Galactic Bandits 1

by Duke Campbell

  These rooms each held a single warrior. Someone brutal and successful enough to have gained all the goods within their respective rooms. He put it together that each of these warriors had won as many battles as the items they surrounded themselves with. He also realized that if he were to lose today, then the warrior he faced would have a new addition to his room—Straya.

  But the warriors weren’t only men. There were many Brute females as well, surrounded with just as many weapons, food, and booze, and while most of them seemed to collect women, these rooms were also filled with men. Slaves to be had or done with as the warriors pleased, and whenever they wanted.

  “Fighting for sex slaves,” Regan started. “It seems a little barbaric, don’t you think?” he asked Arkei and Straya. He didn’t say it loud enough for the Brutes to hear.

  “It’s how it works,” Arkei said. “The Brutes are a Class C species and pride themselves on their ability to own others and do what they want with them.”

  The guard instructed him to choose his opponent—a choice he didn’t realize he would be making.

  “They are all deemed worthy by the Brute King,” the guard said. “So, the choice is yours. You may also choose the prize you wish to challenge them for.”

  Regan thought of all the beautiful females. Any of them could be his if he were victorious. Suddenly the barbaric nature of the arrangement didn’t seem so bad. He walked by each pleasure room, taking them all in. The amount of beauty that could be his overwhelmed him.

  Focus, dude!

  He had to keep it cool. These were distractions. While only looking at the treasures he could gain, it kept him from looking at the warriors themselves. He looked at the arms, the muscles, the number of trophies they kept.

  He had to challenge someone who wasn’t at the top of the game, but not at the bottom either. Again, he needed to maintain a certain image. Then he saw it—an ax hanging above the head of one of the potential opponents. It was the most bad ass hunk of metal Regan had ever seen and it made him think further into the future, beyond just this fight. If he was going to win this battle, he’d have another one coming up with the Brute King. He might need a more traditional weapon.

  The ax was stylized, and didn’t even look completely practical, but Regan wanted it. He craved it. He imagined himself swinging it wildly against the Brute King, and how even though he himself might not be intimidating to someone of that size and strength, the ax surely would be.

  Regan pointed at the ax.

  “May I feel its weight?” he asked.

  The warrior underneath it nodded, then stood to grab it, only to be stopped by an older woman sitting hidden in the corner. She stood to whisper something into his ear. The warrior’s eyes became panicked, as if he was being scolded. He then cleared his throat and crossed his arms, standing up away from the old woman before giving Regan a stern look.

  “You may only feel its weight if you challenge me to battle,” the Brute said with overconfidence.

  What was that about?

  Regan looked around more closely and realized that all the warriors in the room had an older woman sitting not too far from them—the matriarch of the room, it seemed.

  Holy shit. They’re mama’s boys.

  Regan smiled and remembered that the Brute who rushed him the tray of lager upon arrival yesterday was also being directed by an older woman. The direction of his mother, it seemed. This was too good. He was beginning to see the weaknesses. It didn’t mean these Brutes were any less strong or dedicated to battle, but they were also trying to impress their mothers. They were ruled by them.

  This was a different motive—a lesser motive—than Regan’s, which was trying to stay alive and protect those around him.

  “I challenge you, Brute!” Regan exclaimed with confidence. “And I will wait to hold your ax until after I have defeated you, then it belongs to me!”

  The comment made the Brutes laugh and cheer, but not mockingly. It thrilled them that the battle had begun. Even the Brute he challenged smiled. He was ready to battle for the sake of battle. The females around the Brute reached out and touched him as he stood. He nodded his head in acceptance, but his mother kept her eyes focused on him, as if making sure he didn’t make a wrong move.

  “I accept your challenge,” he replied, glancing over at his mother.

  He then stepped out from his room and toward Regan. He nodded at him. Regan nodded in return. The Brute then looked at Straya and smiled.

  “You will make a wonderful addition to my collection, pirate!” he said before turning back toward his pleasure room.

  “I will kill you in your sleep,” Straya said under her breath, but loud enough for Regan to hear.

  He smiled at her. “You won’t have to.”

  The guard stepped forward and announced that the battle would take place in the arena. He noted that the Brute King would be in attendance and the rules were simple. Two fighters. One weapon each. A fight to the death.

  Cannons fired off and horns blew. The Brutes in the village cheered.

  The fight to the death was about to begin.

  Chapter Eight

  Regan stood in an arena full of Brutes.

  And their moms.

  He wore some spiked armor he had taken from the pirate ship, protecting himself following the Brutes’ rules. No helmets, nor full suits of armor. Regan put on everything he could and now stood there ready with his bat.

  His opponent’s armor didn’t cover his massive arms or legs. It was just a chest plate that reached down to his waist, and another plate that covered his privates, which was something that Regan hadn’t thought of.

  If I win this fight, I’m definitely covering my balls for the next one.

  Regan and his opponent each had a corner where their affiliates stood. In his corner stood Arkei and Straya, who seemed more relaxed with each other now. He saw them standing next to each other and the animosity toward each other had subsided some. For the first time he felt like they were on the same team.

