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I was falling

And falling

Faster, faster, faster

And then I stopped.

I was in a void, switchblades strapped to my arms. The blades themselves are a bit longer than my forearms, flipped out and double edged. The sheaths were on my outside forearms, extending to just above the elbow. And I was in X defense position, the switchblades raised above my head in a cross, made to withstand stronger attacks. My gladiator instincts took over, flipping backwards out of the way as soon as the pressure ceased. I was definitely being attacked, but by what? I jumped to the side, hearing the sound of a heavy strike coming down next to me, and I caught a wrist. I pilled and the clumsy thing came down. I stabbed the thing through the neck, a quick job.

"Match simulation complete. Winner: Sheik," a pleasant female voice said in the Atlantean tongue. In the next room, a huge wolf ripped sensors off of his body and stomped on them. Somewhere, a crowd was roaring. The holo-coliseum was right above us. Tuesday was Blind Day for Atlantean gladiators. And that's what I was. Sheik, the Fennec champion of the ring. Master of the Nox style of fighting and it's unique weapon, the switchblades. The hardest style to master, since it required an adaptability and fluidity that not many naturally possessed and even less could acquire with practice. As I rode up to the Projection Floor of the coliseum, I heard a message in my ear. "Your commission credits have been routed to your account. Oh, and Sheik, The Emperor needs to meet you." I nearly hyperventilated from excitement. Why would the Emperor want to meet me?

I emerged in a spotlighted area in the middle of the smooth obsidian-glass floor on a square lift. I was lit by the Projectors, the broadcasting devices hooked up to us while we're fighting in c-space. C, for cyber. And for coliseum. Another black lift descended with even more ceremony than mine. Which meant only one thing. "Emperor Seth!" I yelled. The handsome wolf emperor was wearing red silks and a ceremonial red cape, clasped with a pink sapphire. "Hello, Champion Sheik," the emperor said. An advisor standing next to him whispered something in his ear. "Guards! Take this wolf away!" the Emperor commanded. "Please, sir, I was just trying to help refine your image!" the advisor pleaded. "I'm the alpha of my clan, I can't go to prison!" The Emperor nodded. "Fine then. Guards, pick a new patriarch for the Fehu clan." The advisor was mortified. "No..." But it was done. And this disturbed me.

"What did he say to you, Majesty?" I asked the wolf.

"He said that I shouldn't talk to those of a lesser social standing than myself. I do what I want."

"Indeed, Majesty. Why did you want to talk to me?"

"Well, Sheik, I have heard rumors about you. Today was my first time visiting, however," the Emperor said. "You do not disappoint."

I blushed. "Well, I'm the first switchblade master in centuries. I'm not that extraordinary, it's just they're not used to fighting against a user of Nox."

"Indeed. I wanted to say something else to you today, but it seems that I do not have the necessary data. So I will wait for now." And so we parted.

Later that day, I was in the special bar for gladiators. Most respectable taverns wouldn't serve us and the unrespectable ones don't have good beer. The scores for the month's league were up already. The leagues are organized in a tournament style, with five tiers and thirty two gladiators. I was among the sixteen to advance to the winner's league. The losers still fought, but they couldn't get in the top four unless a fighter completely humiliated every opponent they came across. Those that were knocked out in the second tier and third tier didn't get money, leading to the common proverb "The worst fighters are the best savers". The only ones that got paid the "Champion's Commission" were the top eight fighters. The fourth and fifth tier fighters based on if and when they got knocked out and what league they were in, along with badly they've beaten their opponents. I got top spot last year by completely humiliating the reigning champion. Anyways! I was in the Sword & Shield, the gladiator bar, where the reigning champion is the bartender. But I worked for free, lucky them. Gladiators and other patrons started filling in after the second fight of the day, a tigress user of the Bastet style (armed with clawed gauntlets) and a wolf user of the Poseidon style (armed with a seismic trident). I watched the fight on the holoboard in front of the scoreboard. The tigress ended up following the rifts made in the wolf's attacks to him and clawed half of his face off. The other half was stunned by her next move, a bash on his head. "Match simulation complete. Winner: Promethea." I watched the card labeled Promethea automatically move to the right side, the victor's side. If she kept winning, we'd only meet in the fourth tier.

"Some game, huh?" A wolfess asked me. Aaloka, the favorite for third place this year, after myself and the previous champion. I looked up at her, my ears flattening in fear. With my switchblades, I'm the best fighter, but when faced with others bigger than me, I'd be completely useless outside of the holoarena. Not to mention, some wolf supremacists out there would pay an official off to ban me from fighting if I ever fought back against a wolf. "Y-yeah." I started mixing her favorite, a nonalcoholic fruity mix without her asking. A tribute, if you will. She watched me make it and paid for the drink. "You're a sweet thing, Sheik. How'd you get into this bloody sport?"

