Amon
The underground fighting arena of the Banshee was a sight to behold. The place had been carved out by someone with the Gift of Terra, and quite skillfully so. It was a display of the Banshee’s power that she could be so open about it; Undercitizen that were Gifted usually ended up going missing or dead. Amon had a theory it was the Uppercity’s way to keep them weak.
The space was vast, surrounded by tiers of terraced ledges filled with spectators. A ring was set up in the center, illuminated by flickering crystal lamps. It smelled of alcohol, sweat and blood. This was where the crime lord began her recruitment process to join her gang, and if Amon were to have any chance of talking face to face with her, he had to make the climb through ten tiers.
Before making his way through the underground labyrinthine path leading to the arena, Sonja had used her Gift on his appearance. His usually jet black hair was now dirty blonde, and his eyes had been transformed from gray to a faint green hue. His nose had been made slightly crooked and curved. The jaw had not been left alone either; rounding out his normally triangle shape. Amon did not want anyone to recognize him and start spreading rumors about how a Second Mine guard, the Overseer's nephew, was fighting at an illegal underground arena.
Amon leaned against the stone wall, turning his attention to the ongoing fight.
The two men were circling each other, but he could tell the smaller man was tired. Blood was seeping through a cut on his forehead, hindering his vision. His movements were sluggish, and when the muscled man lunged forward, he was not quick enough. The audience roared in excitement as the man was crushed underneath the weight of his opponent. A sick, crunching sound filled the room. Amon did not avert his eyes.
As the winner got to his feet, a crew of people rushed into the ring to remove the man's broken body, leaving behind a patch of red colored sand behind.
“Congratulations!” A voice boomed out, drawing everyone's attention to a middle aged man standing on an isolated ledge in expensive clothing. “Will you continue your ascent through the tiers tonight?”
“Yes,” the winner replied, raising his arms in triumph as the audience roared once more, cheering him on.
“Fighting for the advancement to tier two! Who will dare to take on this challenge?” the announcer declared dramatically.
It was time to see if Sonja had done a good enough job on him.
Amon stepped forward. “I will.”
The man on the ledge turned towards him, regarding Amon with a hint of curiosity. “Ah, a newcomer dares to challenge the tiers! What is your name, stranger?”
“Aciel,” Amon replied, his voice steady. He had come up with the cover name himself. There was no flicker of recognition in the announcer's demeanor nor from the crowd from what he could see. Perfect, he would go unnoticed.
“Well then, let us see what you’re made of Aciel” the man yelled, and the crowd cheered hungrily for more bloodshed.
Amon was let into the arena through a fenced door. He stepped onto the sand, sinking slightly down into it. His opponent, the Bull, was even more massive than he had thought. The man stood a foot or so above him, covered in bulging muscles covered in several scars that he had not been able to see from afar. They circled each other, eyes never leaving one another while waiting for the announcer to start the fight. The man was moving rhythmically but his left ankle seemed to lag slightly behind, Amon noted.
“I hope you’re ready for a beating, boy,” the Bull taunted.
Amon didn’t respond and took a deep breath, readying himself for the fight.
“Are you readyyyyyy?” the announcer yelled, causing the crowd to stomp their feet, the sound echoing in the cave creating a deafening noise. “Fight!”
With a roar, the Bull wasted no time and instantly charged forward, the same move he had used earlier. Amon ducked low and quick under his lifted arms, dodging the attack he spun around the Bull.
Before the giant man could turn around, Amon kicked his left ankle hard. The impact made the Bull stumble momentarily, before he regained his balance. It was going to take a lot more to get this man down. But Amon had the time and patience for it. The man spun around, his face red in anger.
The Bull swung his right arm, which Amon sidestepped, feeling the breeze as his fist passed an inch away from his face. Amon took advantage of the man's slow movement, spun around him once more and landed another kick to his ankle. He heard him draw in a quick breath of air.
“I was expecting better,” Amon said, trying to rouse him. He wanted him to lose control.
The man turned around, panting, as he lunged forward again. Panic must have started to seize him; perhaps his fights had never lasted this long. Amon dodged to the right, but this time he felt a fist connect with his ribcage, and it knocked him sideways like he weighed nothing.
“I will turn this sand red with your blood,” the Bull growled.
Amon took a deep breath, canceling out the throbbing pain, just in time to arch around the next wild charge. The Bull’s momentum carried him forward, leaving himself open. Amon’s fist crashed into his ear, and he staggered. Amon followed up with another kick, this time against his left knee, and the man’s ankle finally gave in.
