Chapter 57: Surprises Abound

Brent’s arm reverberated with the might of his blow as Hackney caught his blade with his own. For a moment their labored breathing filled the space between their sweating bodies and their eyes met. Gone was Hackney’s trepidation and as he gritted his teeth against the pressure of Brent’s blade a burgeoning confidence, born of the fervor of battle, crept into his eyes. Time seemed to slow down as though the hour glass of his existence was placed upon its side, and as Brent inhaled a second breath, all the movements of the world around him flooded into his consciousness.

The crowd, a moment ago cheering the wild display of skill between the two fighters, was now in slow motion, their fists raised as they pumped the air, and their mouths wide as they cheered the combatants. Chase, his arms crossed and eyes wide as he watched his pupil fight, had seemingly forgotten his earlier weariness and was totally absorbed as he witnessed Brent’s match. Beside him, Alex was grabbing the fence which surrounded the arena and cheered each blow, even calling encouragements every time Hackney seemed about to slip after a strike well placed by Brent. Claire and Amelie’s reactions were noticeable in that moment in that they were totally opposite. Amelie, her hands half covering her face as he fought, was peeking between her fingers at his performance, and though she could not hide a grimace she was so enthralled by the battle she could not look away. Claire beamed and cheered just as loud as the rest of them, and for all the world seemed to share in his fight with every parry, strike, and successful block. Each time the crowd roared there she was with them, living in the moment of his battle with Hackney.

The hourglass righted itself once again the the sands fell as before. The cheer of the crowds burst into his ears and the world returned as it had been.

“Not bad,” said Hackney, glancing at their locked blades.

Brent grunted and pushed his opponent away, giving them both an opportunity to rest.

“You too,” said Brent. He kept his eyes on Hackney, and matched his steps as they circled one another upon the arena.

He is better than I thought, Brent thought to himself. Good.

“Somehow,” said Hackey, breathing hard. “I always knew that we would end up here. We never fought at the island but I knew.”

“I didn’t,” said Brent, honestly. “Actually I forgot all about you till we met again at the registration.”

Hackney frowned, and might have growled such was his expression, but Brent feinted with his blade to the right. Just as Hackney rose his blade Brent sidestepped and then spun, his sword arcing through the air. Hackney, off balance, tripped and fell, narrowly avoiding the blade slashing his belly.

“GET HIM!” Shouted Alex from the side of the arena.

Brent shook his head, watching Hackney get to his knees. He didn’t want to win like that. He could have easily stuck when his opponent was down but remembered a line from the famous player Marticus from a book he had read.

Never take from your opponent that which he will not give to you.

“Thanks,” said Hackney. He seemed shaken and embarrassed that the match could have ended at that moment. Brent’s mercy seemed to be playing with his mind and instead of looking grateful he glanced worriedly at the crowed, perhaps trying to locate his guild.

“Don’t,” said Brent, swinging his blade. Hackney caught it and responded with his own. They traded a dozen blows back and forth and the crowd cheered. “Mention it,” he finally finished as they came apart once again.

The time of words had passed, Brent slowly realized. He wanted to end the match as quickly as he could. His brain quickly sized up his opponent. Though it felt as though hours had passed since Markon had told them to begin, in reality only minutes had ticked by since they began the fight. Brent’s window of opportunity to make this match standout was quickly closing. He needed to end it soon, and with as much flash as he could muster.

He is just a level two, remembered Brent, a plan coalescing in his mind. I can use that.

Brent changed his style. He lunged for Hackney, allowing the player to swiped his blade away. His opponent hissed and leapt back, thinking Brent was about to counter. Instead Brent stepped out the side, lowering his blade slightly. He then tested Hackney’s guard, poking his defenses and prodding his weak areas. Hackney had a tendency to favor his right leg when he stuck, foolishly shifting his weight with each strike as he fought.

