Blackjack Villain

by Ben Bequer

  “Him and me,” I told the captain, hoping she would understand and welcome the fight.

  Laughter broke through the contingent, a strange combination of wheezes, whistles, and guffaws.

  “You’re afraid I’m going to hurt your boy?” I taunted, hoping someone would understand my language, but none did, and the merriment continued at my expense. Stepping closer, I came right up to the captain and pointed at the big fellow again, then at myself. Then I smashed two fists together.

  “I fight him,” I said. “I win, you let me go.”

  There was no emotion from the green thing, just more of the eye stalks concentrating on me.

  The captain smiled and cocked one eyebrow, revealing a playful streak. She spoke in a strange and melodic tongue, somewhat reminiscent of the French language in how elegant and fluid it was. But it wasn’t a tongue I had ever heard before, and I couldn’t understand anything she said. The crew laughed as she finished, then, explaining to me with physical gestures as one would a small child it seemed as she agreed, but she pointed at the big green bastard and shook her head, instead stepping aside to reveal the meanest sonofabitch I have ever seen in my life.

  The Captain’s champion was a creature of death, its face stricken in a rictus grimace of partially denuded bone, lacking lips to cover his toothy maw, appearing like an angered skull with a trio of emerald eyes that burned with rage. While not as imposing as the warrior I had chosen, this fellow was almost as tall as I was, with a mane of stringy black hair pouring out the back of his head, and streaming down like a cloak behind him. His armor was more medieval than futuristic, unpolished and damaged from countless wars, with shoulder spikes that jutted forth, embedded with the rotting skulls of several fallen enemies. His brawny right arm wielded a two-handed mace, carved from heavy bone and adorned with bits of dried blood and flesh. The handle was wrapped skin, and a ten inch spike projected from the working end. His other arm was vestigial; half the size of his muscled right, but wielded an armored claw that was almost camouflaged by his chest armor, held back deceptively, as if inviting me to attack from that direction. But it was his mouth that was most disturbing, perma-drooling a brownish pasty mass, like a mixture of peanut butter and crackers, all over his beard, chin and chest. The congealed goo spittled as the creature attempted to talk in a hissing gruel, more like two rocks crushed against each other than a form of conversation. He had a go and stop gait, with an odd neck bob, where his upper body was still every half step, while his feet rushed to catch up.

  “This the guy I have to beat?” I asked the Captain and she smiled, replying with what I figured was an affirmative.

  They were an odd couple, the tall, elegant alien that led them, standing beside the armored warrior, savage and feral. She was confident, and why shouldn’t she be? Her champion was a juggernaut, built low and strong, a veteran of countless battles, and undoubtedly undefeated in single-man combat.

  The Captain said something the others found hilarious, and it goaded them to start their terrible death chant again, inciting their warrior and trying to intimidate me. But my attention was steeled on the three hundred pound monster that ambled closer to me.

  And not that I believed his old-man shuffle walk for one damned second. It was a lie, more trickery from a foe I wasn’t about to underestimate. I stepped forward, and the crew circled around, forming an arena for our coming combat.

  I had not used my strength in over a year, kept mostly in shackles under power dampeners, and now I had to fight for my life, weaponless, against a foe as experienced as any I had fought before.

  He scampered closer, working the crowd and reveling in their adulation. To his companions, this fight was a foregone conclusion. A smallish imp-like female wound amongst the throng carrying an open wooden case wherein the soldiers would throw stone coins and receive a wooden chit to quantify their bet. I doubt many put money on me. The imp came into the impromptu arena, moving with a graceful gate that she made every effort to accentuate her shapely figure, to the cheers and roars of all those gathered. For the moment, their warrior and I were of no concern. The beauty had us all enraptured and she knew it.

  She strolled to the no man’s land between the combatants and begun a speech in a language as strange as any I had ever heard. Her voice was as seductive as her pose and demeanor, and she worked the crowd up to a roar as she walked up to my opponent and raised his good arm in victory. They began the death chant once more, the rhythmic staccato of weapons banging on armor and clashing on shields thrumming all around me.

  The imp crossed the distance between us and paused just a few feet away, letting me catch a good look for the first time. She was like the biblical succubus, a mixture of demon and woman, dressed in tight leather trousers and high boots that belied a flawless figure, and a flowing white blouse tied across her chest, revealing her slim midriff yet doing little to conceal her small, firm breasts. She had a golden sash around her waist from which a long curved scimitar hung in an embroidered leather scabbard adorned with silver etchings. Silver was her decoration of choice, with several rings and earrings, bracers and an impressive torque that hung from her neck. Despite her allure, she was a petite little thing, with short black hair slicked back away from her lovely face. She was like a porcelain doll, to be held and admired, but delicate to the touch, but her facial features were sharp and elf-like. Indeed the upper lobes of her ears were elongated towards a pointed tip. She was a thing of beauty, as lovely as any woman I have ever laid eyes on, but she was a demon, nonetheless, with reddish black skin, devious red glowing eyes that were devoid of an iris, and sharp, pointed teeth, more like fangs than anything, layered behind her full, luscious lips.

