Free Markram Battles: Omens of Doom (Part II) by M.C. Muhlenkamp Page A

high-pitched sound of my own scream echoes around me as I leap to my feet and pick up the sword resting next to me. I tuck whatever she gave me inside the pocket at the hollow of my throat and sprint into a run. The beast doesn’t even turn as I leap onto its back and plunge my sword into the top of its neck.
     
    The animal wobbles down, dropping my sister onto the floor and collapsing next to her. I crawl to her. “What are you doing here? How did they find you?”
     
    She coughs blood. “I let them catch me. It is all … part of the plan.”
     
    I shake my head. “What plan?”
     
    “I’m sorry.” She coughs again, turning her head to the side. I can barely believe my eyes. This can’t be happening. “I love you, sis. I’m happy I got to see you one more time.” She tightens her fingers around my hand. “Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.”
     
    I see my sister’s shoulders shake as the last ragged breath leaves her body, turning her into a corpse. I take her hand in mine, tracing the scar on her palm with my thumb. It really is her. Lying in front of me. Dead. The reality of what just happened hits me with full force. My baby sister just died at the hands of a beast, in the hell I’ve been trying to escape. An almost uncontrollable rage wells up inside me, racing through my limbs like an unquenchable fire. My monster breaks free. The excruciating shriek escaping my lips pierces the air and I have to cover my ears to restrain the pain it causes. It absorbs every noise, consuming every shout generated by the observing crowd. The stadium seems to have grown quiet, silenced by the agonizing cry hurting every part of me.
     
    I stand up amid the massacre of lacerated bodies and look around to find most of the fighters around me dead. My lungs struggle for breath at the sight of the fragmented armors, twisted limbs, and pools of gory blood. The macabre spectacle extends, only to meet the eager expressions of a silent crowd that requests an even more gruesome conclusion. My stomach heaves at the sight of Eleven, watching me intently, inviting me to approach. I search for anything that could quench the unbearable grief and find my sword, covered in blood, lying next to my sister. I pick it up and gaze up toward the dusking suns, two golden stars bracing each other for an inescapable fate.
     
    I hear Seven shout out just as I begin to walk forward, set on an undeviating course toward the leader who used me to get to him. Confronting him in battle will mean my certain death, but if he dies in the process, then my life will have meant something. I see two rival fighters darting in my direction. One pauses while the other prepares to engage. I don’t even blink. I don’t even think. They are obstacles. Deterrents to my purpose. I duck under the first blow and in one swift motion, rotate my body and swing my sword across my attacker’s torso.
     
    The next rival hesitates, but I don’t even give her time to retreat. I raise my blade and she meets it in the air, pushing back against it. I release the pressure and step aside, letting her wobble her way forward as she losses her balance. My steel cuts through the back of her armor and she falls to her knees. I begin to turn just as someone grasps my arms in an iron clutch. “Don’t do it.” Seven’s words fill me with rage, boiling a ranting rave of emotions.
     
    I push against his arms with every ounce of energy I have left. “Let go of me.”
     
    “I can’t let you do this. Please.” His pleading tone only enhances my anger. Did he not see what just happened? I stop, shocked. No. He did. He understood. And he knows what I’m about to do. Had he known all along that my sister was here? Did he know I would have to fight her today? My lungs inflate as I inhale all of my feelings of frustration and betrayal into them and bash my head back. Hard. I hear something crack and Seven grunt in pain. His grip loosens and I use the newly acquired space to yank