Sages of the Underpass

by Aaron Michael Ritchey

  Andrew was still at ninety percent sharira, but only thirty-five percent prana.

  Andrew strode back to the southeast corner, knelt, and then let go of all conscious thought. The Assistant was mending his shoulder, healing the joints and muscles, but again, not touching his waning sharira.

  This time, it was Bonnie’s voice reaching out to him across time. What do you want, Niko? What is your measure of success?

  The answer was easy. He wanted to last another round against Andrew J. Coffey. After that, it didn’t matter. His family was strong again, after years of resentment. He and Bonnie were back together. Teddy was alive. His life was good.

  One more round. Just one more round.

  The Chochlik

  MONIQUE LEFT THE RENTAL car on the freeway. It would be towed. As long as she captured the daemon, SoulFire could pay that particular bill for her. She wind-walked over traffic, off the freeway, and landed on the outer perimeter of the parking lot.

  Her implants warned her she was damaged. “Sharira at ninety percent.” She brushed it off. She sped to the outer perimeter of the Bay City Stadium’s parking lot.

  Aleksy’s voice was in her ear, on her headset, and she was pretty sure she was going to hemorrhage something. He was screaming, the crowds in the stadium were screaming, and it was all just chaos in her brain.

  “This is how people break an eardrum,” she said. “Either scream louder or talk softer. I’m having trouble hearing you.”

  Aleksy didn’t do either. “It’s in the parking lot, and it’s trying to get into the stadium. I see you. It’s at your eleven, about fifty yards away.”

  Monique used her Quintessence Second Study to dash through the parked cars. “Prana at eighty percent,” the implants murmured in her ear. The soft feminine voice was nice after all the damn yelling.

  She saw a stubborn bit of darkness, man-shaped, ignoring the bright sun’s rays.

  She threw out a hand and drew up the asphalt to create a wall, curbing it.

  She only saw the shadow man. Its horse-crested helmet covered its head and a shadowy cloak surrounded it. In its fist was a short, broad-bladed sword. Whatever the chochlik was, it was nearly complete.

  That wasn’t good.

  She dashed after it, and when the snake daemon slithered out from underneath a car, she leapt over it.

  In midair, the chochlik reached into her core, using Negation Pinch. End of October, Erosion was at its zenith, and the thing had grown exponentially stronger. Yet she could shield herself from the Erosion Study now that she was ready for it.

  She scooped up a bit of asphalt, creating a shield of melting rock. The daemon’s sword chipped into it. She spun and kicked the serpent right in its spectral head. Electricity arced off her feet as she used her Sky First Study to leave the serpent twitching on the ground.

  The shadow man’s sword swept toward her. Her asphalt shield batted the attack away. Flecks of pavement stung her face. She drew up more asphalt and created a sword of her own. She hacked into the chochlik’s thigh. Her sword bounced off its armor. That was how Aleksy could track it. This thing had a form now, a physical form, forged out of pure energy.

  “Oh, but you’re so hard now.” Monique laughed. “And yes, I wanted that to sound dirty.”

  The chochlik’s face was lost in the depths of its helmet—Greek or Roman, it was definitely old school. Make that ancient school.

  Aleksy’s voice split her skull. “I’m on my way.”

  “You’ll miss your brother’s fight.”

  Monique and the chochlik exchanged blows, sword on shield or sword on sword. The daemon slammed his sword into her leg. If she hadn’t been reinforced with Ox Endurance, he’d have taken off her leg. As it was, she lost more sharira.

  It swept its cloak around her, snagging her until she rose into the air, using wind walk again. Her implants got chatty. “Prana at seventy-one percent. Sharira at sixty-nine percent.”

  From Aleksy, “Niko is amazing. He’s going to go the distance. But this is more important. People’s lives are on the line.”

  A tail emerged from the chochlik, a scorpion’s tail the size of her thigh. The thing grew taller. It flicked the stinger, and Monique dodged. The windshield of a Ford Hermes shattered.

  Monique lifted the car up on a sea of liquid pavement. She sent the vehicle careening into the daemon, crushing the thing between the car and the wall she’d first created.