  She sauntered towards me, like a model strutting the catwalk in a Milan fashion show, but something about my demeanor and posture checked her, making her come to an abrupt stop. The imp did well to conceal her last minute nerves, cocking her hips to one side and crossing her arms across her chest, maximizing her cleavage.

  She said something that made the host break into laughter. I softened my stance placing my fists at my hips. That made her smile and come closer, placing her clawed hand on my chest and circling around me, a long nail trailing across my upper body. She paused behind me, pressing herself against my body and sniffing the back of my neck. I have to admit she felt pretty wonderful with her upper body squeezed tight against the small of my back. She staggered away, pretending to be overcome with her desire for me. The crew ate it up, engulfing us with laughter, and she turned to the captain clutching her breasts and groin as if unable to contain herself.

  Whatever she told the captain sent the crowd into stitches, and even my opponent was barely able to stand, doubled over in laughter. The captain’s reply, hardly audible over the ruckus, kept them going, and the imp just shrugged, doing a bad job of concealing her smile, and patted my face, strolling back to her companions, drawing hoots and whistles from them all.

  Then it was back to me and ugly, and with a simple nod from the captain, the warrior rushed forward.

  I charged to meet him, proud and angry, eager to tear into something after months of inactivity, after being on the shelf while the world spun past me. I roared like a maddened lion, hunching low to try to avoid the incoming blow, to get through the warrior’s defenses and get my hands on him. Show him who was boss.

  But he was fast, faster than he seemed, and he swung that bone hammer back before I could cross the distance between us. I flinched, raising my left shoulder, and catching the mace head square in the deltoid, with a thunk that sent a jolt of pain shooting through my upper body, a blow that had enough force to stop my forward momentum, and send me reeling laterally into the dirt. The warrior didn’t relent, jumping into the air for a finishing move that would crush my skull. I had no time to shake the blow off, moving aside to avoid getting pulped and rolling back to my feet. My opponent’s blow struck the ground with such force that it cratered the ground showering me with shards of small rocks and p
ebbles. The blade, though, was firmly stuck to the ground, so I didn’t hesitate, charging from his left side and readying a haymaker that would stop the fight in one blow.

  He was ready for it, though, and showed his deceptive streak when his vestigial left hand fired out, smacking me in the face despite a flinching move to protect myself. His left arm was thin and tentacular, coiled and hidden, but powerful just the same. The weapon was a sharp-looking bladed glove-scythe, and it left a bleeding gash across my chin. The tentacle was long and circled around me, moving behind before slashing again and stitching me across the chest and drawing blood again. The two cuts were slight, as my skin is tougher than most, but he had drawn first blood, and intended to finish the victor. He strained and finally ripped the mace from the floor, pointing it at me with what must have passed for a menacing grin. The mace’s long blade was mangled and twisted, but swung it across at me. I ducked, but he spun and swung again, driving me back. He was keeping his bladed glove behind me, and the mace in front, taunting me with both as he relished the crowd. They sensed the kill coming soon, and I knew he would have a special maneuver ready to give them their money’s worth. I looked over at the Captain, but she just conversed casually with a fellow that looked rather human. The sexy imp was refusing any more bets, as if there was no money to be had on me, and no money to be won on the obvious winner.

  My opponent gave me a second respite, while the rabble’s mayhem egged him on, but after that brief moment, he crouched again, and prepared for the inevitable. His tentacle was held high behind me, more a lure for my attention than anything. The blades could slice my skin open, but they couldn’t kill me. For that he had the hammer, and I expected a double attack at any moment. The only way for me to survive, was to outsmart him, and use his own efforts against him.

  Then he struck with the tentacle, as I had expected. It was a vicious downward stab right at my midsection, the intent of which was clearly to herd me to his right, toward a mighty cross slash with his mace that was sure to kill me. Instead of avoiding the tentacle’s slash, though, I stepped into it, catching the heavy gloved arm, and getting a nice cut on my left upper thigh as a reward. But I had little time to even register the pain, exerting all my strength on his weaker arm, and using it to block his attack.

  His blow as devastating, and it felt like holding a punching bag for Bruce Lee on a full flying kick, and his own arm was the punching bag. I stumbled back, almost losing my footing, and fell to one knee, ready to strike. The warrior howled in pain, retracting the smashed tentacle, still holding the crumpled remains of the bladed fist. His limb was devastated, now just a rended pulp of flesh and black gooey blood, and he shuffled back defensively, cradling his injured limb.

