Van followed the trail to the city gates. A pair of massive wooden doors stood before him in an even more massive stone wall. The door on the left was open just a crack. It had a single piece of paper nailed to it. A flyer, black with vibrant white letters:
TONIGHT ONLY. A DARK MATCH.
VAN THE BEER MAN VERSUS BILLY BLADES
He took a deep breath. Another of my champions waits for you. In the OverLord’s Nether, the path led straight into the next fight. Billy Blades, also known as the Bad Man of Urdesta. The Bad Man had been a tournament favorite for a reason. He was head and shoulders above the rest of the titans from Urdesta, which was a perennial breeding ground for champions. Van had heard he’d won last year’s Shipyard Struggle, throwing twenty-four other titans over the rails of a ship parked in a rollicking harbor surrounded by thousands of screaming fans. Blades could tangle with the very best. Van had seen the titan only twice, the first when he eviscerated Elephant the Titan in a tournament match. The second when he had raged against King Thad for his role in the corrupt maneuver that had placed Billy in the path of the OverLord.
Van walked through the gate and headed down the street. Buildings funneled him forward, the door to each bearing another flyer for the fight. He dragged himself down the rutted dirt road, past empty windows that seemed to stare at him. If he were in Empire City like he should be, the streets would be lined with cheering throngs holding banners with his name on them and handing him more beers than he could hold. He’d be waving to the crowds from a comfortable perch atop a parade wagon, mug in hand, his bruises from the championship match a distant memory. Instead, he’d thrown it all away to trudge alone and forgotten into this struggle.
In the distance ahead, at the end of the long, empty street, a massive, many-tiered sand-and-stone coliseum with seemingly infinite arches bending off in both directions rose over the dumpy stone houses, dwarfing even the tallest of them. As Van approached it, he saw a rickety iron gate at street level that was plastered with messy layers of overlapping flyers. They were all the same as he’d seen on the outer gate of the city: VAN THE BEER MAN VERSUS BILLY BLADES. Van pushed open the gate, wincing as the squeal of the hinges sliced through the silence. He stepped inside and walked down a long, dusty tunnel, his feet crunching on the flyers that littered the stone floor. At the end of the tunnel, Van looked up at the stands. Tens of thousands of empty seats, cracked and cobwebbed, stretched towards the sky. Van shook his head.
He turned to look at the ring in the center. It was the only thing in the coliseum not covered in a coat of dust and weary from long years of disuse. He walked down the stone steps and pulled himself onto the apron by the ropes. Then he stepped inside.
As soon as Van’s boots touched the mat, he heard a huge crash of metal. Van stared at a cloud of dust that had been kicked up across the arena. As the dust slowly settled, he saw Billy Blades, white eyes staring him down.
In any other arena, Billy Blades’s entrance would ignite complete mayhem in the stands. Fans from Urdesta would shout and stomp and spill beer. Women would scream and throw their undergarments at the ring. But here, in this dusty, empty space, was only silence. Even the wind didn’t care enough to whisper.
Van watched the enormous titan march slowly down the aisle, clenching and unclenching his fists as he waited. Billy Blades was massive. The sheen of oil on his hairy chest had faded and he looked raw and powerful, like he’d been carved from the hard, cracked stone of the coliseum itself. His dark hair was still slicked back and a toothpick jutted out from his square teeth. But the elaborate, gold chains he usually wore and made such a show of keeping safe during his matches were now made of heavy, unadorned iron. The thick chains rattled as he approached the ring and vaulted in. He stared Van down with his glowing white eyes.
If Van lost this fight, he would either be dead or dragged to the OverLord in chains and converted into a mindless minion. Perhaps both. If he won, he had no doubt the OverLord would simply send another champion to fight him. The Bearhugger was still down here. And Jaygan. And countless other titans in the army he’d harvested.
Blades walked to his corner and beckoned to the empty area beyond the turnbuckles as though summoning an attendant. Then he stood there a moment, part of his usual routine, taking off his gaudy chains. But they would not come off. He pulled and jerked at them, trying to get them over his head. He snarled, muttered, and cursed, raising and lowering his arms in what looked like some sort of creepy, erratic dance. A struggle raged within Blades. A kind of madness. Watching it, Van began to wonder if he himself was going mad.
