Enlightened Empire

After his change of clothes, Corco stepped back out onto the yard to a wind of whispers and gasps within the crowd. Readied for the fight, the chubby little prince appeared with a look much different from what any onlookers would have expected. Many lords in the crowd had thought that Corco would take the chance to run away, leave Arguna in the night and occupy Qarasi Castle before anyone could react. To spite their expectations, the prince marched out, under confused stares, in long, confident strides, towards what many considered his certain doom. However, the lords were not only surprised by his confidence. With his outer clothing and the hidden armor underneath gone, the image of the frail little prince had disappeared as well, his toned upper body exposed. Lean and tough like a puma, like a predator ready to pounce. An appearance only enhanced by the martial tattoos on his arms.

However, there were many more things strange about the new king’s entry. For a start, he didn’t wear the traditional dueling cloth. Instead of the simple, red robe, his upper body was bare and he wore tight pants with strange, fingerless gloves on his hands. As Corco stepped beyond the viewers, he found that his opponent was already waiting and eager to battle.

Pachacutec himself wore traditional, as expected. Corco couldn’t understand why anyone would want to wear what was essentially a bathrobe and underpants to a fight, but in any case, he had made the smarter choice. Still, the massive frame of his uncle made an imposing impression, even more so as the torches behind him threw a giant shadow from the hulking figure, threatening to swallow everything in its path. Corco clenched his fists and looked up to the stars to calm his pumping heart. After a few seconds of meditation, he stepped up into the arena, to his uncle’s opposite.

"How surprising you would dare face this great hero, southerner. In an absurd costume, no less. Have those years away from home killed your sense of propriety?"

Corco grabbed his elbows to stretch before he began to bounce around the arena to keep his body warm. He ignored the peacock’s grin, who seemed so sure of his victory.

"Can we just get to it? We really don’t need to do the whole villain speech."

"Very well," the uncle replied as his grin grew wider, "In this case I would ask Elder Caelestis to-"

"No." Corco stopped jumping and looked over to the killer and his son.

"No?" Confused, Pacha turned to Caelestis for answers. As always when things weren’t going to his plans, he had no idea what to do.

"We’re kings now, not mere princes," Corco answered instead of his elder, "A member of the ancestral hall has no power over us. The only one with the right to judge here would be one of our own."

Corco’s eyes landed on Amautu’s smiling face, and the rest of the crowd followed along. The northern king’s smile turned a bit sharper before he replied with a nod.

"This king will be more than willing to lead proceedings."

With a satisfied return nod, Corco once again picked up his warm-up exercises. Even though they were enemies, he would trust Amautu far more than his childish grandfather. At least he was safe in the thought that the Northern King hated their mutual uncle far more than he hated his southern brother.

Once the prince had hopped over to his position in the arena, he called out "ready" as he got himself into a fighting stance. His head moved left and right and his fists banged together in anticipation, eyes focused on the mountain of muscle he was determined to overcome. The life he never lived once again returned to his head. He had been an amateur fighter, though not a very good one. Once the depression had taken over, he had given up on the gym training, but the knowledge and skill had been of good use to Corco, who had spent the last five years to further refine his craft. Now was time to see how his advanced techniques would fare against someone of Pacha’s size.

"Under the gaze of the stars, lay to rest the conflict between Kings Corcopaca Titu Pluritac and Pachacutec Titu Pluritac. Let honor and blood speak the final verdict and let peace return between the lords."

The familiar words from Amautu opened the battle. Like a bull, the giant King Pacha’s feet had scraped at the ground in anticipation, and just the same, he stormed ahead towards his opponent, his victim. Right fist pulled back, he rushed towards Corco with his left down by his side, carelessly. It was clear to Corco that his uncle expected a fast and easy knockdown. It would be nothing but another proof of his immense superiority.

Corco moved onto his toes and readied himself, keeping an eye on the waist and shoulders of his foe. The surroundings lost their luster as the southern king’s focus zeroed in on his opponent.

*Not gonna fail here.*

If the hero’s haymaker connected, he would be floored no matter how hard he had trained over the years. He couldn’t afford a mistake now.

*A bit more, just wait.*

Finally, Pacha took a heavy step with his left and his waist began to turn, in preparation for a knockout blow. A broad smile was stuck on his face, ready to celebrate his victory, one which would prove once and for all his superiority over the little southern bastard, the man in a child’s body, unfit to hold the massive burden of a crown. It would be the beginning of the end for the southerners, even if he somehow survived his onslaught tonight. Pacha had no plans to make it easy for him.

Wait, where’d he go?, the hero asked himself, as his target disappeared out of his sight. He turned to the right, to the side his victim had scurried like a rat. His first swing was already underway. No way to change it now. A miss, no. A humiliation! Next time he would be careful. Next time he would-

With a bang, a sudden fist connected with his left temple. The hit jerked head around and made him lose his train of thought, and his balance. Instead of chasing after the little rat, he stumbled forward in an attempt to keep his balance. With his experience and reflexes to support him, the hero steadied himself and turned. There he was, prancing around like a doe in the forest. How did he hit him? Pacha was unsure, but for now he would have to be more careful. In his infinite grace, he had wanted to make this a quick, painless affair, but that was a luxury which would no longer be afforded to the southern monkey. He would have to take him apart piece by piece, make it slow and painful. Pacha spat on the ground and began to grin again. If this was the bastard’s best punch, he could take as many as he wanted.