  But it was my turn, tit for tat, as it were, and I rushed forward for the kill. To his credit, he swung the mace about, but it was a haphazard, desperate maneuver and I batted it aside on my way to him. The warrior’s eyes were wide as I grabbed the shoulder straps of his armor, and slammed my skull into his hideous face. The explosion of blood almost blinded me, as the black liquid sprayed onto my face and chest, but I wasn’t done. I picked up his dazed form by his neck, at first with both arms, but then hefting his entire frame with just my left hand, and I reared back my right for a blow that would end him.

  “Et’rethagg!” the captain shouted, stepping forward and drawing her blade. I almost hit the guy anyway, despite his being semi-conscious, clawing at my wrist with his undamaged hand, but I caught myself and dropped the warrior.

  He collapsed to his knees, still holding his damaged tentacle arm.

  The crowd was, for the first time, completely silent, though a few of the tougher fellows drew swords or pistols.

  My defeated foe gawked at me in awe, disbelieving that an unarmed guy, wearing half an orange prison jumper had beaten him so thoroughly.

  “You’re alright,” I said, braving a smile. “So who’s next?” I taunted. I was tired, and a bit bloody, but starting to get my second wind, and if I had to take the whole host, if I had to fight all twenty or so that had come on the longboat, I was going to give them the fight of their lives, and I was going to take the vast majority with me.

  “No reason to be scared,” I continued, taking a few brave steps toward them. “I’m Blackjack, and I got all the time in the world.”

  I expected that to incite them, to enrage a few so I could swing away, hit these bastards with my full strength, and send a few flying off the narrow island to their certain deaths, but instead they were confused, stupefied and filled with dread.

  The captain lowered her sword, “Brackshock?” she asked, and I saw terror in the back of her throat, noticed her take a half step back.

  “That’s right angel,” I told her. “I’m Blackjack. Brackshock,” I added, pounding a fist on my chest.

  I was expecting them to run off and board the long boat, to rush their ship and bombard me at range with the heavy guns she sported on either side. Conversely, they could charge me, try to overwhelm me and hope for a lucky shot. But instead, they did the last thing I expected. They roared in adulation, sheathing their weapons and surrounding me as if I had hit a walk-off game-winning homerun and the team welcomed me at home plate. I expected it to be an attack; maybe a deceitful strategy to get me to lower my defenses, but the conglomerate of disparate species mobbed me, saluting me and clambering over each other just to get to touch me. Even the warrior I had defeated came up to me and placed his massive, clawed hand on my shoulder in salute, though what he said I couldn’t understand, nor barely hear over the clamor of his companions. The imp girl wound through the crowd and jumped into my arms kissing me deeply, and drawing the laughter of everyone, with whatever it is she said.

  Finally, the crew parted aside for the captain to approach. She ambled up to me, motioning for the imp to leave my side, and then waved another of the crew closer. This was the fellow she had spoken to earlier, who from a distance looked mostly human, but up close, it was clear he was nothing of the sort. His head was much taller, oblong with an oversized forehead. His eyes were white, lacking an iris, and he had no ears, beneath his long white hair. What at first seemed like chin whiskers jutted from his jaw line, but they were actually some sort of feelers or whiskers that he would use to help food into his mouth, which wasn’t where it should normally be, in front of his face, but instead under his jaw, just beside where the Adam’s apple normally would go. His hands were also strange, ending in rows of barbels that made it almost impossible for him to grasp anything. Instead, he carried a clear rounded crystal that he held out to me.

  He mumbled a meeping noise that came under his chin, and the only word I could recognize was ‘Brackshock,’ the same old Shard World bastardization of my super name. I expected the crystal to light up or something, but it did nothing, and after a few seconds, the newcomer just pocketed it and motioned to me saying my name again, as if verifying it once and for all.

  The captain smiled, rushed the space between us and grasped my shoulders with deceptive strength.

  “Brackshock!” she shouted, joined by the others in applause and blandishment. The captain took one of my arms and raised it high in victory, yelling my name again.

  And that’s how I joined a space pirate crew.

  Selected Artwork from Blackjack Villain

  Table of Contents

  Praise for Blackjack Villain

  Blackjack Villain

  Unknown Text

  Blackjack Villain, Copyright © 2012 by Ben Bequer

  Unknown Text

  Part One

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Part Two

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Part Three

  Chapter 13

  Chapte
r 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Part Four

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Part Five

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Author’s Notes

  Cast of Characters

  excerpt from: Blackjack Wayward

  Selected Artwork from Blackjack Villain