Again Brent lunged, and again Hackney leapt away. As Brent’s sword missed, Hackney tried to strike. He put his leading leg forward, and, with every bit of strength he had, jabbed with his sword directly into Brent’s chest. Sword to the side, Brent was unable to block the strike.

Again, the sands of time seemed to stop moving. Slowly, creeping ever so slightly forward, Brent watched as his opponent’s sword came for his heart like an arrow to a target. In the time it took the sword to travel to his chest, Brent fell into the corners of his mind. The blade was five inches from his chest, four inches, three inches, two, one…

He called upon his Stone Skin ability just as the stream of time caught up to him. Hackney’s blade bounced off his chest, his ability shielding him from the magical effects of the weapon. Hackney’s eyes widened in shock and there was nothing he could do to stop himself from coming off balanced. Brent stepped forward, placing his foot behind Hackney’s leg where he knew his opponent had sacrificed his balance for a killing strike.

With a grunt, Brent reach his free arm around Hackney’s helpless body, and then twisted around as he clutched the back of his neck. Hackney gave a short gasp of surprise as he realized what was happening. Hackney rose in the air as Brent dragged him over his own back, and then bent over and slammed his opponent on the ground. Hackney’s sword went flying out of his hand and all his wind seemed to leave his body in a great gust of air.

“Do you yield?” Said Brent, as he pointed his blade at Hackney’s face. He could easily tap him on the brow and render him unconscious if he wanted, but stayed his blade to await for his opponent’s answer.

“Do I…I…What the…” Hackney spluttered, trying to get his breath back and make sense of what had just happened.

In the crowd was pandemonium, but Brent barely registered the cries to end it from the players watching, and even less the cries for mercy from Hackney’s guild. He felt a trickle of sweat drip down his face, and imagined he could taste blood in his mouth though knew he had suffered no such injury which would warrant it. Suddenly, as he watched Hackney try to speak, and as Markon began to slowly walk over to them, Brent felt an urge within himself to do as Astor had done to Harris in the previous bout.

Brent imagined himself mercilessly falling upon Hackney. He could see the blood flying everywhere and feel Hackney’s bones breaking under his blows. Instead of cheers the crowd would be silent as they witnessed the barbarity he knew was within himself. Every strike of his weapon would signal a warrior far more powerful and deadly than the one who had come before.

Hackey’s mouth was moving wordlessly. Brent raised his sword.

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“Alright, lad,” said Markon, placing a heavy hand upon Brent’s shoulder. “You won. He said he forfeits.”

“Huh?” Brent looked to the big man, and just then Markon grabbed his left wrist and raised it in the air. The crowed cheered and he snapped out of his reverie.

What just happened? Thought Brent. Was I about to kill Hackney?’

Suddenly the bloody lust which had controlled him was drained from every inch of his body, and he allowed the numbing cheers of the onlookers to wash over him. They were chanting his name and fist pumping the air.

“BRENT! BRENT! BRENT! BRENT!”

It was everything he had ever dreamed of, defeating an opponent to the defeating cheers of a crowd, but it felt hollow, unearned. He felt dirty for the feelings he had had standing over Hackney. Had he given into his desires, as he felt his body preparing to, he would have been no better than that red haired murderer. He shivered and tried to smile, finding the faces of his guild. They all cheered for him just as loud as the crowd, and only Claire seemed to notice something was off about him as she frowned at his confused expression.

He dropped his blade as Markon slapped him on the back and told him “good job, now get off the stage.” Startled, he glanced at Hackney who was being dragged to his feet by a couple NPCs. He nodded shakily at the man but Hackney would not meet his eyes, his face downcast and resigned as he allowed the NPCs to hoist him up.

“Brent, that was amazing!” Said Chase as he found his guild. Everyone beamed at him and even strangers in the crowd hailed him and congratulated him on a job well done. “You ended that so perfectly I couldn’t have done better myself.”