The whole operation was frightening. Unlike the other servants of the OverLord that Van had encountered, Blades’s attempt to remove his chains seemed like a fight against control, against the puppet strings that bound him. His ordinary smoothness had given way to jerky, graceless movements. He was a clumsy tool clutched in the cruel hand of the OverLord.
At last, Blades stilled, his chains still locked around his neck. His struggle against them had failed. Nevertheless, he spat the toothpick onto the mat, turned his white eyes back to Van, and crouched into a fighting stance.
Van raised his hands. He had nothing to say to Blades, but it seemed poor form to start a fight without some kind of exchange. “So you’re the next champion,” he said.
The Bad Man of Urdesta replied, his voice imbued with the OverLord’s throaty rumble, “For you, I’m the last champion.”
In the distance a bell rang, echoing around the massive, empty stone bowl. On the little raised square in the center of that bowl, Blades moved towards Van.
Chapter 9.
Blades came at Van in a series of rocking steps, shifting his bulk back and forth, rattling his chains. He locked Van in a grapple. Van could feel the crushing strength of Blades’s powerful hands. Van punched him in the gut. Once, twice. Blades didn’t flinch, gave no sign that he even felt the blows. He squeezed Van’s shoulders like he might crush them together and pop Van’s head off.
Van grabbed Blades under his massive arms and rolled back, pulling him off his feet. As Blades fell forward, Van rolled back onto the mat and kicked out with his legs, throwing Blades into the ropes behind him. Blades bounced and tumbled onto the mat. Van jumped up, ran across the ring, and kicked Blades in the jaw. Blades’s hair flew across his face, spit sprayed the mat. Van pulled his leg back and launched a second kick, but Blades, still kneeling, caught it with one hand and grabbed a handful of Van’s uniform with the other. He picked Van up and tossed him sideways between the ropes and out of the ring.
Van hit the ground hard. Dust blew up in his face and he coughed. He jumped up quickly, whirling to find his opponent. Blades had topped the ropes. He leapt at Van feet first, landing a dropkick on Van’s chest. Van sailed backwards and crashed into the empty ringside seats. Metal and broken wood jabbed into his ribs. He pulled a twisted chair frame from the wreckage and swung it at the closing Blades, smashing him in the side of his face. Blades snarled at Van for a brief moment, then he staggered and fell. Van ran at him hoping to boot him in the head, but Blades rolled towards him, and Van was forced to leap over the titan and crashed awkwardly into the outside of the bottom turnbuckle. A second later, he felt Blades seize the back of his head. Blades slammed Van’s face into the edge of the ring, tearing up the bridge of Van’s nose. Eyes watering, nose bloody, Van twisted and got an arm between himself and Blades. He climbed his feet up Blades’s legs and chest, then kicked back off, launching himself up into the ropes above them and tangling himself there. Blades howled and lunged up at Van, but Van untangled himself, flopped into the ring, and scrambled away.
Van bent over panting as he watched Blades calmly climb back into the ring, showing no signs of pain or fatigue. Blades stomped to his corner and again tried to take his chains off, as though the fight were just beginning once again. Van wiped blood off the bridge of his nose as he watched Blades repeat the ritual unchaining and fail again. Blades turned his white eyes again on Van. It was l
ike they were starting over, but Van’s hands were already covered in his own blood.
Blades came at him with that same rocking step. Van stepped forward and punched Blades directly in the mass of chains dangling from his neck. Pain shot through Van’s knuckles. He stumbled backwards, rubbing his throbbing hand. Blades advanced without flinching and shoved Van hard into the ropes. As Van bounced back, Blades clipped him with a nasty clothesline. Van crashed to the mat. Blades slammed a knee down on Van’s throat, nearly crushing his windpipe. Van gasped for breath as Blades jumped up and prepared to drop an elbow on Van’s face, but Van rolled away, narrowly avoiding the blow.
Pain wracked Van’s body. Blood dripped freely off his nose onto the mat. He didn’t need a jeering crowd to tell him he was losing the fight. Blades was relentless, unstoppable even before the OverLord had touched him and turned him into a soulless creature that seemed to feel no pain. Van would die here. Kyle would be lost. He grabbed a rope with one hand and started pulling himself up.