I smiled weakly. "I, uh, always wanted to fight. That's all there is to say." I was relatively young to most of the gladiators, who are in their early twenties. I'm eighteen, the youngest champion in history. In the holo-coliseum, physical age doesn't matter as long as you can use your weapon and have good reaction time. And we went back to business

The next week, I fought again. Falling, falling, falling. Stop. We spawn on opposite sides of the ring. Today, I was facing a user of Neith style. An archer. A sniper, at that. It took three seconds for the day's terrain to load. A mesa with rock stacks around the place. Today, it's win by death or knockout. Which is good for me. I scanned the area for the sniper until... Sprang! an arrow imbedded itself in the rock in inch away from me, right where my right arm was a second before. I startle running in the direction of the sniper, switchblades open. I blocked another shot with my left and spun sideways in cats they tried again. The sniper moved to my left and fired again. This one hit in the ground in front of me and I almost tripped on it, but I persevered, changing direction in a heartbeat in the new direction. 100 feet. 90. 80. 60. I started cartwheeling sideways, a string of arrows in my wake. 40. 30. 20. I jumped and flipped forward, closing the rest of the distance in one, two, three flips. And then all it took was a quick kick to the chest to put him on the ground, just a hair out of the arena. "Match simulation complete. Winner: Sheik." The crowd roared above me as I came out of c-space. I pulled the sensors off. This time, as I emerged, victorious, I saw two wolves with crimson capes watching from the corner.

I bartended again that week. I was the favorite for second place, which disturbed me. Then I started playing replays of the week's matches. Since there were eight matches and not sixteen, I had one other that day. The tigress again. And she dominated her opponent. I watched her go in the same arena I went in. Promethea verses Somber. Somber was a user of switchblades himself, but an inadequate one. Not close to my level. Promethea jumped at him and he parried her claws with a switchblade, which she grabbed, triggering the switchblade's closing mechanism. As my fellow Fox flipped in mid-air, Promethea kicked him down. As he lay there stunned, she calmly smiled at the unseen crowd and snapped his neck. "Match simulation complete. Winner: Promethea."

I was impressed, to say the least. Somber was the champion before me and she had absolutely no trouble with him. This tigress might even be a master of her style. I contemplated how I was gonna deal with her, relaxing in the scent of old beer and blood that permeated the bar. Then she walked in.

She was beautiful in person. She had a black braid that the sensors didn't pick up, so it doesn't appear on her in the arena. But with it, she was amazing looking. I felt unlucky for the first time that I didn't swing that way. She would have made a beautiful mate, and any fights we had could have been resolved with the week's rankings. She seemed intelligent, too. But I digress. "You're the bartender around here, right?" she asked.

"That's me. Sheik, at your service." I bowed low to the floor.

"You look shorter than in your holos."

I'm gonna kill her! "I'm sure they do that to even the odds."

She orders a beer, chilling it with not unheard of ice powers. Basic stuff. "The emperor sends a message. You're to be put to death if you ever lose a match." She said this so calmly, I had to do a double take.

"What? Why?"

"Watch." She pulls up a holo on the holotable, a security tape. A fennec was sharpening a switchblade in the bar while another sat nearby. "You are in possession of illegal weapons." It was true, weapons aren't allowed in Atlantis. Not real ones, anyways. But I didn't have any. And I told her so. "Well, he's giving you a failsafe. Don't lose. But I'm not losing, either, and we will fight eventually."

I braced myself. This was gonna be hard. A Bastet master vs. A Nox master. Any fight between masters of their style is interesting, but two opposing styles? Even more so.

In between fights, practices, and bartending, I had just enough time to research the blacksmiths of Atlantis. There were only three: The royal blacksmith, a ram by the name of Mr. Thorson, and a mare codenamed Q, who designed the weapons used in the arenas. Q wasn't a real blacksmith, she was a virtual designer, but she was classified as one. I visited her first, figuring that she would be the most likely to know how exactly to make switchblades. She was across town from the bar, on the edge of the island. Her shop overlooked the Atlantean Sea, a secluded patch of the Atlantean Ocean. What you might know as the Atlantic. Foreigners don't make it that often, not since we closed our borders several hundred years ago. The magnificent cliffs that formed the western edge of the island were distinctly carved with magic. Ancient, powerful magic that barely anyone has anymore. The design building was a mix of old and new, like most things in Atlantis, a traditional blacksmith with motion capture rig and a programming booth in the back. I scanned the area for Q, finally spotting the mare in the forges. "So, how have the designs been coming along? I hear a thirteenth style is in the works." I said.

"It's not great... I have to think of an original idea and that is getting really hard. Twelve styles might have to top it, after years of work and ingenuity, I'm tapped out." There was a maniac fire in her eyes, like if she couldn't solve the problem, heads were gonna roll.

"Well, what about an assassin style? We don't have one of those. Not officially," My eyes started to wander, search for clues in the cluttered smithy.

"BRILLIANT!" she pulled a three dimensional hard holo up and started scaling two knife models. "if this is coupled with invisibility magic, it would be devastating on the Holo-floor!" anything.

Not even a trace of a mold. I figured, since Q was, as I said, a virtual designer, not a blacksmith per se. "Uh, right. I'll just be heading home then. See ya, Q," I said, and headed out. I wasn't gonna bother her any longer than I had to. She scared the life out of me.

