.

Though he was of normal height, easily dwarfed by the Empress’ guards, Ovin felt much more powerful. John could see blue pulses flow through his veins, in the rhythm of a heart beat. They were almost like luminous tattoos. He was bald. Ovin probably shaved his head out of convenience rather than for looks. He wore a simple black robe, and leather sandals on his feet. He had a sword on his belt, a simple weapon with no decoration or runes. His eyes were a deep blue. His gaze seemed to penetrate everything it was directed at. He gazed at John for a few moments and then smiled. “Good kid,” he said.

One of the Empress’ servants came up to her with a small black box. The Empress looked at Ovin, not daunted at all by his presence, “I knew you couldn’t wait so I brought it with me. Take it. You have Oor’s thanks for your services.” The servant handed Ovin the box.

“I will not overstay my welcome,” Ovin said, and left. That was anticlimactic, thought John. He had really wanted to see a fight break out between Ovin and the Empress’ Death Walkers. He was extremely curious about a martial artist’s strength.

The Empress clapped her hands and a minstrel began to play. His voice was a beautiful tenor. John was more intent on eating than appreciating the music. Traditional Hatishi cuisine was delicious, he thought, as he ate glazed rinn, which was some kind of lamb. The Empress did not seem put off by Ovin’s rude entrance and quick exit, and continued hosting the feast as normal. Dinner soon ended and they returned to their rooms.

At dawn the next day, John was woken up by the Hatishi attendant. He was taken to a room that looked like a spa. His hair was cut, he was bathed, oiled and then fitted with his armor. The armor was just like the ones John had seen the Oor people wearing on Aroth. It was big and clunky and obstructed his movements. It wasn’t as bad as he thought though. He could still move and turn quickly. He took a few swings with his glaive and felt the weight was just right. He was taken to a waiting room, where an attendant informed him of his opponent.

“Be careful of him. He is a very strong martial artist,” his attendant said.

“Is he stronger than Ovin the Destroyer or the Death Walkers?”

“They are on another level,” the attendant wiped the sweat off his forehead. “They would destroy any opponent in the Arena within seconds.”

Half an hour later John entered the arena ground. The arena ground was big. John could barely see his opponent waiting for him on the opposite side without his perceiver circuit turned on. There were shiny metal sheets marking the arena’s boundaries. John surmised that these sheets had something to do with the holographic projections. Maybe the light had to be reflected just right for a clear image to form. Human holographic technology was quite bulky and outdated. He wondered if the projections would be as clear and detailed as Elven holograms.

The cheers of the crowd were deafening. The sand was white, just as Lianel had told him on Kumra a long time ago. The perfect canvas for the spilling of blood, she had said, or something to that effect. John felt a shiver of excitement. The announcer began his narration, his voice magnified a hundred times.

“And coming out on the arena floor is the slayer of a million beasts, the child of nature, the champion of Oor, the one and only Wiiiiiiild Chiiiiiiiiiiiild!” Millions cheered with excitement that bordered on religious fervor. It was as though they were looking at a god. John could not stop himself from laughing out loud. This feeling was addictive.

“And coming out now, across from him is the Mountain Giant, the drinker of blood, the ruthless barbarian, the champion of Atar, Griiiiiiiiiiiiiiir!”

“Grir, Grir, Grir,” the crowd chanted. He seemed to have as many fans as John. John sized his opponent up from a hundred yards away. He was not as big as the Empress’ Death Walkers but he looked as deadly. He held a phase punisher net launcher in one hand and a las trident in the other. He wore a pointed helm and a black face mask fashioned in the form of a wolf. His body was covered in light armor made of interlocked sheets of some shiny silver material that looked both flexible and strong. It fit him like a suit. He wouldn’t have any trouble moving around, but surely a man that big had to be slow. John crossed his fingers.

A gong sounded, and the audience fell into silence. It was so silent that John could hear “Let the fight beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeegiiiiiiiiiiiin!”