JOIN MY P@TREON FOR JUST $5!!! (Info in author's notes)
NEW SIVER MEMBERS:- Austin Levy, MightyUrsus96, Kris Cannon, Killjoy, Trickey, Cupz666, Dave Jake, Alexis Rios, Kylan Trinh.
NEW GOLD MEMBER:- Ralph
AND HEAD TO MY P@TREON FOR FREE! A POLL IS UP THERE! FREE TO VOTE!
Happy reading
--XXXX--
The walk from the Trikru tent to the base of the Polis tower was the longest hundred yards of Mike's life.
He moved on Lexa's left, his heavy boots silent on the dusty earth. Anya was on her right, a mirror of his position, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, her face a mask of iron.
And in the center, Lexa. She walked with a steady, measured pace, her eyes fixed on the massive structure before them.
Mike heard the roar of the crowd, the thousands gathered from all twelve clans. He could hear their individual jeering in Trigedasleng.
His left hand, the one closest to Lexa, was clenched so tight his enhanced knuckles were popping.
They reached the great, open-air arena at the tower's base. It was a deep, circular pit, its walls lined with screaming Grounders. In the center, seven other figures already stood, waiting. The other Nightbloods.
A Flamekeeper acolyte, his voice high and reedy, began the introductions.
"Aden, from Floukru!" A lanky boy who looked no older than twelve, holding a fishing spear.
"Ilian, from Trishanakru!" A man, scarred and grim, who looked more warrior than champion.
"Rai, from Azgeda!"
The name hit the air like a physical blow. The crowd roared for the Ice Nation. She was tall, with cold, dead eyes, and a cruel smirk already on her face. She and Lexa locked gazes. It was a promise of violence.
One by one, they were named. Eight Natblida, eight champions for the blood of the First Commanders.
"And Lexa, from Trikru!"
The Trikru contingent roared, but it was drowned out by a wave of boos and hisses from the other clans. Trikru was not loved.
"The rules are simple!" the Flamekeeper shouted, his voice echoing. "Eight enter. One leaves. The last to stand will be Heda. Let the Konklave... BEGIN!"
Anya and Mike were directed to a high, guarded viewing box reserved for clan leaders. Anya stood, her hands gripping the wooden rail hard. Mike stood beside her, his arms crossed, a silent, black-and-orange statue of menace.
In the pit, a horn blew.
And hell erupted.
It was chaos. The Floukru boy, Aden, was the first to die, a spear from the Trishanakru champion taking him through the throat. Two others fell in the first thirty seconds, lost in the initial, mindless fury.
But then, the chaos... organized.
Rai, the Azgeda champion, barked a single, harsh command. She pointed her blade at Lexa. And the remaining four champions all turned.
They began to advance on Lexa, forming a slow, circling, confident half-moon.
"Look at this," Rai sneered, her voice carrying up to the box. "The Trikru whore. She thinks she is special."
Ilian, the Trishanakru man, spat. "She is. Did you not see her escort? The ghost who walks."
"And the Iron Chief," another added, laughing. "She needs two to protect her outside the ring. What will she do in here?"
They were laughing at her. They had all agreed. Trikru was the target.
In the viewing box, Anya's hand went to her sword. "They... they are teaming up! This is not-"
"Wait," Mike's voice, electronic and cold, cut her off. He hadn't moved a muscle. "This is what we trained her for. Watch."
In the pit, Lexa had not moved. She had simply settled into a ready stance Mike had drilled into her for two weeks. Her twin blades were held low, her breathing even, her eyes calm.
She was analyzing, not panicking.
"You're right," Lexa's voice, cold and clear, cut through their mockery. "I am special."
She looked at Rai, at Ilian, at the other two. "You think this is a threat?"
She gestured to the four of them. "I train every single morning against a Chief who has forgotten more about killing than you will ever know."
Her gaze sharpened, a terrifying, cold fire lighting in her eyes. "And I spar, every single night, with the Blad-de-Trikru himself."
She raised her blades, a slow smile touching her lips. "You four... are nothing compared to Mikky and Anya. You are just... practice."
That was the line. The Azgeda champion roared in fury and lunged.
And the slaughter began.
The first to reach her was not Rai, but the Trishanakru champion, Ilian.
He was strong, leading with a heavy, downward axe-blow meant to shatter her guard.
The "old Lexa" would have met it, a clash of steel on steel.
The "new Lexa" wasn't there.
As Mike's voice echoed in her head, 'Never meet force with force; redirect it, ' she sidestepped, letting his axe crash into the dirt. And as he tried to recover, his armpit was exposed. Lexa's left-hand blade didn't stab. It thrust upward, a short, vicious, economical motion, severing the brachial artery.
Ilian looked down at his arm as he fell, at the sudden, pumping of dark black blood, his face a mask of confusion, as he bled to death.
