Chapter 5: Needs More Pepper

BOOSH! ... Bransen’s fist slammed hard into his opponent’s face. The muscled Yutilian was no match against the powerful right arm of the former chef’s arm. Dazed, the Itrean was sent hurdling off the arena’s edge, crashing near Saburo and Doctor Abril’s table.

“Oh, another zinger from Bransen!” announcer Hudson cried out. “Down goes Hel’ten’sha.”

Several days had passed. The fights in the tournament had swung both ways for the human champion. Bransen had seen his share of battle scars, but he remained fortuitous. The second battle of the day had been punishing, but the Itreans had become used to seeing the wayward foreigner that fought in their arena. He had become a curious spectacle, a sign that the human had been bringing a minor amount of his influence upon them.

However, every battle had been tense, filled with desperation and defiance. Even now, the Yutilian still served a valiant struggle for Bransen to get the point he needed. The Kop’ak was ready to give her final verdict as Bransen neared the edge of the arena stage. Saburo turned to look at the downed Itrean.

“Hel’ten’sha!” Kop’ak yelled. She made a series of chirps and clicks in her voice. “Hel’ten’sha!” Kop’ak yelled out her name. She then snapped her fingers.

“Looks like it’s lights out for Hel’ten’sha,” Hudson said.

“I didn’t kill her. Did I?” Bransen quietly asked himself.

There was a stir from the injured Itrean. Hel’ten’sha was a Yutilian born on planet Geshre. The Nat people weren’t the most powerful of Yutilians, but what they lacked in that, they made up for in spirit. Hel’ten’sha was strong for a Yutilian, forged from the higher gravity of the massive planet. Her muscles and green and yellow feathers flicked. Her tail flopped a little bit, but it was evident that the punch had knocked her nearly senseless.

“Hel’ten’sha!” Kop’ak yelled her name one last time. There was a snap of the fingers. One more time, and she would be counted as defeated.

“Hel’ten’sha, yep’ken ClickClick,” another fellow Itrean neared her. Bransen didn’t know who this other Yutilian was other than Hel’ten’sha’s mate or coach.

The former chef had remained firm and on standby. At least she was moving, even if barely. Blood was oozing from the pointed snout of the Itrean. From what he could tell, the last blow from his augmented arm wasn’t fatal. There was a breath of relief as Bransen knew that he was about to win.

With a snap of the fingers and flash from the Kop’ak’s hand, the match came to an end. The drumbeats picked up as the light clapping echoed in the room.

“Go, Bransen!” one of the human watchers yelled out. The praise had been picking up more and more as each day went by. Even a few Itreans were starting to say it more and more. They were words that seemed to make the man happier the more that he heard them.

“And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen,” Hudson said. “Bransen takes the first point of the day, taking down Hel’ten’sha without even suffering a scratch.”

Bransen lifted his arms in the air in a calm victory. He saw as Itrean medical staff ran down and checked up on the downed Itrean. They had various instruments in hand as they began to do deeper inspections of her status. They were giving quick nods to indicate that she was just unconscious. Finally, they readied the hover stretcher and began to load her up to be ferried away.

“Good job, Bransen!” Saburo said to him. Bransen went and hopped off the stage near the table. Doctor Abril got out of her seat and was ready with the medical equipment.

“I’m fine, Doc,” Bransen told her.

“Are you sure?” Abril asked him.

“Hel’ten’sha only had one kick on him,” Saburo told her. “Bransen can take the hits, right, Bransen?”

The human looked at himself. There was a minor bruise on the hip from where he was hit in the current fight. It was nothing. He shrugged.

“I’m fine,” Bransen told them.

“I still want to give you a quick checkup after this,” Abril said to him. “Doctor’s orders.”

Bransen sighed. “Fine...”

“Come,” Saburo told the man. He was already out of his seat and gestured for his friend to follow him out of the arena stage. He put his arm around the man’s shoulders.

“You’re going to tell me something that I won’t like,” Bransen told his coach.

“Well done. One win, one loss for today.”

“I would have taken that other point today, but that Aksren went straight for my legs.”

“Cut you up pretty good. Abril did a good job patching you up despite the blows you took, and you still just kept coming for more today.”

“What can I say?” Bransen looked at his augmented arm. “Just want to keep pushing on through.”

