Chronoblood Chronicles - Prophecy of the Gladiator

by Jason Kurek

CHAPTER TWO

  The Book of Living Loss and Dead Triumph

  As the years passed, the darkness of the Veil had further crept into the borders of the Golden Empire. Yet the grave consequences of the lingering shadow of doom was ignored by most. They were too busy indulging themselves in mindless activities or petty skirmishes. This was especially the case of the wide-eyed fight fanatics that filled the Skul’haven Pits. Their only focus was on the chance to win gold and the guarantee to see blood. They mindlessly cheered for mayhem and maniacally shook the caged fences of the arena. Their echoing chants for carnage could be heard through the thick walls of the coliseum, straight into the vast backstage area where the gladiators waited for their upcoming matches. It was there that the young warrior Maxtix, spent his seventeenth birthday preparing for his first fight in the arena.

  Maxtix had been forged by the fires of the War Chest into a fighter that was as hard as steel. He was dressed in the purple pants of an experienced griff grappler; his body was also adorned with various scars and bruises, which he wore like badges of honor. His once fluffy hair was now braided to his head in tight cornrows, which revealed ears that had been twisted from years of combat.

  His trainer, Professor Darrogg, utilized this time backstage, to run Maxtix through a series of pre-fight drills. The griff used each of his four arms to hold wooden shields, which the young warrior swiftly struck with duel sparring swords. Darrogg kept moving in circles and called out combinations, “One, two, one, four! Two, three, two!”

  Beads of sweat dripped off of Max’s brown skin as he delivered the combinations with great proficiency. While Max warmed up, he occasionally peered over his shoulder at his opponent on the opposite side of the room. His foe was a large barbarian named Ulrich, who was nearly seven feet tall and had muscles the size of mountains. The brute was lightly dressed in only a belt and loincloth, and showed many signs of wear from combat. At one point a blade had severed the barbarian’s jaw from his face. Fortunately, somewhere along the line, he had made a deal with an alchemist who gave him a shiny new metal mandible. The same could be said for his left arm and glowing red right eye.

  Fighting a man who was part machine did not intimidate Maxtix; he just thought it meant the barbarian was too slow to dodge a sword in the first place. Other than appearance, Maxtix didn’t know much about his opponent, although he could tell that Ulrich was overconfident, because he wasn’t even warming up. He just sat quietly on the cold, concrete floor drinking mead.

  This annoyed the young fighter. His many amateur victories at the War Chest and rebellious teenage spirit fueled his fire. He cursed the barbarian under his breath, “Why do you just sit there drinking? Why don’t you say something? Cat’s got your tongue… and your jaw?

  Darrogg continued to call out combinations as Maxtix obsessed over his opponent, “I bet he’s as slow as he is ugly. Do you think the reason he doesn’t get up is because his butt has rusted shut?”

  The griff circled around Maxtix, “You better hope. One, two, three! One, three, one!”

  Maxtix’s blades pounded out the combination on Darrogg’s shields with experienced precision programmed by repetition. “You haven’t heard anything else from the other trainers about this guy?”

  Darrogg then lunged his shields at Maxtix, which forced the teen to dodge the blows. The griff simultaneously answered, “Like I said before, all I know is that he comes from the deserts of Cynneria and is apparently a beast on the battlefield. My guess is that he was sold into fighting, because of his debt on all that hardware. Although, Master Xuva feels the barbarian has the potential to bring in a lot of gold.”

  “Bring in gold?” Maxtix laughed, “How? By having so much sand up his skirt that he starts pooping pearls? Look at him just relaxing before this match! I’ll teach him to underestimate me.”

  Professor Backcracker threw a surprise kick along with the shield thrusts, which Max was able to quickly deflect. The griff snarled with a great fierceness, “I think you know how Master Xuva plans on making his gold! Now shut up, boy! Have you ever thought that the barbarian is trying to play head games with you? Focus!”

  “Focus you want. Focus you’ll get.” Maxtix said with a blaze in his eyes.

