---Chant---

  ---Arioza’s perspective---

  Alluugra yips and bounces her front four legs off the ground excitedly while I keep slapping my thighs through my skirt with my lower hands and teasing her by holding my uppers like I’m about to throw.

  “You want the stick!?… You want the stick!?!?!?…”

  She whines at me for not having thrown it already!

  “GO GET THE STICK!” I shout, throwing it across the field we’re playing on, outside the city.

  She zooms over the ground after it!

  I smile as I watch how excited she is to get it.

  I’m always a bit worried that, one day, she might actually beat the stick to where it lands and get clonked on the head!

  She doesn’t manage that today though!

  I giggle as she catches it in her snout on the second bounce and zooms back to me with the slightly too big stick in her mouth, looking very silly!

  “Good giiiiirl, Alluu!” I say as she drops it and crashes into my shins through my dress, knocking herself onto her back with the excitement.

  I shoot down on top of her to give her scritches with all four hands (gently, so I don’t hurt her with my claws.)

  She squirms and wiggles excitedly as I praise her and pet her.

  Then, in the corner of my eye, I see something that makes me stop and look up.

  Low down in the West, a ship just crossed the sun.

  Even from here, I can tell it’s not like any ship I’ve ever seen before.

  It’s coming this way.

  I stand up and watch as it comes.

  Alluu gets back up on all six and watches from my shin.

  The closer it gets, the more sure I am that it’s one of the aliens’ ships.

  They’re all anyone’s been able to talk about the past [few weeks]!

  The aliens came from outer space and surrounded DonOlu but haven’t actually invaded anywhere yet, just put a list of Chiefs they say did bad things on the net.

  Our Clanchief is on that list… Everyone’s really upset about it…!

  Is that why they’re here now? Is this an invasion?

  Are they here for Kiez because he won’t abbicate (or whatever it is!) on his own!?

  I look around the sky.

  Other than the first weird ship I saw, I don’t see any others…

  They’d need lots and lots of ships to invade somewhere, right?

  It lands about four times as far from where I am as I threw that stick.

  Part of me wants to run away right now…

  The bigger part wants to see the aliens up close!

  Even aliens wouldn’t kill a [7 year old] girl for no reason, would they?

  Nosiness wins and I start walking towards it.

  I’m about [100m] away when the door opens.

  There they are…!

  They’re so… short!

  Most of them look shorter than me!

  A tiny part of me wants to laugh at that but it dies as they begin coming out.

  I count twenty of them (what a weird number?) dressed in heavy looking, dark armour, carrying spears and round, plain shields in their (only) two arms each, all marching in perfect time in two neat lines.

  None of them are wearing any helmets so I can see their weird faces.

  Didn’t teacher say your head is the most important part of you to protect?

  Back in the past, when warriors had to buy their own armour, if they could only afford one bit, they’d get a helmet first, right?

  About half of them have fur growing from the bottoms of their faces… Again, it would be funny if they weren’t so scary!

  Trying to tell why some have the fur and others don’t, I’m shocked to realise that some of the furless ones are women!

  There’s barely any difference between the size of the alien women and their men… and they’re letting them wear armour and carry weapons!

  For a moment, I’m flown away to the stars in a fantasy where I’m wearing dark armour just like that and fighting battles on strange worlds…

  I shake my head and try and forget the unladylike thought!

  At this point, I notice the one in the middle of the two lines.

  He’s not wearing any armour or any top and it lets me see what they look like under their armour… it’s absolutely horrible… but I can’t look away!

  Over his short round ears and the bare sides of his head, the long, medium light hair on the top comes into a rope that swings at his back and under his furry chin is the widest and deepest body I’ve ever seen!

  His (too pale) skin looks like it’s been stretched out over the big, smooth river rocks of his muscles!

  His two angry looking, thick arms swing by his sides and, in the gap between his shorts and his socks, I can see two legs, bulging with more muscles!

  These people’s bodies make them look even less like any Don than they already did from their weird faces, short ears, two arms and five fingers.

  From how the alien man’s dressed (or isn’t dressed!) I can recognise him as a champion on his way to a fight… That makes the armoured ones his honour guard, right?

  Once the lines of warriors are fully off the ship, a small crowd of others follow.

  Most of them are aliens too but there are a few Don with them.

  There are three who look like they could be from Kwair, one man and woman who’re obviously nobles and a woman I don’t know about because she’s wearing all alien clothes… I think she’s probably a commoner like me though.

  All of the nonwarriors are wearing matching shiny vests.

  Unlike the armoured ones, who all ignored me, some of the shiny vested ones turn their heads to where I am.

  One small woman with dark hair smiles and waves at me.

