by N M Thorn
Gunz made his way into the backroom and dropped down on the bench. The room was small and dark, a tiny electric light bulb hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the room with a fluctuating yellow light. The thick smell of sweat and blood seemed to be permanently rooted into everything within its walls. A small dirty sink was installed in the far corner of the room and even drops of water were falling from the rusty faucet.
He leaned forward slightly and rested his elbows on his lap, hiding his face in his hands. He wasn’t tired – the fight was over so fast it hardly spiked the adrenalin in him. He felt hollow inside, indifferent to everything, inwardly wishing that the late demon put up a better fight.
He heard the phone ring and snapped his head to the side. Gunz reached for his bag and pulled the phone out, staring at the screen. This is exactly what I didn’t need, he thought with a sigh, but answered the phone.
“How did you get this phone number, Agent Andrews?” asked Gunz coldly.
“And hello to you too, Mr. Burns,” replied Jim, ignoring his tone. “Where are you and what are you doing?”
“A little preoccupied at the moment,” muttered Gunz, unwilling to get into a conversation with his boss.
“What are you doing, Gunz?” repeated Jim, softer notes in his voice. “You disabled the GPS tracker in your watch and just fell from the face of the Earth. This is the first time in months you answered my phone call. Even Aidan can’t sense you. What the hell are you doing, man? There are people here who actually care about you!”
“I’m doing my job, Agent Andrews,” replied Gunz dryly. “You wanted me to bring the ring of supernatural underground fighting down? So, I’m doing just that. I’m trying to get you all the names and information you need to make it happen. I concealed my fire energy because I’m undercover. I believe you know what it means to be undercover, sir?”
“But Gunz—”
“I got to go, Jim. Try calling me in a few hours,” Gunz interrupted him as the door into his room opened.
He hung up the phone and looked at the woman who walked inside and halted in front of him. She was tall and slim, dressed in the latest style black dress and high-heels. Her wavy blond hair was styled to accentuate the soft oval of her face and her skin was covered in a generous layer of makeup to conceal her true age. Gunz lowered his head, not willing to meet her eyes.
“Gunz, you were as magnificent as always today,” she purred, her hand resting on his shoulder, slowly moving down along the shape of his bicep. “I love watching you fight, darling. You’re an untamed brutal beast. I can’t believe you’re just a wizard.”
“Um… Thank you, Mrs. Kogan, I guess…” replied Gunz without looking at her and carefully took her hand off his shoulder. “I’m covered in blood and sweat after the fight, ma’am. I don’t want you to get your hands dirty.”
Mrs. Kogan squatted down in front of him, pulling her elegant black dress up just enough to expose her shapely thighs. She glanced up, searching for his eyes and reached forward. Her hand wandered down his bare chest, tracing the shape of his muscles.
“Mmm,” she purred. “What can be more exciting than a young handsome sweaty savage.”
Her eyes were dark with lust and her hands seemed to be restless, traveling down his stomach. Before he could say anything, her fingers found the button on the waistband of his pants and pulled the zipper down. Gunz wrapped his hand over her wrist and gently pushing it away.
“Your husband, ma’am,” he said frostily, flicking his eyebrow at the door where a tall man was standing with his hand on the door handle.
“My husband? The thrill is gone. He doesn’t excite me anymore,” she replied, not paying attention to anything except him. “Just like I don’t excite him. We live in an open marriage and he wouldn’t mind if I had a taste of this.” She grabbed his crotch and squeezed slightly. “I wonder if you’re just as mighty in bed as you are in the cage.”
Gunz grunted, his aggravated gaze meeting the eyes of the man in the doorway. The man in his late fifties was tall and thin, dressed in an immaculate business suit and a blue shirt underneath. With his gray complexion and deep, dark circles around his yellowish eyes, he wasn’t exuding a healthy vibe. Mr. Kogan watched his wife’s fruitless advances with an uneven smirk on his hollow-cheeked face.
“Clarissa, darling,” said the man, approaching his wife, and pulled her up to her feet, “go get your busy hands into someone else’s pants, preferably with someone who doesn’t mind the intrusion. I need a few minutes to talk to our undefeated fighter here.”
