by eden Hudson
As the sword guy advanced, I backpedaled, giving myself the space to dig out the grinning skull again. I refilled my Spirit sea, but didn’t put Hungry Ghost away. I couldn’t be sticking it in my pocket and getting it out every time I needed more.
Sword guy took another slice at me. I tucked and rolled; backing up out of his range wasn’t an option while he was throwing those hidden blade attacks.
I came up a few yards away, hunkering into a defensive position. Getting close enough for Dead Reckoning and reinforced physical attacks wasn’t going to work against this guy. I needed a ranged weapon.
Lately, I’d been thinking about adding a Spirit attack to my catalogue based on something I’d read about in Cloaking Your Spirit Level and Affinity. The book had mentioned that in the ancient past, Plague Spirit users had been accused of being evil from birth because they could cast things like Three Corpse Sickness on people. Obviously, whoever read the book was already supposed to be familiar with that, because there hadn’t been any explanation of what it was. But the name had given me an idea I’d started working on.
I mustered up all the Spirit I’d just taken from Hungry Ghost, then sent Miasma out of myself in three directions, left, right, and in front of me. My body got super hot all at once, burning up like I’d come down with a fever and swallowed a gallon of lava at the same time. I dragged in a little more Spirit from Hungry Ghost and made sure to get the internal alchemy going again before I spontaneously combusted.
The Miasma clouds were supposed to look like me, but they were just blobs with parts sticking off where arms, legs, and heads would be. Not very convincing.
The sword guy must’ve thought they were a well-thought-out and practiced attack, though, because as soon as he saw them coming he stopped advancing and swung his sword up in a defensive stance.
The blob farthest to my right got to the sword guy first. His sword sliced through the center of the Miasma, scattering the blob, then he lunged at the middle one, which had just caught up.
Hearing people run up behind me disrupted my concentration on the Three Corpse Sickness, and my last Miasma faded to almost nothing before the sword guy even went at it. I sucked in more Spirit from Hungry Ghost and threw out a Dead Reckoning, ready to fight off an attack.
The Bailiff’s ghost ape barreled past me, shaking the ground as it chased down a couple of the shadowy figures around Warcry. With huge fists, it snatched them up and smashed them into the ground. Ripper and a bunch of the hooligans had come running, too, and they cleaned up the rest.
Dead Reckoning lit up at my back.
It was the dog-jointed guy with the two-by-four again. How had no one knocked this guy out of the fight yet?
I reinforced my ribs and ate the swing, clamping my arm down over the smoldering two-by-four, then used it as leverage to crash a knee into the guy’s gut. When he doubled over, I nailed him with an elbow in the back of the neck. He lost his grip on the board and dropped into the dirt. I stepped back with the smoking two-by-four.
The tip of a sword whiffed through the very edge of Dead Reckoning’s range. The hidden blade attack didn’t even register until it laid open my side. I spun around, cocking the two-by-four back like a bat, but the sword guy was already out of my reach. Somewhere, I heard the rifle-armed guy letting loose again.
Then a flare of yellow light filled the street, lighting up the purple-orange shadows, and an incredible pressure shoved me into the dirt, flat on my stomach.
The OSS Shogun walked out of the ruined front of the saloon, shining like Earth’s sun. The fighting died down, and people hit the deck, slammed down by the sudden invisible force pushing down on everything.
In one hand, the Shogun carried a fanned deck of real playing cards, not the holographic ones they used at the saloon. As he passed non-OSS guys, he snapped the deck at them. Their heads rolled away from their bodies.
He got closer and closer to me. My eardrums felt like they were about to explode. The pressure ratcheted up until I started to get scared the Transferogate would be crushed and pinch my arm off at the shoulder.
When Shogun Takiru snapped his cards in my direction, though, it was the sword guy’s head that rolled away.
As he passed, the pressure eased up just enough that I could turn my head to see where he was going.
Down the street, the Bailiff and a couple of the shadowy guys who’d been kidnapping Warcry had managed to stay on their knees instead of getting pancaked on the ground, but as the Shogun pulled up to their side, the rival gangsters’ noses and ears all started gushing blood. The Bailiff grinned, bloody strings of saliva hanging from his brush teeth.
