by Brent Reilly
CHAPTER 33
Billy figured he did something right because Genghis chased him rather than topple the new Siamese government. He stood there, at noon, in the largest dueling arena in Vietnam, when a thousand dark shadow expertly fell on the stadium. Something screamed for Billy to run, so he did, leaving his four opponents bewildered. Rather than skyline himself, he zipped through the city’s buildings as if his life depended on it. He didn’t stop until nightfall, where he slept at a tiny fishing village.
Normally, he’d catch his own breakfast, but his fingers kept twitching, so he overpaid for the first fish caught that morning. He barely finished before he spotted a dot on the horizon.
“Too big for a scout, too small for a hunting party,” he told himself, sinking farther into the shade beneath the trees to finish packing. Fortunately he brought a big fish in case he needed to eat lunch in the air.
They say not even Mongols violate Indonesian Air Space, so Billy decided to see if that was true. He could not avoid being seen, so he flew south, to a land bridge called Malaysia. He was halfway through lunch when he saw three Indonesian battalions move to intercept Genghis. Having the world’s highest ceiling gave him a great view of the Great Khan turning tail.
This was perhaps the only time that Genghis Khan ever surprised him. Were the Indonesians that good? He heard they conquered a million islands centuries ago, and since then controlled a huge empty island called Australia. But, for some reason, they never invaded north, and the Siamese Empire never moved south.
Once Genghis disappeared over the horizon, another Indonesian battalion shadowed him. Billy assumed the worst and maximized speed. Other units rose to wait until he had to come down, so Billy abruptly left for open ocean to lose himself in the closest clouds. He felt the storm long before it grew angry, and felt lucky he found land in time.
Diving steeping, he found large boulders at the base of a cliff. He levitated them into a crude shelter that mostly protected him from the rain and wind. The tempest grew ugly and bellowed all night long. Billy slept hungry, using his helmet to catch rain to fill his water sacks.
Unlike the rest of the world, Indonesians did not learn Mongolian. The language was forbidden. They still married poor Mongol quads, but required them to learn Indonesian. Billy wanted to discover as much as he could about this mysterious kingdom, which meant he had to find an ex-Mongol. He knew they’d come looking for him, so he killed and cooked as many animals as possible before the winds calmed.
That evening he flew south until he saw a single cooking fire. He took a nap nearby, then snuck up on them in their sleep. Of the ten, he flew in and took the one who looked the most Mongolian. Billy lost them in the dark, even carrying a husky old man. Back at his cave made of boulders, Billy learned that Mongols were smuggling other Mongols to Australia, using ships to island-hop. Australia always attracted the odd, the adventurous, and the criminal, but his prisoner heard they put a system into place several years ago to transport thousands of rich quads. The Indos let them go, as long as they continued onto Australia, which was too huge for anyone to control.
“I had no idea I was scaring so many out of the war,” Billy told himself, not realizing how wrong he was.
Billy avoided patrols for another week before they forced him to leave. He spent the fall dueling in Burma, India, Persia, Arabia, Turkey, and the northern African coast before visiting England and Ireland to impregnate the mothers of his newborns again.
In London, George presented him with his first suit. “It’s ten times better than ordinary ones. The armor weighs less, although the new fire-resistant clothes are heavier and itchier. The boots protect your wands and feet better.” George pointed out all the features that strengthened the steel and minimized burn through. “We’re still refining the manufacturing process to mass produce them.”
Billy -- normally a distant boy -- hugged his uncle. “You’ve just saved my life. I’ll take what I can with me, but send more to Global Bank in Madrid.”
Two years before, Mongols controlled all of the Iberian peninsula except for what locals called Portugal. With the help of the American marathoners, the Spanish pushed them back to the eastern coastline. Once his new American and African divisions arrived for the spring campaign, Billy hoped to kick the enemy out of Spain. To make that easier, he planned to kill their best quads in the arena.
Even though Billy entered the Barcelona stadium under a nom de guerre, a lone girl cheered him by name. He called himself "Hideously Ugly" because an ugly mood helped him duel. So he turned to her screams and saw the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Long black hair, brown skin, and enough energy to rival the Sun. She appeared alone, confident, and totally out of place.
“Hideously Beautiful," she yelled in accented Mongolian, "kill these pretenders! Show them the real deal! Teach them who the true master is!" Then she’d lead cheers like "2, 4, 6, 8, I can't wait to pro-create."
Billy had never been in Spain before, or ever used this pseudonym, so being called out scared him. His first instinct was to run like hell, but fleeing made him feel silly.
Billy never stayed in a city after dueling, so he asked stadium management for teams of three. Unknown to Billy, the manager personally passed on Billy’s challenge to the local Mongol battalion, who sent for the Khan’s assassins.
Billy started at dawn and often finished by noon, but something told him this was gonna be a long day. It looked like an entire battalion of angry Mongols filled the stands, so he paced himself to maximize energy efficiency.
He loved the new suits and heat-resistant clothes. He only went through seven sets of armor -- his opponents usually destroyed twice as many. The new design dug into his hips, but that was a small price to pay for tolerating twice the heat. The stronger steel turned aside what would have been penetrations. Third degree burns became just one degree burns. George gave him extra faceplates, so he could just fly through weaker blasts, knowing he could replace any melted glass afterwards.
The American Indian girl cheered every victory, rejoiced in every wand he took, and flirted with him at every opportunity. He had fans before, but not fanatics, although the word for fan in Spanish is “fanatica.” She declared herself his biggest fan and sent him food, drink, and painkillers.