__________________________

Corco kept moving around the ring, with light, agile steps. His initial gambit had paid off. The careless Pacha had stormed in and been caught by a heavy counter. Still, Corco couldn’t erase the frown form his face, just like he couldn’t erase his uncle’s grin, which had turned demonic under the irregular flicker of the surrounding torches.

The hit really hadn’t hurt the hulking mass of muscles. A right hook, well placed on an unprepared opponent, and it didn’t even phase him.

*Well, time for plan B. First, Just breathe and move, breathe and move.*

Another attack by the hero, but this time his left was raised to his head, his stance much safer. Corco moved to the side again. Feint left, duck right. Get a hit in, out of range. He could feel his gloves slip off the temple.

*Glancing blow, no good.*

Corco turned to prepare for the next charge, and found himself in front of an avalanche of muscle hurtling towards him.

*Careless!*

He didn’t hear the steps over the noise of the crowd! Corco put up his arms for a block. It was all he could do in the split second before Pacha’s barrage.

First punch is another straight. He likes those, Corco thought as he slipped the punch with a light movement of his head. However, this time he didn’t have the room to move away, or even counter. This time, the left followed the right on its heels.

*Aimed to the side.*

Corco hunkered down to catch the hit with his right elbow. Still it drove the air out of his lungs and made him stagger to the left. How did the beast have this much power?

*Just keep moving for now, get away and catch your breath.*

Even so, the hero wouldn’t let up. He kept chasing after Corco, to prevent whatever else he had planned. Move! The prince screamed at his sluggish legs. Even with all the training, he could barely keep up with the hero’s inhuman talent, let alone match the monster in power. Any of his hits, even the lightest, would end with major damage. Corco slipped a punch, and another one, but the third landed on his forearm. He was pushed back another two steps. By the time he found his balance again, the hero was once again in his face, ready to unload the next barrage.

This couldn’t go on. He had wanted to tire the hero out by staying at a distance, that had been the plan. If things continued like this, he would never make it to that point. He had to cut the battle short. All he could hope was that his next move would catch the hero off guard. Time for plan c. Corco stumbled back as the hero swaggered forward, his hands once again lowered in confidence and still with the same, malicious grin on his face.

*Just get your feet back. Just a little bit.*

And then: A chance!

"You ready to give up, little doe? You are no match for this mighty-"

As Pacha began to gloat of his guaranteed win, he slowed down to show off his prowess, as he had done in so many battles before. He turned his head over the crowd, to bathe in their awe and terror. His giant shadow covered all of his tiny opponent, sinking him into endless darkness. It was then, as the hero was at the height of his power, that Corco put force on his back foot and did something no one expected. He charged.

Before the hero could finish his words, he saw his brother rush towards him. His brows raised in curiosity. What the bastard was thinking seemed obvious, how he would look down on the desperate attempt, but it didn’t matter. Corco went low, below the reach of the monster’s log-like arms, and tackled the hero’s left leg. The confused Pacha didn’t even try to move aside. The force of impact cost the beast its balance and soon, both men found themselves on the ground, entangled in a scuffle.

For everyone else, this would have been suicide. Moving in to such a big man, fully exposed to his power. No sane warrior would do that. Corco, however, knew better. He had seen Pacha fight before, seen how he liked to look elegant, stayed on the outside and took his foes apart from a distance. Corco gambled that the monster had neglected his wrestling training over years of constant victory. Corco, on the other hand, had trained years to improve on his ground game, decades if he counted both lifetimes. With an annoyed grunt, Pacha tried to get back up. Swat off the fly and stand up, back to the light of the crowd, but Corco stubbornly pinned down the warrior, first his waist, and then his shoulder.

*Idiot.*

He had been right: Pacha was a horrible wrestler. Convinced he would never have to fight on the ground. the moron had neglected half of his training. It cost him dearly. Soon, the hero found himself with his back on the ground, his brother mounted on his belly. Their roles reversed, the eldest brother’s shadow had grown to cover the hero in turn. Finally, Corco was ready to fight back. His position secured, he got to work. Frantic, without pause, he pounded his fists into the hero’s face. Pacha tried to hit back, but even the beast couldn’t generate strength while lying on his back. His punches brushed over Corco’s face like a spring breeze.

In return, Corco’s flurry of hits only grew ever more intense. Again and again his fists came down, until his own hands began to hurt, even through the protective gloves and the adrenaline. By now the hero had stopped resisting. His hands covered his face, in an attempt to prevent his defeat, or the pain, which one Corco didn’t know. With a deep breath, Corco slowed down for a moment to admire his handiwork. No need to get tired out. Not now, that he was in a winning position. Again, the hero tried to buck up, in an attempt to fight off his foe. And yet again, he opened up to receive more damage to his swollen and bloody face. By now his left eye had closed shut, blood streaming down his brow and into his ear.

