Max Arena (54 page)

At first the
late afternoon winds blowing over the island had picked up,
blustering the palms and foliage until right on sundown, a brief,
but powerful thunderstorm ripped overhead. This had caused chaos
for the arriving dignitaries and world leaders. Helicopters were
buffeted, while ground staff raced in near panic to execute
emergency landing and rescue procedures.

Then, after the
storm had passed, the atmosphere had remained charged, only
slightly, but definitely. This charge had persisted through sundown
and the length of the night so far. It had put everyone on an even
sharper edge than was expected, considering the world might be just
about to end. Something was lurking out of sight, preparing to
attack. The world was being stalked.

Max had stayed
close to Elsa and the kids, the family virtually shutting itself up
in their own private quarters inside one of the stadium stands.
Only at the end had Abdullah, Joe and Peter come to see them and
wish him luck. It had been a brief coming together and largely
symbolic as Max’s mental preparation had already pushed him past
meaningful engagement with others outside of his family. Max was
loaded and ready to fire. The arena beckoned him.

Elsa had been
brave with no tears. Millie and Jason had just asked him to be
careful and then after a final and lingering family hug, Max had
left their quarters and made his way downstairs. It was time for
destiny to make an entrance.

Max had met
Kris in the main weapons yard downstairs and together they had
checked their communications kit, Max with his earpiece in place
and microphone stuck to the base of his throat and Kris with her
headset. They both knew the system was also wired into Abdullah and
Joe’s private booth as well as Elsa’s. They could all hear Max and
Kris talk, but none of them could talk back for risk of distracting
him, not even Elsa.

Then Kris had
handed Max his first weapon. His sword. He had hefted it and
twisted it and then lowered it to his side. Finally and wordlessly,
Max gave Kris a hug and that was it. He left the world behind.
Striding through the doors and into the arena, Max was on his
own.

Standing now on
the turf, his sword held out to his right side, cocked and ready,
Max scanned the grassed surface with no idea of what to expect as
his first opponent, so he expected nothing, except to have to fight
for his life. The electricity in the air had intensified. Random,
tiny blue sparks now crackled all around like miniature
firecrackers.

Max knew the
crowd surrounded him, the twenty thousand strong mass loud and
raucous, but he had closed it out. All was quiet in his world.
Everything was still as he waited. Inside himself, Max had slowly
unfurled his Nar’gellan instincts, ensuring his human emotions kept
them in check. Now, standing on the arena surface, Max’s alien urge
for combat and blood was barely contained. He was like a fighting
dog, straining at its chain to break free and wreak carnage upon
his first foe. Max’s muscles rippled as they flexed and tensed.

Then, he felt
it. The electricity in the air amped up and Max raised his head to
fix his gaze on the centre of the arena. Suddenly, a brilliant blue
column of light shot down from out of the inky blackness of the
night sky to stab into the green grass.

The crowd
gasped. Max did not flinch. Then the light snapped off and a golden
figure stood in its place, lustrous and tall. Slowly the glow hazed
away and there it stood, Max’s first foe.

The creature
was humanoid in shape with two arms, two legs and a head as part of
a tall and lithe build, similar to an Olympic high jumper. Dressed
in a shiny, purple, lycra type suit, the alien radiated a
shimmering metallic sheen that enhanced its extraterrestrial nature
and dazzled all who looked upon it. However, Max’s attention cut
straight through the distraction to the
katana
like sword in
the alien’s hands, which demonstrated its true intent. The creature
also wore a helmet with a mirrored visor, so Max had no clue what
the alien’s face looked like or what form its eyes took to take in
its vision.

All up, the
enemy did not look overly dangerous, but Max knew that was folly.
Macktidas would not have sent a patsy down for him to slay. This
creature was here to test him and expose any weaknesses he had and
if possible, exploit them and kill him. This seemingly mundane
being was absolutely lethal and Max could only treat it as
such.

