Shabaka's Pride - Round 4

            Shabaka slowly got back up to her knees. Her first loss was painful, a depression fell over her, one that made her enraged. She felt as if the world had come to an end, and she had to wonder why she cared so much about this game with her siblings. The fight to hold back the tears was even harder than the one she just had with Smalls.

            A large green hand reached out to her. Shabaka looked up and saw the gentle giant smiling. She wanted to knock the hand away and spit in the face of the one who had beat her, but she couldn’t. Not only because she knew it was inherently wrong, but because she was not really angry at him, she was angry at the concept of defeat itself. She took his hand, rose, and hugged him. She felt comfortable in his humongous and strong arms, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat and his chest rise and fall. This gentle and kind creature had just been extremely violent, it was that family fire.

            Shabaka went back to the sidelines and grabbed the pocket watch from Tilian. She wanted to get these next two matches over so that she could fight again. If her math was right, she still had a chance of winning the tournament, everyone did. She still had a chance as long as Smalls lost at least one of his next fights.

            “If Amare is ready, I don’t need a break,” said Smalls. Amare was still sitting with xyr eyes closed, meditating. They stood up, not opening their eyes, and walked to the spot across from Smalls.

            “Brother, you are kind, and your strength is admirable. But that alone won’t help you. Let me give you a lesson,” Amare said, their eyes still gently yet purposefully shut. Shabaka looked down at the watch, waiting for the minute hand to hit a line. The moment it did, the match started. The minute hand would hit a reference mark two more times during the match. The moment it hit the second time; the match ended.

            It had been a repetitive affair. Without ever opening xyr eyes, Amare had evaded every single attack Smalls threw. Every charge, every headbutt, every punch, every kick, and every chop.

            “Predictable is the wrong word,” Amare had said. “Limited is what you are. If your opponent knows everything you can do, then your strength is meaningless. All I need is a tiny bit of luck.”

            In the final seconds of the match, Amare’s eyes shut luck ran out. Smalls landed a punch across xyr face. Amare opened their eyes. “You passed the test.” Amare swung their shovel, and the far end of the wooden handle hit Smalls in the back.

            The minute hand hit the second reference mark, at the same time Smalls hit the ground.

Amare vs Smallblade: Winner, Amare of Quickwood. Match time, 2:00.

            Smalls got up, his jaw was agape, and he was shaking his head slowly. He turned to Amare and shook their hand. “Honestly I am still working on keeping good form when attacking. I didn’t think I would need to change up my moves today,” laughed Smalls.

            “So, you underestimated me?” Amare asked with a chuckle.

            “No, I figured either you or Tilian would figure a way to outsmart me, didn’t think it would be like this. But hey, that is the whole point and idea of outsmarting someone,” said Smalls before letting out a deep bellowing laugh.

            Next match was Tilian vs Vitoroy, and not long after Smalls and Amare had returned to the sidelines, standing next to Shabaka, Vito and Tilian stood in front of Bard, facing against each other.

            Shabaka was still unsure if Vito had been bluffing earlier. And that was probably his idea. Regardless of if he had always planned to lose his first two matches or not, or if he had just finally put it all together for his third. If he had always planned to reveal his scheme from the start, or if he had just come up with that on the spot. He still had a fourth and final match to deal with. Shabaka knew not to underestimate Vito’s trickery, he was deliberately creating this confusion to psyche out Tilian.

            Shabaka looked down at the watch and saw the minute hand tick ever closer to a starting point. Tilian held his sword forward, and Vito grasped the Smith’s Cube between his hands.

            The minute hand hit a reference mark. Shabaka signaled the start of the match. Vito hit the ground with his chest and hands before Tilian could even move a muscle.  

            “I give up,” Vito had shouted as he slammed down to the ground as if in a bow.

            “What,” said Tilian.

            “What,” said Bard.

            “What,” said Amare.

            “What,” said Smalls.

            “What,” said Shabaka.

            Vito stood back up. “I planned to psyche you out just enough to beat you, but you did way too well in your previous matches. I figured there was no way I could best you. I got my one win. I am satisfied.” Bard called for the match’s end, though he had a very wrinkled scowl. Tilian walked up to his father.

“It’s fine,” said Tilian, putting his hand on Bard’s shoulder. “Beardless is just scared of a dragon.” Vito froze in place. A ‘fight’ began. Vito ran up to Tilian, flailing his arms, and instantly got knocked down.

By Shabaka’s count, neither fight lasted even a second.  

Vitoroy vs Tilian: Winner, Tilian Doeth. Match time, 0:00.

 

	Amare	Vitoroy	Tilian	Smallblade	Shabaka	Points
Amare	~	L	W	W		2.0
Vitoroy	W	~	L	L	L	1.0
Tilian	L	W	~		L	1.0
Smallblade	L	W		~	W	2.0
Shabaka		W	W	L	~	2.0