Niko didn’t hit him with his full power.
Aleksy staggered back. He let out a happy yelp. “Niko, that was your Second Study, man! You dodged my punch. You got your Mars Belt back. You did it.”
Niko found himself hugging his older brother.
Pete and Bonnie clapped. As did the balcony of partygoers.
The applause was sweet.
Aleksy shoved him back. “Don’t go getting mushy on me, Nikodemus Kowalczyk.” On his face was a kind smile.
“Don’t worry.” Niko let his head fall back. “I have a chance, a real chance, next Saturday night.”
Bonnie walked over and held out a hand. A ring circled every finger. “Congratulations. Pete said you were gonna be big. If that’s what you want, I wish you luck. You’ll need it.”
Niko shook the hand, though he wasn’t sure how to take what she said. Those green eyes were amused.
Pete drew her away. “Come on, Bonnie. Time and tide wait for no man. It’s Sunday night. We have church to attend to.”
Niko had no idea what that meant. Whatever Pete might be worshipping, it probably wasn’t very good for his soul.
Bonnie waved. The two disappeared around a corner.
That too was odd. But Pete lived in oddity.
“Don’t go anywhere. I want to talk to you about something.” Aleksy went into the house. He came back with two beers, Coronas, each with a lime slice in its neck.
Niko didn’t need the calories or the alcohol. He was curious, however.
Niko sat with his brother against the wall. More memories, only back in the day, it hadn’t been beer but Cokes. Niko vowed to only drink half of his Corona.
“What is it?” Niko asked.
Aleksy sipped from his beer and swallowed. “Look, no matter what happens next Saturday night, the real game is fans. I’ve been spending time in the Artistry department at SoulFire. They look at numbers, and that’s about it. Your technique might be perfect, but if you don’t have a following, your chances of signing go way down.”
Brotherly advice, coming from Aleksy—it wasn’t going to end well. Niko decided to agree with him. “Right. Fans. If my technique is flawless, I’ll win battles. If I win battles, I’ll get fans. And with fans, I’ll get representation, which means a contract.”
“That sounds good. It’s what we all grew up believing.” Aleksy paused. “It’s just not how it works in the real world.”
Niko took a polite swallow. He stood up. “And you’re in the real world?”
Aleksy looked up at him. “I am. As real as it gets. I’m at SoulFire, aren’t I?”
“As a daemon engineer. Big deal.” Niko needed to stop. Things were going well. Yet he found himself losing control of his emotions. “I’m going to get there as a Battle Artist. That’s the dream. I’m not going to give it up, not again.”
“And you had to give it up before, right? And you think it’s because of me?” Aleksy put his bottle on the pavement next to him. “Look, I had to get out of here. I didn’t want the family business. I’m sorry you got stuck with it.”
It was a lot of truth pouring out of Aleksy. It was hard to hear.
“But you chose to give up fighting, Niko.” Aleksy’s voice was hard. “That had a little to do with me, but not much.”
Niko tossed his beer into the dumpster. “I don’t accept your apology. And I don’t accept your advice. Thanks for sparring with me.”
“Two more things?”
Niko stopped at the doorway. He didn’t turn around.
“End the fight in the first round if you can,” Aleksy said. “Your core isn’t strong enough, your technique isn’t good enough, for you to go multiple rounds with whoever you’re fighting.”
It wasn’t bad advice. Niko, though, didn’t know how much of a choice he’d have. “The other thing?”
“Don’t tell your critique group you got your Mars Belt back.”
“That’s not very fair, Aleksy.” Niko had been thinking the same thing.
“You fighting against a Venus Belt isn’t fair. This match Barton Hennessey set up isn’t fair. Him playing with your lives isn’t fair. But it is smart. We’ve been talking about it at the corporate office. It’s drawn great publicity for the BCBA. Be smart, not fair. You’ll get farther.”
Niko left his brother in the alley. Without a doubt, family came with baggage.