  She hoped the insurance would cover the damages because she was running low on cash. Thanks to her evil father.

  She had to focus.

  The snake had shaken off her Lightning Force kick. It lashed up and circled her foot and pulled her from the sky. She slammed to the ground. “Sharira at fifty percent.”

  Fighting both daemons was taxing her.

  The chochlik was ten feet tall now. It threw the Ford off its body.

  Monique grabbed the snake daemon and drew the power into her core. She wasn’t going to cycle it, she was just going to hold it for a second, or a few minutes, or until it killed her. It was a nasty, writhing bit of dark energy. Level five, easily.

  Her core protested, her stomach boiled, and she was dizzy, but not too dizzy to dodge another attack, sword and stinger. She transformed her sword and shield into a big hand, seized more pavement, and snatched up a Kia sedan. She threw it at the chochlik.

  The thing leapt up and flipped over, on the other side of the wall. It sped away, throwing cars out of its way. More damage. Good thing SoulFire had deep pockets. As long as she and Aleksy caught the daemon, they’d pay and pay gladly.

  A scaled coil burst from her stomach and she punched it back inside. “Not ready for you yet.”

  She leapt, caught a gust of wind, and rode it, skating through the sky, and then she was back on the ground, racing after the chochlik, who was heading toward the edge of the parking lot, where it butted up against the bay waters.

  “Prana at forty-nine percent,” Ms. Implants whispered.

  Sailboats, speed boats, and dinghies surrounded the stadium, the people aboard watching the fight on screens as they sipped cocktails.

  The chochlik floated out across the waters.

  Monique jumped onto the railing, then gathered her feet under her and soared into the air, expending more prana to fly across the green waters. She landed on one sailboat, then another, then another. She wasn’t going to let this thing get away, not now, not when it had killed at least six people, if not more.

  People screamed, drinks were spilled, and their boats rocked.

  “I see you!” Aleksy shouted. “I’m at the edge of the parking lot. You have got to bring it back to me.”

  That was going to be tricky. The chochlik could basically fly. She could leap short distances, but once she ran out of boats, she would be forced into the water. She did not want to fight this thing and swim at the same time. She was a woman, she could multitask, but that seemed like a little much. Even Earth’s mightiest superheroes had their limits.

  “Wish you could fly,” Monique muttered into her headset.

  “You and me both.”

  From inside the stadium, the crowd erupted.

  Monique landed on a speedboat, a woman in a bikini shrieked, and Monique took to the skies again. “I’m calling the police!” another woman shrieked.

  “Best idea I’ve heard all day!” Monique then gave it her all.

  Dumping her Quintessence Second Study into her Sky Second Study, she sped toward the last boat and got in front of the chochlik.

  From her implants, “Prana at twenty-eight percent.”

  She stood on the deck of the farthest boat while people dove off the side.

  Helicopters were coming, thrumming the air. Those things were as loud as anything.

  The shadow man floated over the water. Its cloak writhed around its armored body, like something alive and hungry.

  It hissed at her, “You will not stop our great escape.”

  A daemon talking? Add that to the list
of the seriously weird. Strange, it said, “our” and “escape.”

  “Wow! So ominous!” She leapt toward the thing, using a Fourth Study Quintessence trick to become three versions of herself, one fully formed, the others spectral projections of her prana. And still, that snake writhed in her, trying to distract her.

  Yet she was a Battle Artist, and her focus was complete. More than that, this was simply fun. It had been a long time since she’d been so taxed in a battle.

  “Prana at twenty-five percent.”

  All three of her bodies burned with electricity, and she struck, three sets of Lighting Force kicks, damaging the chochlik, blowing away pieces of its cloak, making it drop its sword, which turned to mist. Monique’s other two forms vanished.

  She released her Masonry Second Study, reached out a hand, and froze the bay water under her. She felt the energy flowing through her, thanks to the aquamarine gem on her right ring finger. She smacked the ice, grimacing at the pain. She’d broken her left arm, which sucked. Down to twenty percent sharira. And using Woda had sapped her prana even more.