  The young gladiator envisioned the upcoming match, as Darrogg called out the next sets of combinations. Max swung his swords faster and faster, until the combat trainer couldn’t keep up. With a quick blow, one of the shields was dislodged from the griff’s bottom right arm and clashed loudly onto the stone floor.

  The loose shield then finally brought the attention that Maxtix wanted. Ulrich shouted across the arena in a foreign tongue, which only his trainer seemed to understand. Maxtix turned and faced the barbarian, “What’s that Ulrich? I can’t understand you. I don’t speak camel kisser.”

  Some of the other fighters who were also waiting for their fights laughed, which enraged the barbarian. Ulrich grabbed his trainer violently and shouted the same foreign phrase. His trainer, which was a thin, sleazy man, translated to Maxtix with a thick accent, “He says that you are better suited to fight dogs and if you hold a shield like your griff, then this should be a quick fight.”

  Max began to walk over towards Ulrich and his trainer, “Well, you tell that overgrown sand ape, that he won’t even be able to hold a shield, after I cut off his arms!”

  Ulrich swelled up, ready to fight, Darrogg shouted over to the barbarian’s trainer, “Tell him to save it for the arena. If they scrap before their match, Master Xuva will have both of their heads!”

  Darrogg then jumped in front of Maxtix and escorted him back to his preparation area. Ulrich released a shout of rage and threw his bottle of mead against the stone wall, sending a shower of glass and backwash onto the floor.

  “You are drawing too much attention to yourself, boy!” Darrogg said disapprovingly.

  Max smiled, “With what, my mouth or my speed?”

  The trainer picked up his lost shield, “Both.”

  Maxtix continued to lock eyes with the barbarian, “Oh come on, Master Darrogg. Only fools would bet against me. Those that have seen me train at the War Chest, already know that I am much faster than the other fighters.”

  The griff reached up with his top set of arms and grabbed the young warrior by his cauliflower ears, “Now you listen to me. Don’t you realize your value will be diminished as soon as these so called fools catch on and stop betting against you? You need to slow down. I know that you have it in you to move much faster, but don’t. For most people this is a fight, but for you it is a show. Remember that.”

  Maxtix half paid attention and rubbed out a drawing in the dust with his foot, “You know, if I wanted to, I could wait for you to blink and by time you opened your eyes again, I would be gone. The only thing that keeps me around here is your cooking.”

  Darrogg laughed at his student’s joke, with a smile full of cracked teeth, “Nah boy, you couldn’t handle real griff cooking. A punch to the face you can take, but a mouth full of griff spices would send you away crying. So it certainly isn’t my cooking that keeps you here. I know the truth. I know that you’d never leave your mum behind, but I don’t think that’s what keeps you here either--”

  Max interrupted, “Then what is it?”

  Darrogg sat next to him, “It’s the love of combat. I believe that you shall live by the sword and die by the sword. It is the reason of your existence and you will never leave it.”

  The teen shook his head, “You are wrong, Professor Darrogg. I am meant for much more than this.”

  The griff laughed, “Ha! That just shows your age. You are meant to fight for gold that will be spent by other men, nothing more, and nothing less. If you stay alive long enough, maybe one day you’ll end up a trainer like me.”

  Maxtix shivered at the thought, then took out a whetstone and began to sharpen one of the blades that he planned to use in the arena, “No offense, Professor Darrogg, but if I ever train someone, it won’t be a young slave from the Wa
r Chest. One day, I am going to take my mother and we’re gonna leave Skul’haven forever.”

  The troubled griff tugged on his beard and then sat on the floor next to Maxtix, “Aye son, I wish you and your mum could leave and never come back, but Master Xuva would not have it. He would most definitely kill your mum, before he’d ever let you leave.”

  Max knew that there was much truth to his trainer’s statement. Barnabas held him hostage, by using his mother as a bargaining chip. The teen just grimaced and continued to sharpen his blade to razor sharp perfection, “Why wouldn’t he let her be here tonight? Why couldn’t I have seen her earlier? You know it is my birthday. Nowadays, it is the only time that we are allowed to spend together. I will not wait another year to do so.”