“Well ... I might have an offer for you.”

“Why did I know you were going to bring up some bad news for me?”

“No ... no,” Saburo said. “It’s an option for you. That’s it.”

“What is it?”

“Want to do one more fight for tonight?”

Bransen felt very much against the idea the moment he heard the offer. Each fight was either a victory or defeat. The Gelta Tournament was a quota that had to be fulfilled. Twenty fights in less than two weeks.

“How many fights have I done so far?” Bransen asked.

“Six,” Saburo answered. “Not bad, but if we don’t fulfill the quota in the time allotted, they will be counted as automatic forfeits. It’s been the fifth day, and we do need to keep up the pace.”

Bransen shifted his left shoulder as he thought about it. There was pain that was present, brought on by the onslaught of punches, twists, and contortions made over the day. This had been the second day that he had done two different fights in a row. If he went into another, it would be three. However, Bransen was in a good mood.

“Hmmm ... we still have time for me to push into another fight?” Bransen asked.

“You can, and it’s why I asked,” Saburo said as they reached the edge of the audience section. They passed through the hanging silk that led into a small waiting lobby. “You feel ready for another one before calling it a day?”

Bransen sighed. “I’m not sure.” He looked at his arm to note if there was any visible damage. “Three fights in one day?”

“Some fighters do four,” Saburo explained to him. “Allows them to finish up as quickly as possible before settling down and relaxing to go to the next planet. It’s just a matter of knowing your pace and not falling behind.”

There was no physical damage from the augmented arm, but that didn’t mean that there might have been internal damage that needed to be repaired. Each fight wore on the mechanical ligament. Like anything, maintenance was a prime issue after each battle.

“How much time do we have left exactly?” Bransen asked.

“At least two hours,” Saburo said. “The maintenance bench is open, and I can summon the Doctor to take a look at you while you do it. You can be ready to go in the hour.”

“Ugh ... maybe...”

“You’re on a roll today,” Saburo slapped his shoulder. “I know you can do it.”

“One loss and one win?”

“Success breeds success, my friend. Hel’ten’sha might have been a pushover for you, but she’s been a steady fighter in the tournament for forty-six years.”

“Yeah, but that Aksren woman had been in for three years.”

“So what?” Saburo lifted his arms off of the man and shrugged. “Jol’pensra is an expected bump in the road. Her tactics got you because you genuinely didn’t expect her to pull the moves that you expected. Win or lose. I want to make sure that you fulfill what needs to be completed on these tours. Of course, I prefer you to win and not take the forfeiture.”

Bransen put his hands on his hips. “Fine ... you win. What’s the next fight?”

“Good!” Saburo practically slapped the man’s arms. “You’re going to be fighting a Shal’rein.”

“What!?” Bransen replied. The man’s eyes widened a little bit.

“Correction ... ehmm, two Shal’rein.”

“Oh...,” Bransen winced at the very thought of it. “I ... son of a bitch ... you fucking kidding me?”

“Why not?” Saburo told him. “It’s going to eventually happen sooner or later.”

“Shal’rein, they’re enormous!”

Saburo kept a big smile on his face. “Bransen ... Bransen, you knew this was coming. The T’rintar clan is made up of more than just the Yutilians and the Aksren. The Shal’rein are a part of that process too.”

“You don’t think I look out into the audience and see them?” Bransen put his hand to his head. “Oh ... I ... I don’t know.”

“Come on,” Saburo was doing his best to show confidence to the man. “Did it ever occur to you that you would eventually be fighting Shal’rein? Besides, these might be more ... timid Shal’rein.”

“Timid? I’ve seen what they can do in hand-to-hand combat. I doubt even a ‘timid’ Shal’rein would even come close to a fair fight. And, on top of that, I’m supposed to fight two?”

“Well ... you would only be fighting one at a time.”

“Then why would I be fighting two?”

“Hold on...,” Saburo said. He pulled out of his pocket his tablet. He then turned it on and began to slide through various information that popped up on his screen. Finally, he pulled up the stats. There was only a projected 3d image of the information provided and nothing else.

“The two fighters are Girsha’lar and Nir’vina,” Saburo explained. “They’re ... prisoners of war.”

“What?” Bransen asked.