Blades was right behind him. He slid an arm up under Van’s and locked Van into a half nelson. He jabbed Van in the kidneys twice, pivoted, and reached down to grab Van’s leg with his other arm, preparing to throw him. But Van swung an elbow and got lucky, hammering Blades in the cheekbone and stunning him.
Van reached back blindly, feeling for a hold on Blades. His hand closed on the chains that hung from the titan’s neck, caught them just above Blades’s shoulder. Van yanked on them with all his strength. As Blades stumbled towards Van, Van drove a knee into his side. Blades didn’t even grunt, but he was off balance, and Van slid behind him. He gripped the chains from the back with both hands, and jerked them down towards the mat. Blades crashed onto his ass. Van stood over him, clutching the iron links.
Van stared down at the titan, clenched his teeth, and slowly twisted the chains tighter around Blades’s neck. As he turned the cluster of chains, switching from one hand to the other, they dug into Blades’s throat, and the Bad Man of Urdesta’s pale face began to purple. Blades clawed at the chains, gasping for air, as blood dripped from Van’s nose. Van tried not to look at Blades’s face, his own foul actions sickening him, leading them towards a foul ending. If there were a crowd, they would be horrified, booing and throwing beer at Van. But there wasn’t. Just Van and Billy Blades, and their audience of one—somewhere the OverLord was watching.
The OverLord’s voice swirled around the ring, “Release him!” Van shook his head, spraying blood left and right. He hadn’t started this fight, but he would end it.
Blades kicked at the mat, trying to fight to his feet. Van slammed him back down, his every muscle tense as he twisted the chains. Van saw Blades’s eyes change from ghostly white to a rich blue. Blades choked and gasped and finally spat out, “Do it. I’m no slave. Release me.”
“No!” howled the OverLord, from near or far Van couldn’t tell.
Blades clenched his jaw and nodded solemnly at Van. Van twisted the clump of chains again. They were so tight it took both his hands. And suddenly Billy Blades was gone. The iron chains hung loose in Van’s hands. Ash trickled through the links and fell at his feet. And the wind blew them away.
Van was alone again. There was no sign Blades had even been there except for the chains in Van’s hands and the ash stuck to the sweat on Van’s hands and arms. Van looked down at the metal bonds then flung them out of the ring. There was no applause from the empty arena, not that even the most bloodthirsty of crowds would have applauded murder. Blades deserved better. Was this on Van? Or the OverLord? Van brushed at the ashes on his arms, succeeding only in creating a black paste as they mingled with his sweat and blood.
Habit drove Van to look to his corner for his barrel. He shook his head when he realized it wasn’t there. He looked around and saw the trail leading through the lonely coliseum towards the exits, climbed down from the ring, and followed it back into the streets. By the time he’d passed through the city gate, now devoid of any flyers advertising his dark match with Blades, the wind had swept away his footprints from the dust, leaving no sign he’d ever passed through.
Once outside the city walls, Van stared down the long trail. Blades had been surrounded in that fight, as thoroughly as Van had been when he fought those bullies, or the gate guardians. And I murdered him. Had there ever been a chance to choose another path, other than the one that led Van to choke the life out of a titan whose real name he didn’t even know? The OverLord longed for the world to die. Van had just helped him on his mission by killing a fellow titan. Maybe they could etch that on a championship belt.
Van had a sudden, sharp longing for another of the Nether’s storms. Something giant and uncontrollable that would drive him to the ground where he no longer could pretend to fight. No more decisions, for a time. No more guilt. Just the hammering of the winds and thunder so loud he couldn’t hear himself think. Rain to wash the ash from his arms, wash him from himself, bury him until the new Titan Wars were nothing but a memory and a titan named Van the Beer Man was nothing more than an engraved line on a trophy rotting in a junkyard.