  The trainer crossed his arms defensively, “Of course I know it is your birthday. You don’t think your first professional fight happening on your seventeenth birthday is a coincidence do you? Master Xuva wanted to make gold off of you as fast he could legally enter you into a death match. He has a lot of coins riding on you, he didn’t want any distractions.”

  Maxtix raised his eyebrows angrily, “Distractions? Barnabas has used my mother as fight nurse for over ten years. She would be a help down here, not a distraction.”

  The griff put his hand solemnly on Max’s shoulder, “Yes, but Master Xuva doesn’t want her around you. At least, not until your fight is over. He thinks that she makes you weak. We want you to carry your weapons into the arena, not these feelings about your mother. You must win this fight. Our bets are on you.”

  Max quietly continued to sharpen his blade, choosing not to respond to Professor Backcracker’s explanation. Then Darrogg pulled a small leather pouch from his bag of equipment, “Master Xuva wouldn’t allow this, but what he doesn’t know, won’t hurt me.”

  Max’s cauliflower ears perked to attention, “What are you talking about?”

  Darrogg scratched the bare scalp beneath his Mohawk and then gave the small pouch to his student, “It’s an old griff tradition to give a gift to a friend that may die in combat on his birthday. I would have no honor, if I didn’t give you this.”

  “What is it?” Max smiled.

  “Open it you fool,” the griff said with hidden excitement.

  Max untied the leather cord that bound the top of the pouch. He looked inside and found five golden coins. As a fight slave, Max had never owned even one coin before. Now he had five! It was the most incredible gift that he had ever received. He cleared his head from shock and smiled at his trainer, “Thank you! Thank you so much, Professor Darrogg!”

  The trainer quickly went back to his business demeanor, “Now put that away, before anyone else sees. Your match is drawing close. It is time to suit up.”

  Maxtix squeezed the bag of gold tightly in his hand, knowing full well that he was going to re-gift the coins to his mother. He then looked up, hoping that he didn’t draw unwanted attention and caught the glare of his red-eyed opponent. Instead of glaring back, he studied the barbarian’s fleshy stumps that were married to cold, mechanical forms. Suddenly, instead of hating Ulrich, he felt sorry for him. Worse of all, he felt that he was looking at himself one day. He imagined no longer having hands or feet of his own and shuttered at the thought of being trapped in a shell of his own device.

  Max shook the idea from his head and followed through with equipping himself for battle. He threw on a purple rash guard, which matched his pants. He then put on a bronze sleeve of armor, which covered the length of his right arm and placed an armored belt across his abdomen. Darrogg handed him a chest plate, “What are you doing? You’ll want this instead of the belt.”

  Maxtix shook his head, “I don’t want to be weighed down. My speed will be my armor.”

  Darrogg rolled his eyes and set down the chest plate; he knew that there was no sense arguing with the head strong youth. Just then, the service doors burst open and the winner of the last match entered the preparation quarters. It was the hair-lipped fighter from the War Chest. He was being carried by Ebarro, who although was also fighting later in the night, had been appointed the corner man for his colleague. The winning fighter coughed blood from a coagulated smile. He may have killed his opponent, but before dying, the loser of the match had shoved his blade deep under the hair-lipped warrior’s arm pit.

  Professor Darrogg joined Ebarro and hoisted the blood soaked winner to a metal table. A haughty group of men in fine robes approached the fallen warrior and used their authority to shoo the trainers away. They began to chant and drifted censers of incense over the injured fighter, as crimson pools began to collect under the table.

  Max ran over to the monks and cried, "What are you doing? You have to stop the bleeding!"

  “By the gods, Maxtix, will you ever fall in line?” Ebarro said, while feeling superior in his brown rash guard, “This is just the way.”

  “It’s the wrong way!” Maxtix turned with a snarl.

  The monks did not listen to the teenager and continued their incantations. Max watched the blood and the life run out of the hair-lipped fighter, until there was nothing left but a cold, dead winner. Max grabbed one of the monks by the back of the robe and slammed him against a wall. "You let him die! You have no right treating fighters!"