Mrs. Kogan pivoted on her high heels and sauntered away, swaying her hips. “I’ll see you later, darling,” she promised Gunz, blowing an air-kiss to him as she walked out the door.
Mr. Kogan waited until his wife had left the room and shook his head chuckling. He put his hand in the pocket of his pants and pulled out a wad of cash held by a money clip.
“Your cut,” he said, counting out a few hundred-dollar bills and offered them to Gunz.
“Thanks.” Gunz took the bills and threw them into his bag without counting.
“Oh, no, thank you,” replied Mr. Kogan, a wide grin on his face. “You’re my biggest moneymaker after all. I’m sorry about my wife’s behavior. She can be a little forward.”
Gunz smirked. “She wants my body. There is nothing more to it,” he said with a shrug without lifting his eyes. “And I don’t give a damn.”
“I know,” replied Mr. Kogan nonchalantly and waved his hand at the bench. “May I?”
Gunz finally lifted his head and glanced at him. Then he nodded and lowered his eyes again.
Mr. Kogan sat down next to him. “Why are you doing it, Gunz? Why are you fighting every night, risking your health and possibly your life?”
“I need money,” replied Gunz evenly.
“You don’t care about money,” objected Mr. Kogan sharply. “I watch you every night and I’m sure that you couldn’t care less about money, or vanity, or women. None of it. You make enough money fighting in these pits to live in a five-star hotel in any city we travel to, but you choose to live in a cheap fleabag motel. So, what drives you inside that cage?”
Gunz didn’t reply. He didn’t even change his position.
“Well, allow me to ask another personal question then,” continued Mr. Kogan. “You look like you’re in your late twenties – early thirties, but I’ve been around the supernatural community long enough to know appearances can be deceiving. Magic slows down the aging and there are enough immortals roaming this world who don’t age at all. How old are you, Gunz? Are you really as young as you look?”
Gunz nodded. “Yeah, I’m twenty-nine…”
“I wonder what made you so cold and cynical at such young age?” asked Mr. Kogan quietly. “I see the way you kill your opponents in the cage – you don’t care whether they live or die. When you fight, it’s like you’re begging for trouble. You’re a wizard. You undoubtedly know how to use your magic, but I saw you using it only once. It’s like you’re inviting the pain or possibly even death.”
Gunz remained silent, staring unblinkingly at his hands, covered in blood.
“Fine,” said Mr. Kogan rising, “then let me do something unusual for you. After all, whatever drives you into this shithole makes me richer. Usually the Heads of the Houses don’t socialize with their fighters – not even with unattached fighters, but I’d like to treat you to dinner tomorrow night. Would you be open to that?”
Gunz lifted his head and glanced at Mr. Kogan, slightly surprised. The Heads of the Houses not only didn’t socialize with the fighters, they hardly even noticed them, treating them as low-level scum, which most of the fighters were. They were the rogue demons, vampires, werewolves, dark wizards and other monsters who were trying to either make a few bucks or satisfy their thirst for blood without getting into too much trouble with local authorities.
“Thank you,” said Gunz.
“Thank you yes or thanks but no way in hell?” asked Mr. Kogan
chuckling.
“Yes, thank you,” replied Gunz quietly. “Just please, don’t ask me any personal questions, sir.”
“I’m wondering what bothers you more – the questions I ask or my wife’s groping technique,” he muttered and laughed. “Don’t answer that, please. Is there anything I can do for you tonight, Gunz?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Gunz rising. “You can get me one more fight tonight.”
“Are you serious?” asked Mr. Kogan with a tone of shock in his voice.
“Deadly serious,” said Gunz. “And if they don’t have a strong enough opponent for me, get me in the cage with two fighters. Or three. Whatever will get you more money.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Mr. Kogan heading out of the room.
One hour later, Gunz was walking toward the cage again. The crowd was shouting, chanting his name. Everyone was staring at him – women with lust, men with blood-thirsty hunger in their eyes. Women were reaching to touch him, but he saw nothing, felt nothing, thought of nothing as his eyes locked on the two monsters inside the cage.
