Apocalypsis 01 - Kahayatle

inside of his wrists to power his hands away from each other, releasing them from my throat, and more importantly, my windpipe.
    I held his hands tight, knowing if he got them back I’d be starting all over.   My leg came up and delivered a punishing blow to his balls.   I’d finally made contact, but only because he’d thought he had me with the brutal force of his very strong hands, and left them dangling out in the open on a silver platter.  
    I used the muscles in my back to bring my right elbow forward.   I pushed his hands down, ones he was still holding tense in an effort to use his strength against me, causing them to lower his face into the perfect position.   I slammed his left cheek with the pointy bone in my elbow, and then pushed his head to the other side with the forearm that was following through, still holding his right arm up against my shoulder.  
    As he bent in half with the pressure of my arm and the pain in his midsection, I drove my knee upwards into his chest, one, two, three times, knocking the rest of the wind out of him.  
    My last move was to stomp his right knee that was bent and pointed out to the side.   I eased up a little at the end, sparing him from a break that could mean his death without proper medical care.   Instead, I bashed it hard enough that he’d feel it for a couple weeks.   And maybe every time it rained, he’d get a reminder of the little white girl who’d gone American all over his ass.  
    He fell to the ground, gasping like a fish out of water, one hand holding his nuts and the other stretching towards his knee.
    I reached down and pulled out the other knife he had, from the sheath at his ankle, swinging it over to put the tip to his neck.   Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy move like he was going to come after me; but Paci and one of the Creek grabbed him by the arms, shaking their heads at him.   He stopped and stepped back, for the moment agreeing to wait and see what I would do.
    I pushed the tip of the knife until it drew a little blood, before stopping.   I announced in a loud voice, “This challenge is over.   I won.   Call me the winner, Trip, or I’m going to gut you right here.”
    He didn’t say anything at first.   Then he spit and said in a hoarse voice, “You win.”
    I stood up, pulling the knife away from his neck.   I was just about to start talking to the crowd when I felt a hand grab my ankle.   I didn’t stop to think, I just reacted.   I twisted around and dropped my whole body down, slamming my elbow into Trip’s temple, knocking him unconscious.   His grip on my ankle went slack.
    I adjusted my body so I was no longer lying on my back across his.   Instead, I moved so I was sitting on him, my legs bent up in front of me, my feet on the ground.   I rested my forearms on my knees, letting the knife stay solidly in my hand, assassin-grip-style.   For all intents and purposes, I looked like I was sitting on a fresh kill.   I smiled with the knowledge of the visual impact it was having on Trip’s faithful.  
    They might not like the situation one bit, but I had wiped the ground of the Kahayatle with his butt fair and square, and they had to respect that.   A lot of the rules in our world had changed, but not the most basic one of all: our chances of survival were entirely dependent on our ability and willingness to dominate others.   I’d shown I was not only willing but able to do that - to their leader.   The Kahayatle was my world now, at least temporarily, and we were going to be making some changes.
    ***
    Paci came walking over across the open space and offered me his hand.   I took it and stood.
    “Well done, Nokosi.”
    “Thanks, Paci.   He’s going to be fine, you know.   I didn’t kill him.”
    He laughed.   “Yeah, I know.   Too bad.   Trip will live another day to make an ass of himself.”
    Bodo and Peter came over, Peter with a wet cloth someone had given him.   He reached up to wipe the blood off my cheek, causing me to wince when it made contact with the wound.
    “That looks like it might need stitches.”
    “Oh, well.   No chance of that out here.”
    “I can stitch it,” said Coli, walking up and only glancing casually at the still form of Trip.
      “Uh, no thanks,” I said, almost laughing at the idea of letting this cranky girl put a needle in my face.
    “Our father was a doctor.   He taught her how to do it,” said Jeremy, coming over to join our little group.