“Yep, POWs. They are former warriors from the Shal’rein clan. Hmmm ... not much else provided on this. Looks like this is their first year of fighting. Girsha’lar has more mass than Nir’vina. They’ve already won two matches and lost another.”

“They let prisoners fight in this?”

“Yes, a few of them you already fought before. The T’rintar do offer what they call ‘redemption programs’ to...”

“They’re using POWs to be sacrificed for their entertainment?”

“In so many words, yes. But there may be more to that.”

Bransen held up his arms. “How am I supposed to fight two Shal’rein?”

“According to the established rules, you would be responsible for having a partner with you. If you don’t have a partner and pressed into a 2 to 1 match, then only one person can fight you at a time. Unless the Kop’ak overrides that rule, you keep fighting the other until you or the other is taken out.”

“I wonder why there are two fighting together, then?”

“There are a few contenders that are doing this. Probably something worked out as prisoners or somebody else made the arrangements. I don’t know.”

Bransen was in deep thought as Saburo looked at him. This was his last chance to reconsider everything. He could call it a day or keep going. There was no easy path to either decision. He would eventually have to fight one of these two in the future, no matter what. Maybe it was best to go ahead and take them on. If he failed, then he could at least blame fatigue for being a factor more than anything else. Bransen’s mood would be the final factor. He lightly slapped his fist to the palm of his hand.

“In a fight that I’m probably destined to lose,” Bransen said. “Let’s just get this over with and be done with it.”

Saburo gave a calm and relaxed smile to him. He leaned forward and pressed his hand to his shoulder.

“Maybe things will surprise you,” Saburo replied.

Over an hour had passed. Bransen walked towards the arena stage with Saburo and Doctor Abril not far behind him. The former chef had begun to note each time he would enter; the audience was getting louder. Even the most conservative of Itreans would make various noises each time the human arrived. He did know that he was the most unique as the fighters go. However, he knew he would be thrown into a tough match.

“And we have our UWA champion returning once again,” the announcer said. “I can tell you folks that I was planning on packing and heading back home for the day when I was told that Bransen would be returning for his third fight in a row.”

“Go, Bransen!” one of the audience members said.

“I still don’t know if you should be doing this,” Abril said.

“He’ll be fine,” Saburo told her.

“He still needs to rest for the day, at least. Itreans can take more punishment than humans. Bransen, I have to ask that you reconsider...”

“I’m telling you that he’ll be fine, right, Bransen?”

“Right...,” Bransen replied. He lightly looked at the two as he reached the edge of the arena stage. For a moment, he could feel the hesitation. Fighting a Shal’rein ... this was going to be intense, more than any other fight brought forth. He could only hope that Girsha’lar or Nir’vina weren’t the most muscle-bound of opponents.

With a simple heave, he pushed himself up, propped his leg to the arena floor, and stood up. He took a few deep breaths as he leaned onto the corner post.

“Looks like our champion is a little hesitant,” Hudson said. “Can’t say that I blame him. Bransen has been pushing it hard for the day, with one loss and one victory. Even if he can be healed up quickly, it can’t compensate for the mental fatigue. Can he make two victories? Can he do it?”

“I know he can,” Saburo confidently said.

Bransen took a few breaths. Then, his eyes went up to the Kop’ak. She was quiet, sitting on her chair, tapping her eight fingers together, knowing she was in charge of everything. However, the man knew there was a peak of curiosity in her reptilian eyes. He could surmise that she was at least impressed that he had made it this far.

The drumbeat began to pick up. Bransen kept his focus away. He didn’t want to look at the Shal’rein. He was already having to mentally prepare himself for a tough fight. Having to see them would only bring more apprehension in his heart. He closed his eyes and began to concentrate. He imagined every path he had to take in hand-to-hand combat with somebody who would be clearly more powerful than him. Unlike the Yutilians and the Aksren, this time, he would be the short fighter, fighting an uphill battle.

“Oh ... what is this?” Hudson said. “We got two fighters coming in and ... two Shal’rein at that! I’ve seen what Shal’rein can do in the sports department, ladies and gentlemen. This is the first time Bransen will be taking on a Shal’rein in a fight. Lady Kop’ak, can you explain the rules to help the audience back in the UWA understand what Bransen has to face?”