Carefully he probed them with his Salamander senses and wanted to laugh. One of his opponents was a demon. Just like the demon he fought earlier today, he was tall and bulky. The second opponent was a dark wizard, and out of all the magic tricks he could pull out of his hat, he chose to use fire magic. Both of them were at least a few inches taller than him and they glowered down at him with arrogant smirks on their faces.
The bouncer opened the door of the cage for him, ushering him inside. Gunz stepped on the blood-splattered floor of the ring, a frosty lopsided smirk on his face.
“I’ll wipe that smirk right off your face, wizard,” hissed the demon. He exchanged a boastful look with his partner and they both nodded.
“Please,” muttered Gunz dryly. “Do your worst.”
The bell rang announcing the beginning of the fight and the demon charged him at once. The shouting of the crowd dimmed down and disappeared as his mind immediately was set to a high alert.
Fire Salamander – go! Gunz thought as he drove his fist into the demon’s face, knocking him out cold in one punch.
Chapter 2
~ Zane Burns, a.k.a. Gunz ~
Gunz walked into the dark hotel room and threw his bag on the floor. He hated coming back to this place, small and musty, but it had something his house in Coral Springs didn’t – solitude and isolation. He needed it. Being next to people who cared about him was dangerous for them and he didn’t think he could survive losing another person he loved.
He stopped in front of a cracked mirror and carefully pulled his shirt off. He explored the dark bruises on his ribs and chest with his fingers and winced. That dark wizard had been better than anyone he had fought since he dove headfirst into the dark swamp of underground supernatural fighting. The damn wizard actually managed to land a few punches and kicks on him.
Gunz didn’t like using his magic during the fight and resorted to it only when he had no other choice. Today had been that day. This dark wizard’s magic was potent enough so Gunz had to use his shield to counteract his attacks. The asshole had brought a dagger, the deep laceration on his shoulder testimony to the fact. On the bright side, at least the wizard put up some fight. They had a whole two rounds before Gunz dropped him to the floor with his neck broken.
He headed to the tiny bathroom and came back with a first aid kit. He pulled out a few sealed packages with alcohol gauzes, a few large band-aids and a surgical kit, placing everything on a small cabinet next to the mirror. Then he grabbed an opened bottle of vodka from the table and took a few large swigs. It wasn’t going to help him with the pain, but he hoped it would numb his senses at least a little.
With habitual quick moves, Gunz ripped the sealed package and cleaned the affected area with an alcohol gauze. He grabbed the surgical stapler from the box and checked his wound again. No more than five staples, he decided, pulling the edges of the laceration together. He finished closing his wound as quickly as he could, clenching his teeth to stop himself from screaming every time the metal staple penetrated his skin. Once finished, he placed a waterproof band-aid over it.
Just as he was ready to go into the bathroom, he heard a soft popping noise and Mishka, his wyvern, materialized between him and the mirror. The wyvern peered down at the bloodied gauzes with disgust and shook his flaming head.
“Why are you doing it, boss?” he asked, landing on the cabinet.
“Doing what?”
“This.” The wyvern pointed at the surgical instruments with his paw. “All you need to do is revert into your natural state and you’ll heal yourself. No mess, no blood, no pain.”
“I can’t revert. It’ll create a huge magical energy spike,” explained Gunz, heading toward the bathroom. “No one here can know that I’m a Fire Salamander.”
“Well, that’s kinda stupid,” muttered Mishka. “What’s the point of being the Fire Salamander if you can’t actually use the perks?”
Gunz decided the safest course of action would be not answering. He opened the hot water and stepped into a questionably-looking bathtub. The water was slightly above room temperature at best which added to his overall misery. He gritted his teeth and quickly washed the blood and dirt off his face and body. Still shivering, he toweled himself dry and got dressed for the night.
He turned the light off and lay down on the bed. His whole body was sore and buzzing with exhaustion. Although he closed his eyes, sleep eluded him as always. Mishka landed on the bed next to him and gently sprayed him with fire, channeling some of his elemental energy through him.