The hero’s attempts were in vain and soon died down again. Corco would never allow him to come back, not now. The bucking could only gain a few inches of space for the hero, but he would only tire himself out this way. It was nowhere near enough to change the outcome and would be reversed soon. His arms free and a precious second gained, the hero reached down with his right, in a desperate attempt to reverse their fates once again. Corco ignored the attack. No matter what Pacha wanted to do, he wouldn’t move his attacker off. The position was too strong and Pacha had no idea where to grip or how to use any of his immense power.

However, an unease in the back of his mind still made him look down, a hunch to save his life. Just in time, Corco spotted the glimmer from within the darkness of his shadow.

*Crap!*

He pulled back his left arm, just in time to stop the knife from burying into his side. Corco’s face contorted in pain and fury as the world inside his head became pure white. He didn’t even feel the wound on his arm as the blood splattered down to cover the hero beneath him. Instead of more repeated hits, or an attempt to avoid the knife, Corco rolled off his opponent, onto his arm. Two quick moves and he had trapped the beast’s right in an armlock, and the bloody knife with it.

The fake hero tried to stand up, sure that his cheap shot had gained him the space he would need to regain the upper hand. Before he could so much as raise his torso off the ground, Corco had already trapped the Hero’s arm trapped between his legs, with his own hands firmly around the hero’s fist and knife, locking them in place. Now all he had to do was pull. A scream of absolute terror cut through the night as Pacha’s stricken body coiled back. Complete silence reigned the crowd at the absurd spectacle.

The hero used his left, free form its constraints, to hit Corco’s legs, anything to make the infernal pain stop. However, Corco wouldn’t let up. Not this time. Time to teach the bastard a lesson, and his father right with it. So he spoke his first words since the start of the duel, a low growl through gritted teeth.

"How’s your arm, brother?" After a heavy pull, Corco could feel something inside the hero’s elbow give with a disgusting crunch. The knife dropped to the ground with a little clink, almost quaint. It was drowned out by the desperate squeals of the hero who rolled on the floor, his arm bent back at the elbow. Corco rolled away and got back up. As he calmed his beating heart, he looked around the stunned crowd for a second, before the flickering glimmer of the bloody knife once again caught his eye. He bent down to weigh it in his hands, the warmed up steel so familiar in his palm.

A decision made, he marched over to the crawling and howling Pacha.

"Halt!" Someone screamed from behind, maybe the bastard’s father. It didn’t matter. There was something he still had to do.

"Stand back!" Fadelio’s voice called out as well while Corco dropped a heavy knee onto the hero’s back and grabbed his long pony tail. More and more sounds mixed together as a brawl ensued in his back. Corco twirled the long hair around his fist once, before he took the symbol of the hero’s power with a single slice. Loose strands of hair flowed away in the breeze and disappeared into the night. From his exhausted body, Corco’s sweat dropped down onto the shorn head of his brother, whose screams had turned to whimpers.

Corco wasn’t sure if the hero was aware of what had happened to him, but it didn’t matter. The bastard was a hero no more. Humiliation and disability would be worse for him than death itself. Slowly, Corco rose up and turned to the crowd, knife in one hand and hair in the other. The stunned bystanders had turned into an oil painting, men crowded together, ready to maim and kill one another, yet frozen in time as they gazed at the bizarre image before them. His attendant and grandfather had their hands on the other man’s shoulders, embroiled in a pushing match. Now however, all actions had stopped and all eyes were focused on the new King of the South. All they could hear was the soft whimper of his foe, carried away by the whispering winds.

"How dare you shame your brother like this!" the shameless Caelestis shouted. His finger pointed at Corco in accusation, but it shook just as much as his voice.

"To the victor go the spoils." Corco’s calm voice called out over the crowd. All of a sudden, the former prince looked much larger than he had before, a true warrior of Medala. "Words to remember for the future. You’ve cheated your way out of your just deserts this once. I’ll never let this stand again." As he spoke, Corco’s eyes never left Caelestis, who let go of Fadelio and stepped back, his head lowered. The man didn’t even have the decency to look after his own son, too concerned with his own safety and reputation. Disgusting.

Rather than the elder, Corco focused the referee for the fight, his real brother Amautu. Even the calm northern king had lost his composure throughout the unexpected battle. He stared at his brother for a second with a slack face, before he fixed his posture. Without any words, Amautu understood very well what his brother wanted.

"The victor of the duel is King Corcopaca Titu Pluritac. Qarasi Castle will go into his possession as part of the southern Pluritac estate. May the stars bear witness!"

Satisfied, Corco gave his brother a nod. It was the answer he had wanted. Without another word, the king turned and walked towards the exit, followed by Fadelio, his ever-present shadow. Even though the attendant’s height surmounted his master’s by more than a head, all men within the mansion swore that on that day, the King of the South had been the tallest man on the court. It would be a sign of things to come.

- 256th year of the Pluritac dynasty, 87th day of winter: The triumvirate of kings is established within Arguna, splitting the Medala Empire three ways. It is the start of a long, bloody struggle between the kings, a time of confusion known as the Era of Strife.