The next day, I faced a Thor style fighter. An electricity mage, armed with a highly conductive warhammer. There were shock pads in the head, so whenever you get struck, you get shocked as well, along with the mage channeling lighting to create false thunderclaps and straight up electocuting you whenever they can. We spawned in a small arena, barely wide enough to properly move and use my switchblades but plenty big enough for the shockhammer. Right off the bat, I parried a blow with a closed switchblade and sliced at his body with the open other. He twists to deflect my slash with the pole, a move that makes my closed switchblade go into open air and lets me twist around his side. I jump to land on his shoulders and latch on, hooking my legs around his neck, close enough so that I he tried electrocution, he'd fry his own brain. The shock pads forgotten, he tries to hit me. It was an uphill battle, but eventually, by twirling the head, he lands a blow to my leg from the side. I hung on, screaming in pain. My leg was NOT supposed to bend like that. It wasn't a killing blow- yet. That means that I'd be able to stay in for a little bit longer. He swung again, aiming for my body, but I wasn't there. I fell off in a completely undignified way and he snapped his own neck with his hammer. I won, but I wasn't gonna get as much commission for embarrassment as I normally would. Sure, his killing himself was bad enough, but I also fell off.

"Match simulation complete. Winner: Sheik." I could hardly celebrate. Someone put me in that arena on purpose, and I'll bet I know who. At the Sword & Shield, only one gladiator was grinning. "Promethea! You did this! You wanted me to lose."

She shrugs, still grinning. "On the contrary. I want to destroy you personally. But that was quite a show. Did you have fun not being able to flip away?"

I was so glad that there were no weapons allowed on Atlantis or she'd be dead right now. "Why are you doing this to me?" I asked. Like I didn't know. But her answer surprised me.

"You, Sheik, are becoming a rally point. A face that anti-emperor anarchists are gathering behind. I am trying to bring our island light. And you will NOT stop me." She backed me against a wall as she said that, slamming an open palm next to my ear to emphasize the word 'not'. I flinched away from the hand, weaving under her arm as I continued my mission to find the one that framed me. I did NOT want to deal with bigger people right now. But anti-emperor anarchists?

Mr. Thorson was a huge ram. Bigger than my biggest opponents in the holos. So much for not wanting to deal with animals bigger than me. He was a traditional blacksmith, but he forged horseshoes and stuff. Theoretically, anything sharp can be used as a weapon, but you won't be arrested for possession of a Thorson knife or sickle. He's the only one legally allowed to make sharp objects on the entire island, aside from the royal blacksmith. "So, mister Thorson. I need some advice." He looks up from the plowshare he's flattening. "Eh? Sure. Come into the back."

We head into the back of the shop, passing several molds. What I came here to see. But no weapon molds were in the group, every mold back to back and open for all the world to see. I am on the verge of leaving before I think to ask him about the charges. "Um, I'm being attacked for possession of weapons. If I lose a match, I'm gonna be exiled or worse. Do you know anything about this?" I open a 3D holo model of my switchblades. He looks startled. "Do you mean switchblades? I... The emperor himself came to me about two pairs. I was told that he was going to put them into the royal armory because of the proficiency of your style in making champions. So I crafted two pairs. I could not say no to the emperor, right? Leave. And win! If you lose, I'm likely to be arrested for making the weapons in the first place. I'm sure that Somber has already been taken." I dash out to practice. And practice I did, until my next fight. A full week of practice before my next fight. My fourth tier fight.

The one against the Bastet tigress.

We spawned in a medium, flatish arena around 30 feet from each other. A meadow. A surprisingly detailed one. The tall grass swayed in the unfelt wind. The outside border of the simulation, a line of oak trees, had a surprising amount of animation with leaves blowing, animals moving, birds flapping and singing. I could picture the spectators, watching the whole match projected on the smooth floor of the coliseum with 3D holos. The projector would circle around us for the audiences watching on a screen. We study each other for several seconds before Promethea makes the first move, leaping, seemingly bending c-space to close the distance between us in two bounds. I move sideways as she lands on a gauntlet, pivots, and twirls on her hand to kick me twice. I duck and lash out with an open switchblade to cut at her arm. She catches and closes it, but she's off balance. Before I could take advantage of this, she recovers and returns to her feet and in a split second reaction, I kick her back down, moving, shifting, and my hand is on her chest and with one move, I could kill her. I could open my switchblade on her neck. But I don't and she kicks my legs out from under me and rolls sideways before I fall. She claws the back of my neck and I'm dead.

I'm dead and everything is black. Everything is cold. Everything is empty. It's a familiar feeling, almost nostalgic from the early days of my career. I know what to expect from death.

It isn't the first time I've died in the arena. But it'll be the last. I'm gonna be exiled or executed because the emperor planted false evidence against me. I never even found out what the anarchists are.

I come out of the simulation without hearing the usual match announcements. I'm being held by two dark-skinned guys in red cloaks. And an arrow goes through my throat.

Death is not at all what I expected. It's nothing like I expected at all.

I wake up in what I assume is my afterlife. But I don't see an Atlantean god anywhere. Instead, my switchblades at my side- when did that happen?- I walk up to the base of a giant tree and read three words. "Welcome to Valhalla.

I was free.