Shogun Takiru sliced the heads off the rival gangsters, and just like that, the fight was over.
Fight to the Death
AS SOON AS THE RIVAL gangsters were dead, the pressure disappeared completely. I stood up and tried to knock most of the dirt off my chest and stomach and face, but the sweat and blood all over me was gluing it on. My tattoo was burning Spirit as fast as it could, healing up the slice across my side and a bunch of other bumps and bruises I hadn’t noticed during the fight.
All around me, the OSS guys were looking around to see who’d survived. I recognized one of the corpses as a hooligan who trained with Ripper every morning. The snake-haired lady from the Spirit jade dig lay down the street with a sword through her face and a fistful of somebody’s half-burned shirt clutched in her fingers. The rest of the bodies were damaged bad enough that I couldn’t tell which gang they belonged to.
“Right mighty Shogun Takiru,” the Bailiff said, taking off his bowler and bowing his head. “We offer our sincerest apologies for disturbing your seclusion. If it pleases you, I offer my life in return for this offense.”
The Shogun ignored him. He was looking at the decapitated gangsters surrounding Warcry and shuffling his cards.
“What are Sword Wardens from New Iron Hills doing in Ghost Town?” He didn’t yell, but his voice carried to every corner of the street. “They haven’t dared attack OSS territory since my kishotenketsu broke through to Ten.”
The Bailiff stuck his hat back on his head, then grinned. “Well, Shogun, I believe I can shed some light on that.”
Takiru gave him a nod.
“Daphene!” the Bailiff yelled over his shoulder at the saloon.
A reddish-orange saloon gal with wide fox ears sticking up on top of her head peeked around the corner like the smallest sound might send her running.
One of the Bailiff’s big ghost hands beckoned to her.
“Come on out, honey, it’s safe now. We need to have a chat with the Shogun about what you told me.” His ghost arm hooked around her shoulder and gently pulled her closer. “You see, Shogun, Daphene caught a glimpse of somebody’s HUD screen just a few days ago.”
Warcry crossed his arms and scowled down at the ground. As the Bailiff went on, I started to get a bad feeling in my gut.
“The other day, Daphene was entertaining our newest rising star over there, Mr. Champion Warcry Thompson himself, when she saw him receive a message. Who’d you say it was from, Daphene, honey?”
She said something too quiet for me to hear.
“None other,” the Bailiff said, rocking back on his heels. “And Daphene, being the sharp tack she is, remembered that ol’ Biggerstaff’s a recruiter for the Eight-Legged Dragons. Now, Shogun, I took the liberty of having one of our Technol contacts patch me through to Mr. Champion’s HUD so I could check this message out for myself.”
Warcry’s face twisted into a snarl. Flames erupted across his skull and shoulders and down his arms.
“Ya snoopin’ trash!” He darted toward the Bailiff and threw a fiery punch.
I hit the Ki-speed and shot between them, knocking aside Warcry’s fist with a double-arm block.
“Oi!” His eyes burned into mine, trying to make me back down. “Didn’t I tell you once to mind your own?”
“Ever heard of confirming someone’s suspicion?” I said in a l
ow voice. “What if this is all B.S. and he doesn’t have any proof?”
“Shoulda run with me, ya bleedin’ clown,” he growled.
Suddenly that unbearable pressure was back. My knees caved, and I sat down hard on my butt. Warcry managed to play it a little cooler, only dropping to one knee.
“Read the messages, Bailiff,” Shogun Takiru said.
I looked down the street toward them. No one but us seemed to be affected by the pressure this time.
“Yessiree, Shogun. And I quote—” The Bailiff brought his HUD arm up and cleared his throat. “—Received from Buddy Biggerstaff: Thank you for your repeated inquiries into placement with the Eight-Legged Dragons. At this time, we are not accepting unsolicited recruits. However, we offer many options for recruitment in the near future. It looks as if your local Big Five Tournament takes place at the Wilderness Territorial. We hope to see you there.”