With a groan, the Bull fell to his knees. With a clean, powerful strike, Amon hit him in the back of the neck, just below the base of the skull. The big man fainted and fell face first into the sand.
“What a turnaround, ladies and gents! The newcomer has triumphed against the Bull!”
The audience was a mix of anger and excitement—some wanted more violence, craving blood that Amon had not provided. Others were satisfied, possibly those who had bet against the Bull. A heavy pouch made anyone happy.
The same crew came rushing into the arena, this time with extra people to drag the muscley man out.
“Aciel! Will you continue your climb tonight?”
“I will not,” he responded, the stabbing pain in his ribcage coming back to him full force. The Bull must have bruised them up badly. Something Amon had not expected. It seemed that reaching tier ten would not be as easy as he had thought.
The crowd booed in disappointment as Amon walked out of the arena.
“Until next time then, Aciel!” the announcer said, bidding him goodbye, then continued to introduce the next two challengers for a new fight.
A man in uniform approached Amon. “You will have one day to rest before being demoted from tier 1,” the man said, handing Amon a piece of paper.
Amon nodded, neatly folding the paper and slipping it into the pocket of his pants; it likely contained directions to the next, newly made fighting arena. The venue’s location had to be constantly changed to avoid being discovered by the Overseers. They were known for their reports on any illegal activities to the Uppercity council, in hopes to curry favor and elevate their status with them.
He headed towards the exit, a dark opening leading to the maze-like tunnels that would lead him back to the surface. Sonja would have to patch up his ribcage before his next fight tomorrow. Undoubtedly, she was helping out with the recruits from the mines.
* * *
Sonja was indeed at the makeshift infirmary they had made over the hideout. The place that had once been a dusty storage space was transformed so if any patrolling guards came visiting, they would only see a poor medical room. Several beds were in an array pushed up against the right wall. Stacks of bandages lay on a wooden table and jars of medicinal concoctions were lined up neatly on a shelf. A single lantern hung from the ceiling, lighting up the room with its warm fire.
She was alone in the room, poring over some papers at the desk. The door clicked shut behind Amon, and she looked up. Her eyebrows furrowed at the sight of him.
“I thought tier one wouldn’t leave you with any injuries,” she remarked, worry glinting in her blue colored eyes.
“A careless error on my part,” Amon replied, making his way over to sit down in the chair across from her. “Will you be able to patch me up for tomorrow?”
Sonja sighed but started examining his injury. “Three of them are bruised up pretty badly but nothing I can't fix right away.”
Amon watched as she formed another sign with her hands, concentration evident in her eyes. He felt a warmth spread through him, followed by a brief sting that made him grit his teeth. But then the pain was gone. He rolled his shoulder and moved his arm up and down. No pain whatsoever. "Thank you," he expressed.
"It's no issue at all," Sonja replied, "Healing isn't exactly my forte but if your injuries aren't too serious, I can manage them."
"I'll make sure they don't become too serious, Sonja,” he promised her, hearing the warning tone in her voice. “Is Jeb here?”
“Yeah, he arrived just a little while ago. Be prepared for a bombardment of questions.”
“I will be ready for the onslaught then,” Amon said, rising from the chair. “Thanks for the warning.”
"Amon, before you leave," Sonja said, pulling a document from the depths of her worn jacket. "I had a meeting with our informant."
"And?" Amon asked, looking at the tight lines of worry etched across Sonja's face.
"She gave me this," she said, extending the document towards him. "But it's getting riskier. I fear for her life."
"She knew the stakes when she agreed to this," Amon replied curtly, accepting the paper from her. "She was my father's ally."
"I know," Sonja sighed heavily, avoiding his gaze as she added, "But ever since her husband... They've been watching her closely."
Amon nodded solemnly. He was well aware of their insider's predicament. "She chose to stay on despite everything that happened." His voice hardened as he continued, "Her suffering is a reminder of the Uppercity's ruthlessness. Even someone as influential as her husband wasn't spared when he stepped out of line. It only proves they have something to hide."
Amon skimmed through the document, his eyes widening slightly at what it revealed—their informant was being promoted and would soon be working closer with the Surgeon himself. The Uppercity authorities seemed to believe that her husband's death had made her submissive enough for them to exploit her talents without any resistance. She had played her part well.
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"We'll soon know the exact coordinates of the main facility the Surgeon works at," Amon muttered under his breath before looking back at Sonja again.