The Kop’ak had her own way of answering that question. She got out of her seat and looked directly at Bransen. Her words said it all.

“Bransen...,” she explained. “You bring no partner, yes?”

“I fight by myself, Kop’ak,” Bransen answered.

She did a quick nod. “Fight one ... only one. Defeat one ... defeat both. Ready?”

There was a hint of hesitation. In reality, Bransen didn’t mind showing that to the Kop’ak. From the time that he had been in the arena, he had noted that the Kop’ak was a character that respected true intentions and accurate emotions rather than false pride. There wasn’t anything to directly provide evidence on that part. It was more of a gut instinct. Even she had to note that the odds were gravely against him. It was best for him to play that part. He looked down a little bit before looking back at her.

“I am ready, Kop’ak,” he told her.

The Kop’ak turned to look at the Shal’rein. Bransen still hadn’t turned to look at the Shal’rein. He could hear the light stomping as heavy footsteps landed on the stage. Did she climb onto the stage or leap onto it? Shal’rein probably just climbed up since most of their bodies were devoted to upper body strength. However, she may have had a chance to strengthen that as well.

“A human...,” a raspy female voice could be heard. It was unique for Bransen to hear.

“This should be easy,” another female voice said. The familiar Itrean accent was overheard. However, Bransen began to take note of the accents.

“Girsha’lar,” the Kop’ak said. “Only one fight? You choose?”

“I will fight him,” Girsha’lar replied.

Odd ... It broke Bransen out of his concentration. Itreans were known to be rather adept in learning the English and Chinese languages, primarily due to the sheer complexity of the Itrean language. In a few months, they could speak up to five-word sentences and also understand most of what humans had to say. However, it still took time to reach a level of complete fluency. There were little to no clicking sounds in how they spoke, and it was said with such clarity that it had to mean something else. These Shal’rein had to have come from a human world or been educated daily to reach this level. It was finally enough to pique the man’s interest. He turned around to finally face his adversary.

“Heh,” Girsha’lar said with a laugh. “I get to pound a human into the floor.” Her gloved fists were hitting each other, itching to get into the fight.

Bransen stood in awe. If anything, he was dumbfounded. She was beautiful, more beautiful than any goddess of creation. The man had seen a few Shal’rein, and there was something that was always unique about them. They were the Itreans of the water. Evolution and history had crafted their people into an aesthetical beauty that could lead wayward humans toward them. The natural affinity of the water was also the very reason why mankind felt a lingering attraction towards them as well. Girsha’lar stood around 8-9 feet in height. She was raw muscle, gray and purple striped smooth scale skin, purple hair, standing on two digitigrade legs. Bransen knew little about the Shal’rein histories, but he noted the pointed snout, fin-like ears, fined arms, and long fined tail. These were the sharks of former Earth, a people that followed the dinosaurs away from the planet to shape their own destiny. If anything, they were dinosaurs of water.

The man only had a chance to see Nir’vina briefly. The orange-colored Shal’rein with black hair stood leaning on the edge, looking up at both of them. Both of the women had protruding breasts pressed against their sports bras, but Girsha’lar’s were the largest. Their purple and green shorts also stood out. Like the Aksren, earlier in the day, that wore red and green shorts, the purple color also stuck out. It was almost as if the Shal’rein adored that color.

“You got this,” Saburo said.

“No, he doesn’t,” Girsha’lar replied back as she got into a fighting stance. It was similar to a bruiser stance. In this, both arms are held out at equal lengths in a demonstration of power. Bransen took note of it as he assumed his own fighting stance, holding his left palm open and right closed fist back towards himself. It was possible that Girsha’lar didn’t know about his augmented arm. He had to assume that the fight would be similar to Olsson’s. She seemed to be the slugger type, capable of delivering heavy blows and using sheer force to win the battle. There was one thing that he did have available for him. It was best for him not to give any inkling of evidence to help her know that.

The laser emitters on the arena floor activated. The blue beams connected to one another just as in every previous fight. Bransen held onto his breath. For a few seconds, he still couldn’t believe what he was looking at. She had so much muscle tone to her, but it wasn’t artificial. He knew enough about the body’s physique, even for an Itrean. She had to work herself to reach that level of body strength. She took her thumb and wiped it to the bottom of her jawline.