“Thanks,” said Brent, begrudgingly. He was still coming to grips with the final moments and what nearly happened. “All the training paid off.”

“Is wasn’t just training,” said Alex. He seemed somewhat proud of Brent though he was trying to hide it. “You’re such a natural warrior. You decimated him from the beginning. He was looking nervous before the whole match began.”

“Thanks,” repeated Brent. He saw Amelie smiling at him with a mixture of pride and relief and looked away. The innocence on her face was too much compared to how he felt on the inside.

“Brent,” said Claire. She gently placed a hand on his arm. “Are you alright? You look positively shaken. Like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“If he had seen a ghost he would be covered in ectoplasm,” said Chase with a laugh. “Trust me. Those things have a spray and pray approach.”

“I‘ll tell you later,” Brent said under his breath.

Her concern did not diminish but she nodded, and gave his arm a squeeze before letting go.

“THE NEXT MATCH IS ABOUT TO BEGIN,” shouted Markon from the stage. “EVERYONE QUIET DOWN OR I’LL THROW YA OUT!”

Argo came to the stage, helmet in hand. Markon again reached into the helmet and again squinted as he read the number.

“5! COME TO THE STAGE OR FORFEIT.”

From the other side of the arena Brent saw some commotion. People were making way for someone who was pushing through the crowd to the mutters of annoyance of those gathered. Suddenly, a gray head popped out of the players and slowly made its way to the stage.

“I am here,” said the old man. He appeared to be close to Marlon’s age, and was draped in a cloak which covered his whole body. He was stooped over and had a beard on his face which ringed a craggy smile.

“What an old man,” muttered Brent to his guild mates. “Whoever is matched with him got lucky. No way that old guy is making it for very long.”

“Wonder who is fighting him,” said Chase, looking around the arena.

“That would be me,” sighed Alex. He looked disturbed. “Why did this guy even sign up? Why am I the one who has to fight him?”

“Better get up there, Alex,” said Amelie. “You don’t want to forfeit the match.”

“Agreed,” said Chase, playfully tapping him in the chest. “Just imagine it’s Marlon after he made us drink that mushroom drink. Weren’t you howling at the moon like a dog for an hour?”

“Like a wolf,” said Alex darkly. “Fine. I’ll make this quick.”

“WHO HAS THE OTHER FIVE? DON’T MAKE ME COME DOWN THERE.”

“Here,” said Alex, raising his hand. He began his slow march to the stairs. He was not the only one who seemed perturbed about this match up. As the other players saw the disparity in the two competitors size and age there were some concerned muttering in the crowd.

Brent watched him climb the stairs and accept a sword from Markon. His opponent was examining his own blade like it was an oddity found upon the road.

“The match ends which one of you is knocked out, or quits,” said Markon, but he was eying the old man more than Alex. “Are you sure about this, gramps? This kid is could send you flying.”

“Oh, thank you, young sir,” said the old man, his voice slightly quivering. “But I know what I’m about. What is the name of my opponent?” He added, looking at Alex as he shielded his eyes from the sun.

“Alex.”

“My name is Bellis,” smiled the old man. “Let’s put on a good show, agreed?”

“Sure,” said Alex uneasily.

“Very well,” said Markon. He stepped back to the end of the platform and this time only gave Argo a dark look. The NPC huffed and then left the stage to the eye roll of the big player. “Match begin.”

“I’ll make this quick, Bellis,” said Alex. He leveled his blade and pointed it at the old man’s face, not five feet away. “No sense in prolonging the inevitable.”

“That is very nice of you to say,” said the old man. His sword was in his right hand, dangling in his grip without a care in the world. The rest of his body was still cloaked and hunched over. “I promise the same to you.”

In one quick motion, Bellis stood to his full height and then threw off his cloak. There were gasps from the crowd and sounds of astonishment. Bellis stood well over six feet tall, and despite his aged face his body was that of a much younger man. His shoulders were the size of a bodybuilders and his chest stretched the leather which guarded his body. Biceps which looked able to crush small boulders with ease were complemented by powerful hands which now tossed the blade back and forth as he grinned savagely at Alex.