“It’s not going to heal your wounds,” said Mishka, “but it’ll take the edge off your pain, so you can get some sleep.”
“Thank you, my friend,” said Gunz, petting the wyvern’s back. “I don’t mind physical pain… It numbs down the other one…”
“What other one?” asked Mishka, cocking his head.
“The pain that’s here… always…” mumbled Gunz, pressing his hand to his chest.
“People are such strange creatures…” Mishka muttered with a half-shrug of his wings.
With the wyvern’s help, he slowly started to drift off to sleep when his cell phone rang. Who the hell is calling me at this late hour? Gunz cursed, searching for the phone with his hand without opening his eyes, as aggravation spiraled through him. He found it and checked the screen. He saw Jim’s name and sighed. He was just starting to fall asleep, too. Why me? Dammit, Jim! He swiped his finger across the screen, answering the call.
“Jim, do you know what time it is?” he mumbled drowsily, closing his eyes again.
“What’s the difference? You’re not sleeping anyway,” replied Jim dryly. “And I would rather be in a dental chair right now than be calling you, asshole!” He took a short pause, breathing heavily into his phone. “Anyway, there is someone here who wants to hear your voice. Hold on, I’ll put you on speaker.”
A soft knock announced that Jim put the phone on a table.
“Gunz?”
Gunz heard Mrak Delar’s voice and cringed. “Mrak? What are you doing in Jim’s office?”
“Where are you, Gunz?” asked Mrak Delar. “Why can’t I sense you anywhere in this world? Why do I have to use this mundane device to communicate with you?”
“Because I don’t want to be found,” replied Gunz, remorse twisting his heart. Mrak was his friend; one who truly cared for him. “I’m okay. Don’t worry and don’t look for me.”
“When did you learn how to hide your elemental energy signature?” asked Mrak Delar, the surprise clear in his voice.
“I guess all those hours in different libraries paid off. I learned many interesting things.”
“Gunz, you must come back,” insisted Mrak Delar.
“No. I’m not coming back until I’m done. You can’t force me, Mrak.”
“Yes, I can. I’m a Master of Power, Gunz, and you know that I can control you,” said Mrak Delar calmly, but his voice
was infused with suppressed anger. “I will find you eventually, and when I do, mark my word, I’ll twist you into a pretzel for what you did to Kal.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Master? I didn’t do anything to Kal,” yelled Gunz, the leftover of his sleep gone now. “How about what he did to me, Mrak! Jeez, man, do not make me hang up on you!”
“Hang up?” asked Mrak Delar, sounding lost. Gunz heard Jim’s quick explanation on what “hang up” meant and Mrak came back to the phone, his voice a low growl. “Don’t you dare hang up on me. Kal blames himself for everything that’s happened. For the loss you suffered, for your disappearance, for your pain. For everything, you jackass! You need to go back to Kendral and at least speak with him.”
“I can’t, Mrak, I’m sorry. I need to finish what I started first,” replied Gunz. “I’m getting close—"
“Close to what? What is so important that you dropped everything and everyone who loves you and disappeared without a word?” yelled Mrak Delar. “Even Akira doesn’t know where you are, and you swore to her that you’d find her son! Since when did you stop caring about your friends! It’s been six months since you disappeared, Gunz. Six goddamn months!”
“That’s exactly what I’m working on!” shouted Gunz, jolting off the bed with the phone in his hand. “I am searching for Akira’s son. And tomorrow I have a private audience with a person who might help me find him. I need you to back off and give me time and space to do my goddamn job!”
“Where are you, boy?” growled Mrak Delar and Gunz heard him slamming his hand on the wall. “You can’t do it alone. And most importantly, you shouldn’t be doing it alone. Yaroslav is not a newborn. He’s an ancient vampire and quite a capable fighter. Whoever managed to hold him captive is extremely powerful and dangerous. Please, Gunz. You know that I’m not the type to beg anyone for anything, but right now, I’m begging you… please… let me in. Let me help you.”