Eliminating the Surgeon was a critical step towards seizing control over the Spine. His ties with the Uppercity were well-known and ever since they'd empowered him, the Undercity had seen a surge in unexplained disappearances. He was contributing in keeping the people fearful. The cause, however, was still a mystery. If only their informant's husband had managed to relay his findings to Amon's father before they had got to him. But alas. Locating the Surgeon wasn't just strategic, it was personal. It could potentially lead them to Sonja and Eve’s missing mother.
Yet, the unspoken question hovered around them like a ghost—was her mother still alive?
A faint smile tugged at Sonja's lips, but it didn't reach her eyes. Instead, they were filled with a profound sadness. Which was unusual. Sonja rarely showed any sign of weakness. Amon knew she was seeking solace, longing for him to offer some comfort. It was a reassurance he was incapable of providing her.
His voice was low and detached as he said, "We shouldn't mourn what hasn't yet been lost," before pivoting on his heel and striding away. Not seeing the disappointed look on Sonja's face as he left her behind.
Amon walked into another room at the end of the infirmary, which had been left untouched and used as storage. His fingers traced the cold, hard surface of the wall panel, and felt a small protrusion. With a gentle push, the panel obediently slid aside to unveil a hidden staircase. Mencer had always been fond of creating such secrets within plain sight.
Descending the stone-crafted steps, he was met with several tunnels leading in different directions. Amon walked through the one that had the sound of conversation intermingling with grunts coming through it.
The miners, organized into rows of four, were doing spear drills under the guidance of Mencer at the front. Most were struggling with handling a spear, lacking force and confidence, while a few were better than expected. Jeb had hoped to learn sword fighting but Mencer had warned against it, knowing they only had a year to prepare. Becoming skilled with a sword would require much more time and practice that they didn't have.
They appeared to be wrapping up their training for the day. Amon had faith in Mencer's ability to lead, but he made a mental note to himself; once he was done with the recruitment of the Banshee, he would come to inspect their training more often and mingle with them.
Mencer dismissed them for the day, instructing them to clean up and prepare for the evening’s meal. Catching sight of Amon, he smiled and walked towards him.
“Amon,” Mencer greeted. “It is good to see you.” He had traded his usual attire—a plain white shirt beneath a worn leather apron—for a militaristic outfit. It was worn down and altered, but Amon recognized it as the Uppercity’s soldier uniform.
“You as well, Mencer,” he replied. “How is the training coming along?”
“Most of them have never lifted anything similar to a spear but some are shaping up nicely,” Mencer said. “We still have several months so there is still hope for them.”
It had only been a week since Mencer had been done carving out their hideout with his Gift and begun training. Amon had been too busy with getting the information of the Banshee’s recruitment arena that he had not been able to come down here yet. “Would you like to give me the tour?” Amon asked.
“Aye, right this way.” Mencer led them out of the tunnel, which trailed them back to the main entrance.
“Do we have enough men to station two guards at the entrance when Sonja is gone?” Amon inquired.
Mencer paused before giving a curt nod. “Should be able to create a shift of them.”
“Good. As much as these miners yearn for change, it takes only one wavering heart to betray us all,” Amon said.
“I shall have a guard post ready by dawn,” Mencer replied. and they continued with the tour. Mencer led Amon down the rightmost tunnel. They walked through its winding path and emerged into another cavernous space – larger and more lived-in.
Several cots were scattered around for sleeping and holes carved into the rock walls served as shelves for clothing. There were also small wooden trunks stationed at the end of every bed for their more personal belongings.
From one of the beds rose Jeb, his face lighting up at their arrival. He jogged lightly over. “Amon! You fox. Why did you not tell me?”
Jeb’s demeanor had changed so much from their first conversation in the mines. The harder shell he had portrayed was stripped off, leaving the honest and hopeful man he truly was underneath.
“What are you referring to?” Amon answered, feigning ignorance.
"The miners...the ones we thought were killed because of you...they're here!" Jeb blurted out.
“So they are. Gideon needed them to disappear, and I made them disappear.”
Amon had sent those who had turned down the offer to continue working in the mines without causing trouble for a little more coin or food to Mencer, with the promise of change. Mencer had created hideouts for them to lay low, waiting for the moment the rebellion officially began.
Jeb shook his head. “I still can't believe you have been doing this under the nose of us all.”
“It was necessary to keep things more hidden back then until the right time,” Amon said. “How is the recruitment going?”