By late afternoon it all began to blur together, like he was sleep-dueling. Long distance flying often put him in a dream-like state -- it just never happened when fighting for his life. So it came as something of a surprise when he looked up after killing his last opponent and couldn’t find the sun. The packed stadium was on its feet roaring its approval, but he tuned them out long ago. The only voice he heard was that damn girl. From high in the stadium stands, she beamed down at him like the moon.
One thing was perfectly clear, though: he couldn’t have survived the day without George’s new suits and underclothes.
The stunned manager came out to close out the day. His final score? 1005 kills in 335 duels. The most ever. The compilation video would soon go viral worldwide. Even Billy couldn’t believe the total. The manager looked at him with awe. And fear.
Billy didn’t remember leaving the arena for his dressing room. He took a long hot bath and soaked up his wands. He felt strangely vulnerable after killing so many. Just when he chided himself for paranoia, he heard a huge explosion outside the stadium, followed by a massive barrage of blasts. Terrified, the world’s best dueler huddled naked in his cold tub, all alone, missing his mommy and daddy. He pointed a wand at himself to do another video diary. He started, as always, with the date and location, then summarized his day.
“This may be my last diary,” he confessed, not aware just how many times he had said this over the years. “I can feel the enemy waiting for me to leave.”
Years later people would discover their fearless hero was also a scared little boy.
Finally, he ran out of excuses and disguised himself as a peasant. He waited for a fami
ly to leave, then tagged along to blend in. It had always worked in the past. However, not ten paces into the busy street the girl dropped down on him with the flying skill of a master.
"Are you kidding me? Hideously Ugly?" she asked with a laugh upon seeing his boyish face. "You are gorgeous!"
“Go away! It’s not safe.”
She smiled. “Oh, the battalion commander assumed only the Red Baron would challenge three at a time all day, so he volunteered his troops and sent for the nearest super-quad company assigned to kill you. You finished his under-strength battalion by noon, but the mercenaries didn’t fare any better.
“The last team you dueled killed my parents several years ago, so you basically own me now. I’ll do anything to make you happy.
“How could you still lift a wand? I dug my fingernails deep enough into my arms to draw blood. I held my breath for so long I nearly asphyxiated. I screamed so loud my throat is still raw. You let them triangulate you. Then, when they charged, you simply fell on your back -- all six fireballs flew over you -- and blasted two brothers with your boot wands. That propelled you towards the third one who would have died of surprise if you had not speared him like a bull. I came so hard my panties are still soaked. I’ve never heard of that tactic, and I’ve dueled thousands of times. You killed the three best Mongol duelers in Europe in one heartbeat.”
“I don’t really remember.”
The beauty studied him carefully and began to grasp the depth of his exhaustion. “You dueled two super-quad companies. The third we bombed in an ally while they waited to ambush you. The rest of the battalion are probably flying here now.”
Billy popped a cork. “They sent a battalion of super-quads after me?”
“They followed you from Siam. You didn’t know Genghis Khan hired the world’s best mercenaries to kill you?”
“I have seven hundred of the world’s best quads hunting me?”
“Not anymore. My friends ambushed two companies this month. My twin brother has been dueling them in arenas in France.”
“I look forward to meeting your twin.”
“No you don’t. He’s not gonna like you being with me.”
“I’m with you?”
He wanted to flee, but she entered his personal space like she owned it and examined his face like a ruby. He had never met a woman so direct. She looked into his eyes as if he was an open book and she read him cover to cover, writing mental notes along the way.
"I never knew absolute horniness until I watched you duel teams of three, hour after hour. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. You danced by fireballs like a bullfighter. You beat some teams without even leaving the ground.” For the first time, he had no idea what to do as she took his head into her hands and smiled into his eyes. "Baron, your secret is safe with me."
"You mistake me for someone else."
"Oh no, my champion. I could spot your aura from a kilometer up. You have the most powerful energy I’ve ever seen, and I’ve spent my life around the world’s most powerful quads. Like you, I’ve been dueling since childhood, but I’m an even better healer. You favor your left leg, you can’t raise your right hand over your head, and your back hurts like hell. I can help you with that. Here, let me show you."
With that she backed him into the shadows and slowly kissed him until he attached himself to her face like a barnacle. Her tongue must be ninja-trained the way it snuck around his mouth. The way her nipples pressed against his thin shirt electrocuted his chest. He felt high, but instead of thinking clearer, his mind shut down. He felt her hands on his body, and the warmth she applied to his wounds, but mostly he hooked himself to her lips like a fish.
Billy just found his next addiction.
"I don't know about you," she finally said, smiling, "but I feel better." Probably three years older, she took his hand and walked through several streets until they reached a crowded restaurant where they could whisper in private over dinner. He remained in a daze, but still noticed that her eyes searched for threats.
"My name is Princess and my brother Prince. Our father wasn't even a chief, but the local shaman suggested the names because our parents were kings of the arena. They died when we were ten, so we’ve been killing their dueling champions ever since. I became a millennial before puberty.”
She rambled on until it dawned on him that she was doing it to make him comfortable. Still, he wouldn't even tell her his name. Or why he dueled. Or where his parents were.
"Come with me," she insisted. "You must meet the people I’m with."
"Only if I can keep a mask on. I’ll not answer questions or show my face. The Mongols will kill me if my image or identify become known."
And it’d be the death of him if the Mongols knew the Red Baron was just a kid.