The Match
NIKO STOOD IN THE BATTLE Arena in his white training robes, which had everyone murmuring. A lot of the seats were empty. If this were a Division Two tournament, the South Valley Community College Stadium would’ve been packed. As it was, the Bay City Battle Artists was doing well to fill even half the arena.
Division One was the pros, and corporations fielded most of the Battle Artists. That was where the real money was. Division Two were the academic leagues, separated into four American regions, North, South, East, and West. Division Three was for the military, Army, Navy, Air Force, and the Marines. And Division Four was for everyone else: retired military, academics who graduated without getting representation, corporate Artists on the decline, and the Unrepresented.
The BCBA was currently a small organization, though a decade ago they’d been able to field a Division Four team that made it to the LBA Grand Tournament. In those days, they had ten times as many members.
Back then, Niko had followed the rise of the BCBA team with a certain amount of excitement—many people his age would never forget the Cinderella story that ended in defeat. Anvil Incorporated had won the Triple Crown that year.
Still, for a team of amateurs to make it that far meant something. Every one of the team members got representation, and a few still fought for Anvil Incorporated, which was ironic.
Niko found his family, Mamo, Tato, and Teddy, in the crowds. Aleksy wasn’t there, but he’d said he wouldn’t be. Pete sat with three weaselly faced guys in dirty T-shirts. No Bonnie. Niko had expected her. That was a disappointment. He didn’t know if his brother was dating her or if they were just friends. Pete wasn’t about to answer a direct question like that.
Niko stood alone on the tiles of the Battle Arena. It had been a hot day. That changed as the evening fog crept in, bringing the wet smell of the Bay to the north, and the garlic fields of Gilroy Town to the south. The sky was a pale blue touched with pink as the sun dipped low. For the main event, they would turn on the lights. An Anvil Woda, Felicity Carlton, would be fighting Anthony Noriega, a Sky, who fought for the Rocks & Rams. They were B-list fighters, but it should be a good match.
But first, Niko’s fight.
His critique group was on the other side, all in their robes, all with their belts proudly displayed. Timothy, Marjory, Henry, and Seo-yun, but not Diana. Was she somewhere with Barton? Was she going to fight?
Niko had worn his training robes, a plain belt cinching his shirt.
Going from the cobbled-together Arena at MudCon to the college’s stadium was a jump, and it felt surreal. He hadn’t been in such a big venue since high school. There must’ve been five thousand people there.
The President of the BCBA was clearly happy. He was a tall, thin man, Matthew Gregory, who never said much and fought even less. He’d gotten into the trap of supporting the Arts without practicing them. Next to him walked Barton Hennessey. Here, there was no need for rinky-dink aluminum poles. The crowds were kept off the field by security.
Matthew held a wireless microphone. Barton stood beside him, clearly itching to get his turn to speak.
The Arena Master and his assistants were there, getting ready, wandering around. All of them were silver-haired men and women retired from the LBA and doing this event for a small stipend. This wasn’t a qualifier, this was strictly an amateur event, yet still, the thrum of excitement boiled the air.
“Welcome to the BCBA’s Saturday Night Fights!’ Matthew’s voice boomed across the stadium.
The crowd roared.
Matthew wasn’t about to let go of the mic before he did a little commerci
al. The event had pulled in a somewhat good audience, three times bigger than normal. “The Bay City Battle Artists is a group of professional and amateur Artists committed to supporting their members in their Arts and improving the world’s prana.”
Might as well start with the mission statement, Niko thought.
“As a BCBA member, you are eligible to join our many critique groups and get access to our free online groups and convention discounts. Our members include LJ Crown, Miles Iron, and Anthony Noriega.”
Another bit of crowd thunder shook the stands. Most were cheering for LJ Crown, since he was the biggest name. And Noriega had his fans.
“If you want to join, you can talk to one of our volunteers in sky-blue robes, or you can sign up online at WWW.BAYCITYBATTLEARTISTS.COM. And now, without further ado, one of the hardest working agents in the industry, Barton Hennessey!”
Another round of applause and screams.