Warcry was fighting against the Shogun’s force, grunting and trying to break free and stand up.
Obviously he didn’t get that it was still possible to get out of this, he just had to calm the heck down. I couldn’t tell him so, though, because I could hardly breathe. He probably wouldn’t have listened to me anyway.
“Bit of a form rejection, but you know how busy the Big Five trainers are,” the Bailiff said, grinning. “So, our champ—who’s far too good for this backwater and says so about once a day—he sends out feelers to no less than seven unaffiliated gangs, all of whom placed fair high in the last Wilderness Territorial. And you’ll never guess who answered him back.”
The Shogon’s voice was stone cold when he said, “Read it.”
Warcry went ballistic then, and the Shogun’s pressure increased until blood shot out my nose and I thought my skull was going to cave in. I couldn’t see Warcry anymore, but I could hear his feet scraping in the dirt.
“Received from Ajrah Swah—the Sword Wardens’ second-in-command, you’ll remember—Be ready. Night sun high. Bring only what you can carry while running. If this’s a trap, expect castration for starters.” The Bailiff let his HUD drop and stuck his webbed hands in his pocket. “Not a bad idea, eh, Shogun? For starters.”
“Was this indentured servant involved?” Takiru asked.
“You know, Shogun, I hadn’t thought of that,” the Bailiff said. “Smart boy might well have been, but I didn’t do any checking of his HUD. Muta’i said he does do a lot of messaging on the job.”
Holy crap, they were talking about me.
“I didn’t do anything,” I forced out in a breathless croak. “I never message anybody but...” I didn’t want to drag Kest and Rali into this. Who knew what kind of trouble they’d catch if I did? “I don’t care about other gangs. I want to stay in Ghost Town.”
The pressure disappeared.
“Prove yourself,” the Shogun said.
I got my arms under me and pushed up to my knees.
The Shogun pointed his deck of cards at Warcry. “If you’re one of us, if you want to stay in Ghost Town and be a part of the OSS—not as an indentured servant, but as a member with every benefit that entails—kill the traitor.”
My mouth dropped open. “What?”
“Kill the traitor. His treachery cost us six strong Spirits tonight. He has to pay.”
I looked at Warcry, who was getting to his feet now, too, then back down the street at the bodies hacked apart and scattered in the dirt. Suddenly everything smelled like blood and smoke and death.
“I’m not going to kill anyone.” I shook my head. “Forget it.”
“Demo,” the Shogun said, jerking his chin at me.
The dude with the pair of sawed-off shotguns stepped up beside us and pointed one at my face and the other at Warcry’s.
“One of you isn’t leaving this street alive.” The Shogun started cutting the deck of cards in his right hand and folding them back together, his fingers moving like spider legs. “The survivor receives or keeps his full membership Of Smoke and Silk, and his past will be considered erased.”
“How’s that for motivation?” The Bailiff chuckled. “It’s him or you, Smart Boy, and I got a feeling I know who he’s gonna pick.”
Warcry let out a scream of rage and red light blazed.
Instinctively, I threw out Dead Reckoning. It pinged immediately. I dove out of the way of a fiery kick that would’ve taken my head off. Warcry was already throwing another lethal kick. I rolled to my feet and spun to block. His prosthetic slammed into my forearm.
The bones snapped.
“Are you serious?” I screamed at him. Pain pulsed through my arm as I dodged his follow-up.
“I ain’t dying on some dungheap prison planet!” he roared.
“I wasn’t going to kill you, moron!” I ducked a big hook followed by a bone-crushing kick aimed at my throat.
I didn’t have enough Spirit for my tattoo to heal the broken arm, and calorie healing was too slow. I pulled all the Miasma I could from the fresh bodies in the street. Warcry was stupid strong right then, and he wasn’t holding back lethal strikes.
But he wasn’t playing it smart. He was going for the fastest, most violent kill he could to get this over with.
My right arm was still healing. I couldn’t block Warcry’s shots like that. Thinking of Kest’s Shield Arm Bracer, I sent a wall of fortification down each arm.
Turquoise Death Spirit shields the size of trashcan lids formed. I pumped Miasma into them until they were as dense as steel.