“I'm keeping a low profile, just as you instructed. I have brought back twenty of them so far,” Jeb informed him.
“Excellent, I knew I was right to entrust you with this task, Jeb.”
At this praise, Jeb's face broke into a grin, and even the lines on his face couldn't hide how young he actually was—just nineteen years. “Thank you. Many of the recruits are eager to finally meet you.”
“And I them,” Amon replied. “Speaking of which, I will see you again under the evening meal, Jeb. Mencer here is giving me the tour.”
“All right,” Jeb said, and they parted ways, leaving Jeb behind in the room.
Mencer guided Amon through the remaining sections of the hideout. Showing him where they kept their weapons and armor, other storage, passing by the bathrooms with the comment from Mencer that it was best avoided to walk in, the recreation area, the kitchen where Amon made certain arraignments, and then finally, the largest cavern Amon had been in yet; the dining hall. Four long tables were set up with benches on either side. There was also a table placed at the front, overseeing them all. The hall was empty for now, but Mencer informed Amon as they walked to the front table that people would start filling in at any moment.
As if on cue, the sound of footsteps echoed through the cavern and people emerged from the cave passage. Amon noticed that some individuals seemed to have a preferred seating spot, as shown by one person gesturing for another to move from their seat, but it was a calm affair. As people settled down, they cast curious glances up on Amon, but with Mencer beside him, they were at ease and their eyes did not linger. Good. It seemed they had built much needed trust.
Soon after, food arrived on large platters carried by some of the younger men and women. They placed them at various spots along the table before taking their own seats.
"Today, we have two different meats and several side dishes for the occasion," Mencer said. It did look delicious, but nothing Amon hadn't seen before growing up with the leader of the Second Mine. For everyone else, however, it was quite a feast. The atmosphere was cheerful, and people were tasting ale for possibly the first time in months. This moment would recharge even the most tired souls.
Yet something nagged at the back of Amon's mind. Mencer had reported that training was going well, and most were eager to learn, but how long would this last? When food became scarce and the novelty wore off, would they still be as enthusiastic in a few months? Amon wished he had Sonja’s Gift at this moment so he could read their emotions and find out what people truly felt deep down. But that's why she was here, he reminded himself. He couldn't do everything alone. His focus was on recruiting the Banshee and utilizing her support if he succeeded. This made him think of Eve; he needed to send her a message to check on her progress.
After the plates had been emptied of food, Mencer rose from his chair. “Fellow brothers and sisters,” he began, his voice loud and steady. “I hope you all enjoyed the meal just as much as I did.”
Several cheers sounded and Mencer smiled. “I am pleased to hear it.” Mencer then gestured towards Amon. “You all must have noticed the man sitting beside me. He is an old friend of mine, and the very one who started all of this. Amon Katsaros,” Mencer introduced before taking a seat again.
Amon stood up, looking back at the faces who were focused on him. Among them were older individuals worn down by years of labor in the mines and young ones that had just begun tasting the cruelty of the Spine.
“Thank you, Mencer. But I cannot take credit for starting this,” Amon began. People looked confused in the crowd, but Amon continued, “It was my father, murdered by Gideon’s hand, who instilled hope in me and ignited the will to fight. He wanted a better world for us dwellers. A world where people were given opportunities and breathe fresh air, where our hard work would lead to our own prosperity rather than being taken away by outsiders.”
Many heads nodded in agreement, listening intently.
“This is the cause that bonds us together. It is why we are here now, to fight for our freedom and for our people who have only known suffering.”
The room erupted into thunderous cheers and applause.
“Now, I want to give you all a taste of what has been taken from you,” Amon announced. At this, several people who had been cooking in the kitchen came in bearing plates stacked of Honey cakes. People gasped in delight as it was placed down in front of them. Sweets were a luxury that very few in the Spine ever had the chance to taste. The majority in this hall had probably never tasted it.
“This honey has been harvested from the depths of underground caverns. It sends us a message about resilience and that below the surface, the greatest treasures can be found,” Amon finished and sat down, watching as people happily indulged themselves.
“Well done, my friend. This was a great idea,” Mencer said, then looked at him curiously. “But how did you manage to get your hands on this honey? The cave bees aren't exactly known for their hospitality.”
The underground bees were notorious for their aggressive nature and their venomous stings that were fatal, which made people avoid them at all costs. But a few years ago, Eve had discovered a way to subdue them.
“A man cannot reveal all of his secrets, now, can he?” Amon answered, taking a bite of the sugary delight.