Going Feet First Ch. 04

"You shut the fuck up!" Michael ordered. "I may not fucking understand, but you raise your voice to Mila again and I'll rip out your tongue and ram it right back down your throat! You mangy-ass piece of shit!"

"Warriors! Stay civil!" Teak ordered.

The entire cabin fell quiet as Emiel glared at Michael, the Neko growling as his fists struggled with the cage, as if he were trying to pull apart the bars. His human adversary's knuckles were stark-white around the grip of his pistol. It took all the self-control the soldier had to not pull the trigger right then and there.

"Give me one solid excuse to kill you," Michael muttered. "Come on, tempt me."

"Michael," Teak said with a thundering tone.

"It is a fight to the death you want?" Emiel asked, one of his eye brows lifting as something gleamed in his eye. He smugly glanced over to Elder Misn, then to Mila, then back to the human.

"Michael-" Mila tried to butt in.

"You want to try me?" Michael growled. "I'll gut you, motherfucker."

Warrior Leader Sayn stood up from his chair, crossing his arms over his thick chest and raising his chin up. A smile crossed Hail's face just as a look of absolute horror came over Mila. Breathing a sorrowful sigh, Elder Misn closed his eyes and spoke.

"A challenge of blood is made, and accepted."

"What about our judgement?" Lady Teak asked. "We had convened here for a civil solution, not this feral dissent!"

Sayn turned to the tribe's Merchant leader, "The challenge of blood is sacred, it overrules all."

"Challenge of blood? Does that mean I get to kill him?" Michael asked aloud, meeting Emiel's smiling face with his own deathly grin.

"It is the challenge of blood, Michael!" Mila squeaked. "It is an honor duel to the death! Fighting! You could be killed!"

"Then get a coffin ready for Emiel," the Sergeant mused.

"I look forward to tearing out your insides." Emiel chuckled.

"Michael!" Mila panicked.

"Enough, tracker!" Sayn thundered. "He accept the challenge. Honor bind him to it."

"If we must degrade ourselves to feral ways," Teak again interrupted. "Then will we set rules? Terms for victory? We have agreed before to adopt new ways, allow us to uphold them."

"Lady Teak... is right," Misn announced. "Emiel, you issued the challenge... state your terms."

The caged warrior was still trading glares with his human counterpart as he said, "I win, I go free. No punishment for this morning."

Michael immediately glanced back at Mila, seeing the sheer horror in her eyes at the proposal. Glancing over to the elders, he saw their withdraw, Sayn giving his head a subtle nod, as though to say, "your choice."

"Only if you never go near Mila again. Never speak to her, never lay a hand on her," the Sergeant growled. "If you win."

Emiel snarled, Michael raising his pistol to point the barrel right between the Neko's eyes. Behind him, Mila relaxed in the slightest at her mate's determination to keep her safe, but at the same time was scared to think of losing him for her own protection.

With little else for protest, Emiel grumbled, "agreed."

"Good. When I win, I want Emiel buried in an unmarked grave out in the middle of the woods. Somewhere that is far out of my way."

"No, I would have my body burned with honor!"

"Then your ashes buried in an unmarked grave, where I'll never have to think about your dumb-ass again."

There was a deep growl in the Warrior's throat as he again muttered, "Agreed. If you win, which you will not."

Sayn spoke again in his halting Human. "Terms set. Michael, go outside. Ready self for fight. No time waste."

"Weapons?" the Sergeant inquired.

"Knife if you wish, I have my claws," Emiel stated.

"So be it."

The soldier passed off his pistol to Mila after ensuring the safety was on. Before she could offer any more words of protest, he pressed a finger to her lips with a dead-set look in his eye. His tone was calm, if a little forceful as he told her, "You stop worrying. I'll be fine. And no matter what, you will be, too."

"You shall be fine with entrails spread across the dirt as I tear out your heart," Emiel added, bringing Michael's attention back toward him.

"You know, that tongue of yours," the Sergeant started, pulling his knife from its sheath and lifting it up to the Neko's face. "When you are on the ground, clinging to life. I will tear it out of your mouth, and I will shove it down your throat."

Unfazed by the blade sitting just inches from his mouth, Emiel retorted, "Tongue, tongue, tongue. You say again how you shall 'rip out my tongue.' If you fight like you speak, it will be I who shall tear yours out through your gut when you use a same move two times."