Then, two more
shimmering columns of blue light appeared either side of the
creature and a few moments later, two additional and completely
identical creatures stood in front of Max as well.
Three
foes. Max heard Kris gasp in his earpiece. Macktidas had cheated.
The golden rule of only one opponent per bout was already out the
window. Well, so be it. Max had no recourse. No judges to complain
to. All he had was his hands, his feet, his skills and his will and
they would have to be enough.

The three sword
wielding creatures fanned out and started to advance. Max raised
his sword and eyed them off. As a trio, they moved gracefully and
in harmony. Max started to move as well, side stepping carefully to
the left, crossing his feet over as he went and trying to circle
around to engage only the creature on that end. The ploy failed as
the three foes automatically adjusted and wheeled as one line,
keeping Max squarely in the middle. Max realised the counter move
and stopped. Trying to be clever was not going to work. This was
going to be a full frontal assault. Max would have to weather the
first brunt and manoeuvre himself out to an edge during combat.

Suddenly, the
charge came as all three creatures launched as one, their swords
whistling through the still, thick air. Max stepped to the right,
parried the blow from the furthermost right attacker and rolled.
Rising back to his feet, he was immediately on the defensive with
all three assailants instantly reforming and crowding in around on
three sides, their blades flashing.

Max back
peddled as he defended, his sword barely repelling the triple
blades. The speed and agility of his attackers was too much for him
to even contemplate a thrust or a strike. He had time only to
parry, dodge and keep moving just fast enough to avoid being cut
down.

His progress
backwards increased as his foes ratcheted up their aggression.
Max’s spatial awareness told him he was fast coming up on the
boundary of the arena, which meant he was running out of room to
manoeuvre. Max tried to keep moving to the right to spin the melee
back towards open ground, but the trio cleverly kept adjusting
their progress to keep him hemmed in.

Even one
scratch of those blades could be fatal if they were poisoned in any
way. Max needed to get clear and regroup, then find a place to make
a stand and get on the front foot. Victory would not come while
terms were being dictated to him, but suddenly he was out of
room.

Max’s foot
pressed up against the wall and then a plan spawned in his mind.
His preferred design of the wall to be four foot high with a ledge
on it in front of the protective, see-through barrier was
immediately going to pay dividends. Spinning a full three sixty
degrees to his right, Max knocked a strike clear and then sprang
straight up and back to land on the ledge. Immediately cart
wheeling to the right with no hands and back to the crowd, Max
cleared a horizontal slice that passed underneath his head.

Suddenly, he
was clear. Bounding away to the right, Max sprinted along the ledge
and away from his foes. As he ran, he could hear the crowd banging
on the see-through barrier next to him, the hands and faces of the
stadium workers pressed against it, spurring him on. Running as
fast as he could, Max traversed about fifty metres back towards the
centre of the arena. He could not see the three creatures, but he
knew they were close behind him. He would have to hit the ground
swinging to stay alive and so he did.

Springing
sideways to his left, Max somersaulted back onto the grass. As his
feet hit the turf, he planted his right foot and flicked his gaze
round to see all three creatures bearing right down on top of him.
He had been too slow.

Instantly, Max
was back on the defensive. Three blades whistled around him and all
he could do was duck and dodge, well and truly on the back foot
now, flailing his own sword, trying to parry everything that came
his way. Max knew he was struggling, badly. Fear did not touch him,
but frustration did. He was better than this and then it
happened.

As Max flicked
his sword across to his left side to block a slash, the attacker on
his right side slashed its own weapon and the hilt of its sword
connected with Max’s forehead. Then another blow from the middle
foe’s sword hilt hit him under the chin and Max felt his feet leave
the ground.

Max remained
conscious after the blows and surreally saw the trio of creatures
slide away at the bottom of his field of vision and the night sky
slide in to replace them. Max knew he was airborne on his back and
slowly back flipping as he sailed away from the fight. Max also
knew he had let go of his sword. Where it was now, he had no clue,
but that was not his first concern. He needed to land safely and
get himself back into the fight and more importantly, get on top of
it.