  Not sure what else I should do, I wave back.

  I watch them as they march from their shuttle to the edge of the city, Kwair Palace looming in front of them.

  ---Kiez’s perspective---

  I sit on the throne, overlooking the Champions’ Arena, seething with anger as I tap an index claw against the stone of the upperleft armrest.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Arrayed to my sides, all but one of my wives sit on the harem benches.

  Below me, at the edge of the arena floor, sits Fuurtso, the warrior who (under insubordinate protest that I never would have tolerated did I not currently need him!) will be championing for me.

  These aliens have the audacity to invade my world, back this foolish coup against me and call me a criminal!?

  For what!?

  Inviting some of their people to stay here on my world?!

  Giving away a few of my own peasants to them!?

  Daring to dream of a future where my people can rise to the stars, not as submissive supplicants to these frivolous platitudes of ‘peace’ and ‘cooperation’ but as the conquerors we were always destined to be!?!?!?

  If anyone’s a criminal here, it isn’t me!

  I hear the rhythmic marching before I see them.

  Filing through the open gate from outside and down the vomitory tunnel come the armoured dwarf aliens.

  Father damnit!

  I don’t see a single firearm among them!

  I was truly hoping that they wouldn’t be brave enough to abide by that stipulation and that I could rule this challenge null and void on that account!

  Twenty in durasteel with plasmaspears would likely be able to be overcome by my strength gathered here… but would likely mean the deaths of numerous of my warriors and would be answered by an invasion of thousands more… armed with guns this time!

  Once inside the arena, the line on my left peel left along the edge of the floor and the line on the right do the same on that side.

  When the last in each line has cleared the entrance, all twenty of them stop dead, pause for a [quarter second] and then, in unison, turn to face into the arena.

  The unnervingly well muscled champion walks forward to stand some way into the ring as the civilians in reflective vests crowd in from the passage and travel along the lines of spearmen… no… spearpeople *ugh*… to file into the empty stands on their respective sides.

  I spot my youngest son with his traitor mother and scowl at them as they walk in with the peasant girl whose face I don’t recall but who claims to be one of those I gave away.

  Of all my heirs, they of course had to select the one least suited to chieftainship!

  The soft little soul, always insufferably whining about ‘the peeeople’!

  Refuses to even call them what they are; peasants! Mine to rule and dispose of as I see fit!

  Even if this alien champion of his triumphs, he will never effectively rule with that effeminate nature of his! Coddling the peasantry and refusing to conduct himself as would befit their Chief!

  A small, dark haired, pale skinned alien woman steps forth and, in fluent (though hideously accented) DonAvu, announces “On behalf of Prince Poi, son of Kiez, son of Rubatu, this man, Ragnarr, son of Sigurer, son of Randvér, stands as champion in a challenge of Kordalvo’al Tan! We would know whom he fights!” looking everywhere but at me.

  My lead wife stands and announces “On behalf of Clanchief Kiez, son of Rubatu, son of Ocheso, this man, Fuurtso, son of Svogatuu, son of Fyug, stands as champion!”

  Looking at Fuurtso, she announces “As no blood is spilled that must be avenged and as both combatants are champions and not the aggrieved themselves, weapons’ use is not permitted nor demanded… We do, however, have one request to make, honourable champion. Our people here of his faith wish to sing for our champion before the duel’s start. This will allow him to walk in the way of the warrior. Do you permit this?”

  “I DO NOT PERMIT THIS!” I roar, rising from my seat in fury “I will NOT have alien incantations profaning the halls of my ancestors in this FARCE!!!”

  “Authority to deny a request of this nature rests with none other than the combatant.” defies the contemptable little alien woman without looking at me.

  I look down to where Fuurtso stands, waiting for him to obey my wishes and disallow this blasphemy!

  The pause is too long…

  At long last, he speaks “Tell your people that they may sing for my opponent, Ma’am. When they are finished, my principal’s herald will begin the duel.” with an enraging calm to his deep voice, as if he weren’t openly flouting my wishes!

  My (I wish) bastard son’s herald gives a deferential curtsey (in spite of her lack of skirts) to my rebellious champion, dipping her head low and flattering “You have our deepest thanks, honourable Sir!” before turning around and barking “Tér hafie leyfi at kveea.” in her language of [foxdogs]!

  ---Fuurtso’s perspective---

  I watch as the short alien joins the tallest of them (another woman, strangely?) where she stands in the entrance.

  The (in comparison to the rest of her kind at least) towering, light haired woman raises a fist to begin pounding her chest at a slow [70bpm].

  Bringing the shafts of their spears across their shields, the lines of warriors match her cadence by pounding metal against metal.

