A Promise

"Skin's for the season
Flesh for life
And Bone is forever"
(Galra saying)

"This one must be mine - but only when the time is right. He has to come to me - otherwise he will never be mine entirely."
(Commander Sendak, on the Champion)

The crowd up in the ranks had gone wild.
He'd made a stupid mistake in the second advance fight of the night, and now they were out for blood - more than they usually were. He, the strange humanoid from the far reaches of the galaxy, he, who only recently had achieved the title of Champion, had stood to lose that title only weeks later, and to a third-rate Caltorian pit fighter at that!
Suddenly, they weren't so sure anymore it had been skill, rather than luck, that had brought him so far.
Shiro sneered as he felt his anger rising again - and immediately clamped down on it, hard.
That was what had caused that almost-fatal glitch in the first place: a loss of control, a loss of focus.
His anger had to be a blade, hammered, folded, hammered again and again and tempered by his will for it to follow one special purpose.
It was that one man up there, Shiro knew. That one man of the race that had captured him and tortured him and had thrown him into the fighting pits and, later, into the Arena itself.
It was crazy, Shiro knew. After all, they all stared at him for the whole time of the fights. But that one man was different. His stare was different.
Shiro could feel it on himself. He could feel it between his shoulderblades, look around, and surely enough, there it was:
The mismatched stare of one yellow Galra and one red cybernetic eye, focussed on him dead center. Watching. Hungry.
What the hell did he want?
It was disconcerting - so much so, that it had made Shiro lose the iron grip on his anger and jarred his focus.
This had to end, and end now, or, one of these nights, it was going to kill him.

Shiro's chin set as he made a decision.
Since he had come to the Arena, he had gone to great pains to learn its rules, to be aware of any advantage a fighter could gain through his actions, or through the use of the iron rules of the Great Pit.
So, now, he knew he was well within the span of his rights as he lowered his blade after the fourth of the advance fights, pointing with his still glowing Galra tech cyber hand towards his new nemesis, raising his voice enough to silence the crowd in just a few seconds:
"You - up there! You're so very interested in me? Then I say you come down here and fight me! Or are you afraid of getting that close to me within my place of mastership?"
The crowd had calmed down completely by then, waiting breathlessly for an answer.
The one up in the ranks stood, then, and he was an impressive sight to behold:
Tall as any Galra - which made him at least two heads taller than Shiro - and even bulkier than the average fighter, with an impressively broad chest and set of shoulders. He was someone Shiro had heard talk about among the fighters, too - one of the legends of the Arena, a warrior who had come out of nowhere - not unlike himself - to fight his way up and out of the pits to become one of the Emperors most esteemed Commanders.
Shiro didn't care. He just knew this had to end, and he intended to do it on his terms!
There it was again, that intense look that could drive a man to distraction - coupled, as it often was, with a smile:
"That place you speak of belonged to me before I stepped down, whelp! We all saw how you bungled only one fight before! You're sure you want me to come down and face you?"
Shiro's eyes narrowed as he stood his ground, unwavering:
"I have said it and my challenge stands. Come down here and I will defeat you, for the crown you're talking about is now mine, and therefore mine to defend!"

At this announcement, the Galra nodded and set into motion, leaving his seat and making his way down the ranks.
There was one moment of silence as he started moving,
then there was pandemonium.
Shiro was sure there was no place whats'o'ever on the battleship where you would not be able to hear that roar of the crowd. It was two unbeaten Champions against each other - the fight everyone always wanted to see.
Shiro felt it. He felt the great beast that was the audience at his back, breathing down his neck.
His opponent was one of theirs, one of their heroes. Sure, there probably were some who did not care for him, even true enemies, maybe. But that one was still Galra after all, and the majority would never want to see one of theirs brought down by some alien pit fighter who did not even have claws or fangs to speak of.
Shiro didn't care. He had faced that kind of hostility often enough. And the strangest thing, as the other one had gotten down into the Arena and chosen his weapon, was that he did not seem to detest Shiro at all.
Contrary, the Galra actually smiled at him while brandishing his blade in a short salute:
"This was your choice, whelp, remember that well. And remember this, too:
However this turns out - before it is over, I will mark you, and mark you as mine - I promise!"

Shiro did not answer. He was calm now, focussed completely, the anger under his iron control again, where it would stay. This was no advance battle opponent - this was a seasoned pit fighter, and a Champion in his own right -
The only other one to stay unbeaten until the present day.
The fight began.
It was control. It was raw force channelled into two powerful beings. It was will against will. It was painfully close focus that excluded entirely the world without the Arena itself.
Pain had no domain here, where adrenaline flowed freely and blood dripped from glancing cuts, not enough to end the fight.
Shiro waited for an opening, always alert, as was his opponent.
The fight went on. It would not be the longest ever fought in the pits, not by far. But it would be one of the most intense, as everyone who had been present that day would assure you.
Not accounting, of course, for the fact that, had everyone who claimed to be present that day really been there, the battleship it took place on would have had to be at least thrice as big as Emperor Zarkon's greatest flagship.

At last, the opening came. His opponent would have an opportunity to strike too, of course, and Shiro knew he would not be able to avoid at least a glancing blow.
However, being smaller and more flexible, he deemed it worth the risk.
So he attacked.
Changing the grip on his weapon, Shiro feinted and then pirouetted outof the reach of the massive blade coming his way. Then he dropped to one knee and raised his own one, bringing it straight into the arch of movement of the other one's left-handed slash of claws, while hitting the Galra - almost as an afterthought - again with his cybernetic arm, bringing him off-balance.
Jumping back, he saw the massive energy blade of his opponent return in a vicious backslash, and was just fast enough not to have his own head cut off in the process.
Rolling clear of the fallen fighter, Shiro got to his feet quickly, looking at his opponent lying on the floor, his arm a few steps behind him.
It did not look as if the warrior would be getting up again, any time soon. And yet - surprisingly, he seemed to be - grinning.
Wary of his opponent, Shiro waited for the signal that proclaimed the end of the fight before stepping forward and offering the Galra his hand to try and pull him to his feet as he knew the other one would appreciate:
"Commander Sendak - it was an honour!"
Still grinning, the other one took his cybernetic hand in a warrior's handshake, letting the Champion pull him up again:
"Told you I would mark you, whelp!"

It was only then that Shiro felt the blood running down his face from just below his eyes. Tentatively, he reached up with the left hand that, by now, had discarded its weapon.
There was a clean, straight cut crossing the bridge of his nose, Shiro felt, and, too, a small indenture where the metal core of the sword had grazed the bone.
As injuries went, it was nothing much to speak of. Shiro had had worse, and those often enough. Hell, he'd even lost an arm to the Arena!
However, slowly, it came clear to him what this new injury meant. He knew the rules of the Arena. He'd taken great pains to learn them, after all.
Comprehending, at last, he looked at the warrior with a new, even deeper appreciation - and shook his head, smiling:
"Winning was never the goal, was it, Commander?"
The other just looked back at him, still smiling:
"Vrepid sa, Champion. Vrepid sa..."