Michar felt himself being dragged to the cliffside. No. He refused to go out like this. He kicked and flailed violently, causing his captor to loose his grip. Michar struggled to his feet, turning to face his opponent, who was already smartly moving away from the edge. They circled for merely a second before the other male lunged for Michar, who swiftly dodged, even though the motion made his head throb.

His opponent growled and revealed his talons. Snarling at maybe half the volume, Michar did the same, flexing his hands until his claws exposed themselves. He jumped for Michar again, and this time, Michar was unable to evade, resulting in a relatively shallow gash across his side. Michar slashed and felt contact against flesh. His opponent roared and let go of him. Michar stepped back to see the deep wound inflicted on his arm. He held his hand over the wound for only a moment before looking to Michar, hatred in his glare.

They became locked in a furious battle, slashing and biting viciously as they screamed like feral animals. Michar was trying to back away from his opponent when the loose snow slipped beneath him and he lost his footing. Immediately his opponet’s claws were around his throat, choking the air out of him. Michar kicked desperately until something landed, sending his opponent stumbling back. Michar was on his feet before he recovered entirely. Not entirely present, guided on sheer instinct, Michar tucked his body behind his shoulder and threw his weight forward. His shoulder connected squarely with his opponent’s chest and he himself fell forward into the snow. He looked up and watched as his opponent went tumbling to the edge.

Time slowed as their eyes met. That intense amber that had exhibited so much rage before only showed one thing. Fear. And then, those eyes were gone.

The blood curdling scream and the sickening sound of a body breaking on stone was all Michar needed to confirm his death. Suddenly, it was too quite atop the mountain. Even the wind had died to a gentle whisper.

After a few breaths, Michar looked over the edge. Way below was a body bent incorrectly. Michar released a tense breath then stood up. He hissed at pressure in his right ankle. It was probably sprained. Slowed and bleeding, Michar limped his way to the ninth gate and pushed past the bloodied bell. He half expected the sound of a bell behind him, but the only thing he heard back was his breath.

A few meters away was the tenth gate and the tenth bell, the only thing between him and victory. He hesitated only a moment, then pushed on. The tenth bell resonated louder and at a higher pitch than the other bells. Michar stumbled to the center of the flattened summit. In the distance Michar could see the three silhouettes of a retrieval group rise up from where the closest outpost was located.

Michar fell to his knees, crying as all his emotions slammed into him. Fear, anger, sadness, regret, excitement, relief. Michar wiped the crystalizing tears from his eyes.

He had made it.

He had survived.

He had won.