  Darrogg pulled Maxtix off of the frightened monk, "Get a hold of yourself, boy! It is your time to fight."

  Maxtix pushed off his trainer’s hands, "Where is my mother at? She’s the only real medic around here.”

  Ebarro’s scarred face snickered, “She’s just a hand nurse.”

  “She could have saved him!” Max spat.

  Professor Backcracker pointed a scolding finger, “Forget about him. He is dead. There is nothing that can be done now!”

  Maxtix growled, “By keeping my mother away, Master Xuva allowed one of your fighters to die!"

  Darrogg quickly handed Max two swords, "Clear your mind before you end up equally dead."

  Maxtix pointed his blades at the monks, "You better hope I die out there, because this isn't over."

  Darrogg Backcracker escorted his enraged student to the east entrance of the arena. Ulrich was taken by his trainer to the west. As Maxtix approached his gate, he could hear the chanting of the crowd, "Blood! Blood! Blood!"

  He looked to Darrogg, "I promise not to disappoint their request. Although, the blood may belong to Barnabas.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot!” The short corner man exclaimed as he quickly pulled out a small vile from his pocket. "You must drink this Solution of Sound. Master Xuva wants to be sure that the crowd can hear you and Ulrich insult one another.”

  Maxtix glowered, "Lies, we drink it because it makes it easier for the crowd to hear our final screams.”

  The Professor shook his head and handed Max the vile, “Well then just do me a favor. Please spare an old griff much trouble, by being mindful not to speak ill of your fight promoter while your voice is enchanted."

  Max smirked, “I am sorry Professor Darrogg, but if tonight I speak my last words, you'll all hear me curse both Ulrich and Barnabas!" He then chugged the potion and let out an earthshaking battle cry.

  The teen fighter looked outside into the arena, from the dark shadows of his entryway and gained a sudden appreciation for the orange sherbet hues of the eternal sunset, which shined through the roofless top of the Skul’haven Pits. He then lowered his gaze to the stands, which were filled with a multitude of fans that blended together like the brush strokes of an Impressionist painting. Their screams and shouts were less serene. The senseless bellowing crashed to the arena floor with the roar of a deafening waterfall. He wondered if his enchanted voice would carry over their chaotic cacophony.

  Max then put the crowd out of his mind and observed every angle of the battleground before him. The fight field was surrounded by a giant wall and cage that allowed no man to exit once the combat began. The young fighter was fine with this aspect, the cage was a place that he could freely unleash his inner beast. He growled
and looked across the blood soaked sand of the arena at Ulrich’s gate, where he could faintly see the glowing red eye of his opponent. Maxtix then gritted his teeth with eager anticipation to extinguish this glow. He yelled out again and banged his swords against his gate like a war drum, "Let's do this!"

  Just then, the gates raised open, seeming to almost obey Max’s command. The two gladiators raced from their entrances as the gates closed behind them. Maxtix covered more than twice the distance as Ulrich, before the two collided in a blur of battle.

  Darrogg yelled through the gates, "I said not to move so fast!"

  Maxtix had no intention on slowing down, he wanted to quickly make Ulrich eat his words; so he immediately cut the straps on the barbarian’s shield, which sent it sailing across the arena. The smiling young warrior relished the opportunity to taunt his opponent, "What were you saying about holding on to a shield? I think you should give up fighting all together. Maybe you’d be better suited to throw the discus."

  The crowd heard every word and laughed at the young warrior’s hijinks. This infuriated Ulrich; he cussed in a foreign language and swung an oversized sword that was mounted to his mechanical arm, but could not hit his nimble opponent. Maxtix laughed and continued to taunt the barbarian, but this time he used his swords instead of his words. Max slashed the warrior across the calf, thigh and bicep. He then swiftly sidestepped Ulrich’s advances, placing himself behind the barbarian. Max then promptly used the flat of his sword to insultingly smack Ulrich in the back of the head. The reverberation of Max’s sword sounded like a low humming bell. The teen laughed, “Yup, just as I thought, his head is completely hollow.”