Niko rejoiced in his nervousness, the excitement. He thought of his old doubts—that first fight three months ago—and how good it felt to be on the tiles. It was ironic they weren’t as nice as the MudCon tiles, yet there were the twelve Battle Signs, twelve tiles, amidst the other 132 white ones.
Barton spoke into the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me start by saying, the path to being a professional Battle Artist starts in organizations like the BCBA. Let me tell you, when I’m scouting, I look to see how serious the Artists are. And the BCBA is serious.”
He paused as the crowd, mostly BCBA members, applauded.
“Yesterday and today have been busy. We’ve had panels, workshops, sparring, and some of the BCBA members have gotten some good feedback from yours truly. It’s been a great convention, without a doubt. But, this afternoon, we have something special.” Barton motioned to Niko without looking at him. “Niko Black was serious five years ago. Then, like it does, life happened. You know that thing, life, the thing that gets in the way of the Arts.”
Laughter followed.
It was a joke clearly, but it went against the teachings of The Pranad. The ancient text made it clear that the Artist’s main task was to live fully, not merely fight. Niko frowned. That didn’t feel right.
“Niko Black is back, and this is his chance to redeem himself. It’s not going to be easy though. A member of the BCBA’s Premiers Critique Group is going to fight him. The victor will get representation. The loser will get nothing.”
Again, that wasn’t true, according to The Pranad. A thousand losses are a teacher. A single victory is a pause.
In a more literal sense, it also wasn’t true because Niko wouldn’t get representation if he won, just the chance to stay in the critique group.
Barton continued. “So, let’s do introductions. Niko Black, coming out of an early retirement, with his whole career on the line, is a Mercury Belt of the Quintessence Battle Sign. He lost at MudCon, but who can forget his heroic end? Though it was against the rules.”
Niko felt a bit of shame at his bio. He wasn’t a Mercury Belt, but only his family knew it.
The crowd laughed, a few cheered, and one entire section came alive. Niko saw Madison Dark and a whole gathering of MudCon alumni, including the man with the big beer belly, who had been a Stan Howling fan.
Good thing Niko had recently updated his So-Me Fan page. Whatever happened here, he would surely get some likes on his page. That wasn’t anything to sneer at.
Niko raised a hand. A quick glance. Mamo was checking her phone, probably seeing if anyone had emailed in a service order while Tato and Teddy were gazing on him with happy faces.
“And now, the moment my critique group has been fretting over for months. Niko Black will be facing...” A long pause. A hush fell over the stadium. “Well, it was going to be Starshine, a new Venus Belt of the Radiance sign, but she didn’t show up tonight. Which should be a lesson to all of you. Ninety-nine percent of being a Battle Artist is showing up. The other one percent? Being at the right place at the right time with the right skills.”
Niko couldn’t believe Diana wasn’t there. And for Barton to say that she was his first choice wouldn’t help the morale of the others left in the critique group. It was wrong. That sharp, bad feeling in Niko’s gut deepened.
Barton continued. “But all is well. I was going to go easy on Niko, but no, he gets the full fury of Nance Iron!”
Marjory. She walked out onto the tiles, in her dark yellow robes, her Venus Belt prominently displayed. Her fans and the BCBA members offered up their support with a show of applause. Marjory gave Niko a dark look, then smiled at the rest of the stadium.
“Nance Iron is a two-time Florida Battle Artist champion, a committed member of the BCBA, and a Venus Belt in the Metallurgy arts. I’ve been watching Nance for a long time, and this is her chance to show me what she has. I’m Barton Hennessey, and I’m always looking for talent. You know where to find me. I’m everywhere. Now, let’s get this fight going!”
The crowd knew what was next. “Zenith Spin! Zenith Spin!” It was all part of the ritual.
The Arena Master lifted a hand, which glowed silver. The Battle Signs on the tiles glowed, ticking around.
Niko held his breath. All the signs flashed and went dark.
It was going to be a null fight. No single sign glowed, and so, Niko and Marjory would be on equal footing. This wasn’t exactly rare, but the people were ready to cheer on anything.