Two more came at her, one with a spear, one with a club.
'Separate them. Control the field.'
She threw one of her short-swords.
The entire arena gasped. Who throws their sword?
The man with the club, shocked, flinched. The blade didn't hit him; it hit the dirt at his feet, a move designed to do one thing: break an opponent's mental rhythm.
While he was staring at the sword, she was on the spearman. With only one blade, she was faster. She parried his spear-thrust, trapping the wooden shaft against her own arm. She stepped in, broke his nose with a vicious headbutt, and as he stumbled back, she retrieved her thrown sword and spun, her blades a silver flash, slicing through his gut.
The last man, the one with the club, turned and ran. He tried to scramble up the pit wall. Lexa took one of Mike's throwing knives from her boot and, with a single, underhand flick, sent it spinning. It buried itself in the man's spine. He dropped, silent.
Now, it was just two.
Rai, who had been watching, stunned, her face was no longer a smirk.
"You... bitch," she hissed, and she charged.
Lexa met her head on. Their blades clashed, a screaming, desperate song of steel. Rai was strong, but Lexa... Lexa was smarter. She wasn't just fighting. She was calculating. She saw Rai over-commit, saw her weight shift too far forward on a lunge.
Now.
Lexa didn't try to win. She did something Mike had drilled into her.
She deliberately let her guard drop, stumbled, making it look like a sloppy mistake. Rai's eyes lit up. She saw the "kill," a wide-open shot at Lexa's chest.
It was a trap.
The second Rai's blade moved, Lexa exploded upward. She dropped her swords.
And in one, blindingly fast motion, she grabbed Rai's extended sword-arm, spun, and snapped the bone over her own shoulder with a crack that echoed in the silent arena.
Rai screamed, a high, thin sound, as her sword clattered to the dirt.
She stumbled back, clutching her ruined arm.
Lexa, breathing heavily, her face splattered with the blood of four men, simply walked over, picked up her own sword, and leveled it at Rai's throat.
The Azgeda champion was crying, her face full of pain and humiliation.
Lexa, breathing heavily, her face splattered with the blood of four people, simply walked over, picked up her own sword, and leveled it at Rai's throat.
"Please..." Rai whimpered, tears of pain and fury in her eyes. "Mercy..."
Lexa looked at her, her eyes cold, but not cruel. She looked at the six other bodies in the pit. Eight enter. One leaves. This was the law. This was the burden.
"The fight is over," Lexa said.
And with a single, clean slash, she ended it.
She stood alone, the last one standing, her blades dripping, the new Heda.
In the viewing box, Anya was gripping the rail, her knuckles white, silent tears streaming down her face.
Mike... Mike was already gone.
Lexa stood, her body finally registering the four shallow wounds she'd taken, the adrenaline fading. She was about to fall, her knees buckling...
But he was there.
She didn't know how. He hadn't been in the arena. And then, he was. He'd leaped from the high viewing box, landing like a panther. He'd crossed the blood-soaked sand in an instant.
He caught her as she fell, his strong arms wrapping around her, pulling her tight against his armored chest. She was safe.
She felt the familiar embrace, the scent of him, of leather and steel. "I did it, Mikky," she whispered, her voice a thread. "I... I did it."
His mask was still on. His voice, when it came, was a low, electronic rumble, but it was shaking with a pride so deep it was almost a sob.
"Yeah," he whispered, his visor resting against her forehead. "Yeah, you did... my little Heda."
She giggled at that, a weak, giddy, exhausted sound.
"Rest, Lexi," his voice commanded, soft and absolute. "You've earned it."
And in the arms of her shield, in the center of the bloody arena, the new Heda went to sleep.
Anya was there a second later, her warriors flanking her, her sword drawn, ready to cut down anyone who approached. She saw Lexa, sleeping soundly, and the fury in her eyes softened. She just nodded at Mike, a single, grateful, tear-filled look. He nodded back.
A moment later, the Flamekeeper, Titus, and his acolytes bustled in. "The Heda must be taken to the tower," he said, his voice high and officious. "She must be-"
"No," Anya's voice was a cold, hard snap. "She is wounded. She will be tended by her own people."
"Chief Anya," Titus said, clearly annoyed, "the ritual demands-"
"She will be under our protection," Anya stated, "until she is healthy again."
"This is not Trikru land!" Titus shot back. "The Heda is the property of the Flame! I will not have her-"
"She. Will. Be. With. Us."
The voice was not human. It was a low, electronic, synthesized growl. It came from the masked man who was still holding Lexa.
Titus, a man who had commanded champions and kings, felt fear. He had seen his share of warriors. This thing... was not a warrior. He had heard the stories of the Blad-D-Trikru, the ghost who had ended the Azgeda raids. He was looking at it now. And it was not asking.