  In his opponent’s corner were the same females and mother that were in the pleasure room. They sat on luscious pillows and snacked on colorful fruit and drank whatever the Brute equivalent of wine was. They clearly had no concern about the battle at hand.

  Except for the mother who watched Regan with an intense, keen-eyed interest. She would be the one coaching her son through this battle, and Regan planned on exposing this weakness. Though he wasn’t sure how yet.

  Regan wanted to get some practice swings in. He wanted to intimidate his opponent in any way he could. But he also recognized that being human was intimidating enough. These Brutes had heard of the way humans battled, but he assumed many of them hadn’t actually seen one in action before.

  This was an advantage that Regan held onto, and so he refrained from swinging his bat at all.

  Meanwhile, his opponent came out swinging. He also had a club of sorts, but it was longer and made of wood. It had spikes on the end of it that would kill Regan with one well-placed puncture. It was a ferocious weapon and Regan knew he had to stay away from it at all costs.

  He also could see that though the Brute was strong, it took him much strength to wield the weapon. It was more for looks than practicality. After all, this entire arena was for show. Regan could see the advantages building in his favor. He had played enough War Games 2 to know that in fighting, practicality was everything. Cosmetics did little to aid one in battle.

  The bat he held in his hands was comfortable in his grip, could block incoming blows, and was light enough that he could strike without using all of his energy or momentum. The metal would do damage, he just had to land it right.

  He rested it on his shoulder and began to approach the Brute who did the same.

  As the Brute walked toward him, he raised his arms in the air and fist pumped. The crowd went wild. He smiled, waved, and swung his big club from side to side. He could swing it fast, but again, because it was so long, it would give Regan time to snea
k by it.

  Provided he doesn’t land a blow to my skull.

  Regan couldn’t deny that he was nervous, even afraid. But he thought about his situation. If he lost, he was dead. Arkei had kidnapped him to hand over to Mephistopheles as a scientific experiment, so dead was likely better than that.

  But if he won, he lived to fight another day, and would be one step closer to securing his freedom.

  Just before the two fighters met in the center, the Brute King revealed himself in the stands. He waved his arms, sending the Brutes into louder cheers. Regan noticed a beautiful creature sitting next to him. She looked human, but there was something different about her. She was pale white, almost like a ghost, and though she was covered, her gown fit her perfectly, revealing her features.

  Regan knew she was the Empath. Whether the king was showing off, or this was a regular public appearance, it was a power play of sorts.

  I’ll get you.

  “The human versus the Brute!” the Brute King shouted. “In a battle to the death. Let us begin!”

  The place went wild, and right as the king finished his short speech, Regan’s opponent charged at him full speed.

  He swung his club right and left, up and down. Regan started off in reverse, watching the movements and trying to time them. But the Brute was erratic. He was just swinging for death without strategy or plan.

  The young women in his corner were cheering. His older mother watched with cold eyes.

  Regan saw an opportunity as the Brute took one wide swing. He charged, rolled, and whacked the Brute on the knee hard. He was small enough to fit underneath the swinging club, but not fast enough to escape a blow from the Brute’s arm as it left the club and came back down on him.

  Regan sent a great deal of pain to the Brute’s knee, but the Brute had sent him flying forward with a backhand. He hit the ground and rolled several feet before standing up, winded.

  Shit. Bastard packs a punch.

  Regan had only considered the swinging club, not the fist. But he could also tell that it surprised the Brute how a weapon as small as the metal bat could inspire such a sting. The Brute shook his leg and laughed.

  The Brute charged again, swinging from side to side as he ran. This time Regan waited. He timed the movements, and as the Brute got close and thrust the club to one side, Regan ducked and got ready to swing.

  Instead of going for the legs, Regan went for the Brute’s hand gripping the club. And he nailed it.

  He felt a satisfying smash within the Brute’s knuckle. So much so that the Brute dropped his club and shouted in surprise.

  Regan had busted the hand.

  The audience was on their feet with applause. The Brute’s mother started shouting at him, scolding him with her aggressive words. Regan noticed how, instead of picking the club up right away, the Brute turned to hear the criticism from his mother. A perfect opportunity for him.

  Regan charged again and swung as hard as he could into the Brute’s knee. He felt another smash as the Brute dropped to one leg. In the same motion, with his other hand, he thrust a punch into Regan’s chest. The armor was in place and absorbed much of the force, but the punch still sent Regan flying backward and knocked the wind out of him.

  Regan tumbled across the ground for a bit, gasping for air as he struggled back to his feet. Blood covered the left side of him as his legs and arm had scraped across the ground. But he was alive and felt good about his two successful blows.

  The Brute picked up the club again. His face was full of anger. He didn’t use his smashed hand, but he held the club with the other, keeping the weapon closer to his body. He was figuring out Regan’s maneuvers.

  Instead of swinging from side to side, the Brute thrust the spiky club forward at Regan. Regan jumped back trying to avoid it. He used his bat as a blocker, but there was no way he could out-muscle the Brute challenger for long.

