Condition Evolution 4 by Kevin Sinclair (books for 10th graders TXT) 📕

began and everyone stayed bunched together for the first three laps, fighting each other for the front few spots. Coming into the final lap, a leading pack began to pull away slightly. Up front were Gukarr and Saulagg, two Torax, with Miraek close behind. At the back of the small leading group was Mick. I felt sorry for him, as he looked to be the most exhausted, pink cheeks blazing with exertion, chest heaving, and sweat dripping. But I also knew we humans displayed signs more obviously than the Torax who didn’t really sweat or get too hot. Veiletians where just cold as fucking ice all the time.

They came around to the last half of the final lap. The speed increased, and the spectators started cheering as though in sync, roaring out names. I did cheer, but remained impartial. Miraek took the lead over the two Torax, but impressively Mick kept pace with her to surge past them halfway around the last lap. It looked to be Miraek all the way, but Mick put his head down, digging deep like his life depended on it. Putting everything he had left into one last burst, he somehow took the win. It could be argued half falling, half diving past Miraek over the finish line helped. I clapped and cheered for him. The mad bastard! It took over a minute and help from Miraek for him to stand back up. The two Torax made their way over and gave Mick a pat on the back and began laughing amongst themselves. Mick was looking rather pale now.

Finally, to end day one, the sprints. There were over 100 participants for this one, split into heats that would decide the final of ten competitors. Of those ten, I was not surprised to see Calparr and Koparr among them. I was slightly surprised to see William; I would never have believed sprinting would be the pissheads kind of bag. I was obviously wrong. They lined up, the human competitors crouching down like they were professional sprinters, while the two Torax remained standing in an I'm about to run position. They started, and the line moved forward as one. After half the distance William faltered. A split second later Calparr’s stride also stuttered, losing his momentum. He turned to face William angrily.

Meanwhile, the race was won comfortably by one of the humans, Dennis if I remembered correctly. Medium-height and built like a barn door. His shoulder-length dreadlocks bounced wildly as he celebrated with a huge smile plastered on his face. The cheering was subdued, though, as all the attention was on William and Calparr squaring off against one another in the center of the hall.

“Ye bloody clipped me ankles,” cried William, “ye pointy headed wanker!”

“You cannot run in a straight line, you unbalanced Chidica! It was you who hit my foot.”

“What’s a bloody Chidica!” He looked over to where Calegg and I sat. “Calegg! Wha’ did ‘e just call me?”

“Don’t worry about that, William!” I interrupted. “This is supposed to be fun. Now knock it off and both of you go congratulate Dennis on his well-deserved win.”

They nodded like a pair of naughty schoolboys and skulked off to where Dennis still celebrated.

“What is a Chidica, Calegg?” I asked quietly once they’d move out of earshot.

“It’s an amphibious creature from Torax with eight short legs, and four eyes on top of long stalks for looking out of the water. It is very ungainly when on land.”

“Ah, sounds weird.”

“Yes, a very strange-looking creature, but relatively harmless.”

The next thing I knew, the two men were talking and laughing like nothing had happened. I shook my head. I was surrounded by nutters.

The following day began with the long-distance run final which ran alongside the early rounds of fighting. For me it just ended up being a long, lonely run around the station, as all the Veiletians had taken off. It took me an hour and a half to complete the course. The winner, by a huge margin, so Calegg told me, was Hwista who completed the course in 43 minutes.

After I showered and freshened up, the lightweight competition had already been won by a Veiletian. The second semi-final of the heavyweights was just starting. Roger versus Calparr. The winner was to face William of all people in the final. I let out an audible groan when Calegg informed me. I knew Calparr was a well-respected fighter on Torax, the second best-rated. He was supposed to fight Shaun, what now felt like a different lifetime ago. He stood a few inches taller than Roger as they faced off. I was genuinely interested in who would win. Though without using powers, I had to go with Calparr.

The fight started in earnest, with the two fighters assessing each other with tentative punches and kicks. Calegg spoke from my side. “I’ve watched Roger’s fights so far. He's a good fighter, but predictable. He’ll lunge in suddenly with a ferocious punch or a spear dive at Calparr’s waist. That's how he has won his last three fights, quickly too. Calparr won't fall for it.”

No sooner had Calegg finished talking than Roger went and pulled that exact move, suddenly spear diving the bigger man's waist for a takedown. It seemed Calparr had been waiting for the move too, as he jumped backwards, sending a powerful knee to Roger's temple as he flew in. And just like that, it was lights out for Roger as his body slapped against the cold metal floor. Calparr coolly raised an arm in the air to acknowledge the win, then bent down to check on Roger. I must admit, I was slightly concerned too. It was a hell of a well-paced blow. Thankfully, Roger came round quickly. He climbed up from the ground, dazed but gracious in defeat, patting Calparr on the arm in congratulations.

After that drama, the final of the middleweights was with none other than Mick again. He was facing Harlek, the Veilitian he’d lost comprehensively to prior. He was