"You wouldn't be the first one to try," was all Michael would say before sheathing his blade and blowing off the Neko's comment as he turned for the door.

Mila swiftly ran after him as a trio of warriors came to unlock Emiel's cage. As soon as the lock clicked open and the door swung wide, the Neko stepped free of the iron confinement and stood up straight to stretch out his back. His spine popped and cracked as the muscles in his legs partially cramped and knotted from being idle for so long. When those painful contractions loosened up, he descended down onto all fours and stretched out the whole of his legs and shook out his body.

The tribe leaders rose from their seats and began to head outside with the other members of the tribe. Elder Misn remained, still sitting in his chair wrapped up in blankets as his warriors watched over their prisoner. When they tired of watching the battle-scarred Neko stretch his body, they escorted him out of the building.

Yawning deeply, the Elder slouched in his seat and waited for the door to shut at the other end of the hall. When he was truly alone, his eyelids lowered shut to allow him to slip quietly into a dream.

...

In the final hour of daylight, as the sun was swallowed by the horizon, the people of the Willher tribe came to gather in a circle in the village center. Around the pit where their Great Fire was held, they formed a ring thirty feet across for the two men who had come to fight. On one side stood Emiel, hunched over, snarling with his claws out while Michael held position on the other side, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

Behind him in the crowd was Mila, a look of fear and dread locked in her eyes as she pressed his tomahawk and pistol against her chest. Flanking her on either side was a pair of warriors and their leader Sayn, all apparently standing by in the event that the fight drew too close to the crowd. Though she knew they were there to keep Emiel away from her in the event that he won the duel.

"Anything I should expect from him?" Michael asked, turning his head slightly toward his mate.

"He is not subtle or agile," Mila started. "He fights with strength and speed and throws himself openly at-"

"Begin!" Sayn roared.

Michael immediately broke off the conversation and began walking toward Emiel, raising his open hands like a boxer as the Neko began taking small steps toward him. In these initial moments, the two circled around each other, feeling the other's presence and steeling their nerves.

Without warning the bipedal feline pounced forward with a thunderous roar, diving at Michael's face with his claws primed for the kill. In a swift, fluid motion, Michael grabbed the Cat-man's wrists while dropping and rolling backwards. His boots planted on Emiel's chest and then kicked upward to throw the Neko several feet behind him before he completed his roll and was standing once again.

Instead of crashing into the dirt, however, Emiel twisted his body mid-flight to land on all fours with no sign of injury. In a second he leapt back at Michael before the soldier was even turned to face him. When his claws were about to tear into the flesh on the human's back, an elbow came in toward his face, Michael's whole body spinning as one to put the entirety of his mass behind the blow.

Stars flashed in Emiel's eyes as Michael's elbow struck across the jaw, a high-pitched tone ringing in his ears. He crashed to the ground on his belly with his face grinding into the cold dirt. When he stopped sliding and he came back to his senses, the blood turned to magma in his veins, his claws tore into the ground, his mouth seethed with hot drool and his arms flexed as he forced himself back to his feet.

Then a shining flash caught his eye.

A knife flew into the back of his right shoulder and sunk in deep. He let out a scream as his left hand immediately shot for the joint to feel the blade plunged nearly the length of his thumb into the joint. A hurricane began to whirl about his chest, his lungs suddenly weak and raspy as foreign, salty droplets somehow worked their way into his eyes.

He turned toward Michael with these new detrimental feelings plaguing his body. His knotted belly began to retreat deeper into his gut with this terrible feeling coursing through his nerves. Whatever it was, he hated it, he hated the human, he hated the tribe for betraying him, and he hated the droplets running from his eyes.

Where did he learn to fight? This... This... This rackna cannot beat me! I have killed a hundred like him! I won't die to one now! I can't! I won't let him kill me! No human can kill me!

He had never seen such dexterity in a human, nor had he ever been in a fight with one that lasted more than ten counts. By now he expected victory, not a blade in the shoulder and his opponent being no worse-for-wear.

The Neko roared as he dashed toward his foe, his left arm raised high to strike as the other hung limp. The blind, savage swipe became a near-miss as the Sergeant stepped back and leaned off to the side. Seeing the chance presenting itself, Michael darted in with a right hook to Emiel's kidney as his other hand slugged the shoulder impaled with the knife.