“You humans are so weak ... so pathetic,” Girsha’lar told him. “How have you managed to reach it this far?”

“I manage,” Bransen replied.

“I bet he does,” Nir’vina said. A profound smile was on her face, further heightened by her row of razor-sharp teeth.

Bransen’s eyes befell Girsha’lar’s cleavage as he felt his adrenaline go up. She would regularly shift a little bit as they bounced, held in by the fabric of her bra. Her reddish shark-like eyes glared at him, not noticing what he was looking at. He had to remain focused. This would be a fight that could easily lead to his death.

A flash erupted from the Kop’ak’s gloved hand. Then, everyone fell silent except the ones closest to the arena stage.

“And here we have it, folks,” Hudson said. “The fight has started! I tell you, I don’t know how Bransen can win this. Girsha’lar is so big that she makes Bransen look like a toothpick from here.”

“Come on, little human,” Girsha’lar said as she slapped her gloved hands together before returning to her stance. “Let’s make this quick. I won’t bite ... too hard.”

“Bransen, remember what I told you,” Saburo told him. “Take your time. Evaluate her and strike hard.”

“Heh...,” she chuckled a little bit. “Strike hard with what? Is he going to tickle me to death?”

“Heh,” Nir’vina added with a chuckle. “Maybe he can touch you with his fingers and make you explode...”

“What are you waiting for?” Bransen told her. “Come on...”

“Give it to him!”

Girsha’lar lumbered towards the man. Her towering size was obvious. She looked like an approaching wall. He felt small, but he already knew that size wasn’t everything. She did a large sweep with her right hand, trying to grab Bransen by the head. The man was quick, veering to the right. However, he immediately saw it. Her fin-like tail tried to sweep for his feet. He leaped, getting only grazed by the fin. The flexible cartilage did nothing to him as he cleared it. He was going to close in, but that tail would have swept back and struck him. He backed off as she turned around to face him. Her stance changed.

“That was a close one!” the announcer explained. “Shal’rein are known for their sheer strength and tail-power. Bransen saw right through it and dodged it. The question is how he can manage to get a hit on her?”

“Hold still!” Girsha’lar taunted him.

“You can’t attack her from behind,” Saburo told Bransen. His coach refused to say anything else, knowing that this pair of Itreans could clearly understand him. Bransen backed off as he had enough information about his foe.

Girsha’lar’s move was about the sheer brawl. Even if he narrowly dodged the tail-whip, trying to play fast and agile would only waste his energy. This was a constant problem that he was pretty well aware of. The tail would have knocked down other humans, but there were a few weaknesses. The Shal’rein must have been masters of the water. While they were powerful monstrosities of flesh, their bodies could only do so much. His attention was on her legs as he backed up a little bit.

For a second, his mind told himself something differently as he noted her legs. They were tone-built and firm, but she was slower than any other Itrean that he faced. Yutilians were greatly noted for their speed, but the Shal’rein were much slower on land. On land, humans, and Shal’rein were probably the same speed as one another, but he knew he could be faster. His goal, at least from what he envisioned, was to go ahead and face her head-to-head. Try to stay in her center. If he could do that, it would make it harder for her to use her tail on him. It would be at least one thing that he could cross off. But then again, there was one lingering issue. She was built like a tank.

“Let’s do this,” Bransen told her.

“Finally going to surrender to me?” Girsha’lar told him.

Bransen held still and prepared for an all-out brawl. It was his only way to win. Try to engage in a close to medium-range straight center. Girsha’lar must have felt the same way, capable of quickly dispatching her foes using raw strength. She didn’t charge but tried to encapsulate the man. If he was going to face her directly head-on, then why worry about him going from side to side?

That is exactly what she did. She lifted her arms back, created fists in both hands and tried to drive into the man’s neck. Bransen shifted slightly to the right. His augmented arm glowed as he felt the mighty fist trying to drive into him. The mechanical arm absorbed the blow. He used his left arm to slow down her driving right arm. However, it was more than evident that he lacked the strength to block it effectively. It did slow it down enough to use his augmented arm to swing to the left, blocking the hit. The opening appeared. In the mere split seconds that this happened, Bransen used his augmented arm to deliver a backhand punch straight into Girsha’lar. It struck dead center into her snout.