  Ulrich belched another foreign curse and then slipped into a berserker rage. The brute turned around and again chopped furiously at Maxtix, but the young gladiator rhythmically dodged, ducked and evaded the blows without effort. After Ulrich missed over twenty consecutive swings, Maxtix taunted the bewildered and out of breath barbarian, with a short dance of the shoulders and hips.

  Most of the crowd began to scream with frustration, because they had bet against Maxtix, due to his youth and were beginning to realize that their gold was as good as gone. Back in the teen’s corner, Professor Darrogg could read the audience’s growing resentment. The trainer banged his four hands on the gate and yelled again to his student, “Slow it down! Pace yourself!” The griff griped under his breath, “Keep moving that fast and you’ll spook the gamblers.”

  As the griff focused on the fight, a voice rang from the shadows, "Would you rather he put on a compelling show and get killed in the process?"

  "Who..." Darrogg turned in annoyance, "Ah, of course, Clea. I should have guessed you'd turn up."

  "Tis my right to see my son on his birthday. That is the arrangement, is it not?" Clea said as she clenched the arena gate worried for her son in battle, "Although I pray to the Crimson Saint that I am not too late."

  "He'll be the victor and then you shall see him, but until then, do not distract him," Professor Backcracker commanded.

  She didn’t move, so Darrogg tried to reason with her, “Listen, there will be plenty of time to see your son after the fight. Go to the War Chest and meet us there when we return. I promise you--“

  The saddened mother didn’t believe the griff and turned away before he could finish, but Darrogg grabbed her arm gently to capture her attention, “Clea, I care for the boy too. He wants to see you and I will personally make sure that it happens. Now I need to focus on this fight. We will see you at the War Chest, but don’t let Master Xuva catch you here or he won’t allow it to happen.”

  Clea bowed with appreciation, but expected the worst, “Thank you, Professor Darrogg… yet, what if he requires medical attention?”

  The trainer waved her away and turned back to the fight, “We have the monks here. They’ll handle it.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek, “The monks?”

  Darrogg began to lose his patience, “Yes! The monks! Now go!”

  “Yes, my Lord,” the nurse nervously bowed again. She was terrified that the griff would renege on his promise. She took one last look with tearful eyes at her son and then left the arena.

  Back in the fight field, Maxtix never noticed his mother's arrival nor departure. He was too riveted on dismantling Ulrich. Max systematically slowed the barbarian by stabbing one of his feet. He then popped up and purposely missed a close, upward blow, to lure Ulrich into a trap. The berserker bit the bait and tried to capitalize on Max’s ‘mistake’ by furiously stabbing at the young warrior. It was all a part of Max’s game plan. He quickly crouched under the thrusting attack and as soon as the sword stretched over his head, the young warrior extended his legs and sprung backwards into the air. He did a full backflip and on his way up, he kicked Ulrich in his metallic jaw, forcing the barbarian's head to snap back violently. Max then landed like a cat, with a cool smile on his face.

  By this point, no one could doubt Maxtix’s fine technical skills. Professor Darrogg excitedly pressed his face through the grates of the gate and coached with great passion, “There you go Maxtix! Keep it up till the metal moron is gasping for his last breath!”

  The barbarian felt humiliated by being bested by a fighter that he considered a child. When Maxtix charged forward, Ulrich's red eye locked on to the teen. The brute grinned a metallic smile of ensuing satisfaction, as he pointed his arm-mounted blade directly at his target. When Maxtix was about a yard away, Ulrich let out a shout and pulled a pin from his forearm, which fired the massive sword from his arm like a bolt from a crossbow.