With the shot to his gut alone, the Neko howled in agony as his insides felt as though his organs were cast in immolating flames. The pain tearing through his shoulder echoed in his ear-shattering scream. In spite of this torment, Emiel swiftly drew his clawed-hand back in a back-hand faster than his human opponent could dodge.

"AAARGHH- FUCK!" Michael screamed as he was slashed across the face, stumbling back with both his hands darting for his cheek.

Feeling hot fluids run down the left side of his jaw, the Sergeant moved his hands away from his face to see his palms slick with blood. He could feel four painful lines drawn across his lower left cheek around the jaw line and the crimson life that began to run down his neck.

"You cocksucker... YOU FUCKING COCKSUCKER!" Michael roared as he turned to Emiel, who just ripped the knife out of his shoulder and tossed it behind him, away from the Sergeant.

With the Neko's immense pain visible in his features and the weak, struggling movements in his right arm, Michael knew he had damaged Emiel's shoulder severely. In his rage, the shredded joint instantly became his target. He squared his shoulders and hunched over, gritting his teeth and clenching his bloody fists at his sides.

"What happened to your face?" Emiel said with a breath of a chuckle.

Now Michael's blood was boiling in his veins, the sweat nearly steaming on his brow. He stalked toward his foe, drawing his fists back slightly at his hips. When he stepped within range of Emiel's claws, the feline lashed out to stab him with his one good arm.

Stepping to the side, Michael knocked the incoming claw away and came in with his fist for the Neko's shoulder. The punch connected with the wounded joint and sent Emiel into a wail though he came back in quickly in with his one good claw for the human's head.

Just before the claw struck his neck, Michael raised his free arm to catch Emiel's, entwining their limbs together as so neither could make use of them. Tightening his grip on the Neko's wounded shoulder, the Sergeant drew his head back, then jerked Emiel forward as he brought his own forehead in, successfully connecting with the Neko's mouth.

"RRAAAKK!" he screamed as he felt two of his teeth slip down his throat, his lips completely numb as a tide of blood flood over them and down his chin.

Sporting a tooth-shaped depression on his brow, Michael released Emiel's good arm to draw his free hand back. Without giving the Neko a chance, he drove his fist into his maw, once, twice, thrice. Again and again, the Sergeant fed his foe a string of bloody punches until his knuckles bled and Emiel brought his good arm up to try and block the strikes.

It was then that Michael released the Warrior's wounded shoulder while grabbing his other arm, pulling it to the side and stepping forward. The soldier deftly moved in behind his opponent and twisted the captured limb around to pin it behind his back. When Emiel tried to escape the hold, Michael grabbed his wounded shoulder again and squeezed.

A hair-raising howl escaped the Neko's throat as the Sergeant then hiked the pinned arm up higher, consciously ignoring the looks of shock, horror, and amazement he received from the watching crowd. With a final bestial scream, he jerked the Emiel's limb up higher, until he heard the bones in the shoulder snap like dry twigs.

The following scream from the Sergeant's foe made several of the tribe wince and cover their ears. Michael's knee then came up between Emiel's legs into the crotch of his leather shorts, halting the feline's screams as he felt both his testicles pass through his lungs and into his throat.

With this temporary reprieve, Michael stepped away from Emiel as he fell to his knees, arms hanging limp at his sides and unable to grasp his agonized groin as he starved for breath.

Not wasting a single second, the Sergeant walked over to where his knife lay, picking the blade up off the ground and wiping it off on his pant leg. With the crowd watching, he returned to Emiel, grabbing him by the scalp and drawing his head back to look him in the eye. In that moment, Michael could feel everything that was coming off of the Neko. The shock, the fear, the pain, all of it registered in one final, pleading look from his horrified, feline eyes.

It was a look that had no effect on the soldier, who only leaned in and whispered, "You should've left her alone."

He brought his knife to Emiel's throat, just under the chin, and plunged it into the flesh. He stabbed through the tissue and pushed deeper until the whole of the blade disappeared under the skin. For the final move, Michael tore his knife across and out of the fleshy sheath to slice the neck half open. A tide of crimson poured over Emiel's chest as his face went gaunt, mouth moving as though it were trying to swallow air.