The Arena Master had a lapel mic on his robes. “Arena clear!”
Barton shrugged at the spin result and walked off the tiles to join Matthew next to Andrew J. Coffey near the steps that led up to the stadium. If Barton was everywhere, so was Coffey it seemed.
Niko felt a thrill go through him. The more times any professional Artist saw him fight, the better. He had to win this. And yet, it felt wrong. Barton had contradicted The Pranad repeatedly. Barton’s deal had generated a lot of good buzz, yet it could be seen as an abuse of power. Did that matter?
It wouldn’t as long as Niko won.
“Artists approach!”
Niko and Marjory moved to the center of the tiles.
Marjory glared at him. “I’m not going to go easy on you, Niko. I need to win.”
Niko met her eyes. “So do I.”
“Assistants connected.”
An unseen hand punched into Niko’s core, one of the assistants, linking to him.
Marjory winced. That was strange, but then it made sense. She’d only been sparring, not fighting. She’d forgotten how it felt to have her prana and sharira checked. When had she fought last? In Florida, a dozen years ago?
“Artists to their corners.”
As he walked back, Niko wondered what Taylor would think of him, about to fight, his whole career balanced on a knife edge.
Niko let go of the thoughts. At his corner he turned. Marjory had her critique group there. Niko was alone. He thought that Henry or Seo-yun might’ve been there to support him. That wasn’t the case.
“Arena engaged!” The Arena Master crafted bars of solid ice around the tiles. The cold hit Niko. Marjory’s breath came out in a mist. The stat board glowed on all four sides of the ice cage as well as on the scoreboard high above. Niko Black versus Nance Iron.
“Souls strong?” the Arena Master asked.
“Yes!” Niko had to gasp out the word. His lungs were working overtime.
“Minds sharp?”
“Yes!”
The Arena Master dropped his hand. “Let the Artistry begin!”
Marjory had mastered her First, Second, and Third Studies, and she preferred to fight with a weapon most of the time, a long copper-colored staff of manifested prana.
She came forward, dancing on her feet, fists raised. She wasn’t going to use her prana right away, and in truth, she didn’t need to. Her technique was good, her body reinforced with energy, her core working for her. Niko had to make this a quick fight. They had three five-minute rounds with a one-minute rest between. The victor was the Artist who knocked their oppo
nent’s sharira below ten percent. However, if Niko managed to survive all three rounds, the Arena Master and his assistants could give the victor a technical victory based on prana usage and remaining sharira.
Niko couldn’t win the fight that way.
The crowd went quiet.
Niko approached cautiously. Marjory had every advantage. He had only one.
They exchanged a few jabs, a few kicks, but Niko was careful not to land a hard blow. Her Second Study, Anvil Form, would make hitting her painful.
He backed away and chanced looking at the stats, and yes, she was using prana, but as defense, her Second Study.
She lunged forward and punched him. Her fist, full of her First Study, Steel Slam, could destroy him completely. He managed to adjust himself, so instead of a bellyful of pain, she struck a glancing blow off his ribs. He didn’t need to look. His sharira dropped precariously.
That brought the stadium to its feet.
The pain fueled him. He got in close and threw an elbow that hit her arm. His ribs and his elbow were screaming in agony. He would have to use his Twin Damage if he hoped to damage her sharira in any meaningful way.
In his first few real matches, in middle school, he’d gone up against girls, and he’d pulled his punches, not wanting to hurt anyone. That had cost him victories, and it wasn’t long before he knew that in the Arena, men and women were on equal footing. It wasn’t physical strength that mattered, but technique. A ninety-pound woman, utilizing her prana fully, could easily take down a two-hundred-pound man.
Niko stepped back and ducked. Marjory had summoned her staff. Her prana was still at seventy-five percent. She was far tougher than Stan Howling.
Niko exhaled then inhaled and pushed his prana into his newly recovered Second Study. He went in recklessly, moving quickly because he was burning through his core’s energy with every breath. As a new Mars Belt, he simply didn’t have the prana reserves.
Sages of the Underpass Page 14