  Not many fights to the death are fought fair, but this attack from Ulrich was so illegal and unexpected that it caught Maxtix completely by surprise. Dodging a shot from point blank range didn't leave much room for time or error. The rocketing blade was getting closer and closer to the young warrior’s head. The shock of impending death filled Max’s veins with adrenaline like tightly packed dynamite, which caused him to explode into speeds unfamiliar to Terrynmen. In a silent blur, Maxtix rapidly dipped backwards to dodge the propelled sword, which narrowly cruised over his right shoulder. The sharp edge grazed his armored sleeve and created a shower of sparks. To most of the crowd it must have appeared as an unnoticeable flash, but to Maxtix the sparks slowly strolled through the air like fireflies. The momentum from the teen’s initial charge still carried him forward as he leaned backwards. He used this motion to his advantage, by dropping to the ground and sliding on his back, feet first, towards Ulrich. Then, when the barbarian was in range, he lifted up his leg with lightning fast force and kicked Ulrich square in the groin.

  Max then slipped out of hyper speed and back into the natural world. At that moment, sound returned to his ears, informing him that the Ulrich’s blade had punctured the opposite side of the arena with an echoing thud. He then heard the crowd explode into a cheer of amazement; even Maxtix was astounded by how close he had come to being skewered. The barbarian on the other hand had yet to recover from the kick to the groin and let out a groan of nauseated agony. The young warrior chuckled somewhat immaturely, “We’ll it looks like those weren't made out of metal, were they tin man?"

  The crowd roared with laughter and excitement, but the trained ear could hear Professor Backcracker going crazy behind the gate; he was still fixated on Ulrich’s illegal attack. The griff angrily yelled, "There’re no projectiles allowed in a death match! If that's how they want to play, the next time we're gonna bring a cannon!"

  Ulrich had dropped to one knee and gagged in pain. Maxtix circled his downed opponent, "I admit that kicking you in the oysters was a dirty move, but you did shoot your sword at me. What were you thinking? You wagered your only weapon for the chance of catching me off guard. Bad bets like that will cost you an arm and a leg. Although, you know a lot about that, don't ya, Lefty?"

  The broken barbarian stumbled to get up to attack Maxtix, with a bare hand and empty stump. He pathetically reached for the young warrior, but could not keep up with the t
een’s speed. At this point Maxtix had begun to feel sorry for the pathetic, defenseless fighter in front of him. He then looked through the cage at the sea of shouting fans, towards an area reserved for high rollers and high officials. There he picked out the face of the observing Master Xuva. He locked eyes with the fight promoter and smiled. Barnabas smiled back expecting his prized possession to decapitate the barbarian.

  The young fighter then stunned everyone when he dropped both of his swords and shouted to the packed crowd, "Your barbarian is quite literally unarmed. Don't let it be said, that Maxtix doesn't believe in a fair fight."

  Barnabas stood up and spit out his fine ale, “What?” Although no one could hear the fight promoter’s surprise over their own gasps. After their initial shock, the crowd cheered with a confused enthusiasm.

  Back at the gate, Professor Backcracker was yelling until he was red in the face, "What are you doing? Pick up your swords!"

  The young warrior ignored Darrogg's coaching. He blocked out the crowd; he forgot about Barnabas. To Maxtix, at that moment, it was just about him and Ulrich. The teen got into his fight stance by raising his arms with the grace of a praying mantis. The barbarian charged like an angry bull. Max jumped into the air, mounted his left hand on Ulrich's left shoulder and swung around the barbarian, like a gymnast on a pummel horse.

  Maxtix again had Ulrich's back. This time, he wrapped his legs around his opponent for good traction and then quickly attacked with a rear naked choke. Max placed his arm deep under the barbarian's cold, metal jaw and squeezed his bicep under the brute’s throat. Ulrich tried to pull off the teen’s arm, but with only one hand it wasn't much use. The young grappler could hear the brute struggle to breathe, as the choke pressed Ulrich's tongue against his throat, blocking all air intake. Yet it wasn't going to be lack of air that was going to finish the gladiator, it was lack of blood to the brain.

  Max spoke in decisive finality to the tiring barbarian, "I can tell by the lack of cauliflower on your ears that you have no idea what is happening. It is called the Griff Grappling System. It’s designed so a smaller fighter like me, can out wrestle a big waste bag like you."

