Chapter 11: Champion Carnival! Clare vs. Flora
Bordeaux Coliseum. Late morning
With a heavy heart, Clare stared at the beauty who stood facing her across from the accursed pit.
She shot an uneasy glance at Galatea. She did not know. She did not at all, that Flora was fighting to save Pieta Academy.
The dilemma had kept her awake last night, as she tossed and turned unhappily, troubled and restless. She did not even care that a sleepless night might affect her fighting ability. She could think of naught save Flora’s words, her kindness, and the dilemma of her own vow and Flora’s desperate need to win.
Clad in a Pietan, light blue skirt and tee that allowed for greater mobility, Flora gazed at Clare, trying her best not to look regretful. But neither would she simply back down and allow Clare to reduce her to dust.
The match she had dreaded was about to begin.
My husband… I promised I would return to you, safe and sound. You know I love you too much to leave you. But please forgive me – I may come home more bruised than usual tonight.
Miss Hilda… Miss Miria… today, I am facing a mighty opponent from Rabona. I do not know if I can bring back the money we require to revive our Academy. But I promise, I will hold nothing back. I will throw everything I have at her.
Clare and Flora neared each other and touched, their fists pressing lightly. “I will end this quickly,” said Flora, her voice serious.
“Me too,” replied Clare.
And with that, their lightning-fast fists connected against one another’s face. They staggered back, but quickly recovered, striking one another simultaneously again, this time in the stomachs. They keeled over, but Clare recovered first, attacking again with an angry straight. Flora clumsily staggered back, taking the full force of Clare’s assault on her forearms.
You are strong. But your speed is evidently more of an advantage than your physical power. She sent a fist at Clare’s face, hoping to end it quickly, but Clare’s reflexes saved her from being felled. She skidded back, her nose crushed despite having guarded. Blood streamed from her nostrils.
This was a ferocious, tit-for-tat duel. Yet neither fighter dared to back down. To do so would be a gross insult to each other.
We promised yesterday… we would both fight our hardest.
Clare felt Flora’s jab jarring her chin. Then she heard her opponent cry out from her liver blow. There was no time to check if it was completely effective. She had to press on, to dominate the exchange. Flora’s Windcutter technique was potentially deadly: so fast that it could slice open the air around them, inflicting further damage that was of a slashing nature rather than a bludgeoning one: a technique almost non-existent in bare-knuckle boxing. It forced the opponent to abandon defensive techniques, lest she herself be cut to ribbons. Only offensive, aggressive fighters could survive the Windcutter. For that, Clare was confident that she could at least hold her own.
But what would it take to topple the beautiful lady that stood before her, fighting desperately so save the Academy of Pieta?
What was she willing to sacrifice, in the name of her quest to avenge Teresa, to do her part for Galatea, to climb up to the summit, to reach Priscilla?
Concentrate! Think about that later! Think of the fight! she chastised herself wildly, as she felt Flora’s cross cutting a thin gash across her cheek. But the older woman was already on the advantage as she began to pressure Clare into the corner of the pit, closing off all routes of escape with an ingenious style of footwork. Pressing the assault, Flora hemmed Clare in, aiming for her vitals.
She’s trying to finish me quickly, thought Clare, feeling another horizontal fist cut into her lip.
I’ll tire her out before she can overpower me. She burst forward, barging into Flora, trying to buy time. They tussled against each other, panting, their bodies pressed against the other desperately, blood and sweat intermingling heatedly.
Teresa… we all have reasons for our own battles, don’t we?
That night, when you told me to consider carefully what I was fighting for…
Are some battles worth fighting more than others?
But even as her train of guilt continued to plague her, Flora’s attacks were weakening momentarily. Even as they struggled to push at the other, Flora had swung several punches around Clare’s sides, striking at her kidneys and ears. And while it hurt, it was not crippling. Was she tiring? Was Clare’s defence chipping away at her body’s endurance?
Or was it because of something else…?
Flora’s eyes faltered, and it showed in her body movement. Clare seized her chance and attacked with a liver blow. Crack. Yet another simultaneous exchange between them! Clare tasted ichor again, and Flora’s eyes widened, her ribcage shuddering. She had not expected that punch, and Clare noticed that.
This is my chance!