As he sailed
through the air, Max dropped his right shoulder and arm and forced
himself to twist, torso first until he was face down in mid air.
Just in time, he crashed into the grass, chest first and slid on
the slick grassy surface. Fortunately Max got his hands down first
to break the fall and keep the wind in his lungs. As he slid, Max
turned his focus inwards. By getting smashed, he had inadvertently
bought himself a few seconds of respite.

Coming to a
stop, Max rose up and crouched on all fours. Looking down, he saw
his own blood drip and splash onto the lush, green grass of the
arena surface. The stadium crowd and in fact the whole world had
now completely disappeared behind a white fog, impenetrable and
silent. Max was alone, but that was okay. That was how he needed it
to be.

He had just
taken a battering and needed to focus. He wasn’t hurt, not really.
If he survived the night, the shallow gash on his forehead would
heal quickly enough. Max certainly wasn’t scared either. In fact,
he now knew exactly what he had to do to get through this bout. He
had wondered for the past six months what it would be like in the
arena. The chaos of the crowd. The atmosphere beneath the lights.
Even the feel of the humid night air. All of it he had wondered
about, but now Max knew it all and on top of that, he also knew how
to beat this foe. All three of them.

Looking up,
Max saw his instrument of victory. The fog receded a little to
reveal his sword, skewered into the ground, its hilt and handle
sticking out of the grass like the Excalibur of legend, the
perfectly smithed blade glittering beneath the stadium lights, its
perfection belying its lethal capacity to kill. All Max had to do
now was rise to his feet, walk the handful of metres towards it and
take hold of the handle. With the blade in his hand, he would have
victory secured.

Max knew that
his foes were bearing down on him from behind, mistakenly sensing
that he was wounded and vulnerable. Without rushing, almost
casually, Max straightened and rose to his feet. Pausing
momentarily, he stepped off and in a few paces reached his
destination. Looking down at the weapon, he paused again. Max’s
mind imagined him reaching down and grasping the leather strapped
handle. Then Max imagined pulling it effortlessly clear of the turf
and twisting it to hold it upright in front of his face, his second
hand coming up to rest on the handle directly beneath his other.
Mentally, Max could feel the surprising lightness of the weapon. He
could also see the glimmers of light rippling along the keen,
double-edged blades. Max could even feel the weight of the humidity
infused air, the hair on his arms and legs cloyed with a slight
bead of sweat. He was ready.

Reaching down
with his right hand, Max repeated the scene in real life. A moment
later he stood with his sword in front of his face, his gaze
watching the light play down the blade edges. His foes were almost
upon him, the sound of the crowd starting to diffuse through the
thinning fog, coming back to him, or perhaps he was returning to
the world.

Looking up
into the crowd, a patch of fog faded to show a section of the
stadium, a private viewing booth, mid way up the stand. The booth’s
floor to ceiling glass framed three figures huddled together,
looking down on him like an angel and two cherubs. Elsa, Millie and
Jason. There they were. Every reason in the world he needed to live
was standing there looking over him. Now Max was
really
ready.

Behind him,
Max’s foes were launching into the air, preparing to strike him
down. Max’s fingers gripped the handle of his sword even tighter.
The noise of the crowd roared back into his senses and the green
grass of the arena sprang back into clarity. Stepping lightly, but
firmly back onto the ball of his left foot, Max spun, his sword
slicing the air. It was time to fight. It was time to live.

The blow he
smashed back into his attacker’s blade, showered sparks into the
night air. The attacker stumbled backwards, caught off balance by
the ferocity of the blow. Max immediately followed through with
another aggressive strike that sent a second attacker’s blow
skittering off sideways. Spinning on his foot, Max shot out his
right foot and pounded it into the chest of the third charging
attacker, sending the creature airborne backwards to land on the
ground and roll awkwardly back to its feet.

Suddenly, Max
was back in the fight, the evidence being all three foes had paused
to stand still around him, just watching. Max held his sword up and
slowly looked at each of them in turn.
This
was how he had
imagined it.
This
was how he needed it to be.