The Tournament

       It was the first time Ryven had left the orphanage since arriving.  He was adorned in a simple white tunic and sandals, the garb of a competitor in the Forge Regional Fighting Tournament.  He left his home at the Sisters of Eve station in Airaken, and had travelled nine jumps to Jita, at the heart of Caldari space.  He was competing against at least a hundred other Caldari children who had reached age 15, when they were finally allowed to compete in what may have been the bloodiest sport children were allowed to participate in.  Some of the competitors would not be making the trip back to wherever they came from.  Killing one's opponent was not exactly encouraged, but neither was it forbidden, and in some cases, it was the inevitable result of a mismatched set of opponents. 
      The competitors fought, four at a time, with only one victor.  It was a brawl, by any sense of the word, but also highly strategic.  Temporary alliances were made, but, quickly broken as there could be only one victor.  The fights took place on a dirt floor within a circle approximately ten meters in diameter.  Fighters were allowed to yield when beaten, or to fight to the death.  It was the choice of individual fighters.  If a fighter felt himself beaten, he need only give the sign, and his defeat would be recorded.  Some fighters chose not to submit, and instead forfeited their lives.  While not a victory, this was generally more honorable. 
       Ryven had fought his way through to the finals, and was awaiting the last semi-final match to end before entering and either walking away a champion, or just another meat-bag.  Baillieu stood beside him, his surrogate father, pride obvious in his demeanor.  Ryven could see that Baillieu was getting older, the lines in his face etched deeper and much more cruelly than before.  It startled him, sometimes, how much he had come to care for this man.  Ryven was almost sixteen years old, and by that right, nearly an adult.  The State didn't recognize adulthood officially at 16, but, it was an age at which certain rights were granted, namely emancipation, citizenship, and official working status.  He could choose a life.  He still did not know what that life would be, but, he was anxious to be able to make such a choice. 
       The match was winding down.  There were only two fighters left, and both were looking fairly beaten.  Blood dripped from wounds inflicted with fists and feet.  Weapons were strictly forbidden, but, many fighters wore rings, and some of these were sharpened.  Ryven did not.  He felt it would cheapen whatever victory he might attain.  Honorable fights were better than dishonorable ones, in his mind.  At least, this was what Baillieu had instructed him.  He looked up to the old man, who must be in his seventies by Ryven's reckoning, and thus followed his instruction dutifully. 
       The match ended when the winner, a boy named Ahrima, snapped the leg of the loser, Ventrio.  Ryven credited the loser for not screaming out in pain.  He gave the sign of missio, and was allowed to crawl out of the circle alive.
       Ryven approached the circle, his every muscle fiber taut with anticipation.  He calmed himself, funneling all of his drive and rage into a reservoir within.  I am a weapon, a tool of death and destruction.  Victory awaits me.  Defeat awaits those who stand against me.  This is for honor, my father, and the proper respect they are due.  I cannot fail.
       There was the sound of a gong being struck, and the other three began advancing toward Ryven. Ah, so I have been singled out to be the first one down.  I wouldn't count on it, guys.  Ryven ducked under the first attack, a vicious roundhouse thrown by a stocky boy named Kanue, who was easily twenty pounds heavier than him.  He quickly dealt a sharp blow to the boy's ribs with his right elbow and swept his legs out before turning to block the kick thrown by Ahrima. He grabbed the boy's foot and shot a quick jab into the boy's knee, shattering it.  The third attacker, Dehrin, a Deteis of smaller stature, but quickness on his side, dealt him a sharp punch to the jaw, which momentarily interrupted Ryven's rhythm.  Rhythmn was very important for Ryven's style of martial arts, but, not as important as sheer force delivered in intense, short, lightning blows.  Ryven quickly recovered and dealt Dehrin a vicious blow to the temple, before spinning to meet Ahrima with a kick to the chin, launching him at least two feet into the air.  Kanue, hurting from three cracked ribs, had gotten up slowly and bellowed as he charged Ryven.  Ryven grinned at his belligerence and dug in his heel for a powerful roundhouse kick that spun Kanue around fully before he dropped to the dust, which was now a slurry of sweat, blood, and mucus.  He barely gave Kanue a passing glance as he raised the missio sign and crawled from the arena.  Ahrima, surprised Ryven with a sharp kick to the chest, which knocked the wind out of him and sent him back two feet.  Ryven was pleased with the distance this gave him to work with and immediately responded with a short charge and a two-fisted punch to Ahrima's chest, returning the favor, but better capitalizing on it by immediately following it with a jaw-breaking uppercut.  Ahrima was bleeding from the mouth, and spat out the large piece of tongue he had just bitten off.  Dehrin took this opportunity to strike, not realizing Ryven was aware of him creeping up from behind.  When he was within reach, Ryven spun and put Dehrin into a choke hold, meanwhile keeping Dehrin as a shield from the blows of Ahrima.  Three of Ahrima's kicks to the face and chest later, Dehrin gave the sign and Ryven dropped him and jumped back.  It was just the two of them now.
          "I won't submit, you know." Ahrima seethed.
          "Don't be an ass, Ahrima." Ryven spoke softly.  "I don't want to kill you."
          "That's because you're a soft orphan pussy." 
          "I will kill you if I have to." 
          "I ain't got all day, chickenshit." Ahrima taunted him.
          The smile on Ahrima's face was just a bit too much for Ryven.  His rage got the better of him.  Unfortunately for Ahrima, Ryven's rage got the better of him too.  Ahrima couldn't defend against the flurry of staccato strikes that followed Ryven's lightning fast charge.  Blow after blow after blow all found the targets.  Ryven savored every strike, his vision narrowed to just him and Ahrima, and the world faded away.  His fists kept landing, each one bringing the delightful feel of flesh being pounded and bone cracking.  The fight ended when he drove his fist into Ahrima's face so hard that his skull caved in, a mass of broken bone shards and brains on the end of Ryven's arm.  This was the last of Ryven's energy, and he fell to the dirt floor and the world swirled away into blackness.
        It was Ryven's first kill.  It would not be his last.