In a race that prides individual strength and vitality above all else, any sort of flaw is unforgivable. Cinquedia still has to learn that accepting help from others is not a sign of weakness. Good thing her big brother Cutlass is there to remind her.
In honor of the holiday season, Yuki has written a special flash fiction story for Daimera! We hope that you enjoy it, Dai, and Merry Christmas!
The rejuvenator was a rare machine in the Bloodslasher Empire. It was regarded as a miracle machine, a combination of technology and medical breakthroughs from at least a hundred worlds. It was also incredibly rare, not because it was difficult to make, but because a society that coveted an individual’s strength above all else had little respect for anyone weak enough that they needed help to heal from injury or illness.
The Sword clan, one of the oldest Bloodslasher family lines still thriving, was among the few with the resources to afford a rejuvenator of their own. It was a large machine, easily towering over Cinquedia, but it would not work if it was smaller. The rejuvenator needed room to process every drop of her blood. Tubes hooked into her arms and legs, drawing out her blood while pumping in the specially treated fluid that would keep her alive while encouraging her cells to repair the damage they had taken since her last treatment. Within the machine, her blood underwent purification, revitalization, and subtle alteration to encourage faster healing. Once her blood was back in her body, she would recover from injury and illness much faster than before, but over time the treatment would break down naturally, affected blood replaced with new cells, ones that degraded with time, and made her body slowly deteriorate.
A normal Bloodslasher did not need such a machine. They were a race who underwent such rigorous evolution and advancement that not even age could touch them. They regenerated from virtually any injury or ailment. Only a violent, brutal end by too strong an illness or opponent could end their lives.
It was the natural way of things for a Bloodslasher. There was no greater honor than a glorious death in battle, so long as that death achieved victory for their race. Members of the Sword clan had monuments placed on planets they conquered, memorials to their greatness. Cinquedia hoped that one day, far in the future, she would have a grand tomb and legacy to follow her to the Redlands, the afterlife for the greatest of Bloodslasher warriors, where endless battle and victory awaited them.
Cinquedia watched the tubes draw out the last of the thick blue artificial chemicals from her body and pump in warm red blood, wondering how many times she had been hooked up to this machine. She had tried to keep count at the age of five, but eventually gave up at some point when she found out that the machine had been used on her many times as a baby. She would be using this machine for the rest of her life. If she did not, she would die a most terrible, ignoble death.
There were those who felt that was the only fate Cinquedia was worthy of. There was no honor, many said, in using a rejuvenator. The Fragile, the lowest of the low in the Bloodslasher society, were fit only to serve the healthy and “deserving.” The only thing worse were the races subjugated from other planets, and even then, there were exceptions. She found that there were people who preferred the company of a cuddly rabbit-like Pooka to sharing the same air as a Fragile.
Cinquedia might have been a Fragile, but unlike many of her status, she had not been turned away from her family. As she watched the machine close the holes it made in her arms and legs after removing the tubes, she heard footsteps, feather light, outside of the room. She looked up just as Cutlass, her older brother, entered.
Cutlass was an Elite, superior to all other Bloodslashers. He looked the part with every confident step he took, the way his body language whispered promises of murder to any who dared to challenge him. His body was all sharp angles made into the perfect killing machine. Anyone else who looked at him would feel fear or wariness, but the sight of him always brought a smile to Cinquedia’s face as he turned a kind eye only to her and their parents.
“Finishing up?” Cutlass asked, his tone light and playful.
“Your timing is impeccable as always,” Cinquedia said, her mood brightening thanks to her brother’s presence.
“Of course.” Cutlass closed the distance between them in a few quick strides and he leaned hard against Cinquedia’s shoulder, forcing her to strain against him in order to keep upright. “How else can I keep you from brooding?”
Cinquedia did her best to act as though Cutlass weighed no more than a fly, though she had to use her tail to brace herself against his weight. “Meditation helps with healing you know.”
“It would if you ever did it,” Cutlass said, flashing his razor sharp teeth in a wide smile. “You brood, my dear little sister. You are the broodiest Bloodslasher to ever brood a brood.”
Cinquedia rolled her sleeves down with casual slowness in spite of Cutlass’ weight bearing down on her and cocked an eyebrow for added effect. “That doesn’t make any sense, you know.”
“Nope, it makes perfect sense,” Cutlass said. “You just need to sit back and meditate on it for a while. You know, instead of brood.”
Cinquedia made a show of rolling her eyes and a second later, she ducked out from underneath Cutlass’ arm, sweeping his legs out from under him with her tail. Cutlass rolled into the tumble and was on his feet in less than a second, launching at her with one fist aimed towards her chin. She barely ducked underneath it. “Speaking of broods…” She lashed out with her foot, but failed to connect with her brother’s stomach. “…Did you hear anything about the tournament qualifiers?”
Cutlass managed to grab Cinquedia’s arm and threw her out the door into the hallway. She twisted in midair and hit the wall with her feet to absorb the impact before springing off to connect with her brother in a headbutt that forced them both apart. “Oh, you mean the who-gets-to-sleep-with-King-Switchblade thing? Not yet.”
The two siblings fought their way through the halls of the manor, dodging around furnishings and servants with skill that had been fiercely trained into them every minute of their lives.