  Ulrich thrashed around like an alligator in a death roll. Eventually he slammed backwards on the ground, in an attempt to use the impact to throw off Maxtix, but that is exactly where the young grappler wanted him. Maxtix gritted his teeth as he squeezed as hard as he could, "You see, no matter how big you are, on the ground we are the same size. You've fell into my trap. The ground is my ocean and I am the shark. Remember that as you drown in my choke."

  The barbarian continued to struggle, but in a few seconds his brain began to completely shut down. Ulrich’s limbs laid limp and all consciousness drifted away. Max smiled, “Good night, princess.”

  The fight was finally over. Max let go of the sleeping giant and stood up victorious. The crowd cheered for the young hero and Maxtix basked in the glory of his victory. He was proud that he beat the barbarian, without having to kill him. For a few brief seconds, the gladiator-slave disregarded the path that was forced upon him by Master Xuva and celebrated the win as his own. Yet, much to Max’s chagrin, the audience ripped him from his moment of greatness with their blood thirsty chants, "Finish him! Finish him!"

  Maxtix tried to turn away from their request, but then faced the other side of the Pit's audience, which carried on the chant, "Finish him! Finish him!"

  The teen fighter looked to Darrogg, but the trainer offered no retreat. He then looked at his disabled opponent that still laid helplessly in the sand. Most importantly, he looked to himself and wondered if he could be strong enough to do the right thing.

  Just then a spotlight shined into the crowd where Barnabas sat. As the event promoter, Barnabas had the authority to address the fighters after their matches. He swallowed a Solution of Sound and shot his sarcasm at the young warrior, "Bravo, bravo, Maxtix. You have choked a man unconscious… in a death match.”

  Maxtix made no effort to pick up his swords. He just defended his position with his teenage stubbornness, “The rules state that I can win the match by simply incapacitating my opponent. He lays motionless, the win is mine.”

  Barnabas’ spiteful grin extended from ear to ear, “Yes, I understand the rules are in your favor; that is one way to win. Yet, I ask you and everyone here in the Pits, where's the fun in that?"

  The smarmy fight promoter whipped the crowd into a drooling frenzy. They were like dogs awaiting table scraps. Barnabas then sat back down and dismissed Maxtix with pompous delight, "Be a good boy and behead the barbarian."

  All the arena laughed and cheered, but Maxtix stood his ground, "No. If you want his head, then take it yourself."

  Behind the scenes, Darrogg shielded his face with his four hands, "Oh, it's all over now."

  Barnabas leaned forward with great interest in this challenge, but responded with only a threat, "Perhaps I might and then I’ll take yours as well."

  Maxtix pointed at Barnabas brazenly, "I have seen enough death back stage! A good man died back there just minutes ago. He could have survived, but you kept the proper medical treatment away from him! You have enough blood on your hands. I will spill no more for you."

  "It is not what you or I want, boy," Barnabas said with a cool composure. "It is what the fans want and they crave more blood!"

  The crowd began to crassly chant without control, "Blood! Blood! Blood!"

  Maxtix looked down as if he was about to waiver on his stance. He walked over to Ulrich and then gazed at the pathetic heap of muscle and metal. The barbarian was beginning to come to. Max waited for Ulrich to plant his hand to the ground in an attempt to get up. He then swept the posted hand away with his foot and caused the barbarian to crash his head back into unconsciousness. The frustrated teen thought to himself, ‘Stay down you fool, I am trying to save your life.’

  Max then placed his foot on the barbarian, in a triumphant stature and addressed the audience, "I offer you all something better than blood!"

  Barnabas chuckled amongst his cohorts, "Really? What would that be?"

  Maxtix pandered to the crowd, "If you allow this man to live, I offer you a mystery."

  "A mystery?" Barnabas asked with more intrigue than cynicism, "How so?"

  "I should know the mystery this man offers better than anyone!" Maxtix continued, "Were you not surprised by the sword that he shot from his hand? Did it not entertain you to see his flying blade almost split me in half?"

  The crowd began to whisper amongst themselves in a murmur of self-questioning. Maxtix then built upon his hypothesis, "What more surprises does this man have to offer? What else can he fire from his stump? Knives? Arrows?"