She roared, and lunged forward, blinking through the bitter, throbbing ache, and clouted Flora around the head. Flora reeled, her flowing hair trailing behind her as she swayed back in unprepared pain. Clare dashed forwards, her arms up.
I will end it! I can’t do this to you anymore!
Although she had fallen back, Flora’s weary eyes met Clare’s, and they glimmered with a renewed, arcane determination. Ripples of gold stirred within those pools of silver.
The fate of Pieta Academy lies with me. Though it breaks my heart, I will NOT give in until you or I lie here, defeated!
Clare started, her eyes widening, her body unable to stop her lunge’s momentum.
Flora’s back foot found the ground, and she managed to force herself to stay grounded. She pulled back her arm, and sent it hurtling at Clare. The air funnelled itself into the force of her punch, threatening to tear Clare’s face apart in one vicious blow.
Prepare yourself, Clare!!
Listening to the instincts of her heart, Clare tightened her guard and shifted to her left, even as she felt Flora’s fist cut a wide, painful gash across the side of her face.
A shocked, drawn-out silence descended on Bordeaux Coliseum.
Clare remained leaning forwards, her face covered by her bruised arms, her upper body tilted to Flora’s side.
She had managed to avoid the Windcutter’s worst.
And now, Flora’s body was wide open. “C… Clare…!!” she gritted furiously.
Face bloody and cheek swollen, Clare launched her long-awaited counterattack, aiming for her midsection. “FLORA!!!” she screamed.
A reverberating
crack, and Flora could only moan softly, all six ribs to her right shattering inside her.
I… can’t… breathe. She folded, and as her head dropped, Clare’s wild uppercut smashed against her jaw, dislocating it. Utterly helpless, she could only stare up at the roof, her world flickering in and out as she felt her nervous system shutting down at the impact on her shattered chin.
Tears streaming down her face, Clare lunged, unleashing a final wave of distraught attacks. Her hand met Flora’s face, hurling it back.
Fall!
Her desperate hook struck the angel in her eyeridge, breaking it.
Fall!
She mowed her palm, flat and straight, like an anvil, into the schoolteacher’s chin. There was an audible snapping shut of teeth, then a compression of gums.
FALL!
I don’t wish to do this. Haven’t we gone far enough? I cannot lose here, not to you. But this is too much. I do not want this to last any longer. Please, no more.
Gore flowed freely from Flora’s mouth as she felt her liver curl in response to Clare’s fists.
Hang on.
She felt her eyelashes bathed with tears as she felt her nose break, cartilage reduced to a strange, mush-like substance.
Hang on.
Her vision went black, then returned, like a dying candle.
HANG ON!
The fate of Pieta Academy rests on my shoulders. If I withstand Clare’s mighty attacks, I can outlast her… I will bring Miss Miria her victory!
She could not even feel her jaw anymore. Had it fallen away from her head completely?
I cannot let Miss Hilda lose everything she has worked so hard towards!
She felt her cranium warp painfully. Her brain shuddered within, as if it knew the end was coming. Her body could not take much more punishment.
I am so sorry for doing this to you, Clare. But if you truly wish to win… you will find me…
Resisting you…
To the very end.
Her face drenched in gore, Flora’s eyes met Clare’s again. For a moment, they both paused, despair shining in their irises. And then, Flora sighed quietly, unable to stand any longer. Her knees buckled, and after several gruesome seconds which she spent hovering weakly upright, she crumpled, for what seemed like an aeon, onto the cold floor.
She had lost.
Oblivious to Rimuto, Galatea, and the crowd that cheered her on, Clare fell to her knees and caught Flora’s falling body. “No!” she wailed, hugging her bloody head to her chest. She stroked back her bright, wavy hair.
Did… I really have no choice? Already, Flora’s breathing was growing audibly fainter. “I’ll take you to be healed – ”
The defeated boxer of Pieta Academy – no, the wife of a man and the teacher of a school – opened her eyes slowly, blinking wearily at Clare. “Oh, my dear,” she murmured, blood flowing from her beautiful lips. “If I had lost at anyone else’s hands, I would have regrets. But to fall at your feet… is but an honour. Please…” she whispered, tears leaking down her pale face. “Please… tell Hilda and Miria… I might not be able to join them for our celebration… tonight.”