  The chochlik reversed directions and flew back toward the parking lot. She had hurt the thing, that was clear, and it was ragged now, holes in its cloak and its body, and its helm had lost its crest.

  She became too weak to hold in the snake daemon, and it erupted out of her back. The cambion snapped at empty air. She was back to leaping, boat to boat, and when there wasn’t a watercraft to land on, she created a bit of ice, just enough so she wouldn’t fall into the water. She couldn’t very well swim after the thing.

  People had their phones out and were taking video. Fear shook her thoughts. They would see her powers. They would be broadcast on the web. So much for her secret identity.

  The stadium inside had grown strangely quiet. Were they surprised at something in the Coffey/Niko fight? Or were they drawn by the twelve helicopters chopping around the stadium?

  Aleksy stood on the railing. He had his super-powered Whitney in a hand.

  The chochlik went left, heading toward the parking lot. She arced lightning from her hands, driving it back on course.

  A helicopter spun around to the right, keeping it penned in.

  Monique landed on a big yacht, plenty of deck for her. “Prana at nine percent.”

  She used the last of her prana for one last leap. She went up and came down onto the chochlik, seizing it in three hands, thanks to her Twin Damage, her First Study.

  Her velocity drove both her and the shadow man over the railing, in front of Aleksy. He crouched next to the Whitney, sitting on the ground, which was sprinkled with broken glass. She couldn’t see the beams of blue light, but they were there, grabbing the chochlik and pulling its cloak into the containment unit.

  Lying on her belly, she didn’t have the strength to get up.

  Someone was shouting, voice amplified, from one of the helicopters. The sky was swimming with them, big black military things, and it was so loud.

  The chochlik reached a hand toward her, but its sandaled feet slid on the pavement as it was drawn into the Whitney.

  The shadow man hissed. “You will not stop our great escape.”

  “You said that already,” Monique wheezed.

  Then it was gone, sucked into the containment unit, the lights all turning red.

  Monique flopped down on her back.

  The snake flew over the railing. But by that time, men in combat gear had rappelled from the helicopters and engaged the cambion. Two had Whitney devices, sleek and black. In seconds, the cambion was taken care of.

  Aleksy came over, his face shining with sweat. “We caught it.”

  Monique squeezed her eyes shut and reached out with the hand on her good arm. Aleksy crouched and took it. His touch was so comforting, this guy, who’d been at her side for months. He was her dearest comrade. She’d had others over the years, but either time or death had stripped them away.

  She couldn’t talk. She could only smile. Yes, they’d caught it. It had taken months, but the chochlik was secure. It wouldn’t be hurting anyone else.

  What would happen to her? She’d used a bunch of different Studies, to great effect, and everyone would know. She didn’t have a mask to hide herself. Well, that had to change.

  Letting go of the fear was easy. She lay on her back, held Aleksy’s hand, and reveled in the moment.

  From inside the stadium, people were chanting something. “Niko Zero! Niko Zero! Niko Zero!”

  Niko Zero? It seemed Aleksy’s brother had gotten a new name.

  The Radiance

  “MINDS SHARP? SOULS strong? Let the Artistry commence! Final round!”

  Niko stayed in his corner, crouched, ready to duck more Distance Kicks. None came.

  Andrew walked slowly out to the middle of the tiles. He drew up the remaining blood to create his crimson saber and a red, round shield. Every second he burned more prana, and yet, he waited, looking like a Roman gladiator.

  Niko moved forward, slowly, but didn’t get in reach. The round was only five minutes. If Andrew wanted to spend it posturing, that was fine.

  The crowd grew quiet, almost silent. Did he hear helicopters?

  Niko glanced and Andrew was down to thirty percent. Not good enough. Why were some people looking at their phones?

  Niko snapped his attention back to his opponent.

  “You shouldn’t have been so difficult,” Andrew said. “It’s your pride that did you in. You should’ve played the game. You should’ve paid your dues.”

  “Life is too short to jump through your hoops or play Barton’s games. That’s not paying dues. That’s wasting time.” Niko was ready for an attack. None came.