“What the—,” said Alex, taking a step back. “But…you’re old!”

“Nothing a little bit of hard training won’t cure,” cackled Bellis. “After leaving the island I mastered the blade and spent my time eating deers and lifting weights. My body grew to an immense size and now I am stronger than most anyone your age. Not bad for an old man, eh?” He added smugly.

“Is this fair?” Said Alex, looking at Markon. “This guy was hiding his body!”

“Nothing against the rules, number five,” said Markon. He spat on the arena floor. “I said start!”

“Chase,” said Amelie urgently, grabbing his arm. “Is Alex going to be alright?”

“I really don’t know,” said Chase, concern creasing his features. He was looking older than ever after drinking the night before and this sudden turn of events only seemed to age him even more. “We will just have to see how Alex adapts to this.”

Alex held his sword with both hands before himself, watching carefully to see what his opponent would do. Bellis grinned back and began to advance on Alex menacingly.

“Always you young punks thinking the older players are doomed when they spawn here,” said Bellis. He swung and Alex blocked the blow. Bellis cackled again. “You youngsters never consider that us older players have a trick or two up our sleeves.”

Bellis struck again, sending Alex into the defensive. Despite the older mans physical prowess Alex was strong himself, and even with Bellis’ heavy strikes Alex was shrugging off his advances.

“He’s slow, Alex,” shouted Brent. “You need to push forward!”

Alex huffed in frustration and then swung at Bellis. Finally the old man had to take a step back.

“Not bad, boy,” said Bellis, a sheen of sweat on his brow. “But how about this?”

Suddenly Bellis sidestepped, causing Alex’s latest blow to miss wildly and off balance himself. Bellis took the opportunity to strike, and throughout the area was the sound of a sword striking home.

“AH!” Alex cried, his left arm dangled uselessly. The crowed cheered for the old man and Brent glared at a man standing nearby who said “look at that fat kid getting done by the old man!”

“At least it’s not his sword arm,” said Chase with a sigh. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Alex! Fall back! You can still win this!”

Alex shuffled away, keeping his sword between himself and Bellis. The old man watched him, his wild eyes following Alex to the edge of the arena. Alex was breathing as though he had run a marathon.

“A big lad like you outta have no trouble with a feeble old man like me,” said Bellis. He flexed his muscles and the crowd cheered.

Show off, thought Brent. Despite himself he was impressed slightly by the old man. He wondered how he had managed to train himself to such a size and what his methods had been for achieving such skill had been. Brent had no idea what level of fighter he was but it was very possible Alex had been placed with a Fighter who was a couple levels above him.

“I don’t need two arms for you,” said Alex. “I let you have my left so now its even.”

Brent felt his eyes widened as Alex did the unthinkable. He raised his good arm, being careful not to cut himself with his blade, and flexed his bicep. His arm stretched his shirt sleeve.

“Amazing!” Said the man who Brent had glared at earlier. He began to laugh. “We got two beef cakes!”

“Good AION,” muttered Chase. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“The crowd seems to love it,” giggled Claire.

Did Claire just giggle? Thought Brent. Too many surprises for the day tended to give him a headache. He rubbed his temple and returned his eyes to the fighters.

“Not bad,” said Bellis begrudgingly. “But this is a Contract Tournament. We better get to it.”

“Let’s,” said Alex.

Bellis charged, bellowing a legend worthy war cry. Alex raised his sword and braced himself, ready for the assault. At the final moment, Bellis ducked, anticipating Alex’s swing. Brent watched as his friends blade soared over the old man’s grinning face, and then hissed along with his guild as Bellis spun and struck Alex again.

Alex’s sword clattered to the ground, and his right arm joined his left to dangle, limp and useless.