  Then the Brute struck him. Regan tried to move out of the way, but a spike on the club’s head grazed the side of his torso. It cut through the armor. It cut through his skin. Regan now had an open wound on the battlefield.

  The place went wild with applause. And in response, the Brute kept repeating the same motion. He thrust the spiky club forward and got Regan again in nearly the same spot. Regan fell over. He was on his back when the Brute’s club came swinging directly over his head. He barely rolled out of the way just as the club spike smashed into the dirt.

  As Regan stood he noticed the Brute had to use some extra strength to lift the club from the dry dirt. The spike had punctured it deeply, and the Brute only had one good hand left.

  I can use that.

  Regan waited for the Brute to charge at him again, using his club in a stabbing motion to the left and right. Regan knocked it away as best he could, and at one point had to duck down to avoid it. He knew once he was on the ground that the Brute would repeat the downward motion.

  And he did.

  The Brute raised the club in the air and brought it down toward Regan. This time, instead of rolling out of the way, Regan moved just to the side and used his bat to further force the spike into the ground.

  Two futile tugs from the Brute confirmed the club was stuck.

  Regan then took both hands and found his baseball stance. He was right next to the Brute who was leaning over desperately trying to pull the club from the ground. Regan took a stride forward and swung the bat upwards at the Brute’s massive chin.

  Home run, baby.

  The bat contacted the bottom of the Brute’s face, and even though his neck was full of muscle, Regan heard the neck snap as the head flew backward. The Brute’s entire body was sent up, then fell back toward the ground.

  Regan felt the impact vibrate the ground he stood on.

  The Brute was dead.

  The audience cheered.

  Regan had won.

  He wanted to fall over then. He was in so much pain that he wanted to collapse and be carried away. But he reminded himself about perception. He was standing, and the Brute wasn’t. He had to intimidate the Brute King.

  The Brute King stood from his seat and raised his arms. The applause died down as he spoke.

  “The human has bested one of our own,” the Brute King said. “It was a glorious battle with an outcome that’s inspiring to us all. Out of respect for the victor, tomorrow will be a day of rest and feasting in the village. He and I will fight in this place two days from now.”

  The audience again rose in applause.

  A group of four Brutes ran out to Regan with a bed in their collective grasp. They hoisted him onto it and carried him back to his hut.

  Regan laid in his bed in agony. Arkei and Straya were at his side, desperate to help, but there was little they could do. The ladies held garments to his wounds, even Straya with her bound hands, but the pain was deep and Regan was sure this would kill him if it were not treated.

  As they tended to him, both of them congratulated him on his battle. They both sang his praises and rubbed his muscles. He wished he were in better condition to respond to their touches.

  Even so, he had a new confidence. He had won his first ever battle.

  Then a trumpet sounded at his door.

  “Your prize, victor!” was announced.

  Arkei opened the door to reveal a group of females who all belonged to the defeated Brute. They came with many gifts, but they also carried the ax that Regan had earned in battle. They brought an impressive stand for it too, which they rested it on before his bed.

  The females bowed.

  “Is there anything we can do for you?” one asked. “Anything at all?”

  Regan knew that he could have all of them. He knew that these slaves now had no master, but were looking for one. It was what they knew. It was where they fit in this society. But Regan was in no condition for any of it.

  The pain in his side was real, so he tried to be strong and graceful in his dismissal of them all.

  “Thanks for the ax, and for the offer,”
he began. “But the battle was great, so I must rest.”

  The females all bowed their heads and exited the hut.

  As they left, Regan noticed another woman standing at the door. It was the Empath.

  “May I enter?” she asked quietly, so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.

  Arkei looked at Regan for permission, but Regan waved her in. He also asked Arkei and Straya to step outside. He could tell that the Empath wanted to converse with him alone, which was something he was excited about, even though he didn’t know why.

  Once Arkei and Straya left the room, the Empath approached the bed.

  “May I sit, great warrior?” she asked with a regal air about her.

  “Of course,” Regan replied, trying to hold back his amusement.

  The Empath sat on the bed next to him and lifted the garments that covered his wounds. When she pulled them away, she could see the amount of blood coming from them. The exposure made Regan feel weak in that moment, as if the enemy was seeing the impact the battle had on him.

  Then she placed her hands on top of the wounds.

  They were warm, and they seemed to send that warmth deep inside his body, as if a light were penetrating the open wounds. The pain began to subside, and he felt a pulse breathing through his entire body.

  It was incredible, and he didn’t understand how she was doing it, but he knew she was healing him. It felt like magic. There was no way he could describe the feeling, but every single aspect of his body felt refreshed and stronger than ever. His eyesight even became clearer as he looked at her face.

  When she finished, he glanced down at his side. The wounds had disappeared, as if they had never been there. He sat up to thank her but as soon as he started to speak she put a finger over his lips.

  “Win,” she said. There was much pleading in her softly spoken word, as if years of hope were now coming down to a single battle.