But the Nether had drawn him along a path that had yet to give Van anything he wanted. No beer, no Kyle, no rest. Nothing he wanted and certainly nothing he expected. Just more of the OverLord’s bitter truth, that Van was a joke to the world above, that he was dust and would return to dust. There were plenty more memories for the OverLord to force on him. Van might get to relive the day he moved to his shack in the mountains alone, the way he’d embarrassed Annie at her wedding, the way he’d built a life to hide him from himself. If Van stayed the course, stayed stuck in that cycle of memories, maybe he would long to sign up for the OverLord’s army and get fitted with an ugly black mask just to forget who he was.
Van looked down at his weary feet. Then, for the first time since his arrival in this hellhole, he stepped off the trail. He studied the distant, grey clouds, then picked a direction at random and started walking. Time to see what else this place had to offer.
Chapter 10.
Kyle Vair peered out from behind a stone archway, careful not to leave the shadows as she leaned forward. She licked her dry, cracked lips and brushed a stray blond hair back off her gaunt, pale cheeks with one hand. With her other hand, she clutched the shaft of a silver spear. Black ash coated its bladed tip. As she studied the room before her with restless eyes, she gave a distracted nod, though no one was around to see it. She knew she must be nearing a dark heart of this place. The Moorland Wolf blocked her path forward.
She’d seen the titan once before. Back then, his fur had been patchy and grey, his teeth blunt, his muscles limp and lean with age as he’d been slammed around the ring by the Hellhound in the Peakfall regionals. A different Moorland Wolf waited down here. Something had reversed the ravages of age and stirred his animal blood. The fur that lined his massive titan frame was thick and jet-black. His sharp teeth gleamed bright white to match his eyes.
The Moorland Wolf sat in the center of a large, circular chamber. Lit torches were spaced around the mossy stone walls, casting a flickering light everywhere except the dark opening just beyond the titan. Most chambers in the Nether had far too many exits to choose from. Or at least they had since Kyle had entered this part, which most resembled a hellish subterranean sewer. The room before her had only two. The one she stood in and the one past the Moorland Wolf. The Wolf lounged on the floor, looking at the archway where Kyle hid and petting the trio of black wolves resting across his thick legs.
“I can smell you, little spy,” the Wolf called out. “Flesh and feathers all. Come on out, bird lady. You’re making me hungry.”
Kyle held her position a moment longer. She didn’t like losing the element of surprise, but it wasn’t unexpected. Hiding hadn’t worked well in the Nether. Everything they sent at her seemed to know exactly where she was. Her side still ached from the titan Brickhands landing a punch that may have cracked a rib. And that was just the latest in this endless journey. She stepped out of the sh
adows.
The wolves on the ground leapt up immediately. They snarled, lowering their heads and raising their hackles. The nearest wolf gave a jealous glance to the others, then attacked. It raced towards Kyle, its claws scratching and clattering on the stone floor. She drew back her spear and cleanly skewered the beast through the back of its neck. The wolf let out a strangled howl. It turned to ash as it struggled to bite at the weapon that had pierced it.
The Moorland Wolf laughed. Without bothering to rise, he waved a hand. The other two wolves charged. Kyle stepped to the side to brace one before the other. She skewered it as the first, but then the other was on her. The wolf’s jaws snapped at her leg. She pulled it back and the gnashing teeth clashed a whisker’s length away. She spun her spear and used the butt end to force the wolf’s head to the side. Before it could recover, she completed the spin and slid the blade into its throat. She reset her feet and thrust the blade in deeper, using the wolf’s own forward press against it. The wolf snarled and snapped as it fought up the spear. Then the tip found its heart and it melted into a messy swirl of ash. Kyle stared down the shaft of the spear and wiped her mouth, then looked up as the Moorland Wolf laughed again.
He leaned forward and lazily planted his enormous hands on the ground. He groaned as he pushed himself up and rose before Kyle, stretching his coiled muscles. His shoulders hunched forward over arms that draped nearly to the ground. He had a wolf’s long and pointy ears and a thick, jutting brow over a flat muzzle. He was enormous, bigger even than Van, his fangs longer than one of Kyle’s fingers. She couldn’t help but take a step back. Tangling with a titan was never a good idea. The fight with Brickhands had nearly been the end of her and this looked to be even less fun.
The Piledriver of Fate (Titan Wars Book 2) Page 7
