Bloodball

This is the first chapter of my book-to-be. Any feedback would not just be appreciated but also rewarded!



Bloodball

Why am I doing this! Markus thought to himself. He gazed out in front of himself with a dazed expression as the reality of it hit him. And it hit him hard. The rest of the team was over five years older than him, some of them twice his age. At the age of nine he was much smaller and less bulky than most of his supposed “team mates”, but made up for as much of it as he could in speed. In reality, he had never really been part of any team. The lantrolls made sure of that. There were ten on a side, all fully matured lantrolls – except for him. In a troll village a young human was less than welcome. It wasn’t the first time he had been bullied into playing a violent and aggressive game of Bloodball. The worst part was that both teams despised him. Unlike the lantroll, Markus’s body was slender and not covered in knots and twists of rough muscle. He was also shorter than the lantroll children his age, and would never reach the height of a fully matured lantroll. This was seen as a weakness, and he was tormented because of it. Beaten, taunted and starved. Made to live like an animal. It wasn’t the fact that they resented him because he was physically weak, but that they could get away with bullying him because he was weak. Trolls were cowards, that much was obvious. It was no wonder that they lived by themselves, and away from the other tribes.

         A faint glint in the air above him forced his vision to flick back into focus. A dull silver skull flew towards him. The young human side stepped to the left, the bare pads on his feet pattering over the frozen ground, and caught the heavy metal object in both hands. It hadn’t been blooded yet…Both teams were hoping to change that… at his expense. He gritted his teeth, lowered his head and started to run forwards and to the right. Three large lantrolls moved to intercept him, whilst another one cut him off from his already retreating team. Just like that he was isolated, not even possessing the skull for ten seconds… It looked like the lantroll scum would be getting their wish earlier than expected. Markus quickened his pace, and when they were within a few yards of him he put everything he had into getting past them. His natural speed sent him flying forwards, his nimble feet a blur as he shot off. It wasn’t just his self preservation he was fighting for, but the opportunity to prove the lantrolls wrong. It was as good a victory he could earn - scoring a goal in this unfair game. The only drawn back would be the beats he would receive, but they would come either way. Markus swerved to the left as he tried to dodge the three in front of him. A shrill voice from the audience rang out, “It runs! Chase the fleeing little rodent! Show him where cowardice gets him!”

         Bullied into playing this stupid troll game, bullied once playing the stupid game and now humiliated at the one time he really deserved some respect from this idiotic brutes! Markus’s temper flared over his logic for a brief while and he chanced a quick look around to the stands to see who was mocking him for trying to follow the rules of the game. His eyes locked those of a stout, old lantroll whose beetle black eyes shone with glee. Markus started to try and stare him out, but the lantroll quickly looked away. At the time, Markus though he had some how intimidated the hulk, or shamed him. At the time he was quite wrong.

         Markus’s head exploded with pain and he was left with a cold snapping sound ringing through his ears. His momentum sent him rolling and twisting onwards, until he was sprawled out on the cold ground over ten yards from the conflict. He lay, hunched up in a ball on his side with the cold metal skull pressed up against his head. How he had managed to keep it gripped in his hands he would never know. Markus opened his eyes and felt two hot tears run down his dirty face. The boy rolled over onto his front. He moved his numb head back and looked down at the skull with tear-blurred vision. It was stained red. Blood was running freely down his head now, onto his clothes. The shame of defeat was already stained into his dirty garment. His only garment.

         Markus felt as if a huge finger was trying to burrow its way through his scalp. He staggered to his feet and slowly turned around. There were now five lantrolls approaching him slowly and confidently, like wolves stalking prey. Markus gathered himself as best as he could. No, what they were doing was far worse than wolves hunting for a living. More like a gang of over fed cats playing with a young mouse. The largest of them, Trug, brandished a freshly broken stick. He yelled out to the audience, “The scum broke my stick!” A wave of giddiness washed over Markus and the young boy felt himself weaken, his shoulders hunched and his dripping face lowered, leaving him facing the ground. He told himself:



Don’t do anything stupid. Doing anything at all can only make it worse. They want an excuse other than the rules of the game to beat you. You can’t get back at them if you are lying broken in the mud. Broken in the mud.



         Markus’s vision turned red, possibly due to an uncontrollable flash rage or due to the hot blood running into his sore eyes. Either way, some crucial part of his self restraint had snapped. Logic could sit this one out.

         A roar tore out of his mouth; the force of it sent little droplets of his blood spraying forwards. Markus felt a sudden blast of energy and turned around, facing the exit to the arena.



I could easily out run these brutes, and hide in the forest for a few days. Then pay double for my cowardice and spend the next month of days looking over my shoulder more than I do now? If I’m going to get beaten then let it happen now so I can move on.



         A wild laughter somehow found its way out of Markus’s mouth, as two more waves of energy flooded into him. It seemed to be forcing out all fear, all pain, but at a price. Its whispered demand for blood seemed to bypass his reasoning completely. His strength manifested its self, and he was won over by desire and instinct. He laughed some more, then tensed for action facing the edge of the arena. He placed his right leg in front of him and crouched down, his eyes focused in front of him. The faint sound of hard dirt yielding to the awkwardly approaching trolls reached his acute ears. The crowd roared for the lantrolls to run, and the sound of scampering feet increased in magnitude. He tried to argue with himself one more time, but his reasoning was reduced to near enough nothing. Shame or Pain. He strengthened himself one more time.

Instinct.

         He unleashed the pent up energy and span around, hurling the skull. His shoulder join seemed to detonate under the force of the action. Alarm flashed across Trug’s stupid face as he tried to lean away from the heavy projectile. It hit the side of his jaw with a dull “thump”, and seemed to carry his head with it on its path. He had enough time to let out a short, shrill screech of surprise. It was as if he had reached the end of an invisible leash, as his head was yanked back behind him, but his chunky legs and twisted limbs shot out in front of him. He landed an awkward face plant, and moved no more.

         The audience gasped, and the four remaining lantrolls looked down at their injured comrade. His body was shaking and jerking, and blood was flowing freely from his face. Markus could almost feel the invisible message moving from crowd to players to injured, and back to crowd. It was a simple one.

         They hit him fast, heavy fists blurring and thick legs striking. Striking soon turned to stomping. Markus tried to fight back, but his head wasn’t letting him think fast enough. His fierce energy left faster than it had arrived. One of the trolls had retrieved the broken stick and was pummelling his face with its rough shaft. Markus felt his nose snap, give way, collapse, and he was left with a dull crunch replaying its self over and over in his mind. A dark cloud engulfed his panicked consciousness. He felt like he was drowning in hot mud but thought he heard a weak voice yelling, “Bet it regrets it now”.

         “It” didn’t.



This is not the end of Markus! I am in the process of finishing his next installment, in which he will find himself playing an entirely different type of game. The stakes are much higher, death is on the cards. However, Markus is no longer the young boy he once was. . .Reviews rewarded.