  Deadened by the arms strapped to their backs, the shields don’t ring out as bells but clatter like the marching of warriors to battle.

  Some but not all in the stands join by stamping their feet or pounding their chests to the beat.

  The dark haired herald does not join in, remaining completely still beside the light haired one.

  Softly, the lyrics begin to be growled out

  mp? Sofeu, sofeu, eldr minn,

  Blóe mitt kallar, stormrinn spinn…?mp

  The woman leading the beat, who has not sung until now, begins an [8.3 second] long wail over the next lyrics

  mp? óeinn hvíslar, bjarnarhamr,

  Vakar í draumi, vakir í mér…?mp

  There is the briefest lull, before, with harmony that would be impossible while all singing the same meaning in my language and with a ferocity I have never heard matched, all of them ROAR

  fff? Berserkr, BERSERKR! Eldr í brjósti brennr!

  Bjarki rís, ok dyrie vaknar eeeeenn!

  Berserkr, BERSERKR! Blóe mitt rennr til HEL!!!

  óeinn kallar, ok ek svara sjálfr!?fff

  Singing alone, the woman (who I strongly suspect is some kind of female priest) now softly chants

  mp? Nóttin djúp, hjarta sl?r,

  Vargar syngja í stormi.

  Augun lokast, sál mín f?r

  Bjarnarhamrinn forni.?mp

  while the rest simply keep the beat, joining in to sing in the alien harmony of theirs again for the subsequent verse.

  I look to my opponent, the one for whom this rite is being chanted.

  He appears, from where I stand, to be coming somewhat unmoored from himself.

  The light of intelligence that gleamed in his eyes when he walked into this ring is rapidly fading as madness takes its place!

  His bulky little torso rises and falls with panted breaths.

  Much as I may, in abstract, wish victory upon him who would remove one so foul as the man I recently learned my clan’s ruler to be, I am an honourable warrior and I have been ordered to fight.

  I am duty bound to strive for my own and my chief’s victory, no matter how little I may want it.

  I am obliged to do my utmost to defeat this little man who appears to currently be wilfully surrendering himself to the madness bestowed by alien gods of war.

  [210 seconds] from its beginning, the song ends.

  The man steps forward to just outside the range I can reach with my claws and raises his hands, curled into battering rams in front of him.

  From behind me, I hear my principal’s lead wife shout “The match shall begin in four…”

  I coil my stance.

  “…three…”

  I flex my claws.

  “…two…”

  I take a deep breath.

  “…one…”

  I bare my teeth.

  “…BEGIN!”

  The man and I lunge at eachother.

  ---Heidi’s perspective---

  2 minutes.

  That’s how long this match has lasted so far.

  Just 2 minutes and it looks about over.

  That Marine got scratched a lot but, thanks to the beserksgangr trance my wife and the other Pagans here put him in with their song, he didn’t even seem to notice!

  The Don boy genuinely seemed to be trying to win but his speed and reach just had no chance of competing with deathworld density, Terran solidity, Human endurance or Norse ferocity(!)

  The nearly 3.5m tall man slumps to his knees on the ground, exhausted and clearly unable to keep fighting.

  However, since he’s collapsed in an upright position, he’s not technically defeated yet…

  All it would take is for our champion to walk up to him and give him a light push over to end this match.

  Our champion, however, is not so merciful.

  Stepping to the kneeling boy’s front (their eyes level for the first time in the fight), inside of half a second, the Marine throws his fists forward as counterweights, reels his upperbody back and then launches it forward to *crack* his opponent in the face with a headbutt.

  The defeated champion topples to the ground, thankfully (I can tell by the way he falls) still alive!

  The bloodied Marine turns and roars a guttural scream of triumph, matched, slightly tastelessly in my opinion (which I will be keeping firmly to myself), by my wife and most of the rest of our contingent.

  Stepping forward, I announce “As the herald of the victorious champion and challenger it is my honour to give Clan Kwair its NEW Clanchief!” gesturing to the sweet boy sat in the stands with his mother “CLANCHIEF POI, SON OF KIEZ, SON OF RUBATU!”

  The boy rises to his feet and points at his spermdonor to say “Warriors… ARREST my FATHER!”

  Every conscious Kwair warrior begins moving in on the ousted king’s throne as, panicking, he protests “No! NO!! THIS ISN’T FAIR!!!… FUURTSO MUST HAVE THROWN THE MATCH! YOU ALL SAW HOW HE DEFIED ME EARLIER!… THIS ISN’T FAAAAAIR!!!”

  Arioza | | | | | | |

  Tér hafie leyfi at kveea. =

  You have leave to chant.

  … =

  =