Umas are born to run, so they keep telling me.
The metallic tang of blood clung to the air, thick and suffocating. It masked the sweet scent of cherry blossoms I remembered from… well, from before, before I was Shatter Point, a horse-girl condemned to this dusty arena.
So much blood...
"Shatter Point! Ignore the blood and raise your lance, you foolish girl! Distractions will get you killed!" The gruff voice of my… Caretaker? Owner? Master? I still wasn't sure, echoed across the stands. His name was Goro, and his face was etched with the same desperation that clawed at my own heart.
A weathered man, in his fifties, weathered by numerous years of the same desperation I see on his face in this moment, years of seeing many Umas lost to the impact of lances, one can only imagine the feeling of loss the old man feels.
"Shatter Point!"
I snapped back to reality, my light blue eyes focusing on the figure getting into position across the ring, kicking dirty clumps of sand with each kick step. She was bigger than me, her muscles bulging under a sweat-slicked leather and rusted plates of armour. Her lance was held low, ready to strike at my armoured pelvis. I gripped my own lance tighter, the smooth wood digging into my palm, making it hard to grip without rough gloves.
A crude instrument, the Lances we use to poke each other were once Umas' weapon of choice in war to cause shock and fear into the heart of battle lines of men with swords and shields. Hundreds of years later, those same lances are now turned against my own kind for sport? Honour? Who really knows?
They say Uma are destined to run? True, I will run… I will run into my opponent with the gleaming point of my lance!
Not like I had much of a choice.
The memory of Tracen Academy flickered through my mind. The pastel uniforms, the cheering crowds, the innocence. A bitter laugh escaped my lips, unseen by the battered visored helmet concealing my delicate face. The life of an Uma born to run wasn't for me, not with my father's debt, and the mother who abandoned us.
We had no options. Not even the local racing school would take me without proper funding or sponsorship. The Umamaster fighting rings were my last hope. A brutal, Taboo scene where Umas like me fought for survival, entertainment, honour and glory... Money.
A classic sport, they called it.
The signal horn blared, shattering the silence. Instincts take over instantly, running at speed towards one another, the figure closing in, her lance getting bigger with each step, the pounding of the roars of the crowd drowning out with each thud of the Uma who approaches me with grim intent.
Closer.
Closer still.
Our combined speed, the weight of our armour, can only cause pain and suffering, no honour or amusement to be had between the two Umas destined to hurt one another without so much as a word to each other.
No name to remember each other by.
My opponent lunged, and I lunged; her lance whistling through the air, skimming against mine for the quickest second. In the blink of an eye, two Umas stumble as heavy lances shatter upon impact, wooden splinters burst in all directions, lethal should a single piece strike true.
The force of her blow jarring my hip. My whole body vibrates at the shock of impact, my pelvis rotates back violently, forcing me to stumble heavily, almost falling to the floor, onto my face, catching my balance with a quick course correction.
No grace to be had in such a scene.
Gritting my teeth in pain and dismay, Stay up! You must not fall!
"Ignore the pain, Shatter Point," I grimace as the ache in my pelvis increases, the large dent in my hip armour, pushing against a large bruise I know is forming. Looking back at my opponent. Such a quick blow between us prevented me from seeing where I had struck.
I must have struck if my Lance was also in pieces across the track.
Giving my shattered stump of a lance a once-over before throwing it aside and focusing on my fellow Uma.
Where her lance stuck me true, as did mine to her, my lance had glided up her plate-covered leather, ripping it to shreds and into her shoulder's pauldron, ripping the piece of metal off her shoulder and into the dirt with sickening ease.
My long ears flicked violently in the confines of my helmet at the sound I could hear, a sound that will always haunt me, A gasp, a gurgle, and then… nothing. My Fellow Uma stumbled, staring at the chunk of wood larger than my forearm, stuck in her shoulder, her left shoulder and arm hanging limply.
She refused to look away from the tip of the lance as her eyes rolled back, and she crumpled to the ground, her blood staining the sand. Approaching her and clumsily climbing over the wooden divide(Tilt) that separates the two competitors.
I stood over her, unclasping my helmet, letting my large Uma ears free and golden hair flow out, holding the helmet close like a lifeline, pale and panting, my heart pounding like a drum. A grim expression on my face as my fellow Uma Twitches unconsciously on the ground.
"Goddesses forgive me for the blood I have spilt," I say quietly, but forgiveness was not being offered by the goddesses, by the Uma I hurt or my conscience. My words were seen as empty to all, all in an attempt to comfort myself.
If Father discovered my 'job', would Father forgive me or condemn me? What would my useless mother, who believed she could revive her own racing career, say? Not like I cared for her opinions, I ruined her body, she had no hope in chance of reviving a career.
"The winner of this bout is Shatter point!" The voice on a mechanical speaker screeched, making me wince. Groans and cheers of loud onlookers erupted as money was lost and gained.
"Move, girl!" Shatter Point was pushed aside by a large man as medical personnel rushed the downed and bleeding Uma. Although calling them medical personnel was pushing it, they won't be taking anyone to a hospital, only a butcher table to patch them up.
I grimaced. Butcher table is the Umas' description of the medical wing of this colosseum of violence and greed.
"Yeah!"
"Shatter Point is the true Crimson Lance!"
"Every bout with Shatter Point is going to be bloody, Ha!"
The cheers of the crowd were deafening, a roaring tide of avarice and bloodlust. My destiny wasn't on a pristine racetrack, to make friends with famous Umamsume, Like Symboli Rudolf or Silent Suzuka, but in this brutal world, stained crimson with the price of survival. Where the hope of running with my kind dies, and the nightmare of charging into my kind blooms.
The audience demands more impact, more blood.
My fellow jousting Uma's watching these bouts on the side, staring at me in contempt and fear.
My name is Shatter Point, A man from Earth brought to a hopeful world as an Uma, where Umas are born to run.
But the grass isn't always greener and in this world... I was born to Joust.