“Hey, don’t worry,” Cutlass said as his punch was redirected by Cinquedia’s hand before it could impact. “They wouldn’t dare turn one of us down.”
“Fragiles are forbidden from entering,” Cinquedia said with more calmness than she felt as she retaliated with her own punch.
Cutlass snatched Cinquedia’s wrist and the atmosphere between them changed. His smile was gone and she froze, knowing the sparring session was over. “Who said you were Fragile?”
Cinquedia forced herself not to look away from Cutlass’ gaze. “No one who I didn’t make pay with blood already.”
Cutlass’ grip tightened briefly before he let go of his sister. “Did they say it to your face?”
Cinquedia’s smile held no mirth. “There was an Elite taunting a starving Fragile with food. She recognized who I was when I gave him something to eat and the directions to a shelter.”
Cutlass’ eyes narrowed, but then a second later he was smiling again, but the atmosphere had yet to change. “I see. Glad to hear you took care of it.”
“You don’t need to hunt her down,” Cinquedia said, her voice hard.
Cutlass cocked his head to the side and feigned innocence. “Me? Hunt someone down? I’m shocked that you would even think that of me!”
The question, asked so innocently, made Cinquedia chortle in spite of herself, and a moment later, they were both laughing. “I can’t believe you actually said that with a straight face!”
Cutlass wiped away an imaginary tear. “Thank you, thank you. It was one of my better performances, wasn’t it?”
“Yes it was,” Cinquedia said as her mirth died down. “But, seriously, I took care of it. She won’t dare underestimate me again.”
Cutlass folded his arms in front of his chest. “She still hurt you, and no one hurts my baby sister without facing me.”
“It’s not necessary,” Cinquedia said as she focused on straightening out her clothes instead of her brother. “Just forget about it.”
“I won’t,” Cutlass said with an air of finality. “If someone attacked Mom or Dad, we’d both want to spill our pints of blood. No one, no one hurts a Sword. No. One.”
“It wasn’t an attack,” Cinquedia said. “It was a word from someone stupid and petty and too scared of our family to even think to attack me after I knocked out four of her teeth. She might have been Elite, but she’s a nobody. A nothing. Not worth getting angry over.”
Cutlass jabbed a claw against Cinquedia’s breastbone with force just short of cutting her protective clothes. “She. Hurt. You.”
Cinquedia’s face skewed up with emotion. “That’s not the point! If someone insulted you–”
“Then I’d show them why they should be afraid,” Cutlass said. “Then you would, if you wanted. Then Mom, Dad, Cousin Katara, Uncle Morningstar…” He shrugged. “Anyone who attacks our family is free game.”
Cinquedia’s tail lashed behind her as she looked to the side. “This is different.”
Cutlass tilted his head back. “You know, for someone who loves to protect others, you have a hard time accepting it.”
“Th… this isn’t protecting!” Cinquedia said, her voice harsh. “Protecting someone is… it’s keeping them alive and safe! It’s not going after people who insult you who already got the message!”
“Obviously she didn’t,” Cutlass said, his gaze cool. “If she knew who you were, then she knew our family, and she would know that anyone who dares to insult us pays.” He approached his sister and placed his hands squarely on her shoulders. “I know most people like to play the lone hunter, but the Swords… we’re a pack. That’s why we’re alive when so many other founding clans are dead.”
Cinquedia could not bring herself to meet Cutlass’ eyes. Unlike before, his touch on her shoulders was light, but a heavier weight came with them that had nothing to do with mass. “It’s not… They’re never going to learn. If they haven’t stopped by now, they’re not going to. It’s not worth making a big deal about me just because I’m… I’m…”
“My sister,” Cutlass said, cutting off the terrible word before Cinquedia could bring herself to say it. “That’s the only reason why they’re going to pay.” His smile was cruel and terrible. “Even if I have to gut a thousand Elites, eventually they’ll learn that insulting a Sword, any Sword, is begging for their blood to spill.”
Cinquedia clenched her hands into fists, faintly trembling. “I…”
“It’s not because of your disability,” Cutlass said, his tone growing gentle. “It’s because they’re idiots that don’t learn.” He patted Cinquedia’s shoulders. “So stop thinking about stupid people and focus on getting ready for the tournament.”
Cinquedia closed her eyes and nodded. “Right.”
Cutlass let out a light chuckle. “Someday you’re going to be a Captain too, you know? Then we’re going to look back on these days, laugh, then share some nice, grizzly war stories.”
A tiny smile started to form on Cinquedia’s face as she nodded. Somehow talking with her brother always made her feel better, even if her problems still felt insurmountable. “Right.”
“Unless you don’t speed up your tail slaps,” Cutlass said thoughtfully. “You know, I did that first flip like I was doing jump rope. Kind of fun, but didn’t actually do anything to me.”
Cinquedia’s eyes took on a challenging glint. “Oh, really?”
Just like that, they were fighting again, testing each other’s strength. Although it would mean another round of healing, it would not be severe enough to require the rejuvenator. Sparring was all about building themselves up, not breaking things down. It was the strength her family gave her that kept Cinquedia going despite terrible odds, and defy death even when it tried to quietly steal her away from the inside out. Someday, she would share this strength with all Fragiles, then perhaps one day that hateful word would disappear forever and they would be rejuvenated into something entirely brand new.