  The crowd cheered and the young warrior continued to excite them, "Would you pay to find out if Ulrich can fire laser beams from his eye?"

  They yelled unanimously in approval and Maxtix surfed their wave of enthusiasm, "Would you pay to witness this ‘man of mystery’ shoot spears from his nose?”

  "Yes!" the audience proclaimed with ecstatic smiles.

  All eyes were on Maxtix as he reeled them in with one final jest. He looked at Ulrich and loudly asked the unconscious fighter, “What other mysteries do you offer, barbarian?”

  Max then grabbed Ulrich by his long greasy hair and lifted his head off the ground. He then crouched down and grabbed the barbarian’s iron mandible. In a lackluster attempt at ventriloquism, Max moved Ulrich's jaw like a puppeteer and spoke in a silly voice for his downed opponent, "Would you pay to see me shoot poisonous gas out of my butt?”

  The once bloodthirsty audience, laughed at the comedic performance and celebrated in agreement, "Yes!"

  Max then turned to the crowd and somberly spoke in all seriousness, “Then I beg of you, let him live.”

  The chant started off small from the back of the arena; it then made its way forward, row by row, growing larger like a snowball rolling down a hill. Finally, by time the chant echoed off the arena cage, it seemed as if everyone in Skul'
haven was chanting, "Let him live! Let him live!"

  A smile covered Maxtix's face. He set the barbarian’s head back in the dust, pumped his fists in the air and chanted with the crowd, “Let him live! Let him live!"

  Max then looked to Barnabas who was hiding his irritation with a grin. The fight promoter saw that the crowd was happy and who was he to ruin the coin dropping state of their elation. He nodded to Maxtix for dismissal. The teen warrior proudly walked away, knowing he had won twice during the same match.

  The crowd continued the chant as Ulrich's trainer came to attend to him. Max gathered his swords and exited through the gate. The teen patted Darrogg on his tattooed scalp, knowing the trainer would not approve of a hug. The griff threw his four hands in the air in disbelief, "What in the Veil was that?"

  The teen placed his swords in their sheaths and drank a Solution of Silence, which canceled out the augmentation of his voice. He then turned to his trainer and answered, “More than anything, I knew that swaying the crowd against Barnabas would prove more satisfying and challenging than killing an unarmed man. Perhaps it was vengeance through mercy."

  Darrogg pulled at his beard, “Whatever it was, I know I am going to hear about this from Master Xuva.”

  “My apologies, Professor Darrogg,” the teen said with all sincerity.

  “Bah,” the trainer fingered his mustache, “You won your fight and brought gold to Barnabas’ fat pockets. That’s all that really matters.”

  Maxtix smiled, but it wasn’t returned. Instead Professor Darrogg looked to his student with solemn eyes, “I’m not worried about today; I am worried about your future. You’ve grown up in a cold and hateful world, but somehow you’ve managed to keep your heart warm with kindness. Your heart is a light in this dark land. I just hope that others find it as a beacon and not as something they’ll wish to extinguish.”

  Just then a shadow entered the hallway by the gate. It overheard and interrupted the conversation. It was Ebarro. He had a snide expression on his face, “Come Professor Backcracker, there are three matches until I do battle. Let us prepare, I plan on defending my title… More importantly, I plan on winning with a kill!”

  Maxtix shook his head at Ebarro’s compulsion for murder, but Darrogg knew this was just the way of the so called sport. Darrogg headed away from the gate, “May victory fall upon you, Ebarro. Master Xuva has bet a lot of gold that you’ll retain your title.”

  Ebarro flexed and beat his chest with testosterone fueled pride, “That is a bet well placed!”

  The griff didn’t want to torment Maxtix with further interactions with the Skul’haven Champion, so he turned to the teen and kindly said, “I have to help Ebarro warm up. I won’t be requiring your assistance. Head back to the preparation area and do a post-fight check on your gear.”

  Max just nodded and walked down the hall, “I am too busy to help Ebarro anyways. I have some business to settle with a few monks.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