"We are not asking you," Mike's voice crackled. "She. Will. Be. With. Us."
Titus swallowed, his political mind catching up to his fear. This was not a consort. This was a rival king. To challenge him now, here, would be to start a war they might not win.
"Of... of course," Titus stammered, smoothing his robes. "A... a misunderstanding. Heda's health is crucial. Allow me... to show you to the healers' area. In the tower. Where she can be safe... and... and comfortable."
Anya and Mike exchanged a look. It was a compromise.
"Agreed," Anya said.
They walked through the stunned, silent crowd, a strange, terrifying procession: a Chief, her Blade, and the sleeping Heda cradled in his arms.
They were given the finest room in the tower. Mike, finally, removed his mask, his face grimed with sweat, his eyes etched with exhaustion and relief.
Lexa woke a few hours later, in a soft bed, her wounds stitched by Nyko, who had been brought in under Trikru guard. The first thing she saw was Mike asleep in a chair by her bed, and Anya on her other side, her hand gripping Lexa's.
They stayed like that, a family, until the second day.
"One of us must be at Trikru," Anya said, her hand on Lexa's forehead.
"The clan needs its Chief." She looked at Mike. "And the Heda needs her Blade."
She kissed Lexa's forehead. "I want you to watch her, Mike. I trust no one else here. Not the Flamekeeper. Not any of them."
"I won't let her out of my sight," he promised, and kissed Anya goodbye.
Anya left. And for one week, Mike... took care of her.
Titus, the Flamekeeper, would come by to check on the Heda's recovery, but in reality, to study this new, terrifying political dynamic. And what he saw baffled him.
He had watched Lexa from Trikru dismantle seven warriors without breaking a sweat. He had seen a tactical genius, a Heda of iron.
What he saw now... was a little kid.
"Mikky, it's hot," Lexa would whine from the bed.
And Mike, the Blad-de-Trikru, the man whose voice had frozen his blood, would sigh, get up, and patiently fan her with a large leaf.
"I'm hungry. But I don't want that slop."
And Mike would produce a foil-wrapped protein bar from his endless bag, break it into small pieces, and feed it to her, as she lay there, a smug, happy smile on her face.
Titus was appalled. This was the Commander? Being pampered? Being babied? He had always been against the Heda having... attachments. A Heda was a god, beyond such things. Let alone sharing a man with another woman.
But... he held his tongue. He couldn't say anything. Because he knew that the man feeding her, the man she adored, was not just a romantic partner.
He was the Blad-D-Trikru, a recognized, titled leader of Trikru, a man with power of his own. This was, he realized, a political marriage, and he had no standing to interfere. He just sighed, bowed, and left the... animals... to their strange, domestic bliss.
A week later, Lexa was healed. The tower was prepared. Anya returned, her face proud, her Chief's armor gleaming.
Lexa, now in the formal, black-and-red armor of the Heda, walked through the silent, kneeling crowd. She walked alone... almost.
On the high dais, to the left of the throne, stood Anya, Chief of Trikru. To the right stood Mike, his arms crossed, his mask off. He was showing his face, his scars, his golden, watchful eyes, to all of them. They were her pillars. They were making sure this went smoothly.
Lexa knelt. Titus began the ritual. He spoke of the First Commanders. He spoke of the Flame, the chip, the spirit of the Heda.
He brought out the case. He prepared the incision at the base of her neck.
Mike's hand, Anya noted, was resting on the hilt of his sidearm. Just in case.
Titus made the cut. He took the chip. "Heda," he said, "recite the lineage."
Lexa, her voice clear and strong, began the names. "Becca Pramheda... Sheidheda..."
As she spoke, Titus inserted the Flame.
Lexa's body went rigid. Her back arched. Her eyes rolled back in her head. A small, choked sound escaped her.
Anya lunged forward, "Lexa!"
"Wait," Titusvoice was sharp. Mike's hand was on Anya's arm. "This is it. This is the test."
They watched, their hearts in their throats, as Lexa's body trembled... and then... settled.
She slumped, her breathing deep.
She was still for a second. Two. Ten.
And then, she slowly, slowly, opened her eyes.
She looked at Titus. And then, she looked at Anya and at Mike.
A small, tired, but knowing smile touched her lips. She stood, not as Lexa, but as something more.
And then she broke protocol. She didn't go to the throne. She stepped off the dais and hugged Anya and Mike tightly.
The hall was silent, shocked at this breach of tradition.
Mike just held her, his eyes closed in relief. He pulled back, a joke in his eyes, "Ready to become the Heda?"
Anya laughed, a single, sharp, proud sound.
Lexa, the Commander of the Twelve Clans, the spirit of the Flame, just smiled, her head resting on his chest.
"Yes," she said.
---XXXX---
How was it?
GREAT!!
or
MEH(If this, then tell why. Helps improve the fanfic)