“Get help!” shrieked Clare, looking up outside the pit, and the indifferent audience, at the greedy, unscrupulous Rimuto. “She’s dying, don’t you care?! Get the warden!”
Rimuto started, his face still in shock.
Clare’s eyes flared in pure fury. “Didn’t you hear me?!” she barked. “This match is over! Call in the damned wardens! I’m taking her to the sick bay. Now!”
Watching her closely, Galatea calmly gestured to the guardians of the pit, her eyes sincere and serious. The guardians moved to assist Clare. They descended into the pit, gingerly taking Flora away from her and carrying her broken body up, to the recesses of the inner Coliseum, to the ward.
Clare raised her hands to her face, soaked in Flora’s blood. Her eyes had not run out of tears, and she could not stop crying.
She never hated herself more than now.
The crowd whispered amongst themselves, muttering quietly. There was no clapping, no jeering, no mockery. The usual tribute of gold coins did not fall, nor was Clare pelted with cheap flowers.
Something grim had happened in the pit today, and even the dregs of society knew when something sacrosanct could not be violated, could not simply be passed off as another mere victory or defeat.
That was the bond of friendship that grew ever stronger, even when its two soulmates had been forced to destroy each other.
*
Afternoon
Clare sat by the bedside of the schoolteacher, her mouth dry and her hands trembling. It seemed, for an hour past, that Flora was on the verge of death. However, as if a certain divinity had listened to Clare’s silent prayers, Flora had managed to back away from the abyss of death, and as the sun began its descent to the west, the heavily injured woman slowly stirred, forcing herself upright to sit on her bed, her back propped against the pillow. Despite the bandages that were wrapped around the top of her head, her face was as beautiful was ever, as serene and calm and gentle as yesterday when Clare first met her.
Thank goodness.
The younger woman breathed a sign of relief as she helped Flora up. The other smiled as she relaxed at Clare’s touch. “It seems my time to join those who have already left this world… has not come yet.”
Clare sat back down, staring at the bedsheets, unable to meet her eyes.
I don’t even deserve to talk to you anymore. Not after what I forced myself to do.
“I have come to realize, my dear, that a woman… cannot pursue two callings at the same time. Perhaps it is time for me to move on.”
Clare started, her eyes widening. “You – you mean – ?”
Flora smiled sadly. “As you have defeated me, I can no longer compete in the Champion Carnival. I have no choice but to return to Pieta without the money I promised. But if our Academy cannot go on without me, then I will not continue as a fighter either. I will not do it if my friends cannot do it.”
Clare did not know what to say. She lowered her head. “Flora…”
“Clare,” came her melodic voice. “Perhaps it means little to you, but I have resolved to devote my vocation to teaching the children who rely on me.” She unexpectedly raised her frail hand to her lips, suppressing a gentle laugh. “I would have you suffer to come and visit my school, that we may talk and grow closer outside of this profession we call bare-knuckle boxing.” She paused, her large eyes reflective. “I… have a husband. We married a year ago. We are hoping to start a family, see. One day… please, come to Pieta and visit us. I would like to introduce you to him.”
“I want very much to see you again,” mumbled Clare. “But I still can’t believe I’ve done this to you. Everyday, I struggle to balance the horrors of this work with… with my desire to achieve my dream. I was forced to hurt a noble woman in my very first fight. In a later match, I lost control and almost killed my opponent. And today…” she gripped Flora’s hands tighter. “I… I’ve… forced you to…”
Flora’s smile slowly disappeared, and she looked back down at the sheets, the complete reality of her predicament sinking deep into her heart. She pulled her hands away from Clare.
“Ah, yes. I… cannot forget that, can I…?” Her serene façade, after so many weeks of training, crumbled at last. Her lustrous eyes began to brim with tears. She was not angry at all; she harboured no hatred for Clare, yet they still came, they still flowed down her face, as her small shoulders heaved. “What… what will I say to Hilda? And… how can I face Miria now, after what I promised her?” Flora buried her face in her hands. “Oh, Clare, you have defeated me, and brought ruin to our Academy. Please, tell me what I should do.”
Clare reached over and enveloped Flora in a warm embrace, and Flora began to weep quietly into Clare's arms, her bruised face damp with self-reproach.
Pieta Academy was no more.
Clare gritted her teeth, holding Flora tighter.
And it’s all my fault.