When Warcry launched himself into another attack, I slammed forward and bashed him with my left shield. He staggered, then threw himself at me again, coming around my right side and targeting my healing arm. I met him halfway with a tooth-jarring crash.
Death and Metal—names for the shields popped into my head, and I laughed a little hysterically. Maybe all that adrenaline in such a short time was getting to me.
The shield blocks just ticked Warcry off more. He came at me from every direction, slamming me over and over again like a rhino bashing itself bloody trying to break down a concrete wall. Every impact pushed me back, my shoes making long lines in the dirt of the street. Sooner or later, I was going to trip over a body and go down. Then he really would kill me.
When my Spirit for Death Metal started to run out, I sucked up the last of the Miasma from the bodies and topped off with some from Hungry Ghost. Then I reinforced my legs instead of the shields.
Warcry came in with an insane executioner kick at my head. I let the shields drop and jumped straight over him, landing behind him. He spun to keep me face-to-face. Before he could move, I blasted out a kick reinforced with all the Spirit I’d just downed.
Warcry’s prosthetic came off his leg, bending back like I’d smashed his knee in. I swept his good leg, dragging his shoulder back at the same time. As he fell, he shot a rigid hand at my windpipe. I slipped that and hit him with a cross-body elbow to the temple that whipped his head around.
I took a step back, fists up, heart charging, ready to go again if he got back up. But he didn’t. He was out cold.
I’d won.
After a hundred thousand fights getting my butt handed to me by this guy, I’d beaten him.
Not just that, but I’d survived.
I grabbed big handfuls of my hair and tipped my head back, puffing out these huge breaths up at the sky.
“Finish him,” Shogun Takiru said.
Moving Targets
“YEAH, GET HIM, INDENTURE!” Ripper yelled.
For a second, my brain flashed back to the parking lot outside my high school, with Blaise’s buddies all cheering him on. Except these guys weren’t yelling at me to whoop up on Warcry.
“Kill him!”
“Paint the dust with his blood!”
“Earn your spot and we’ll buy you a round!”
Then reality slapped me in the face. I’d knocked Warcry out, but I hadn’t won. Not according to the terms of this fight.
I backed up a step and shook my head. “I’m not kill
ing anybody.”
The Shogun scowled. He flicked the shuffled deck with one thumb, and the top card jumped to his opposite hand.
“I want one or both of these meat roaches dead, Bailiff.”
“As is right and proper.” The Bailiff stepped forward. “But if the honorable Shogun Takiru will humor me, the OSS does have quite an investment in both these boys, and it’s only a few days ’til we see it pay off at the Wilderness Territorial. Forgive me for saying so, honorable Shogun, but I know you want an affiliation as badly as any of us.” The Bailiff pulled out the tattoo script remote and grinned at me. “Couple shots of this’ll remind our indentured pal that he’s supposed to be the smart one here.”
I gritted my teeth, bracing myself for the pain.
Metal jangled. The heavy metal balls and chain from Kest’s workbench dropped into the street like a line in the sand between me and the Bailiff. Blue-white sparks flew straight up and out into a solid wall of Metal Spirit.
“Time to run.” Rali appeared at my side, almost giving me a heart attack.
“Geez, don’t do that!” I pulled back my punch. “I almost knocked your head off.”
From the other side of the Metal Spirit barrier, I heard yelling and confusion.
“Come on.” Rali waved his walking stick to hurry me up. “Kest isn’t sure how long her Portable Shield Wall will last against a Shogun.”
“Wait! Warcry,” I said. “They’ll kill him if we leave him.”
I took another hit from Hungry Ghost, then hefted Warcry up onto my shoulder. It was awkward as heck, but it didn’t take nearly as much enhanced strength as it would’ve a month ago. I was a lot stronger than when I’d first gotten dropped on Van Diemann.
“Grab the prosthetic,” I said.
Rali snatched the broken metal leg out of the dirt, then nodded.
“Let’s go,” he said.
He took off at a jog, slow enough that I could keep up, but fast enough that we were putting ground between us and the shield wall.