  “You’re stupidly proud. You’re impatient. You’re worthless, in the end, a nobody. When people talk about this fight, they’ll only talk about me. And what I’m about to do to you.”

  “I’m fine with that,” Niko said.

  Another handful of seconds fell away.

  Niko wanted Andrew to attack. Niko wanted to give in to his battle lust. He held himself in check. For a Battle Artist’s greatest enemy was themselves.

  Since they weren’t fighting, Niko knelt. He could wait until the last minute, but he knew Andrew couldn’t. It was a ballsy move. If Andrew struck, the match would be over. Niko knew, though, that Andrew didn’t want it to end, not yet.

  “Ready to die?” Andrew spat.

  “Sure.” Niko kept his eyes open and reached out with his prana. He felt Andrew’s waning core. It was like everyone in the stadium was holding their breath. There was only one way this could end.

  Niko could only imagine what it might look like to the stadium, him kneeling, Andrew standing five feet away with his blood saber and shield.

  Niko had never been more aware of the Radiance in his core. It was thrumming, alive, expectant.

  He knew when Andrew would strike—he was so fully tapped into the other Artist’s core.

  Niko leapt to his feet, leaned back, and felt the air from the sword slash less than an inch from his nose.

  He used his Second Study to increase his speed, but he didn’t strike, he only weaved in and out as Andrew swiped at him with the sword, with the shield. Niko could anticipate every attack. He was in that hyper-focused place where his prana and sharira merged, and he’d surrendered to his instincts.

  For the first great rule in The Pranad was surrender not to your opponent, but to life itself.

  Niko didn’t step back, but stepped forward, and Andrew was forced to push him back with his shield. Niko didn’t try and break the blow, but merely relaxed into it, and he was sent backward. He lost a couple of points of sharira, and he didn’t really have a single one to lose.

  He had a split second to see Andrew’s prana, at twenty-one percent.

  This was it. He reached in, and using his new Fourth Study, he forced his consciousness into Andrew’s core. He swapped Andrew’s prana and sharira, not all the way, but enough.

  Andrew went fro
m ninety percent sharira to sixty percent. And his prana rose to fifty-one percent, giving him more than enough energy to fuel his sword and shield.

  Yet at that moment, Andrew gasped at the assault on his core. The daemon in him crackled. Andrew’s face grew green; he looked like he would vomit at any moment.

  Niko bashed away Andrew’s sword and shield, and he fueled a Twin Damage strike, three fists punched into Andrew’s face. Andrew went reeling toward the edge of the tiles, turning as he fell. His sword and shield disappeared when he lost his grip on them.

  Niko didn’t let up. He went with the flow of his energy, striking Andrew in the back.

  They landed at the very edge of the north side, the green grass twenty feet below.

  Andrew had more than enough prana to fuel his speed. He turned, leaping up to his feet, and Niko met him, blurring as well.

  He hit Andrew again and again, then whirled, leapt, and hit his opponent with three feet. With the last of his prana, he pushed Andrew off the edge.

  The Sanguine Artist squealed as he fell.

  The Arena Master made a fist, caught him, and set him back onto the tiles. Andrew was at twenty percent sharira, forty-five percent prana.

  Niko smiled. “Ready to kill me?”

  Andrew growled and came forward. Niko was able to dodge the first hyper-fast, ridiculously strong punch, but not the second, or the third, or the fourth.

  The blows rained down, drawing more blood, and yet, Niko didn’t let himself fall. Like everyone said, he could take a punch.

  “Round three complete! Andrew J. Coffey wins!” the Arena Master shouted.

  Andrew, though, didn’t stop.

  Niko clung to his consciousness even as his sharira plummeted to six, five, four percent, and when the Arena Master finally intervened, leaping off his platform to pull Andrew away, Niko swayed. Zero sharira. Zero prana.

  Niko had done it. He’d gone the distance with Andrew J. Coffey. Niko walked away from the two struggling men. The Arena Master was too busy to tell him not to move. And the Assistants were below them. Niko went back to his corner, where he turned, a single fist in the air.