At the side lines, both of Mila's hands came to her neck, her whole body cringing as she watched the execution. And how little Michael was disturbed by it. At the same time, she remembered the image of Emiel on top of her, claws pressed to her throat. A tingle then coursed through her cheek where she had felt his backhand not many weeks ago.

Even as she recalled the things she endured at the hands of Emiel, Mila trembled though she still watched her mate. As much as she was abhorred, she couldn't fight the satisfaction of watching him end her tormentor's life.

In Emiel's final seconds, the Sergeant forced his hand inside Neko's maw and grabbed hold of the pink organ inside. With a roar he ripped the tongue free, raising it up so all of the tribe could watch as he closed his fist around it.

Emiel's eyes strained to lift upward to see what Michael held in his hand, although he already knew what it was. The hollowness inside his throat told him what it was. Darkness swallowed his vision as Michael thrust his fist into the Neko's mouth to send the tongue back home, shoving it half way down the his throat before drawing back his empty, blood-smeared hand.

Eyes rolling back into his skull, Emiel gave a choked gurgle and collapsed forward onto the ground, a red pool spreading out from his sliced neck as the last of his struggles came to an end.

Hands and jacket soaked with blood, Michael stood over the body of his opponent with his knife still held within his white-knuckle grasp. He was breathing heavily, he could feel his heart pounding in his ears and the open wounds in his left cheek begin to sting. Running off muscle memory, he brought his blade to the sleeve of his jacket, wiping it off before sliding it back into its sheath.

It was then he felt a certain pain coursing through his hand. He looked down at the appendage, spotting the two long scratches on the back of it from Emiel's teeth. Whereas one scratch was negligible, the other gouge was deep enough to definitely need treatment, along with the skin over his knuckles that had been shredded by his beating of the Neko's face.

"Michael," Mila's voice called, bringing his focus away from the body and toward the observing crowd.

At once he took in how the whole tribe stood wide-eyed with their jaws dropped. Half of them couldn't believe what they had seen, the other half trying to figure out how it had happened. For a few seconds, even Sayn looked to be surprised, even impressed, but it took only a moment for him to settle into a more neutral, yet still powerful expression. He gave Michael a single nod then motioned his men forward.

A pair of warriors emerged from the crowd, flanking Sayn on either side as he approached the human.

"You win."

"Is that a surprise to you?" Michael asked in a dead serious manner, leaving the Warrior Leader to pause a second as he translated words within his head.

"Yes. Emiel kill many human, but now your skill see I... err, I see your skill. Learn Neko speak, Michael, you now my Warrior."

Those words hit the Sergeant like a bucket of ice water, taking him back a step as he quickly realized what had just been said. As soon as he did though, a smile spread from ear to ear as his new commander turned to the crowd, his voice raised as he declared, "Emiel has lost his life in an honorable challenge of blood. Victory is in Michael's name! From here on, the human is a warrior of the Willher tribe!"

Initially the crowd was quiet, still stuck in their bewilderment at what had just occurred. Several moments passed in the silence before someone at last said aloud, "Gaklan, Michael, cye rinta."

"Gaklan, cye rinta," the tribe repeated in unison, tipping their heads and pressing closed fists over their hearts before a pair of warriors broke from their ranks. The two Nekos took hold of Emiel's body and dragged it away, the crowd parting for them before breaking off and beginning to disperse.

For a moment, the Sergeant wondered what they had just said, but that thought was short-lived as a hand grabbed his shoulder and forcefully spun him around. He found his face cupped in Mila's hands as she inspected the claw marks on his face. Tears welled up in her eyes, her lips pursing as one ran down her cheek. Immediately she jerked him forward into her arms, her body squeezing against him while her claws dug into his back.

"You're hurting me," Michael said in a low voice as he felt the air being pressed from his lungs.

At once she relaxed her grip, claws retreating into the slits on her fingers. She still, however, remained latched onto him, unwilling to let go. He didn't resist, but when he heard her sniffle he immediately knew she was crying.

"Mila?"

"You're hurt. You got hurt and you killed him," she muttered.

"It's only as scratch, and I told you I would," he said, placing a hand behind her head and another on her back. "Nobody hurts my family and lives."

"Nobody?" she asked, face still buried in the breast of his jacket.

"Nobody."